Page 30 of Fangs, Frost, and Folios
So Tenzin didn’t tell Ben that he looked like a fish when he was searching for something to say, but he did resemble one.
Once you say it, you can’t unsay it.
It was obvious advice but wise nonetheless.
Ben finally found the words he wanted to say. “Tenzin, I think Sadia would be embarrassed if we made a big deal about her starting her period.” He kept his voice even. “I know you lived as a human in a culture that treated… fertility like a supernatural power—”
“Because it is.”
He nodded. “I’m not arguing that. I’m just saying that she might not see it that way. And frankly, as someone who was adopted—admittedly for different reasons than Sadia—anything involving connections to ancestors is really complicated. The feelings are really hard to sort through.”
“So avoiding those feelings is preferable to examining them with her great-grandmother, her older brother, and other people who love and care for her?”
“Fuck.” He sank into a sofa near the brick fireplace. “Dammit.”
“Are you cursing because you know I’m correct?”
His jaw was tense. “Maybe.”
Tenzin floated over and straddled him, settling onto his legs and combing her fingers through the dark curls that grew longer each year. “We love Sadia. We celebrate the day of her birth and her achievements in education and athletics. She should be celebrated for who she is and who she is becoming, Benjamin. Who else would be better than us to show her that everything about her is honorable and good and worthy of commemoration?”
He thought about it for a long time, then let out a long sigh. “Am I going to have to learn a dance?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like you to remain open to the idea.”
Nine
Audley Manor was a vast and sprawling house with a large central courtyard. Formal rooms were contained on the first floor, along with the massive library that spread through the entire north wing of the house. Over the library on the second floor were the servants’ quarters, and on the south side of the house, the lavish bedrooms for the Mortimer family and formal rooms downstairs.
Beatrice crept up the stairs on catlike feet, silently casting her amnis into the darkness to gauge the threat she was facing.
Amnis was a tricky thing to manage. The energy that lived under her skin kept her alive, animated her, gave her power over her body and her element. It could also give her away to another vampire with good senses.
When Beatrice reached the top of the stairs that led to the servants’ quarters, she paused. She felt two vampires in the general vicinity, but they were moving quickly toward the south wing and the family quarters, no doubt searching for anything that could be a hiding place or a safe.
Something tickled the back of her mind, but it was ephemeral and fleeting.
She sensed four humans in the south wing and knew that at least two of them would be Mrs. Dawson, the housekeeper; and Barnes, the mysterious butler they’d never met.
Was it Barnes who had planned all this? A servant’s revenge on an ungrateful master? An attempt to avenge a real or imagined wrong?
Beatrice caught a whiff of cologne and headed right. It was an unfamiliar scent that stood out in the musty air of the old stone house.
Were the humans or the vampires more dangerous? It was impossible to tell. She went for the nearest threat.
Slipping into the bedroom where she smelled the cologne, Beatrice saw a figure sleeping under a large mound of blankets. There was a cup of tea cooling on the nightstand, a pair of round reading glasses, and two large hearing aids sitting next to them.
Mrs. Dawson was white-haired and peaceful when she slept, and a massive snore told Beatrice she hadn’t been disturbed in the least by the intruder in her room.
Across the room, a dark figure was looking into a built-in closet. Beatrice crept up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
The man spun, his eyes going wide.
“Good thing she needs those hearing aids, huh?” Beatrice didn’t wait but punched the man in the face, knocking his head back with a satisfying thwack. There was a snap and a crunching sound; then the scent of blood poured into her nostrils, sweet and tempting.
The man covered his bloody nose with his left hand but lunged forward, a hunting knife in his right. He swiped out clumsily, and Beatrice ducked back. He missed her by inches.
“Now now,” she whispered. “Rude.” She grabbed his wrist and twisted; the knife fell with a thunk to the floor.
