The Unearthly (The Unearthly Series)

by Laura Thalassa

  “Damn,” I said.

  Andre looked over as I felt my canines. They seemed normal.

  “Ah,” he said, recognizing what I was doing. “Did your fangs come out earlier?”

  “Yeah. It was the smell of my blood.”

  He nodded. “Blood, pheromones, and adrenaline will trigger it.”

  “Pheromones?”

  He shrugged. “Pheromones can be a powerful aphrodisiac for a vampire.”

  I cringed. Ew.

  He laughed at my expression. “You’re not going to be so grossed out when it happens.” His laughter was distracting, full and rich.

  “Anyway,” I said, getting back onto our previous topic. “Why was this Timothy guy trying to kill me?”

  “I don’t know. The police think he was going to kidnap you for ransom money.”

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. First off, I have no money. But second, and more important, the guy was going to kill me. I’m absolutely certain about that.”

  Andre growled, sending shivers up my arms. “What doesn’t make any sense is how he got into my VIP suite in the first place—and why he would attack you in such a highly protected location. That room should be impenetrable.”

  I gazed out the window at the nightlife beyond the road. The most amazing thing about my new vision was how alive the world was at night.

  Andre’s phone chirped.

  Smoothly he pulled it out of his pocket and to his ear. “Andre.”

  I could hear the other end of the conversation, and, unashamed, I proceeded to eavesdrop. “This is Sergeant O’Brien.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes as I waited for her to flirt with Andre. Instead, she said, “Timothy Watts just escaped custody and is at large.”

  Chapter 13

  ANDRE SWORE. “WHY wasn’t anyone paying attention to him? I paid good money for your department to make this a priority case.”

  Now that was news to me.

  “Sir, we have no idea how he could have escaped. The officer watching him says the man vanished right into thin air.” If I wasn’t mistaken, Officer O’Brien was a little shaken.

  Andre’s lips thinned in displeasure. “Margaret,” he said, “humans don’t just disappear into thin air. Find him.”

  Officer O’Brien sounded weary. “We will notify you of any and all updates. Have a good night.”

  Andre clicked off the phone and pounded a fist into the driving wheel, denting it as he did so.

  His jaw muscle twitched. “You heard everything she said?” he asked.

  “You mean the part about Timothy Watts escaping? Yep, heard that.” My hands had begun to shake. Was Timothy Watts going to come after me again? Would I have to live in fear of another attack?

  “This day just needs to be over,” I mumbled.

  “You should stay with me at the mansion,” he said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t think so.”

  He looked up at the car’s ceiling—really unsafe when considering how fast he was going. “We have guest rooms Gabrielle.”

  “Well, I want to sleep in my own bed. My building has decent security.” A.k.a., a college student at the front desk.

  “Fine.” Andre wasn’t buying it, but for once he didn’t argue. Instead he said, “I meant to tell you this much earlier this evening, but got sidetracked: Santiago left you an inheritance, and I scheduled a meeting for you with the manager of his estate later this week.”

  My heart skipped a beat. My biological father wrote me into his will? Why had I not known about this? “How do you know that my father left me an inheritance?”

  “All vampires write out wills, and Santiago left me in charge of carrying out his. I actually hadn’t thought about the matter until yesterday. I looked into it, and it appears that Santiago’s assets have remained frozen since his death.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to this news. My father had become a shadowy figure in my memory. I was so young when he died that almost everything about him—even his name—had all but been forgotten. All that I knew for certain was that I loved him and that he saved me from that fire.

  “Santiago left behind peculiar instructions. Instructions that his inheritance go to you, and further that, in the case of your disappearance, the inheritance was to be frozen for up to twenty years. All that he owns is yours—and believe me, it’s a lot.”

  ***

  I woke up to a pillow smacking me in the face.

  “You’re a loser.” Leanne sat on my bed, arms crossed. She was still in her pajamas and her hair was a mess. “You were almost murdered last night, and you didn’t bother waking me up!”

  I rubbed my eyes. Behind Leanne, I read the letters brightly illuminated on her laptop:

  ATTEMPTED MURDERER AT LARGE.

  INVESTIGATORS CLAIM PERPETRATOR VANISHED INTO THIN AIR.

  I yawned. “Right. Because I want to relive my attack at 2:00 a.m. in the morning—when we have class the next day.”

  She paused. “I guess that’s a good point.” I could tell Leanne was still agitated, and it took me a second to realize that it wasn’t me she was angry with.

  Understanding dawned on me. “Are you upset because you didn’t see it happen?”

  “Foresee—seers foresee,” she corrected absentmindedly. “And yes, I should’ve been able to foresee this like I did the fight with Doris.” She frowned.

  “Leanne, don’t be so hard on yourself. You just developed the ability a few days ago.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed halfheartedly. Her voice indicated that she was going to still blame herself.

  There was a bang as someone tried to open our locked door. Leanne and I grabbed each other.

  “Bitches, let me in!”

  Oliver. I let out a shaky breath, got up, and unlocked the door. He pushed his way in before enveloping me in a hug. “Stop almost dying on me beautiful.”

