In the Forests of the Night

'Who—Who are you?' he stammered, afraid.

'Who do you think I am, child?'

I tend to avoid most of my kind, and destroy those who insist on approaching. Because of this, few recognize me. 'Whose are you?' I snapped when he did not immediately respond. I received only a blank stare in return.

I reached into his mind and tore out the information I wanted. Those of my line are the strongest of the vampires when it comes to using our minds, and never have I found a reason to avoid exercising that power. When I found what I sought, I threw the human away from me.

I swore as I realized who this human belonged to.

Aubrey…He is one of the few vampires stronger than I. He is also the only one who would care about my presence in his land.

I had been in this part of New York City before but had never encountered Aubrey or any of his servants here. Yet, according to this human, the place belonged to my enemy.

My attacker smiled mockingly. Perhaps he thought I was afraid of his master. Indeed, I fear Aubrey more than anything else on this Earth, but not enough to spare this boy. Aubrey would learn about my being on his territory one way or another, and this child was bothering me.

'Ryan,' I crooned, finding his name as I read his mind. He relaxed slightly. I smiled, flashing fangs, and he paled to a chalky white. 'You made me lose my prey.'

Before he had a chance to run, I stepped toward him, placing a hand on the back of his neck. As I did so I caught his eye, whispering a single word to his mind: Sleep. He went limp, and did not fight as my fangs pierced his throat. I could taste a trace of Aubrey's blood in the otherwise mortal elixir that ran through Ryan's veins, and that taste made me shiver.

I did not bother disguising the kill. If Aubrey wished to claim that street, he could deal with the body and the human authorities. Either way, Aubrey would feel my aura and know I had been there; very few would dare to kill one of Aubrey's servants on his own territory.

Though I feared Aubrey and dreaded what would happen should I confront him again, I refused to show that fear. That was the first time our paths had crossed in nearly three hundred years; I would not show that I still feared him.

Aubrey…Hatred flickers through me at the thought of him.

The long-stemmed rose lies on the scarlet comforter over my bed, its petals soft, perfectly formed, and black.

I pick up the rose, cutting my hand on a thorn, which is as sharp as a serpent's tooth. I look at the blood for a moment as the wound heals, reminded of a time long ago; then absently I lick it away. My mind returns again to the time when I was still Rachel Weatere—a time when I was given another black rose.

Then I did not lick the blood away.

CHAPTER 4 1701

'Rachel,' Lynette said to me. 'You have a caller. Papa is waiting with him.' Her tone reminded me of a pouting child.

Nearly a month had gone by since Lynette had been burned. My sister was unaware of Alexander's tortured mind; she knew nothing of the powers that he was so afraid of, and believed the fire to be an accident.

Alexander had not spoken to me again about the things he saw, though I recognized the moments when the visions surfaced in his mind. I alone noticed when his face went dark and his focus changed, as if he was listening to voices only he could hear.

When I reached the door, I saw what had made Lynette unhappy. The caller was a dark-haired, black-eyed young man whom I knew only vaguely. Lynette was fourteen, and she resented the attention the boys in town paid to me, though she would never have said so aloud.

Alexander was looking at the visitor with a dark gaze. I remembered his confession to me about the things he saw, and how he could hear the thoughts in minds around him. I was afraid to know what he was seeing and hearing now.

Turning away from my brother, I looked at our visitor. He wore black breeches and a crimson shirt. The color was too bold for the time; the dyes for such brilliant hues were expensive. The whole outfit had probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

'Please come in,' my papa was saying. 'I'm Peter Weatere, Rachel's father, and this is my son, Alexander. This is my other daughter, Lynette,' he added as we joined them. 'And of course you know Rachel.'

Papa assumed that, since our visitor had asked for me, he knew me. But I had seen him before only in passing, and the one time I had spoken with him, I had not been told his name.

'Aubrey Karew,' the young man introduced himself, shaking my father's hand. I heard the faintest trace of an accent, though I could not place it. I had not been given much exposure to different languages.

I looked up, and Aubrey's eyes seemed to catch me. They sent shivers down my spine. Something kept me from looking away, as if I was a bird caught in the eyes of a snake.

'How may I help you, Mr. Karew?' my father was asking. I tried to keep my eyes down, as was proper, but could not. Aubrey's eyes were hypnotizing, and I could not force my gaze away from them.

Then this strange young man handed me a rose, which I took without thinking. I should not have been taking gifts from young men my father had barely met, but the way this man's eyes caught me had startled me, and I took the rose before I even realized what it was.

'Mr. Karew,' my father said, frowning, 'this is rather improper—'

'You're right,' Aubrey said.

Papa stood dumbstruck. I looked at the rose, which I was still holding. It was beautiful—such long-stemmed roses did not grow in the northern colonies. For a moment I thought it was deep red, but soon I realized it was black. One of the thorns caught the skin of my hand, drawing blood, and I transferred the rose to my other hand, hoping no one had noticed.

I looked back up at Aubrey, whose eyes had fallen to the cut on my hand, and another shiver went down my back. He turned abruptly and left. He was gone before anyone could say a word.

My father turned to me, his face stern, but my brother intervened.

'It is too late to discuss our visitor rationally. We need to sleep before the bell rings for church tomorrow.' I knew my brother well, and I recognized his tone: he did wish to discuss Aubrey, but not with my father. Papa nodded; he respected my brother.

Alexander had been the only one in my family who noticed my cut. After my father left, he took me out to the well to wash it, his expression worried.

'What is wrong, Alexander?' I asked him, still holding the rose, though I hardly noticed that I was doing so. 'You look as if our guest had a serpent's tongue.'

'Perhaps he did,' Alexander said, his voice hushed and dark. 'A black-eyed boy we have never seen comes to our door and offers you a black rose. You take his gift and cannot seem to put it down, even after it has drawn blood from you.'

'What are you saying?' I whispered, shocked.

'I may not have signed the Devil's book, but that does not mean there are not creatures out there who belong to him.'

'Alexander!' I whispered, shocked by the implication. He had all but accused this Aubrey Karew of being one of the Devil's creatures.

I looked at the rose, which was still in my hand, and then put it deliberately on the ground, trying to convince my brother—and perhaps myself—that such an action was possible.

Even so, my gaze remained on its black petals, and I realized how Alexander had felt when I told him to speak to a cleric after Lynette's accident. What would be said should I explain to a preacher about the black rose I had accepted? After all, I had heard that people signed the Devil's book with their blood, and my blood had been drawn.