Page 6 of Dark Flame
Oh, yes, the voice—the singular reason keeping me semi-sane while distracting me from my self-hatred, grief, and the fact my life changed in a single night. A few minutes of time, really. Funny how a little stretch of it can have such lasting effects. No buildup, no warning. It just happened, and I was too far gone to stop it.
Amidst it all, the thing keeping me grounded ishisvoice. A voice that only ever murmurs my name, in an almost disapproving tone. Mind you, it’s probably evidence of my newfound insanity.
Newfound? While the shadows are new, I’m half-convinced I was already on the train to nowhere since my twenty-fourth birthday five months ago, because that was the first time I heard the voice. Even then, it was only my name, spoken in a manner that felt like my mind was being stroked while simultaneously drifting through the rest of my body, making me come alive.
I never admitted any of it to Mom and Dad because even witches shouldn’t be hearing voices. I’d never heard of it happening, not that my knowledge of my own kind really extends past whatever my parents taught me and what’s inside my grandmother’s grimoires. Most witches grow up within a coven, with a High Priestess to guide them on the Goddess’s path, but not me. I lost that opportunity a few centuries ago, when my ancestors cursed me to be the way I am.
Theway I amis the entire reason I was put into this mess. It may have been my ancestors’ actions, but Hecate never once thought to get rid of it? Help save us? How many Sinclairs have died because of it? Ridiculous our own creator abandoned my bloodline.
The fucking vampire cure. The cure togoddamn vampirismis the entire reason vampires continue to target me. Why I’ve grown up inside a house coated in protection spells and never allowed out past sunset when the vampires emerge.
It’s the cure’s fault my parents are dead.
But it’s also mine, and no enchantment can change that. I should know, because the days following the accident, when this house and its items were mysteriously alright and unburned, I poured over Gram’s grimoires for something that’d change the past, reverse time or something. A spell to bring them back.
Pointless, because if there was a way, it’d require powers to do it.
As usual, waking up is due to nightmares, and then nudged along by the stream of self-hatred and misery. At this point, it’s useless to attempt falling asleep again. Getting through the night is a miracle in itself, so with a groan, I push myself up and start another day of pretending to be fine. Pretend to no one but me, myself, and I. Oh, and my shadowy friends, of course. This whole house is tainted with memories of Mom and Dad, and I hate it survived the burning with very few marks to show. Probably another one of Hecate’s punishments: to force me to live within the physical manifestation of everything I once had and everything I’ve lost.
I switch on the bedside lamp, letting the room fill with a soft light. It teases the edges of the shadows, attempting to push them away. My phone lights up with my tap, the time reading 2 a.m. and nowhere near a decent time to get up.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Two in the morning means I only slept three hours, but it isn’t all that surprising. I haven’t slept a full night since their deaths, and at this point, I may never sleep again. Perhaps I’ll die of exhaustion and all my problems will be solved.
I slide from bed and yank on pyjama pants I’m not entirely sure have been washed recently before heading out of my room, passing the shut door of the one once belonging to my parents, and into the bathroom. On the way, I regard the bundle of rosemary and sage on the hallway window’s sill. It’s extra protection that doesn’t require magick to activate, though I’m certain the barrier that somehow found itself around the property is keeping the monsters away.
Each night, I’m tempted to toss the herbs away and leave the house and its protection. To let the vampires who are undoubtedly stalking this place come after me. If I’m lucky, one of them will drain me dry and end this miserable existence where I have to pretend to be a grieving daughter rather than a murderer.
But every time I go near that front door, that finicky thing called self-preservation keeps me inside and safe.
Self-preservation…and that smooth voice. Between him and the shadows, I truly am convinced Hecate is playing a cruel game. Seeing how tight she can pull before I snap.
Won’t be much longer now.
Mom would kill me if she knew I was having such thoughts about the Goddess, but it’s difficult to think anything positive about Her. All things considered, She abandoned me when my parents did, leaving me alone with my miserable thoughts, a random male voice, and bleak shadows.
I finish in the bathroom and pass the same window, pausing to look at the flowerbeds in the backyard Mom once religiously tended to. They’re dying now, uncared for and unloved, and it’s with a sharp stab in my heart I realize, yet again, I’ve failed. I should be caring for them. Keeping the one thing I have of Mom still alive. She’d like that.
Tomorrow,I decide.Or rather, later today. When the sun’s up, I’ll head outside, get fresh air, and see if I can revive Mom’s precious plants.
With a bit of renewed energy joining with my misery, I turn into my bedroom’s doorway.
Only to stop when it’snotthe way I left it.
For one, the shadows are completely gone, and for the first time since that night, they’re not forcing impossible weight on me.
Maybe it’s my hallway plans that did it.
The second thing isn’t giving me a chance to consider my missing shadows for any longer. Because the guy perched on the edge of my bed certainly wasn’t here before.
The room goes still. He doesn’t move, and Ican’tmove. Can’t do anything but study the stranger—albeit, a handsome one—who’s invaded my home unannounced and got by me.
There’s only one kind of person who could manage that.
A vampire.
All those self-preservation instincts kick into overdrive, mind whirling with every possibility of what to do, given my current limitations. I’m already at the door and have a head start if I run, but he’d probably catch me before I made it to the stairs.
How did he get in?My gaze darts to the window. The barrier is held up by magick; he couldn’t have possibly slipped through. It’s built specifically to keep creatures like him away.
