He did not even ask her about her village or how far it might be. He seemed lost in the wisdom of her words as he tied up his horse. His heartbeat grew louder, and she was fighting herself not to lunge at him. A creek gurgled beyond the trees to the left of the road.
“My pony is thirsty,” she said. “Come and help me water him first.”
The young man asked no questions and helped her lead the harnessed pony to the creek. Rose crouched down, and the man crouched beside her. She reached out to touch his face as she had touched Edward’s . . . and he let her.
The next action felt natural, and without conscious thought, she pushed him back against the grassy bank and drove her teeth into his throat—as Edward had done to her.
He bucked once in shock, but she held him down, draining and drinking.
Blood and warmth and life flowed into her mouth, down her throat, filling her with strength. She saw images in her mind, sheep and dogs and green fields and a girl named Missy. She drank and drank until she could take no more.
Then she sat up.
The hunger was gone, but suddenly so was the hollow emptiness. Looking down, she felt shame and regret. She touched her own throat. The wound was entirely healed.
“What are you?” Seamus asked from behind her. “What have you become?”
Even transparent, his face was a mask of horror. She could not blame him.
But she didn’t answer. Instead, she looked down at the young man on the grass. His heart was no longer beating. She dragged him a few paces to the creek and dropped his body into the current.
“We are cursed, Rose,” Seamus said quietly.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I think we are.”
A year and a half slipped by.
Rose had recovered from the death of her father and then the deaths of Gregor, Briana, and Kenna, but she would never recover from the actions of Edward Claymore.
She and Seamus hid in the house by day and through most of the nights. They were both dead and yet tied to this world. Some things did improve. After a time, Seamus came to understand her need to feed in order to survive, and as he loved her—and she was his only companion—he focused his blame and judgment upon Edward, not upon her.
To pass the time, she read him books, or they spoke of the past, or he offered her suggestions while she altered the house to suit her present condition better, such as reinforcing and covering all the windows.
Her neighbors accepted that Seamus’ death had been the last straw to drive her into darkness, and for the most part they left her alone, although Quentin always cared for the pony. Sometimes they left her buckets of milk or meat pies on the front step, which she could not consume. Rose wished she could feel gratitude toward them for their kindness, but her emotions were slow in returning.
She fought to go as long as possible between feedings, sometimes starving herself to the edge of her strength, but the hunger always won in the end, and she would forget her shame and regret.
At least twice a month, she slipped out and drove far from the village. No one even knew she had left the house. She never got over the new fear of being out in the open. And the shame always returned as she looked down into a dead face and torn throat, but she could not stop herself the next time she grew hungry.
Then, in the spring of 1826, Miriam knocked on the door one evening. She had not tried to visit in many months.
“Rose,” she called. “A letter came for you today, from New York. Can you open the door for me, and I’ll just slip it in?”
Rose waited, tense, inside the house. A letter? From New York?
But she could not bring herself to unbar the door, as she was hungry and feared being so near to Miriam.
“I’ll just leave it her on the doorstep,” Miriam called. “You can find it later.”
At these words, a rush of gratitude did pass through Rose, surprising her. Perhaps she was healing to a point?
She waited until Miriam’s footsteps sounded well down the path. Then she unbarred the door and saw a white envelope on the step. It was addressed to her. She grabbed it, taking it inside and barring the door again.
The return address was in Manhattan but did not contain