Page 3 of Silent Stalker
“Served rare.”
“Yes.”
“She used to be a vegetarian?” Emerick asked, his tone soft.
I’d been around him long enough to understand his rage boiled within him, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation.
“Not quite, but close enough. I suspect her transition to chicken would have been the result of being exposed to vampiric blood. But how was she initially exposed? That is what we were not able to figure out. It was easier to pinpoint when her mother was targeted—and it makes me believe that Pepper’s father has been fooling everyone.”
“He’s not a vampire. He goes out in the daytime often,” I said.
“But are you sure?”
I blinked. “What do you mean? There’s been no evidence he might be a vampire.”
“And at first glance, your maker tricks others into believing he isn’t a vampire. He can walk under the sun despite being young,” Clarke countered. “If one can do it, there’s no reason to believe another vampire can’t—or that your father is dabbling in even stronger magic than I believed possible. I can walk under the sun and mask my status as a vampire quite well. I choose not to. Emerick can as well. He also chooses not to.”
“There is a flaw with this,” Emerick stated. “She has no capacity for resisting the sun.”
“Oh?” Clarke asked, and the vampire’s toothy smile unnerved me.
“Why are you smiling?” I asked, afraid of the answer but refusing to allow my discomfort to stop me from pursuing the truth of my situation.
“I could throw you into the desert without a spec of shade in sight, and you wouldn’t burn. You would sleep. It took talking to your mother to figure it out. While you were made by another vampire, it was my blood that strengthened you and allowed you to live—but now that I know more, I think you would have risen even without any blood at all. If your mother is correct, you were maybe aged five when someone decided you would one day be a vampire. The practice might work, Emerick. We might not lose any if we were to try it ourselves, but with consent.” Clarke strolled to where my stakes waited on the dresser, picking up the one that had killed Carnegie, the nastiest of the prey I’d drained dry. “She rose faster, stronger, and attuned to sunlight. Instead of trying to kill her, the sun’s light cherishes her, and comforts her into a deep sleep. Any potential burning would be due to so long without any sunlight exposure, not because of magic. I paid attention when her stakes glowed. The stake worked magic—magic that eased the sun’s hold on her. Someone went too far with the protective magic, so she hibernates instead of burns. Pepper, did your mother’s personality change during the day compared to at night?”
I considered protesting his claim, but I kept my mouth shut and took the time to consider his words, thinking back on the past I wanted to forget. “She was always more relaxed during the day. At night, she’d be edgy—wary. She would knit as much as possible after I got home from school or work. During the day, she preferred other crafts. She made my father’s blanket at night when he was always hovering.”
I realized what bothered me.
My mother had acted like prey at night.
“Prey instinct,” I finally whispered. “It’s prey instinct. She would relax during the day because she wasn’t threatened, but the instant night fell, she became so wary, as though monsters would come out of the closet.”
“She detected a predator, and she reacted accordingly. That predator might be your father—or someone near your father. But there is no way that your father wouldn’t have been aware of your changes. At the very least, I believe him to be complicit in your making. While he will not be the one to make your mother into a vampire, she had the choice taken from her regardless. While I do believe that the amount of blood factored in Pepper’s swift recovery, the extended exposure to vampiric blood is part of her strength. I come bearing other news.”
Emerick exhaled a gusty breath. “Do I want to know?”
“You do.”
“What news, then?”
“One of my brood’s wives was old and dying. We attempted to raise her as she was dying anyway. We had nothing to lose.”
Emerick stiffened, but while he waited, he said nothing.
“She woke yesterday after sunset, and while she is not as resilient as your Pepper, she has begun her second life. We used twenty pints spread across two broods. We assured her she would not be inducted into any brides brood, and the brides brood handled most of the blood she required, although all members of my brood contributed blood, myself included. Normally, I would have stayed in Europe for a few more days to attend to her personally, but this was too important. We changed our tradition, and so she lived. She will be welcome among the brides, but she will never be asked to leave the man she has loved for her long but mortal life. It is only one success, but we have a second proof of concept. I have already notified the other brides broods, but I have made sure that they understand that the method is not guaranteed to work, and that your brood is still leading in research on how best to approach future turnings.”
“I cannot express my gratitude for coming when you have a new turning,” Emerick said.
“We all understand the importance of me discussing this with you personally. It doesn’t guarantee we can raise other women, but it’s a start. I do need to leave soon. I must make it back to Europe before Pepper’s mother thirsts. At this stage, I want to directly monitor how she consumes blood. That I need to take control to quell her impulse to drink now is not a good sign for the future.”
“Her predatory instincts are already awakening,” Emerick replied in a troubled tone.
“Yes, and I suspect her other appetites will waken soon as well. Her taking directly from my vein may have been a mistake.” Clarke set the stake down and picked up another, rolling it between his hands. “This leads me to my next request. Pepper, I would ask you to make a stake meant for your mother. If it’s carved with your hand and imbued with your desire for her ongoing survival, it might be the safest for her should she fall to her thirst. We have no way to realistically age the stake properly, and I do not want to make a lethal mistake with her.”
I already had a stake that met his requirements, and I went to the dresser, picking up the first one I had ever carved, stroking my fingers along its length. “This one, then. It was the first I made, and when I carved it, I grieved for losing her, fearing she would hate what I had become. I just wanted her to be free from my father and have a chance to be happy.”
As always, the wood warmed against my skin.