  When he pulled away, I saw his eyes were red rimmed.

  “Aw, Oliver,” I hugged him back, “I’m pretty tough to kill.”

  He wiped his eyes, composing himself. He took in the two of us and made a tsk-ing sound. “Whoa. You two put the hag in haggard.”

  That earned him a pillow to the face.

  ***

  Today was going a lot like yesterday. Everyone acted as though I was the bubonic plague. By the time I walked into my third period class, History of the Isle of Man, I had adjusted to the disgust and fear I saw in most students’ eyes. When would they realize I was just like them?

  I made my way down a row of desks. Predictably, those closest to me scooted their desks away—as if my mere proximity would somehow affect them.

  I managed to find a series of empty desks near the back of the room, and I picked one and sat down.

  I was left to my dark thoughts until a sexy guy with wavy blonde hair entered the room. The girls noticed him instantly. They followed him with their eyes as he made his way through the class. I could hear the subtle increase of the room’s collective heart rate, and I could even smell the adrenaline of a few girls who had some serious crushes.

  He passed them, making a beeline for … me. I stared into a pair of baby blues as he sat down next to me, looking like a golden god.

  “Hey,” he said casually, his voice thick with an Australian accent. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, oblivious to the attention he was receiving.

  “Uh, hi,” I replied, surprised someone wanted to talk to me.

  “I’m Caleb Jennings.”

  I looked around us, sure this had to be a mistake or some sort of prank. “I’m Gabrielle,” I said.

  The bell rang, and our teacher approached the front of the class.

  “Did I miss anything yesterday?” Caleb asked. “I was out.”

  I whispered back. “Only a series of Manx terms for different geographical regions. Absolutely riveting.”

  Caleb stared at me for a moment, and then broke out into laughter.

  Mr. Mead gave us the stink eye, bu
t he didn’t stop talking to scold us.

  “I heard Mr. Mead is supposed to be epically boring,” Caleb said.

  “Really—you heard that? Your source must’ve confused our teacher with someone else. Like I said, this guy’s absolutely riveting.” Caleb snickered.

  Two girls turned to give me dirty looks. They turned back around and leaned into each other. I could hear their whispered accusation: Why is he sitting with her? And why is he talking to her? I was wondering the same thing myself.

  As the class got going, and the professor discussed the history of the Isle of Man, Caleb passed a paper to me.

  I looked over at him, and he smiled before continuing to take notes. I opened the note to find a game of hangman. The sentence that I was to figure out, letter by letter, ended with a question mark. As we passed the note back and forth, and I was seriously losing, the hanged man began looking an awful lot like Professor Mead with his monocle and neatly trimmed beard.

  Eventually I decoded the message.

  Will you go out with me Friday night?

  I quickly looked over at Caleb, who was waiting for my answer.

  Going on a date would be a lost cause. For one, my past experiences had never ended well. The only person to ever pursue me further than a single date was Andre, and well, I didn’t really know what to think of that situation.

  Two, I was a soulmate. The odds were next to impossible that Caleb was my single true love.

  Even knowing it would end badly, I wrote yes below his hangman game along with my number.

  He smiled brightly and began humming as he went back to his notes, while I sat there trying to tune back in to the lecture and already regretting my decision.

  “… The Mauthe Doog, or Moddey Dhoo, is a black demonic dog that is said to roam these very halls.

  “It is believed to be a death knell; anyone who sees the dog will supposedly die soon after.” The bell rang, interrupting today’s oh-so-exciting discussion of demonic dogs.

  “Remember to study your Manx names and read the first chapter of the History and Myths of the Isle of Man for Friday’s quiz. Class dismissed.”

  While I was still packing, Caleb grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow,” he said, and then he was gone.

  ***

  After school I wandered into the library. Now that my genetics were at the center of a controversy, I needed information about my parents. I didn’t know if I’d find anything, but I figured the supernatural community was fairly small. Hopefully that made it more likely that someone had recorded my parents’ lives.

  The library was barren except for what appeared to be a witch reading up on her spells.

  Reading through the catalogue signs, I came to an aisle marked Monsters.

  I walked down the isle, reading the subcategories. Aquatic Beasts. Otherworld Creatures. Nocturnal Beings.

  Bingo.

  My eyes skimmed over books on demons, doppelgangers, and lycanthropes before finally finding books on vampires. I pulled out a few books that looked good and headed to a table.

  Clicking on the desk lamp, I opened the first book, Famous Vampires of History. Sitting right in the middle of the table of contents was my father’s name, Santiago Fiori. I knew that he and I shared last names, so I wasn’t sure why it was so shocking to see it written on the page. Maybe it was because I hadn’t expected to find him so easily after so many years of dead ends. Or maybe it was because the book was first printed in 1887. I flipped to the corresponding chapter.

  Born in Venice in 1498, Santiago Fiori was the youngest of the Five Elders and the last vampire sired by Andre de Leon.

  Andre had changed my father?

