by Anna Katmore
The light shining through the east windows in the corridor and great hall fades as the sun moves over the castle. Standing directly in front of a window would still burn my skin, but running past is something I happily risk. My skin gets a little warm, but that’s it. I make it to the kitchen, leaving the door open for a spark of light, and inspect the many shelves and cupboards. There’s a pumper next to a hutch—the ancient version of a sink and faucet. I pump a few times until the thing throws up a mouthful of mud. It takes a while until the water runs clean.
A huge wooden trough stands in one corner, and there are several buckets stacked next to the out-of-use stove. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this isn’t only a kitchen but also a bathroom. Yeah, because I can so see myself taking a royal bath in that barrel. I roll my eyes and continue with my tour.
Close to the stove, there’s another door. The larder, I suppose. I open it and immediately slam it shut again. More rats. Dead this time. Yuck, they reek!
Holding my breath, I rush to the door, lean against the frame, and take in a lungful of stale castle air—which is still better than rotten rat odor. It’s then I notice the change in the light. The curtains are still untouched and open like before, but the entire hall is tainted in a much darker atmosphere than it was ten minutes ago. How strange. It’s far too early for nightfall.
Intrigued, I walk closer to the tall window in the hall and peek out. No burn on my skin, no vaporizing to vampire dust. What the hell?
Swallowing hard, I come to a decision and crack the front door open. When I stick out my hand, it remains undamaged. The experience leaves me with a tingle of excitement. Is it actually safe to go outside?
My every step is cautious as I open the door a little wider and walk through. A few feet away from the castle, I’m still alive. The sky is a soft mix of blue and violet. No clouds anywhere, just a gaggle of wild geese flying across the expanse. Moving slower than ever before and ready to dash back inside at the first burning sting on my skin, I make it to the corner of the castle and carefully peek around.
There’s no sun anywhere, and yet it’s not fully dark.
Twilight…
I’ve heard of it before, but I’ve never seen it. When I look around myself and farther out into the distance, I finally understand what’s happening. The mountains in the west are hiding the sun, but its light is still strong enough to illuminate the sky. My heartbeat accelerates with excitement. And so does my breathing.
I spread my arms like an eagle, throw my head back, and laugh so loudly, the birds in the trees around me flutter up anxiously. From high above, they scold me for breaking the peace in the castle’s garden, but I don’t care. This is the most glorious day I’ve seen in a long time. The first day I’ve seen since Uncle Vlad changed me into a vampire. Absolutely nothing could ruin this for me.
Something falls on my right shoulder. Bird poop. Just great.
“Thank you!” I growl, dropping my arms and bending my neck to stare at the white spot on my t-shirt. With a deep sigh, I return to my room and change clothes once more. Then I tuck my phone and charger into my jeans’ pockets. Maybe there’s an internet café somewhere in the village where I can recharge my battery. On my way out, I pull back every single curtain in the castle and open the few windows that work. A night full of fresh air will do this place a hell of good.
Excited to get out of my isolation and meet some people in the village, I run down the path faster than any human could. There’s no one around to see, so why waste precious time? Hunger squeezes my belly, and I have a date with a certain cookie. The girl with the fancy hair must be the only person who’s visited the castle recently because I can easily follow her scent down the road. If I’m lucky, I can track her right to her house.
With that thought in mind, I speed up once more, passing the woods in a blur. I run as fast as my feet can carry me until I slam into an invisible wall—invisible but very solid—and everything goes dark.
Chapter 5
That was not a kiss, you dummy!
Abigail
“Did you know that they’re going to shoot the movie Frankenstein in the old castle?” I blurt out as soon as I return to Nana’s garden where she’s still milking the goats. “There’s a guy in town, preparing everything for a film set.” I would not tell her where I actually met him. “His name is Quentin something, and he brought a real coffin. Well, not a real-real one, only a prop, but it looked so realistic that it scared the crap out of me.”
Nana doesn’t seem as happy about it as I am.
