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to make my decision about the Movement. I deserved to know the truth about my
undead birth. As much help as Nathan had been, it wasn t his blood flowing
through my veins.
A curious ache filled me at the thought of Cyrus, and I wondered if this
yearning was a symptom of the blood tie. And if it was, would this strange
link protect me from more harm at the hands of my sire?
Without allowing myself to dwell on fear, I stuffed the map into my pocket. I
called in to work to say I wouldn t be in. When I hung up, a vaguely empty
feeling came over me, the realization that I might not return to the hospital.
I forced the thought aside and opened the closet.
Though there were plenty of weapons at my disposal, I took a stake, the
smallest and easiest to conceal of the bunch. Besides, I knew what to do with
a stake. The spiky-ball-on-a-stick thing looked considerably more complicated
to operate. Of course, a stake wouldn t protect me from Dahlia, if she was
still waiting for me. But Nathan was a vampire hunter, not a witch hunter. I
suppose I could douse her with water and melt her like inThe Wizard of Oz, if
it came to that.
I almost left a note for Nathan but decided against it. I realized there was
nothing I could write that wouldn t seem like I d turned my back on all of his
help. There was no way to soften the truth.
As helpful and considerate as he d been, there were some questions Nathan
couldn t answer. For those, I d have to face my fear the way I had that night
in the morgue.
I had to meet my sire.
Six
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John Doe
The day obviously hadn t been a warm one. The twilight air was cold enough to
steal the breath from my lungs.
I d found my wool coat hanging over the towel rack in the bathroom. It
appeared Nathan had spot-cleaned the blood from it. But it didn t keep me warm
as I walked the miles from Nathan s apartment to the address on the paper.
Being dead had some serious disadvantages, like constantly assuming room
temperature, no matter what that temperature might be.
While my car still sat at the curb outside the bookshop, the keys were
probably still on the ground outside the donor house. There was no way I d go
back there. I preferred walking.
I was familiar with the posh neighborhood. When I d been new to the city, I d
often drive through the winding streets and marvel at the modern mansions and
fairy-talechâteaus . They looked completely out of place in the sparsely
wooded area. Tall brick walls and elaborate gates wrapped around the lots.
Some had privacy hedges with formidable-looking security cameras that glared
at passersby with cold, glassy eyes. From the shelter of my car, I d
daydreamed about the people living in these houses and imagined living in one
myself ten years down the road. The fantasies had always featured a handsome
yet oddly faceless husband and our adorable, ambiguous children. Only one
house had ever been the feature of a horror story in my mind.
That one turned out to be Cyrus s.
A severe Edwardian manor, it sat far back on a lawn surrounded by a stone
wall. The wrought-iron gate at the drive looked as though it hadn t been
opened in centuries. There was no intercom or bell. I gripped the iron bars
and gave a push. The hinges didn t creak, and the gate swung open to admit me.
I d never felt so exposed in my entire life as I walked toward the house. The
driveway cut a paved swath through the lawn, whichglowed an eerie green in the
moonlight. Any moment, they d release the dogs, I was sure. And I hated dogs.
Lucky for me, no one seemed to notice my presence, even as I neared the front
door. With every footstep my confidence built, until I got close enough to
grasp the doorknob.
The door was open.
I froze. I d believed no one had seen me coming. As I looked over my shoulder
at the broad expanse of lawn, I realized how foolish that assumption had been.
The full moonlight might as well have been stadium lighting. Not to mention
someone was probably watching me through the security camera mounted above the
lintel. I swallowed my fear and stepped inside.
Hello? I called, my voice sounding like the dumb female protagonist of
aslasher flick. Your door is open.
I know.
Before I could turn to find the source of the voice, strong arms wrapped
around me.The echo of the slamming door sounded final, like the felling of a
judge s gavel.
Whoever held me was not a vampire. I don t know how I knew. I just did. Maybe
it was the smell of his blood, or the surge of power I felt at the realization
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I could easily overcome him and make my escape. But the foyer was completely
dark, and I had no idea where I d find the door. Healing abilities and
heightened reflexes were cool and all, but I really wished we came equipped
with night vision. I cursed the total unfairness of it.
The Master doesn t like that kind of language, the man holding me
admonished.
My captor shoved me with surprising strength. I collided painfully with a set
of double doors, which opened under my weight and spilled me into the next
room.
I wiped a trickle of blood from my nose, sickened at my compulsion to taste
it. My eyes adjusted to the dark, and I saw the room was very lavish. Leaded
windowpanes stretched from the gilded ceiling high above all the way to the
marble floor where I lay sprawled. A fresco was painted on the wall. I
couldn t make out the figures distinctly, but there was a lot of nakedness
going on. It was like I d died and been sent to a really Baroque version of
hell. Somehow, though, I couldn t imagine Satan having bad enough taste to
hang red velvet drapes.
Six black-clad men stood guard around the room, two stationed at each door,
including the one I d just been thrown through. The thrower stepped in. He was
dressed the same as the guards.
Watch her, he ordered the two closest men, and all the sentries nodded
their heads.
When the thrower left, I climbed to my feet and took a few steps to the
right. Each of the guards heads swiveled slightly to follow me. I stepped to
the left, with the same results. I had an overwhelming compulsion to boogie a
little and see if they copied that, too.
Just then a door opened to admit a shadowy figure.
Though the sliver of light spilling in distorted my vision, I could tell from
her scent it was Dahlia. My mouth watered at the memory of her blood.
One of the guards reached out as if to prevent her from entering, but she
raised her hands and he inexplicably dropped his arm. A tremor of fear seemed
to go through all the sentries. It was as tangible as a tidal wave crashing
over my head. They were afraid of Dahlia.
She crossed the room slowly and waved a hand at the darkness.
Illuminate, she commanded, and light flooded the room.
I forced myself not to retreat as she advanced. Nice trick. I prefer the
clapper, but to each his own.
I can t remember where I picked it up, but it s handy, she said casually.
Not as useful as my other ones.
She walked in a wide circle around me. So, you lived. I would have thought
there was a lesson in that experience.
I shrugged. Maybe I m a slow learner.
Really?Then perhaps you need a visual aide. She waved her hand again and
mumbled a long command in a language I didn t recognize. Nathan s lifeless
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body appeared on the floor, his blood in a dark pool around him.
The sight stole my breath. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came.
But Nathan wasn t dead.This is just a trick, I told myself.Don t let it rattle
you.
The vision evaporated as quickly as it had appeared.
Dahlia laughed like a child with a new toy. You bought that? For a doctor,
you re not very bright.
I rounded on her and felt the change come over me. For a moment, I thought I
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