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Letting them both know that she’s not just a vampire.
But one of their own.
Something that should never be.
Elaine runs forward, into the fire, scoops up the girl, the fire burning her bare arms. Elaine doesn’t scream, though the pain is unbearable. She just takes the girl in her arms—Lenore—and brings her toward Jim.
Being the bigger and stronger of the two, Jim holds on to the child, and they both start running off into the woods, letting the fire burn all evidence to the ground.
Chapter One
San Francisco - Present Day
I think I’m being followed.
My friends have called me paranoid once or twice before, so there’s a chance they might be right. But I still can’t shake the feeling that someone’s been following me, all the way from my apartment down in Hayes Valley, to here in Upper Haight. Doesn’t help that the further up the hill I go, the thicker the fog gets, making every shadow extra ominous. That’s what I get for taking the shortcut past Buena Vista Park.
I pause, coming to a standstill, and listen.
I’m a couple of blocks away from the speakeasy, in the residential area close to Haight Street, which is busy on a Friday night, and yet everything seems eerily calm. Hushed. Like the houses around me are holding their breath.
Slowly I turn around and stare back down the street.
There’s a lone streetlamp on the corner, showcasing the mist rushing past it.
A shadowy figure, a man, suddenly appears out of the gray, stopping right beside the streetlamp.
Staring right at me.
Into me.
And it’s like all the air is knocked from my lungs.
I’m literally gasping, my body stiffens, going ice cold.
And then the streetlamp goes out.
Plunging the man into darkness.
Oh fuck this.
Feeling strength returning to my limbs, I take in a sharp breath and spin on my feet, running like hell up the street. I’ve always been athletic and fast, despite what some extra pounds might say, and I run like I’ve never run before, not stopping, narrowly colliding with a couple as I sprint down Frederick until I hit Ashbury.
Only then do I stop, taking stock of the situation as I look around.
Everything seems blissfully normal here. Some people walking about, the sound of traffic filling the air. The street is brightly lit, showcasing the colorful Victorian homes on either side of the road. The entrance to The Cloister, one of my favorite bars, has only a few people in line, nowhere near as busy as it will be later. For a somewhat underground speakeasy, it’s awfully popular, probably because word has gotten out that they don’t scrutinize IDs.
I wonder if my mystery stalker was a cop. I turn twenty-one in two weeks, so I’m almost legal to drink, but I’ve been using the same fake ID for years now. Carol Ann Black, from Edmonton, Alberta instead of Lenore Warwick from San Francisco, California. The picture looks nothing like me either, but every person I’ve given the ID to has just accepted it at face value. My friend Elle jokes that every bouncer just happens to want to sleep with me, so they let it go, but either way it works.
But maybe my time is up. Perhaps the cop will show up at the bar, a total shakedown, arrest everyone. I’ll have to keep my wits about me if I see the guy again.
Not that I really saw what he looked like. He was just a hazy silhouette. Tall, at least six feet, broad-shouldered, wearing a long coat. Could be anyone, really.
I try to shake the unsettled feeling from my limbs.
It was just a cop, I tell myself as I rifle through my black studded handbag, getting out my wallet. He didn’t even do anything, just stared at me. If he wasn’t a cop, then it was probably just someone else out and about, nothing more than a stranger, and the light just happened to blow out above him. I’m making something out of nothing.
Cuz you’re paranoid, the voice inside my head pipes up.