Now, sitting under the apple tree, I wonder why she looked so horrified. A movie…it’s so exciting! Of course, it’s big for a little village like this, but even these people should appreciate the extraordinary opportunity. After all, they do have TVs in their small houses and love to watch animal documentaries or whatever.
Rosemarie! Surely, she will share in my excitement. I’m tempted to text her, but I want to see her face when I tell her. Oh, I can just imagine how her eyes will pop out with surprise. Snickering, I stuff a bite of my fifth piece of apple strudel into my mouth.
Nana, who started knitting on the wooden bench in front of the house after our discussion, nodded off in the warm afternoon sun half an hour ago. She still clutches the knitting needles as if she’s working them. With her head lolling forward, she’s certain to have a kink in her neck later, but I can’t bring myself to wake her.
A few minutes ago, the ball of wool dropped from her lap and rolled down the sloping path that leads to the road outside the garden. One of Nana’s four kittens developed an obsession with the yarn and now rolls back and forth with it. Since both are as black as night, it’s hard to tell where the wool ends, and the kitten begins. While two of the other kitties are curled on my lap, Tinka, the calico momma cat, lies in the grass and licks her fourth baby, a fluffy gray tiger.
Unfortunately, cats don’t make great conversation partners and, with Nana snoring in the sun, I get bored really quickly. After finishing off the last piece of apple strudel and setting the plate down so the cats can feast on the crumbs, I decide to go for a walk. The sun will disappear behind the mountains in a few minutes. Even though we still get a couple of extra hours of daylight, I want to savor every single ray of sun on my skin.
I’m about to hop down from the low stone wall surrounding the garden when Nana startles me with a grunt and asks in a raspy tone, “Where are you going?”
“Just for a walk.”
“It’ll be dark soon. Don’t stay out too long.”
Standing on the wall, I scrutinize her with narrowed eyes. “We still have two hours. And since when are you worried about me being out after dark?”
“Since a wolf is roaming the woods and eating farmer Olson’s sheep.” Nana puts her knitting needles aside, rises, collects the wool ball and the fur ball, and brings both back to the bench. “A few days ago, the animal was seen really close to the village. I don’t want you outside at night.” She puts the wool and needles into the box then straightens the patterned apron over her dark dress. I can’t remember a single day when she hasn’t worn one of those. Usually, there is always some kind of candy in the big front pocket—or whatever else a good housewife keeps there, things like tissues and keys.
Today, however, Nana fishes out a darn air horn and comes over. She must have been carrying it all day, waiting for the right moment to give it to me. It’s one of those things football fans use in stadiums, just a lot smaller. The pocket edition, apparently. Laughing out loud, I take it when she holds it out to me. “What the hell is this for?”
“To scare away the wolf if you happen to meet him. Or Frankenstein,” she grumbles.
Yep, she’s so not happy about the movie production. Poor Nana. Too much excitement in her dotage. I kiss her cheek and tuck the joke article into the back pocket of my jeans, though the actual horn sticks out because my pants are too tight for this. “See you later, Nana,” I say and leave.
“Don’t wander into the woods alone, Abb
y,” her warning voice follows me. “I mean it.”
I actually don’t intend to. The sun has slid behind the peaks of the mountains by now, and the woods would be too cold without a sweatshirt. But maybe I can catch another glimpse of the movie guy somewhere around the castle. The wonderful twilight here in Ardeal should do away with his sun-phobia.
I amble down the road, hands in my pockets until I reach the crossing that leads up to the castle. The woods stretch out on either side of me, but they’re far enough away that walking up this path shouldn’t get me into any trouble with Nana. The air is still warm, the sky above me a beautiful purple-pink. With my head in the clouds, I suck in a deep breath of country air and enjoy the chirping of the birds, which is the only sound around me. We don’t get that often in Norwich.
