vampires, sometimes hundreds of years played out in moments. Neither of them knew what this meant.
In 1826, the last letter arrived . . . and it was from Cristina. Jessenia read it aloud, almost as if she were sleepwalking.
Oh, Jessenia, my dear one, I think we are lost.
Angelo is dead. His son John McCrugger is dead.
Our sweet Adalrik is dead.
Several others, whom you have never met, are now dead.
I have hidden some events from you, but in recent years, many of us began to counsel Angelo to destroy Julian and Philip . . . most pointedly Julian, who shows no sign of developing his telepathy and will never be able to follow the first law. Our gentle counsel soon turned into demands and, to my shame, . . . threats of taking this matter upon ourselves. We fear Julian learned of our urgings. He must have believed Angelo would eventually relent to us.
Julian’s presence cannot be felt and he is coming from the darkness to take our heads. I do not know how he is finding us with such ease and haste, nor how none of us has managed to hold him with a telepathic defense.
You and Robert must find someplace to hide, someplace you’ve told no one about—not too far. I will send another letter soon. You know Demetrio will not leave the villa, but I expect more news within a few nights. Knowledge is safety.
With my love, Cristina
Jessenia dropped the letter onto the floor.
“We’re leaving here tonight,” Robert said. “We’ll hide up north.”
“No,” she whispered. “I want to wait for her next letter.”
The letter never came.
A few nights later, they were hit with waves of memories from Demetrio first . . . followed shortly after by Cristina’s.
Once she had recovered from the onslaught, Jessenia began to pack her few things. “We’re going to Italy, to the villa, to make sure they are safe.”
“Italy?” Robert repeated. “No.”
“You are a soldier!” she shouted. “Demetrio is an artist! Would you not protect them?”
He grasped her hand. “I would protect you first.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Robert. None of us will survive by hiding. We have to fight. This Julian is still a newborn. His luck will not hold.”
They began the long journey back to Italy, to the villa, where they found two piles of dust, just inside the terrace.
Jessenia fell to her knees. “It is them,” she said. “My maker told me that we turn to dust. They are gone.”
This was the first time Jessenia had ever mentioned her maker.
“We have to go,” Robert said. “We need to leave this place now.” An unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling had begun crawling around inside him. He couldn’t quite place it, but he believed it was fear. “Jessenia, come. There is nothing you can do.”
She let him lead her through the front doors, into the dense gardens. Cristina had always liked thick, wild gardens. Jessenia stumbled out ahead of him, and he longed to comfort her, but what could he say?
His mind was churning with decisions over the best possible place to take her and hide, when she walked past a mulberry tree, and the darkness beside her seemed to move on its own. A glint arced through the air, and her head flew off her body before his eyes could absorb what was happening. Her body fell forward with a slight thud.
Before he could even scream her name, a wave of memories hit him.
It was nothing like what he had experienced back in England. He was only a few feet away from her, and he buckled from the impact, rolling on the ground. And what he saw . . . He saw her dressed as an English lady in the fifteenth century in a velvet gown and headpiece with her hair pinned beneath. He saw a vampire with a wizened face lecturing over a small pile of books, hitting her hand with a wooden pointer, and going on with the lecture. But her name was not Jessenia back then. It was Jane.
The memories went on as if Jessenia was speaking to him.
The wizened vampire had wanted a daughter with imagination, and he’d chosen her. He seduced her agreement through promises of travel and learning. But he was coldhearted and cared nothing for her well-being.
Yet only when he allowed her to begin meeting other vampires, such as Cristina and Demetrio, did she understand the loneliness of her existence. She wanted a different life.
She ran away.
She was alone and lost and frightened—even of some mortals, once