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Chapter Nine
William
Watching Edward’s children deliver their half-assed apologies is as entertaining as it is cringe-inducing. Lilliana’s efforts are about as boring and black-and-white as it gets, while Christopher’s are much more colorful.
“I am mortified by and deeply ashamed of my thoughtless actions last night,” he says. “Please allow me to apologize for my disgusting behavior. It was unacceptable and entirely unwarranted. I vow to be a better, more considerate version of myself going forward.”
I can tell from Mariah’s body language that she isn’t buying a word of it. Clever girl. She spent most of the day in her room, listening to music on her portable device. I hoped she might take a nap, but she was too anxious.
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and says, “Thank you, Christopher. I appreciate your attempt at an apology.”
I wait for Mariah in the twilight realm after she goes to bed, hoping she’ll come look for me in the vineyard. I don’t want to come off as too eager to see her again.
The craftiest predators know to let their prey come to them.
Her footfalls sound in the grass about a quarter mile from where I lie between two vine rows. It’s odd how differently my vampiric abilities behave on this plane. My sense of hearing is just as sharp, but my sense of smell is so dulled it might as well be nonexistent. It’s for the best, really. Being able to smell Mariah’s blood, but not access it, would be torture even if I wasn’t starving. As far as physical restrictions go, I can pass through doors, but not the ground, and I can walk on floorboards, but my hand glides right through other physical objects like shelves and tables.
I pretend to be lost in thought as Mariah approaches, dressed in another one of her extra-long tee shirts.
“Hello again,” she says, smiling.
“Hello to you.”
She drops down beside me and crosses her legs. “What, you’re not going to grab my face this time?”
“I would hardly say that Igrabbedyour face the last time we met,” I say. Her bare legs glow in the low light, pale and smooth. I resist the urge to run my hands all over them, just to see if it’s possible. “As for whether it’ll happen again. Maybe later. If you’re lucky.”
She chuckles at this. I turn my gaze toward the sky and listen to her heartbeat. She fidgets with a blade of grass.
“I know what you are,” she says.
I tense. “Do you?”
“You’re a ghost. I saw an old picture of you in Edward’s office. The date said 1937.”
I roll onto my side to look at her. “Couldn’t have been me, sweet pea. I was already dead.”
“I’m sure it was you.” She rips off a fat blade of grass and rolls it into a ball that stains her fingers. “What’s your name?”
“William,” I say. “But you can call me Will.”
“Nice to meet you, Will. What’s your last name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
She shrugs. “Just curious.”
“You planning to look me up on your family tree tomorrow?”
“Maybe.” She grins.
“Clever trick,” I say. “What’s a clever girl like you doing up so late on a school night?”
“I’ve already graduated,” she says. “Now don’t change the subject. What’s your full name?”
I suppose it can’t hurt her to know. It’s not like she’d be able to confirm the details without consulting a historian. “William Ashton Durant.”
She squints. It’s kind of adorable. “I don’t recall my grandpa mentioning any Durants in our family.”
