Page 35 of The Second Sight
The responsibility of that role wasn’t lost on me. Nor was the danger I was placing her in by bringing her deeper into my world. I could’ve let her think she was human, but I was too selfish to let her go on with her life. I wanted her for myself, not as a replacement but as something more. Someone I could spoil, cherish, fuck, and love.
As I navigated through the city toward Crackstone Manor, I couldn’t bring myself to regret telling her the truth. Not when she looked so much like my Basirah. Not when her fae blood sang to me with each beat of her heart. Not when, for the first time in more than a century, I felt something other than the emptiness of immortality.
At the stoplight on Michigan Avenue, I reached for my phone while Kasinda gazed out the passenger window. With practiced ease, I typed a quick message to my sister:
[Remove Basirah’s portrait from the entryway immediately.]
I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t need to. Lily had been with me long enough to understand the significance of Kasi’sresemblance to my long-dead wife. The last thing I needed was for Kasi to walk into my home and see her own face staring back at her from a painting created over a century ago. I pressed send just as the light turned green. Then slid the phone back into my pocket.
“Is this your first time in this neighborhood?” I asked.
She nodded, still looking out the window as we glided past historic mansions and manicured parks. “I don’t come to this part of Chicago much. It’s beautiful, but?—”
“But not where psychology students typically frequent,” I finished for her, amused by the economic and racial divide that still defined this city after all these decades. “You’ll find vampires tend to accumulate wealth over time.”
A small smile played at her lips. “Is that in the vampire handbook? Step one, become immortal. Step two, drink blood. Step three, invest wisely.”
Her humor surprised me. After everything she’d experienced in the past twenty-four hours. Her accidental discovery the supernatural world. She also learned of her own fae heritage. She’d also been intimate with a vampire and still maintained this spark of wit.
“Something like that,” I replied, turning onto a tree-lined private drive that stretched toward a property set back from the main road. “Though most of my fortune came from more traditional means some wealth came from land acquisition, art collection, and occasionally backing the right side in various historical conflicts.”
Her eyes widened as Crackstone Manor came into view through the ancient oak trees that lined the approach. The Gothic revival mansion stood three stories tall. Its limestone facade had weathered to a soft gray that caught the morning light. Pointed arches framed stained glass windows, while gargoyles perched along the roofline, their grotesque facesfrozen in eternal vigilance. A circular driveway led to the main entrance, where broad stone steps ascended to massive double doors of carved walnut.
“You live here?” Kasi breathed, leaning forward in her seat. “This isn’t a house. It’s a museum.”
“It was built in 1879 for a railroad baron. I acquired it in 1923, after the original owner’s family fortune collapsed during Prohibition.” I parked in front of the entrance, enjoying her stunned expression. “It’s been my primary residence ever since, though I maintain properties some in the U.S. and some in several other countries.”
“Wow,” she murmured, still staring up at the imposing structure.
I led her up the front steps, with my hand resting lightly at the small of her back. The massive doors opened silently before us. Lily’s work, no doubt. She always monitored the security cameras when expecting my return. The grand foyer stretched before us, its marble floor gleaming beneath a crystal chandelier that had once hung in a Viennese palace. Suits of armor from various historical periods stood sentry along the walls, while an ornate staircase curved upward to the second floor.
My eyes immediately went to the spot where Basirah’s gold framed portrait hung for over a century. As instructed, it was gone, leaving only a slightly lighter rectangle on the deep red wallpaper as evidence of its former presence. Relief washed through me. I would tell Kasi about Basirah eventually, when the time was right. Not until I understood what her resemblance meant. Not until I knew whether it was mere coincidence or something more significant.
“This place is incredible,” Kasi said, turning slowly to take in the entrance hall. Her gaze lingered on the empty space where the portrait had been, but she didn’t ask no questions aboutit. Instead, she pointed to a glass display case containing an ancient-looking dagger with a serpentine handle. “What is that?”
“Sixteenth-century ceremonial blade, used by the Bavarian Blood Court to execute rogue vampires,” I explained, moving beside her. “The handle is pure silver. Deadly to werewolves, merely uncomfortable for us.”
Her eyes lit with curiosity. “Werewolves are real too? What else exists that I don’t know about?”
“More than I could possibly explain in a single day,” I replied, unable to suppress a smile at her eagerness. “But I’ll try to cover the highlights.”
I guided her through the first floor of the mansion, watching her reactions as each new room revealed more of my world. In the grand library, leather-bound books lined shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, some written in languages long extinct from human memory. I showed her a handwritten manuscript by Leonardo da Vinci, not one that appeared in any museum catalog. This one detailed his secret studies of what he believed to be night creatures in the hills of Tuscany.
“Was he right?” Kasi asked, her finger hovering reverently above the yellowed pages protected behind glass. “Did he actually study vampires?”
“He came remarkably close to understanding our nature,” I acknowledged. “Though he never encountered one directly, to my knowledge. Leonardo was simply observant beyond his contemporaries.”
In the eastern gallery, weapons from throughout history hung on display. I explained how different cultures had developed various methods to combat the supernatural, some effective, others based on mere superstition.
“So, stakes through the heart?” she asked, examining a wooden implement with a wickedly sharp point.
“Effective if properly placed,” I admitted. “Though not instantly fatal as films suggest. It immobilizes us, makes us vulnerable to beheading or burning.”
“Garlic? Crosses?”
“Garlic is merely garlic. Religious symbols hold no inherent power against us, despite popular mythology.” I led her to another display. “Holy water doesn’t do anything either.”
We moved into what had once been a ballroom, now converted into a gallery of artifacts spanning centuries of supernatural history. Glass cases contained objects ranging from ancient fae ceremonial masks to modern vampire identification papers from World War II. Kasi moved from display to display, her fingers occasionally reaching out as if to touch something before pulling back in respect.