When I focus on the road again, I spot something in the distance that looks like a person lying on the ground. Giggling, I wonder if farmer Olson drank too much of his homemade sherry and got tired gathering his sheep. It wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve found him numerous times napping the day away somewhere in the grass. Only, when I get closer, I see that the guy is wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of Roman Olson’s usual overalls.
With my heart crashing against my ribs in fear, I rush to the man’s side and drop to my knees. It’s the movie assistant from the castle, and he doesn’t smell drunk at all. I doubt that he’s even just sleeping because he makes no sound when I nudge his shoulder.
Dear God, did he pass out? “Quentin?” I rasp, my voice croaky as I shake him again. He doesn’t move…or breathe! Hastily, I place two fingers on his throat, but I can’t find a pulse anywhere. No, no, no! I press harder. Still nothing. Is it because I’m searching in the wrong place?
Or because he has none?
“Help!” I scream, but I know that I’m already too far away from the houses for anybody to hear me. My fingers are shaky as I frantically search for a pulse. Bending down, I press my ear to his chest. Please, heartbeat, be there! He was so full of life when I saw him in the castle this morning. He can’t be dead now.
I hardly ever cry, but with no idea what to do next, tears well up in my eyes. Shaking Quentin again, I stare at his pale face with those closed eyelids and soft, pink lips. “Come on, Quentin! Say something. Breathe!” The gravel bites into my knees as I lean over his chest once more to listen for a heartbeat.
But the organ is silent.
Dammit, what was the routine to revive a person? Cold water in the face? A slap upside the head? I want to shout for help again, but in my panic, all that comes out is a frightened whimper.
A cardiac massage. Right! That’s what he needs. And mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I can do that. I trained a couple of years ago in a first-aid course they offered at school. Praying that I remember what I learned, I tilt back his head, open up his airway, pinch his nose closed, and breathe into his mouth. Then I start pressing his chest. “One, two, three, four, five…” Was that enough? Should I do more or breathe into his mouth again? Hell, it was so easy with only a dummy on the ground in front of me.
I give Quentin a second mouthful of my breath and watch as his chest lifts and falls. Then I do another series of pumps on his chest. “One, two, three, four, five…” Another breath.
In a constant rhythm, I give my all to bring him back to life. Don’t die! Don’t die! You stupid idiot brought your own coffin! “Don’t you dare die on me, Quentin!”
Once more, I pinch his nose closed and open his mouth with my free hand, then I lean down and press my lips against his. This time when I breathe into him, I suddenly feel something on my neck that—apart from dealing with a dying person—shocks the living hell out of me. It’s Quentin’s hand sliding under my hair. He pulls me down on top of him a little harder, moaning softly as he swipes his tongue into my mouth.
What the heck? I’m thrown off-kilter so badly, instead of jerking away, I actually return the kiss. Briefly. It’s tender, and Quentin’s lips aren’t cold like those of a dead person. They’re warm and gentle, too. I didn’t notice that before. If this doesn’t convince me that he’s alive again, his soft fingers tangling in my hair certainly do.
A little shaken, I pull away, kneeling over him to stare into his wicked blue eyes.
“Hi there.” He cracks a smile, but it wanes just as fast, and he grimaces. “Is this street frequented by a bus line? I think one knocked me over.”
Ignoring his stupid question, I blurt, “You kissed me!”
At my accusation, he sits upright and rubs the back of his neck. The impish gleam in his eyes is still there. “Well, unless I’m totally mistaken, you kissed me first.”
“I did not!”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You pressed your lips to mine. What do you call that?”
“Resuscitation!” For Christ’s sake! How can he be so arrogant? “I was trying to save your life.” Still fighting to overcome the shock, I pant and scramble to my feet. “You were flipping dead when I found you!”
“Was I?” he mumbles, staring right through me now. “Yeah, that kinda happens to me sometimes.”
“You die?” Jesus, I can’t believe his laidback reaction to what just happened. Pacing back and forth in front of him, I pull at my fringy hair. “I was so scared that you would slip away from me while I was performing CPR, and all you did is kiss me when you woke up. I couldn’t even get help.” Damn, that reminds me. “Do you have your phone on you? We need to call an ambulance, and I left mine back home.”
