Page 19

Kayleigh reaches out, taking my hand, her skin warm against mine. ‘You’re not behind, Tara. You’re just not playing the same game.’

Tears sting my eyes, unexpected and unwelcome. I blink them away.

‘Sometimes I feel as though I’m simply tolerated,’ I confess. ‘Like if I disappeared, they wouldn’t care.’

Her grip tightens. ‘I would. You’re my sister. Not because they took us in, but because I chose you. Every day.’

‘You’re the only person here who sees me,’ I whisper. ‘The only one who cares.’

‘And I always will.’

For a moment, the house feels quieter. Less enchanted. Less suffocating. Like it’s just the two of us against something much bigger.

‘How did you find out?’ she asks. ‘About the vampires?’

‘Fell through a hole,’ I mutter, flicking a hand toward my dirty clothes.

‘Your hand!’ she exclaims, rushing toward me. She grabs it, inspecting it closely, frowning. ‘That’s a bad scrape. Let me get that cleaned up for you.’

My thoughts are still racing as she tugs me over to the sink and begins cleaning my hand. I hiss at the sting of it and her grip tightens, keeping me still. The blood mixes with the water as it moves across the bottom of the sink and down the drain. Flashes of the vampire on top of me fire through my mind, and I shudder.

‘You okay?’ Kayleigh asks in concern. ‘Cold?’

‘A little.’

‘Go run yourself a hot bath and try to relax. I’ll make you some tea.’

After my hand is cleaned, I do just as she says. Every time I close my eyes, images of the vampire and his fangs bombard my mind with such a violent invasion, I feel like someone is physically shoving me.

By the time I get to my room, the tea is waiting on my bedside table. Dressing myself, I take a long sip. After a few moments, my eyelids feel heavy. The adrenaline of the afternoon’s events must be catching up with me. With blurry eyes, I fumble with my bedsheets and crawl into bed, everything going dark before my head even hits the pillow.

The dining room is loud but somehow quiet this morning.

Everyone’s pretending nothing’s wrong. Passing the sauce, asking about the weather like we don’t live in a house full of secrets and have chained-up monsters beneath the dirt. They must know that I know, and yet, no one is acknowledging it. I can tell, though, there’s a weird energy in the room. Like everyone is pretending to be normal.

Kayleigh is wearing that same bright smile she always wears, and Terrance sits at the head of the table, eyes sweeping around the room like he is constantly assessing every conversation and movement around him. The boys shovel in their food mindlessly, chattering and laughing about things that seem so casual and normal – parties, school, girls. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have questioned anything, but it feels different now. Fake. Like I’ve been incredibly unaware of everything around me and telltale signs are starting to show.

I can barely swallow a bite. My mind is reeling. I feel like my world is falling apart around me and no one notices or cares.

Two inky black eyes consume my mind and I let myself wonder about Theo. Who he is, how he got here, and most importantly … why? There must be others – I heard a scream – but I have no idea what to think of this, or what to do.

I need to talk to Terrance, but I know he’ll be on his feet and out the door before I can even blink. Talking with others around isn’t a good idea, and I know either way he is going to dismiss me, just like they all do. The witch in charge is Velistra. She is the head honcho of the entire operation. She would be the best one to ask, but she’s hardly here these days and is impossible to get a hold of. She was introduced to me as my ‘aunty’, but she isn’t ever around much.

Spending far too long pushing my food around the plate, I try tuning in and out of the conversations around me, but I don’t overhear anything important or worthwhile.

When the meal’s over, the others drift away, disappearing into their routines and duties that don’t involve me. I linger, pretending to clear the plates, hoping to catch either Kayleigh or Terrance alone, but they are deep in conversation and I feel awkward hovering nearby.

With an exhale, I exit the kitchen and begin slowly wandering around the house, looking for clues or anything that might give me answers. More specifically, I’m trying to find a key. A way to get into those locked doors in the East Wing that I’ve always been forbidden to enter.

An hour slips by as I lift up things, run my fingers underneath surfaces, trying every random corner. I lift rugs, move cushions, and check behind furniture. I must look crazy, but there aren’t many people around, and if there were, no one would notice me much anyway.

Growing more irritated by the moment, I head back downstairs and sit down at the dining table with a huff. My eyes track along the benches and the decorations strung up around the room. My gaze lands on a painting that hangs on the far wall. I’ve looked at it a hundred times. It’s an oil painting of the house, from years ago. In the foreground is a woman in a deep green cloak, standing just outside the East Wing doors. She’s supposed to be one of our ancestors. Or, well, one of the blood-related ancestors. Narrowing my eyes, I step closer to inspect what she’s holding – a key. My eyes flick to the bottom of the frame. At the corner, a thin notch is carved into the wood, a bit darker than the rest, almost as though someone pried it open once, long ago, and then sealed it again.

I glance over my shoulder. There’s no one in sight. I wait to hear any sort of movements or sound but there’s nothing. Silently, I grab the edge of the frame, and lift.

It doesn’t budge at first, but after a bit more persistence, there is a click. A panel at the bottom swings open. My eyes widen as they land on a small iron key, the very same one that the woman in the painting is holding.

Twisting it in my hand, my eyes roam over it. It’s blackened with age and feels cold against my skin.