  Raptly I read through the next ten pages, finding out that Santiago befriended a number of popes—which shocked and greatly embarrassed the supernatural community—helped smuggle out many aristocratic families during the French Revolution, and had rubbed elbows with Shakespeare—who he later admitted was a “charming brute.” And there was so much more. He was a bitter enemy of Henry VIII, a confidante of Napoleon, and a close friend to Benjamin Franklin during the time the latter spent in Europe. It appeared my father went wherever history went.

  There was likely to be more information about my father’s life throughout the twentieth century, but the book was old, and its history stopped a century short.

  I picked up another book, Modern Day Vampires. Just like in the previous book, this one discussed my father. While it touched on some of his historical achievements, it focused more on his personality and what he was doing up until the time of his death.

  Fiori was an avid supporter of Andre de Leon’s Vida Mandata, the official declaration that prohibits vampires from turning a human. He was the only Elder to not pass on his vampiric lineage.

  Toward the end of his life, Santiago met, fell in love with, and married Celeste Kallos, the last living siren.

  Celeste Kallos. I had found my mother’s name. I shut the book. Now it was time to learn about my mother. I got up and wandered the isles, eventually coming across a promising section.

  “You’re not going to find her here.”

  I looked up from where I was crouching and met the gaze of an old woman with skin the color of ebony, Peel’s head librarian. I read her nametag: Lydia Thyme.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, confused by her words.

  “Your mama. You won’t find the truth about her in these books. They don’t talk about the darker side of your world. For that you need permission to access your clan’s private collection.”

  “How did you know that … ?” The woman raised an eyebrow and swept her gaze across the library. She didn’t need to speak; her eyes said it all. She could read me like the many books around us.

  “I’m sorry—I’m still getting used to this new world.”

  “That’s alright, hun. Like I said, if you want to find out more about Celeste, you’ll need permission to access your clan’s books.”

  “How do I get access if I’m the last of my clan?”

  “In that case I’m afraid students are only allowed in if they are interning with the House of Keys or training with the Politia.”

  I’d only understood about half of the words in that sentence, but enough to know I didn’t have access.

  “However, I think under the circumstances surrounding your past and your lineage, I can bend the rules.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. I’d been met with so much animosity lately that I greatly valued her offer.

  “If you can wait here, I’ll grab the book I believe you’re looking for.”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  She inclined her head, and walked down the isle and out of sight. Five minutes later she returned with a single book. She passed it to me, and I read the cover. The Last of the Sirens.

  “That book should answer all your questions. Make sure you bring the book back to me before you leave.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  She stared at me for a long time, and I got the distinct impression she was looking into my soul. Finally she said, “I was leading the ritual the night you died. You … intrigued me. I also happen to be old friends with someone from your past.”

  The hairs on my arm rose. She was trying to tell me something, but I was not sure what. I was also not sure how I should feel about her. She didn’t seem evil, like the man in the suit, but she didn’t seem good either.

  ***

  I walked back to the table and opened this final book. A bookmark slid out. Never taking my eyes off the text, I fruitlessly groped around for the fallen slip of paper.

  My eye caught the title of the final chapter, “The Last of the Sirens.” Bookmark forgotten, I flipped to the end of the book.

  I skimmed through the history of the Kallos lineage for a few pages before I found what I was looking for.

  Celeste Kallos was the last siren to make it to adulthood.

  I skimmed through her childhood, which was interest
ing, but not currently important, until I found a section of text that seemed relevant.

  After a successful entrance into the music industry, Celeste began living with Santiago Fiori, a union considered quite controversial by the supernatural world.

  Four years later, Celeste gave birth to Santiago’s daughter, Gabrielle Fiori. Some found the news miraculous, others a sign of the apocalypse, and others still debunked the idea, claiming the child was the result of an outside relationship. The couple refused to do a paternity test, knowing that the outcome would expose them to negative media attention.

  But the test didn’t make a difference. On a bright spring morning, police found the body of Celeste abandoned on the side of an English country road. Evidence led investigators to believe it was a hate crime.

  I closed the book. I didn’t need to read the rest. I wiped away a stray tear. I’d found the answers I was looking for. A father who was sired by Andre de Leon and killed by fire. A mother who was born into a dying race and murdered by hate. This was my legacy.

  ***

  When I entered my dorm room that evening, Leanne was lacing up a pair of hiking shoes. Next to her sat an open satchel filled with empty Ziploc bags.

  “Going somewhere?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

  “I have some clan homework. Want to come with?”

  “Where exactly are you going?”

  “There’s a shady grove near an entrance to the Otherworld. The herbs that grow there are especially powerful for divining the future.”

  “Sounds safe.”

  Leanne rolled her eyes. “Says the girl who plays with vampires and dodges hit men.”

  “Touché.”

  “So, are you coming?”

  I sighed. “Count me in.”

  I had just changed into something outdoorsy when Oliver barged into our room. “Hey ladies—” He took in our outfits. “Where are you guys going, and why wasn’t I invited?”

  “We’ll be out in the wilderness, and hiking is involved,” Leanne said as she threw a couple empty vials into her bag. “I assumed it went without saying.”