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Athelinda had spent weeks in a drug-induced fever dream. Screams, pain, visions, more pain. She had cried out for her heart to be pierced, for sweet release. But then, eventually, her body had begun to heal, the fog of pain had lifted.
The first face she was aware of was that of the servant boy.
“You’re back,” he said.
She had struggled to speak. The boy handed her a glass of thick, viscous blood. She had drunk it greedily.
The boy regarded her curiously. “The man, he hurt you badly.”
“Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “If it was me, I’d want to kill him.”
“Maybe I will.”
“How? They’ve taken everything from you. Your teeth. Your fight. Your colony.”
She glared at the boy. “You mock me?”
“No. I want to help you.”
“Then fuck off.”
He nodded. “As you wish.”
He rose and walked to the door, closing it behind him.
Athelinda pushed herself up. Something lay on the table beside her bed. A box of matches, with a small scrap of paper underneath. She picked it up.
Just two words, scrawled in Vampyric: Birnen heo.
She frowned. How did a servant boy know Vampyric?
She looked after him curiously. Then she read the note again. A smile spread across her face.
Birnen heo.
Burn them.
50
Mowlam’s house was small and shabby, the clapboard blistered and warped, the front door dirty and peeling with old paint. Snow had coated the windows, making it impossible to see inside.
“You sure this is it?” Barbara asked.
“This is the address.”
“Dalton sure did move up in the world.”
“In more ways than one.”
A rusty Toyota was parked outside. But the house looked empty. Felt empty. The windows were dark, despite the failing light. No noise of a generator or steam from a heating system.
Barbara stared at the house, something inside her thrumming. A feeling. A bad feeling. She knocked on the door, loudly. They waited. No response.
She reached out to knock again then changed her mind and tried the door handle. Unlocked. She glanced back at Tucker. “Seems like people could save themselves a lot of money on locks around here.”
She pushed the door open. “Mr. Mowlam? Police. We’d like to talk to you.”
