In the Forests of the Night

I lie back on the counter, thinking on his words, and then I too am gone. We are phantoms of the night, coming and going from the darkened city like shadows in candlelight.

I return to my home in a light, detached mood, not bothering with the complexities of revenge. I look out the front window, watching the few who are also returning to bed as the sun rises.

One of Concord's other shadows enters his house—a witch, but only by heritage, as he is not trained. He is not a threat to me.

I also see Jessica, Concord's young writer, looking out her own window. Jessica writes about vampires, and her books are true, though no one understands how she knows what she does. I wonder if I should tell her my story—perhaps she could write it for me. Perhaps it is my story she now writes.

I go upstairs and fall into bed and a vampiric sleep.

My dreams are my memories of the past. I dream of my years of innocence, while I was still fighting what I was.

CHAPTER 15 1704

I DID NOT RETURN to my home for three years, and when I finally did, no one saw me.

It was nearly midnight when I stopped in Concord, which was intentional. I did not wish to run into any humans.

I did not want to be recognized, of course, but more than that I was not sure I could control myself. The last time I had fed had been two nights previous, on a thief who had the ill luck to attack me as I wandered the darkened streets. The thirst beat at me viciously.

Though I consoled myself by saying I only killed those who deserved it, Aubrey's words always echoed in my mind: Are you a god now, Risika, deciding who is to live and who is to die? Thieves and murderers sustained me, but only just. I fed only as often as I needed to in order to survive, and the hunger was always near.

I stood outside the house I had once lived in, perched on the edge of the well, watching the house like a ghost, able to see and hear but unable to do anything else.

Would he recognize me, even if he saw me? The three years had changed me. My fair skin was frosty white, and my golden hair was tangled, not having seen a comb in a while. I wore men's clothing, having lost my patience with long dresses as I explored the forests, mountains, and rivers of the country.

Of course I could have walked up to the door and asked my father if he knew who I was, but I would not. He would only be hurt more when I had to leave again. I would not let him know what I had become.

Lynette was asleep in her room, but my father was awake, and crying. He looked out the window, and though I knew he was looking in my direction, he did not see me. I had learned how to shield my existence from mortal eyes.

The tears on his face sent daggers into my heart. I had a powerful vision of Aubrey and Ather lying dead, with me standing above them. Would anyone weep if they were killed? I did not think so, but I would never have the chance to know. Aubrey had proved beyond any doubt that I would not be the one to give him death.

A woman drifted downstairs behind my father. Her dark hair was tied back, and even from this distance I could see that her eyes were chocolate brown. Her skin was not as fair as my mother's had been. When she put a hand on my father's shoulder, I could see that she did not have the graceful artist's hands my father had often described my mother as having.

'Peter, it's late. You need to sleep.'

My father turned to her and gave a weak smile, and for an instant I felt an irrational urge to go inside and shake this woman. I had seen my father's thoughts, and I knew without a doubt that this stranger was his wife. Her name was Katherine. Had he married her trying to replace us? Did she even know about Alexander and me? Did she care?

These people were no longer my family, that I knew. But I could not help hating this woman for trying to take my place.

'Jealous?' someone said over my shoulder, and I swung around toward Aubrey, knowing that my eyes were narrowed with hatred. 'If she bothers you that much, kill her.'

'I am sure you would appreciate that,' I hissed.

He laughed. 'You have too many morals.'

'And you have none,' I snapped back, trying to keep myself from hitting him. I refused to leave while he was here, his attention on my father and this innocent ¦woman.

Innocent woman…strange, how my opinion changed so quickly. As soon as Aubrey suggested I kill her, I felt the need to protect her.

'I have some morals, I suppose,' he argued, though his voice was light. He had taken no offense at the accusation. 'But none that interfere with the way I survive. Look at yourself, Risika—you can hardly preach the benefits of morality.'

Though I did not hate myself for killing to survive, I feared that I would one day become as indifferent to murder as Aubrey was.

' If you came here to convince me to abandon my morals, you are wasting your time,' I snapped.

'You are hardly my only motive for being here,' he answered lazily.

My father and his wife had decided to get some air and were now sitting on the back porch, quietly discussing how the farm was doing, Lynette's suitors, and everything else except for the reason my father had been crying.

As if he could sense my gaze on him, my father turned toward me, but this time his eyes went wide, as if he could see me despite my efforts.

Standing, he took a step in my direction before his wife put a hand on his arm.' There's no one there, Peter,' she insisted, and my father sighed.

'I could have sworn I saw her. …' He shook his head, taking a raspy breath.

'You could have sworn you saw her a few days ago, but she was not there. You thought you saw your son the week before that, but he was not there. They never are, Peter, and they never will be. Let them go.'

My father turned about and went inside the house. Katherine closed her eyes for a moment and whispered a prayer.

Why did she not help him herself? Was she so blind that she could not see how much her words had hurt him?

Aubrey laughed beside me. 'You are jealous.'

I spun toward him again, losing my temper. 'Could you go somewhere else?'

'I could,' he said. 'But this is more fun.'

'Damn you.'

He shrugged, then looked past me to my father's wife, who had just stood and moved toward the house.

She hesitated, then turned slowly, sensing eyes on her back.

'Leave her alone, Aubrey,' I commanded.

'Why?'

Katherine looked up as if she had heard a sound, and then walked toward us, though I could tell that she did not really see Aubrey or me.

I clenched my fists, knowing that he was baiting me and knowing equally well that if he had set his mind on killing this woman, there was no way I could stop him.

Katherine gasped as Aubrey stopped hiding himself from her. She froze, eyes wide.

'Fine, Aubrey—you have made your point,' I snapped, stepping between him and his prey. 'Now leave.'

'And what point would that be?' he inquired. 'I do not share your reservations, Risika. I hunt when I wish, as I always have.'

'Hunt somewhere else,' I said. His eyes narrowed.

'Who … Wh-What do you want?' Katherine stammered, backing away from us. She was breathing quickly,