Page 3 of Cry of Blood and Joy
Joy held back, her fingers digging into my forearm with white-knuckled intensity. Her eyes darted nervously between the house and the neighboring windows, as if she expected floodlights to suddenly blaze to life and alert the entire neighborhood. The scent of her fear was sharp and metallic, mixing with the night-blooming jasmine that couldn’t quite mask the underlying rot of this place.
“What if someone comes?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of air conditioning units. Her breathing was quick and shallow, panic threading through each word. “What if the neighbors see us? What if?—”
I placed my hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension coiled in her muscles like piano wire. “Hey,” I said softly, forcing calm into my voice even though my own nerves were stretched thin. “Look at me.”
When her frightened eyes met mine, I shrugged with more confidence than I felt. My vampire abilities were a comfort, even in this nightmare. “Then I’ll use compulsion on them. Make them forget they ever saw us.” My thumb traced gentle circles on her shoulder. “We’ll be safe for the moment—long enough to catch our breath and figure out what to do next.”
She bit her lip, conflict warring in her expression. “I know we don’t have a choice, but...” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The idea of violating someone’s mind clearly disturbed her, even if it meant our survival.
A car engine rumbled in the distance. Steve sucked in a sharp intake of breath, and Joy’s pulse hammered visibly at her throat. The sound faded, heading away from us, but the reminder of how exposed we were hung in the humid air like a threat.
“We can’t stay out here,” I murmured, glancing at the lightening sky on the horizon. Dawn was still hours away, but time was our enemy now.
I clasped Joy’s hand and led her toward the backyard. I didn’t want anyone noticing us breaking into the house. It would be too hard to figure out who I’d need to use compulsion on if we were spotted.
What we didn’t need was a run-in with the police—not when we knew Angelo had someone on the force. I still hadn’t been able to figure out who his contact was, something I would have been investigating if I wasn’t playing this deadly game of cat and mouse with him.
I had the feeling he was toying with us like a predator. Too many times I’d seen him do exactly that—making his victims think they’d escaped his claws, only to realize their mistake seconds before he struck.
The backyard was shrouded in darkness; thick shadows pooling beneath an old oak tree whose gnarled branches stretched across the small space like skeletal fingers. Patches of new grass dotted the otherwise bare earth—someone’s halfhearted attempt to nurture life in this godforsaken place. The contrast between the hopeful green shoots and the surrounding dead soil felt like a metaphor for everything wrong with this house.
A porch light hung above the back door, its bulb dark and lifeless. A little good news for once. The fixture itself was new, probably installed by the same property management company that had tried to whitewash this place’s history.
I glanced around, my enhanced vision picking up details Joy couldn’t see—the way the neighbor’s fence sagged in one corner, the rusted lawn chairs someone had left to rot beside a crumbling birdbath. The air smelled of damp earth and something else, something that made my nostrils flare with unease. Old fear, maybe. Or old blood.
I gripped the screen door handle and twisted it hard, the cheap metal groaning in protest before the lock mechanism snapped with a sharp crack that seemed to echo in the still night. Joy flinched beside me, her hand flying to my arm.
“Sorry,” I whispered, though my enhanced hearing told me the neighbors were all asleep, their steady heartbeats and deep breathing patterns unmistakable.
The back door was even easier to breach. The deadbolt was new, but whoever had installed it had done a shoddy job. I barely had to use any vampire strength—just a firm twist of the handle and the door swung open with a soft creak that spoke of poorly oiled hinges.
I shook my head grimly. A burglar could have easily busted inside... if there was anything left worth stealing. The irony wasn’t lost on me—we were breaking into a house that had already been stripped of everything valuable, including its innocence.
“Wait here,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to see Joy hugging herself, shaking. “Steve, watch her.”
I entered first, my footsteps muffled on the worn linoleum. The back door opened into a cramped kitchen that barely had room for a table—if there had been one. Only a scratched-up stove and an ancient refrigerator remained, their surfaces dulled with age. There wasn’t even a microwave.
I stepped into the dining room, then the living room beyond. Both rooms echoed with emptiness, our footsteps the only sound in the hollow space. The walls were stark white, too clean,too fresh—clearly painted in haste. The hardwood floors were scuffed and scratched, telling stories of lives that had moved on.
I slowly made my way through the rest of the house, my footsteps echoing in the hollow silence. There were only two bedrooms and two bathrooms, all stripped bare. The first bedroom was small, probably meant for a child—Serenity’s room. My jaw clenched as I imagined her huddled in here, trying to hide from Freddie’s drunken rages.
The master bedroom was larger but was even more oppressive. Stains marked the carpet where furniture had once sat, and there were holes in the drywall that had been hastily patched over. The house held its breath, fresh paint unable to silence whatever had happened here.
Both bathrooms were functional but dated, with chipped tiles and fixtures corroded green at the joints. I checked the windows in each room—all painted shut, probably for years. Not ideal for quick escapes, but it also meant no one could get in easily.
The house was secure, if you could call a place with this much dark history secure.
Using vampire speed, I was at the back door. Steve kept a careful eye on Joy, who was pacing nervously near the entrance. She looked ready to run at any moment.
I pushed through the broken screen door. “It’s safe.”
Except for the memories that hung in the air like dark shadows, thick enough to choke on.
Steve gestured with his arm. “You first, sis.”
Joy brushed past him without a word, her shoulders tense as she stepped into the kitchen. She looked around at the bare walls and empty counters. “Dreary and depressing, just like I remembered.”
Steve surveyed the place, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Yup. I swear you can still smell Freddie lurking in these walls. He always reeked like a stale ashtray and cheap beer.”