“The battery is dead. But there’s no need for an ambulance.” Narrowing his eyes, Quentin stands up and walks toward me, but he stops abruptly and squints with even more skepticism.
“What is it?” I ask and rush back to his side. “Do you feel all right? You’re not going to pass out again, are you?”
“No, it’s just… Never mind.” He turns around and takes in the place like he only now realizes where he is. “The sun has set, and yet it’s still bright.”
“It’s hiding behind the mountains in the west. Romania is famous for its twilight,” I tell him absently as I start pacing again to soothe my nerves. Then I get back on track with him. “Your phone? You need to see a doctor. You almost died.”
Quentin follows me but stops at the exact same spot as before. This time, he growls with frustration. As I pass him in the middle of my pacing, he grabs my arm and pulls me across the road, moving me off the path. “I’m fine now. Stop worrying, girl, and sit down, would you? Please.”
I do as he asks and lower down to the still-warm grass. “My name is Abigail Potts.”
“Abigail?” Either he likes my name or something about it amuses him, because the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. It’s a very nice smile. Bright and beautiful. Just right for Hollywood, I suppose. He squats down in front of me and holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to eat you, Abigail.”
I pull in a sharp breath. “What did you say?”
Chapter 6
Start with a small brain
Quentin
Ah, crap. Did I really just tell this girl that I was going to eat her? Hunger must be wreaking havoc. I should stop calling her a cookie in my mind.
Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “To meet you,” I correct myself. “Sorry. It must be the aftermath of that bus collision.” Which wasn’t an auto accident, I’m sure. There’s a freaking barrier across the road, which, for some odd reason, I can’t put a foot through. Little Miss Abigail Potts here doesn’t seem to have any trouble walking happily back and forth through it, but when I step up to it, it’s like running into an invisible brick wall. This isn’t a house I need to be invited into, so what the hell is going on?
With a wary look, Abigail shakes my hand. “I told you, you need to get this checked. Playing dead isn’t funny.”
Right. That I let her—or anyone for that matter—catch me undead was a careless slip, but not something I could have prevented, considering that air knocked me out cold. Coming a
round was fun, though. First, it felt like a bunny using my chest as a trampoline, waking me up. Then the cookie put her lips on mine. And damn, they tasted delicious. I had to kiss her.
Releasing her hand when she pulls back, I skim the tips of my fingers over the inside of her wrist. Her pulse is strong there. Perhaps she’s still anxious from the unnecessary reanimation. If I bite her now, her blood would gush into my mouth, finally satiating that nagging hunger. Since I can’t connect with her mind and make her my willing minion, however, drinking from her would only end in a screaming disaster. I’m not up for that. And even less for the village people hunting me down with stakes and burning torches after that. So, once again, I tamp down my hunger and draw in a deep breath of warm, clean, and absolutely unsatisfying air.
“Now, Abigail Potts,” I say with a charming smile, “how did you find me here? Were you going to the castle again?”
“No. I just went for a walk.” She scrunches her eyes. “How could you be dead like you were and then wake up feeling so well? And so quickly. And did you say that this has happened to you before? What’s wrong with you? Are you like epileptic or something?”
Okay, she’s the persistent, irritating type. No dropping the subject. I get it. But what does she want to hear? That I not only sleep like the dead but that my fangs also grow an inch when I scent a nice meal? I’m running out of excuses here. “It’s a very rare disease,” I tell her.
“What exactly is it? Does it have to do with you being allergic to the sun?”
Of course, she won’t give up. Inwardly, I roll my eyes as I sink to the grass beside her. “No. It’s, umm…it’s called chronic…uh, heart…idleness.”
Abigail turns her head to me and stakes me with a grim look. “Chronic heart idleness? Are you kidding me? You just made that up.”
“And you’re Doctor Potts from the local medical center and know everything about hearts, right?” I bite back.
