teasingly. “They have a right to know.”
Lilac turned to Garin, but his eyes were locked on the old man. He picked at his nails, his otherworldly pallor changed to something even more akin to dire illness, which she’d previously thought impossible.
“A right to know what?” Lilac pressed, leaning forward in her seat.
Garin slumped further into his.
Emptying his glass and setting it down, Jeanare reminded Lilac of her father. The way he’d cracked his knuckles and burped just before telling her one of his bullshit stories after supper. But something twinkling in the old man’s eyes told her his story would wield a different sort of weight.
The weight of accuracy.
“You know how this town clings to their superstition like religion. The violent tragedy these walls have witnessed are real. Etched forever in time.”
Sable rolled her eyes. “Really, dear,” she directed at Lilac. “He enjoys scaring our guests.”
Lilac nodded. After all she’d witnessed, especially at the Mine, she doubted the story Jeanare was about to tell would rattle her much.
Garin should have been unphased. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in Lilac’s peripheral.
“This house of ours is borrowed,” Jeanare began, fingers clasped and elbows propped on the table, to Sable’s evident dismay. “Aye, we own it now. But its exact origins are unknown. Rumor has it that it was built by English immigrants sometime in the early fourteenth century. Those first owners supposedly died in the war. Anyway, the set of owners before us also met an untimely death, months after moving in.” He reached across the table to refill his empty wine glass; when he offered Garin more, the vampire only shook his head.
“You’ve heard of the Raid, haven’t you?”
As if they hadn’t been asked enough. Garin confirmed it with a sigh. “I have.”
“It was a family of witches who resided here before us. During the raid, they were brutally murdered.” Jean pivoted in his chair, raising his arms, then releasing them in a sweeping motion. “Right here.”
Cloth napkin to her lips, Lilac froze mid-wipe.
There was a thud against wood. Jeanare jumped, flinching and cursing. He glared at his wife and bent to rub his knee. “What was that for?”
“Look at how uncomfortable you’re making them,” Sable snapped, jutting her chin at Lilac.
“It’s not that at all,” the princess explained, eager to hear more. “It’s just… I’m confused, I suppose. I was always under the impression that the massacre took place in the town streets—at sunset. That’s what I was taught, anyway. How could anything happen here, in the kitchen? Had one of them been invited inside?”
Noticing Garin’s nauseated expression, her already uneasy stomach suddenly knotted. She couldn’t remember if they’d actually entered the house before or after Jeanare had ushered them inside. Maybe that was another untrue Darkling rule that humans had believed and passed on through lore.
Jeanare nodded vigorously. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “Ah. See, this is where it gets interesting. When we moved in a few years after the raid, the town outskirts buzzed with stories. According to old farmer gossip, the vampire who murdered them was obsessed with the couple’s daughter. He was completely mad for her. How he entered is as good of a guess as anyone else’s.” He clicked his tongue in pity. “That evening, everyone in town ran for cover and bolted their doors, but this house was cursed the moment he came barging in and—”
The low scraping of wood against stone erupted from Lilac’s right, jolting her. Garin was standing. “I’ll be heading upstairs for the night, if that’s fine right with you,” he said apologetically.
But Lilac didn’t pay him any mind. Not at all. In fact, her focus had shifted onto the oak aumbry—its aged wood and ancient lines of knowing. On the cold stone floor beneath her feet, once washed of tremendous bloodshed.
And on the fireplace mantle off to their left, from which a large chunk of limestone corner was evidently missing.
“Are you feeling ill?” Sable began to get up, but Garin stopped her.
“Not to worry. It was a rather heavy meal after our ordeal in the forest.” He burped and pressed a hand to his mouth. “I don’t think I’ve quite yet recovered. I’ll be in brilliant shape after I get some rest. Thank you again, the both of you. Darling, I’ll see you upstairs.” With a bashful smile, he bowed and clambered noisily down the hall, and up the staircase near the front door.
“Should I show him up?” Jeanare asked.
“I think he’ll be just fine,”