She was dead and walking, but she wasn't a ghost.
The word that occurred to me was zombie.
Vampires, Stefan had once told me, have different talents.
He and Marsilia could vanish and reappear somewhere else.
There were vampires who could move things without touching them.
This one had power over the dead.
Ghosts who obeyed him.
No one escapes, he'd told me.
Not even in death.
I followed Amber up a long flight of stairs to the main floor of the house.
We arrived in a broad swath of space that was both dining room, kitchen, and living room.
It was daylight ...
morning from the position of the sun--maybe ten o'clock or so.
But it was dinner that was set at the table.
A roast--pork, my nose belatedly told me--sat splendidly adorned with roasted carrots and potatoes.
A pitcher of ice water, a bottle of wine, and a loaf of sliced homemade bread.
The table was big enough to seat eight, but there were only five chairs.
Corban and Chad were sitting next to each other, with their backs to us on the only side set with two places.
The remaining three chairs were obviously of the same set, but one, the one opposite Corban and Chad, had a padded backrest and arms.
I sat down next to Chad.
"But, Mercy, that's my place," Amber said.
I looked at the boy's tear-stained face and Corban's blank one ...
He, at least, was still breathing.
"Hey, you know I like kids," I told her.
"You get him all the time." Blackwood still hadn't arrived.
"Does Jim speak ASL?" I asked Amber.
Her face went blank.
"I can't answer any questions about Jim.
You'll have to ask him." She blinked a couple of times, then she smiled at someone just behind me.
"No, I don't," said Blackwood.