Page 17 of Mortdale

On top of the neatly folded black dress was a portrait photograph of hers. Sat straight and grinning ear to ear, she’d posed for the camera. She was smiling like someone who knew the mechanics of a smile well, but it had not reached her sad brown eyes. Whoever had taken it looked like they’d trapped dread in that small piece of paper.

As I set the photograph down, my attention caught on the document tucked under the black dress. A Certificate of Burial Rights dated nearly five years ago for a plot in Nymerian, a small city somewhere south of Meridian. And…a receipt of service for a funeral reception. She’d paid for a casket, the venue, catering, florals, too—white peonies specifically. All that, and also including one-hundred-forty-nine paid mourners. Who needed one-hundred-forty-nine strangers at their funeral?

My thumb slid to the end of the receipt.

Deceased: Willow Rose Briar

Chapter 4

Willow

The Duncan estate was shrouded in fog, but I could still see its piercing grandness peek through as the carriage rolled over the limestone pathway that snaked across a mile-long colourful parterre to the entrance. It was nearly twice the size of the Crimson Weaver covenstead, though definitely not as eccentric, and it looked to be the work of someone who’d aimed for tragedy. Its ornate towers poking through the steeped roof framed the summer storm, while the grand arched windows dressed in a burgundy trim bled into the white stone walls with some grotesque intention.

In any other circumstance, I would have been blindly fascinated by my new home and entirely too curious about the talented garden hand who maintained those sizeable red dahlias. But half an hour ago, I’d woken up to find my head resting on my brand new husband’s shoulder.

He’d not stopped staring at me, so I was currently breathing only through one nostril while the other was stuffed with a napkin. So much for not being comfortable enough to share the ride because he was sitting so close his thigh was fully pressed to mine. And in my state of undress, I could feel each dent of muscle against mine.

“When did it start?” I finally gathered myself to ask.

The carriage came to a stop, and I could now feel the numbing pins on my buttocks. “We’re not sure. It can easily be mistaken for starvation. Extreme hunger can make some of us violent.”

“How can you tell it apart?”

“Hunger doesn’t make us look physically sick. An infected vampire’s eyes turn opaque at the start of the symptoms. Then they slowly tear themselves up little by little as they go mad. An eye, an organ, severing their arms, legs, fingers, ears, anything. Almost as if being inside their own bodies is unbearable. And an infected vampire does not feed because of hunger. It won’t stop when it’s sated; only when its victim is fully drained. We don't know more beyond that and the fact that it only seems to affect my species.”

“And that they won’t die unless you set them on fire,” I said, and felt his attention return to me.

His arm blocked the door when I tried to follow him out. “You should have stayed in the carriage when I told you to. And you should have absolutely not used magic. In the future, I expect you to do as I tell you.”

“I’m sure you do. But you will find me much more pleasant and useful when unsubjected to tyranny.”

The nerve on his temple pulsed. “Tyranny?”

Maybe I’d been a little harsh. Too late to take it back now.

“Yes. I am insolent like that. How about taking me back now? Maybe you can lend me a broom and I could just fly over back to Meridian.”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Has no one ever talked back to you?”

“No one’s really had a chance,” his friend Henry said from behind him, dismounting his horse and guiding the rest of the soldiers in the direction of the stables.

“I can tell,” I muttered to myself, and that must have pissed him off because he climbed back in the carriage and slammed the door shut.

He loosened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. “Now—”

I gave him my back, banging my hands against the carriage walls. “Help! Let me out!”

I heard him sigh. “That was completely unnecessary.”

“You should know, I enjoy being excessive and outrageous,” I said, folding my hands on my lap like a proper lady.

He brought out a silver tin from his pocket and put a cigarette between his lips, closing his eyes as tipped his head back against the carriage wall. We might have stayed like that for hours; I’d lost all awareness of time on the way here. Shamelessly, I stared at the lineament of his face. Taking the opportunity to study him in close proximity.

Blowing a cloud of smoke above us, he turned to me. “Magic sends vampires on a high. And not in a good way. It triggers every single one of our hunting instincts. It turns us into blood-lusting animals. My own men could have lunged at you, me included, torn your trachea out with their bare teeth and drained you dry. Any other vampire wouldn't have thought about it for another second, but my men are highly trained. They’re taught to resist certain urges.”

“Oh.” I nodded. “No more magic.”