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“You think these vampires have a bedtime?” he scoffs. “Let’s do the thing you came here to do.”
He’s right. If I delay it, I’ll probably lose my nerve and head on the first flight back home.
We go out the door and into the night, getting a cab to the house which is by the infamous Painted Ladies at Alamo Square.
“Which house is it?” Dylan asks as the car drives off.
“Shhh,” I tell him, gathering my coat around me. It’s foggy up here and the buildings look ghostly.
“You think they can hear me?”
“They’re vampires,” I remind him, looking around. The cypress trees in the park look like shadowy figures in the cold mist, and even though I don’t see any people walking about, I feel like I’m being watched. This is a touristy spot, and yet tonight it feels like it’s holding its breath. Even the sounds of the city stay muffled at the bottom of the hill.
The Westerfeld House is on the corner. It looks tall, narrow and foreboding, a slice of Victorian architecture that has survived the ages, but in the mist all the houses around it have a similar feel, their dark silhouettes against the white fog reminding me of a decaying jawbone.
I suppress a shiver and start walking down the sidewalk toward the building, Dylan trailing behind me. I stop right in front of the gates, a small garden with dying plants in the front, and crane my neck to stare up at the house. There are no lights on at all. There is no noise. The house feels dead in every way.
“Dude, I don’t think anyone is home,” Dylan says, thankfully his voice is quieter now. “Or maybe they do go to bed early.”
I shake my head. “No. They’re home.” My instincts are different now, on high alert, and I can feel that they’re in there. It’s just that they’re hidden. Perhaps if Solon has wards up around the house, they’re powerful enough to not only fend off humans and witches, but other vampires as well. After all, if someone like Saara is still out there trying to be Skarde 2.0…
Well, I guess that means how the hell am I going to get in the house?
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Dylan says as he stares up at the windows.
“Probably not.”
“The house looks easy to climb,” he says. Then his eyes widen and he looks to me. “Oh. Maybe you can fly now.”
“Vampires can’t fly,” I tell him, kicking his foot.
“Some can. Some with magic.”
“Sure, but the ones with magic are inside the house.”
“Didn’t you say you were a witch before in your past life? Maybe you have magic.”
“I don’t think it works like that,” I say. “And Dahlia couldn’t fly either. No witch can, not the ones I’ve known.”
Who are you?
A voice sounds out but I can’t tell if it’s coming from behind me or in my head.
I whirl around and see a tall dark figure across the street, looming behind a car.
Dylan slowly turns around, though I’m not sure if he heard the voice or not.
“Is that a person?” Dylan asks, gesturing to the figure.
The person in question comes out from around the car with supernatural grace, stepping into the middle of the street where the streetlights weakly illuminate him.
I can’t help but gasp.
It’s Absolon Stavig.
And I catch the sharp sound of his inhale, his eyes widening with shock.
“This can’t be,” he says with a disbelieving shake of his head.
