“We’re related to them?”
“Going back to our days in France. But I digress, as you did not come here for a history lesson. I tell you all this only so you understand that I do believe you, and you are not losing your mind for believing you’ve had an encounter with a vampire. You have. And it is quite possible your brother has, as well, if your vision proves true. If he has, then the de Blancheforts have broken the unspoken truce between us, and that cannot go unanswered.”
“How do I know if my vision is true? There has to be a way to be certain.”
“I can sense you wish for me to consult the Deschanel seers for validation, but that is not how a seer learns to cull his visions into action. A seer learns by trusting his own self, and by listening to the words within him that bring thought to image. If you rely on others to interpret your visions, you will lose your faith in yourself, and for a seer, that is all you have. So I ask you again, tell me what you saw.”
Kelley took a deep breath and recounted the strange flashes of blood at the carnival. Of the vampire—this one, female, and beautiful—looking up with her radiant blue eyes, crimson dripping from her chin. It was not Kieran she feasted upon, but someone who had been with Kieran.
Kieran, then, in a trunk. Alive, still, but the reason was unclear. Bayou. A boat. Kieran trussed but unharmed. Afraid, but also exhilarated. Curious.
“Right then. I’ll have Aria cancel my next appointment. I am no seer myself, but I will try to instruct you in how to turn vague impressions into useful details. I don’t know if we can save your brother, but I know we can find him. How quickly is up to you. Are you ready?”
Kelley nodded so fast his vision blurred.
10
Elisabeth
Elisabeth shoved handfuls of blackberries into her Birkin, creating a deep purple mush in the lining of the expensive bag her aunt insisted she needed. Victorine would lose her mind when she saw the growing stains, but she had nowhere else to put the stupid berries. She hadn’t risen that morning intending to kill an innocent college student and kidnap the boyfriend, only to have to then decide whether to kill him after all or do what was necessary to keep him alive.
She didn’t want to kill him. She didn’t want to kill anyone. For a century and a half, Elisabeth de Blanchefort had done everything in her power to find better ways. Bayou animals were not as satisfying, but they were enough, sometimes. When they weren’t, she’d read the police reports from the local paper and find the very worst of society. Even that didn’t sit well with her, because a life was a life. Over time, she learned to go longer without blood, and she was proud of this. Her resolve was stronger than any other de Blanchefort, even if the word they would’ve used to describe this was weakness. It had been over a hundred years since she’d been so artless with a kill as she had been that night.
Stepping over swamp detritus and cypress knees, her mind wandered back to the days Victor brought her here.
He’d started taking her on his Rougarou hunts before she’d been given the Master’s gift. She often wondered why he chose her, a third grandchild, and a girl to boot. Her oldest brother, Benjamin, had been the heir, and there was even a spare in Geoffrey, but Victor chose Elisabeth. Every August, they’d spend two weeks in the ramshackle cabin, mostly in silence, reflecting on every sound outside in case it was the one they’d come for.
It never was, except that one time. But as Elisabeth aged from a girl to a young woman, she began to suspect that it wasn’t why they came. Or at least, not why he came with her.
Elisabeth, he said, when she was about sixteen. You’ve said nothing to your mother and father about accepting your gift. All your siblings have either been to the Master’s Tree, or look forward to doing so once they have come into their full adult form. But not you.
I don’t know if I will, Papa.
What troubles you, mon cher? What have you not told your mother and father?
Elisabeth was afraid to answer. Not afraid of her grandfather. Never him. But of what he might think of her, if she chose honesty.
But Victor de Blanchefort was a reader of minds, and though all de Blancheforts were taught from a young age to block such intrusions, he always seemed to know when she was lying.
I’m afraid to kill, Papa. No, not afraid. That’s not right. I’m not afraid to kill. I’m afraid of... of what killing will do to me.
Is that all?
Elisabeth was so taken back by his answer all she could say was, is that not everything?
You fear a loss of your humanity. But you will no longer be human. Dhampir live by their own rules, and they are essential, but they are not the rules of man. We are not bound by the ethics and morals of a mortal race once we take the gift, and so our souls, for whatever they are, are free from such judgment.
But... all I know is my humanity. I was raised on it. It is part of me, if not all of me, and I cannot simply forget it once I am something else.
Mon cher, you will never forget it. You will wish you had never had it. You will revile it, spit upon it, be glad it’s gone! You will be washed anew, in the blood of the Master, for a life bigger than your mortal mind can ever imagine! I have loved not once but many times. I have lived
