Page 54 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
She was now a ruined woman, the mistress of a vampire, and a disgrace to her ancestors.
So much had changed in less than a week.
Despite the challenges, what she regretted most were all the vampires she’d hunted before coming to her senses. Some had been as murderous as any human and would have killed her if she hadn’t beaten them to it, but she still didn’t think she’d ever be able to pick up her weapons again.
Ten years of her life had been dedicated to revenge. Empty years full of anger and hatred.
She sighed and rolled over. A beam of sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains and landed on her arm. She stared at it for several seconds before jerking upright.
“Jonathan?”
No response.
Had he returned to his haven while she’d slept? She hoped so. It was incredibly dangerous for a vampire to venture outside during the day. She got to her feet and began dressing, grateful that she’d chosen to wear a front-lacing corset and simple linen day dress. Still, it took more than a quarter hour to make herselfpresentable enough to exit the parlor and with every passing minute; she felt more certain that something was terribly wrong.
She tried to calm her racing heart by thinking through her situation logically. Jonathan was impulsive, but not foolhardy. There was no reason to believe he was in any danger.
She remembered the courtyard where he’d first saved her. A small part of her had known at that moment that he’d been different. He’d disposed of the fledgling so efficiently, although much of the attack was a blur. All she recalled was snapping jaws and tattered burgundy fabric. That was a blessing, as her dreams had included vivid moments from the attack outside the gambling hall with the emaciated creature in the pale-yellow dress.
Wait. Both fledglings had seemed oddly familiar.
She came to a sudden halt as she realized where she’d seen them before: entering the building that neighbored the Sorrow townhouse. First, the man who had rudely charged up the steps and pounded on the door before being let inside, and then the woman in the dress the color of daffodils whom Felicity had knocked into on the street.
It could not have been a coincidence.
Mordecai had assured her the vampire who had owned the dagger was dead, but what if he’d been wrong or lying?
She had to at least check.
*
After the thirdknock with no response, Felicity confirmed no one on the street was watching, then tested the handle. The door opened, releasing a burst of incense. The smoke made her eyes burn, but she pushed through it and entered, letting the door slam behind her. The smell was even worse inside, the incense barely covering the powerful aroma of rotting flesh.
A week earlier, she would have immediately withdrawn her weapons and ventured deeper. But having barely survived two attacks in a single week, she was not eager to charge off and risk her life a third time. Better to retreat and return later with Jonathan or Winifred.
She turned around and reached for the door, but her wrist was caught by a skeletal hand draped in tattered black lace.
“Leaving already?” a raspy voice asked.
Felicity reached for her knives before remembering she’d forgotten to don her bandolier before running out of Jonathan’s house. A foolish decision, but hopefully not the last she ever made.
The vampire yanked her around, and when Felicity saw her attacker’s face, she gasped. The angles of the woman’s face were much sharper, and the lace veil draped over her head was full of holes, but there was no doubt in Felicity’s mind that this was the woman who had killed her parents.
“I wondered how long it would take you to find me,” the woman said. She released her painful grip on Felicity’s wrist. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Sorrow. Have you come to take your revenge?”
Felicity opened and closed her mouth several times. “Y-Yes. No.” The answer should have been easy, but the fury she’d once been able to command when she thought about her parents’ murder refused to come. The culprit was standing in front of her, but the idea of staining her hands with the blood of yet another vampire made Felicity’s stomach churn. She sagged against the wall. “I don’t know.”
The woman raised one thin eyebrow. “What do you want, then?”
“Answers,” Felicity said. “Who are you? Why did you kill my parents? Why didn’t you kill me?” The guilt she’d suppressed foryears welled up and lodged in her throat. “You knew I was in the cupboard. Why did you let me live?”
The woman studied her fingernails. “Humans. So short-sighted. To answer your first question, I was once the Countess Sombran, but you must call me ‘Marguerite.’ As for the rest, it’s simple, child. I am a gardener. A pruner of the threads of fate.”
“I don’t understand.” Felicity grasped for the knob behind her. The sun was still high enough that if she could get outside, she doubted the countess—Marguerite—would follow. If only the door swung outward, she could have already made her escape.
Marguerite tutted. “My visions told me you were headed down the wrong path, hunter. One that would have led you away from Jonathan. As I could not find a thread where your parents lived and you still met him, I took steps to rectify the situation.”
Felicity’s stomach twisted at Jonathan’s name even as her fingers landed on the cool metal of the knob. “What does Mr. Drake have to do with my parents?” She had to find him and tell him she’d found the maker responsible for the attacks. They could interrogate her together and then deliver her to justice.
