Iona stared at me for a long moment. “If you hadn’t thrown the holy water in his face, this might have gone on for years. But now …” She shook her head sadly. “You don’t have very long at all.”
Chapter 27
“Listen, I have to go,” Iona said. “I’ve probably been here too long.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You can’t leave now! I’ve got so many questions.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
The question surprised me. I blinked up at her. “I don’t really know …”
“Get some rest,” she said. “There isn’t much left to this night, and Byron won’t be down for very long.” She looked at me intently. “Watch your back, Cassie. I’ll do what I can on my end.”
And without giving me a chance to even thank her, she was gone. I didn’t even see her as she silently dropped down from the sill onto the lawn and disappeared.
Shivering, I slipped under my bedcovers. But they held no warmth, and I wrapped my arms around myself.
I had locked the window, not that it helped when it came to Byron. Nevertheless, if what Iona said was true—and I trusted her implicitly now we had spoken face to face, now I had seen the depths of despair in her eyes—I was safe to sleep—tonight, and maybe all of tomorrow too.
I glanced at my phone. Still no reply from Xandra. My last text to her had been a little panicked and would probably set her alarm bells ringing when she read it in the morning. So I texted her, and told her that I was okay, and that I’d fill her in soon. I also told her not to call me before noon.
I hesitated, then scrolled down to Iona’s number.
Thank you, I texted her.
Don’t thank me yet, she replied. I don’t know if I did you any favors by telling you what I did.
You saved my life tonight. At the very least, thanks for the stake.
You’re welcome.
With that, I rolled over, tucking my phone under my pillow, content that I had an ally to watch over me.
What felt like only a moment later, someone knocked on the door. I rolled over so fast that I nearly toppled off of the bed and onto the floor.
Mom walked in.
“Mom … ” I groaned, and pulled my pillow over my head to block out the light.
“No sleeping in today, young lady,” she said, and she came across the room and pulled the blankets off of me.
No sleeping in today?
And then I realized: that wasn’t the light on—it was sunlight, streaming through the window. Morning had come already, what little remained of the night passing in the blink of an eye.
Instantly my legs shot up toward my body, putting me in the fetal position.
I moaned again.
“Last I checked, you were grounded. And your chores do won’t do themselves.”
I was glad that the pillow was covering my head, because my face went through the gambit of emotions. First, I was furious at being woken. Then I remembered last night before and getting caught. And then, after that, I remembered Iona’s story, and I felt guilty.
Slowly I sat up and pulled the pillow away. “All right.”
“Good,” Mom said, seemingly pleased that she wasn’t going to have to enact World War III today. “I need you to mow the lawn, clean the pool, trim the bushes—”
“All outside stuff?” I asked.
She glared at me. “Yes. You can wear some sunscreen and a hat if you’re worried about it.”
Definitely not worried about it. Elated was the better word. Groggily, I lumbered to my closet, and began sifting through for clothes. In the background, Mom listed off jobs. I nodded my head without really taking them in. I tried—but without meaning to my thoughts went back to Iona, and her plight. Sad though it was, she had given me a new perspective on life. Chores, I was perfectly happy to do, because it meant I still had a family to do them for.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Hmm?” I asked, looking over at Mom.
She pursed her lips. “I swear, you are going to give me an aneurism.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll make sure it all gets done. “
She stared at me for a minute, her back rigid. But then she sighed and shook her head.
“Cassandra, I just don’t know what to do with you.”
She had every right to say that. But there was so much more to it.
Iona’s words about Byron driving a wedge between a girl and her parents were still fresh in my mind. I had to stop it from happening as best as I could.
I started, “I know that I’ve been making some bad choices lately—”
She scoffed, and I tried to reign in my temper.
“But I am going to try and be better. I’m just …”
She stared at me, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re what?” she said, when I faltered.
“I’m just … trying to figure out some stuff in my life.” I wasn’t sure what I was expecting—sympathy was perhaps a pipe dream, while a flare of her temper seemed more likely the way this had started to go—but I didn’t foresee Mom’s exhale—or what she said, voice tempered again.
“I get it,” she said. “You’re a teenager. You’re trying to figure out what it means to be an adult. There are a lot of changes going on—”
“Mom!” I rolled my eyes at her.
She laughed lightly. “Okay. No, I do get it. And I appreciate the apology.”
She crossed over to the door and looked back over her shoulder at me. “But don’t think you’re off the hook.”
“I wasn’t expecting a miracle.” Though I sure could use one right now. A vampire-killing miracle.
I made my way downstairs after brushing my teeth and putting my hair up and found that Mom had already left. Dad had left a note for me reminding me to behave today, and that we would talk when he got home.
I didn’t really look forward to that conversation, but it was inevitable, I guessed.
I made my way outside, slathering sunscreen on as I went. From the garage I withdrew the mower, checked it was filled with gas, and then, mulling over how much my life had changed in the past three days—and the sudden influx of people into it (and then promptly out again, in Theo’s case), I set it into motion and began to push it around the yard. It belched fumes, their smell intermingling with the scent of freshly cut grass in a heady, addictive sort of way. It was tough work, but the labor felt good. With every foot of trimmed grass I put behind me, my stress oozed out and left me.
It was still hard to believe that it had only been a few hours before that my stake had gone through Theo’s chest, causing him to almost liquefy in front of my eyes.
I had the stake tucked into the back of my shorts, easily accessible if Byron were to appear again—though, now that I knew for certain of his aversion to sunlight, I was much more confident today.
And then there was Lord Draven. I had killed Theo right under his nose, at his big shindig—and then I had lied straight to him. What was even weirder was that Mill had lied right along with me.
It was thrilling, in a way, to have bested the vampires like that. But I knew that it was also foolish. What I’d done was incredibly dangerous. Yes, I’d gotten away with it … but that was so fortunate, a skin-of-my-teeth escape I’d never be able to pull off again.
Again, I felt a wave of gratitude to Mill—and confusion over his motives. Had Iona meant for me to meet him?
So many questions.
Maybe I’d text Iona, ask if she’d meet again, and see if I couldn’t wrangle some answers out of her.
It took me a little over an hour to finish mowing. I was making my last round on the yard when I walked by the wall of our neighbor’s house. It backed up right to our side yard. It was smaller than ours, and the shades were always closed. Today, though, something in one of those windows flickered.
The blinds. Again.
Someone had been watching me.
Chapter 28
That was it. I stared a
t the window, a vein pulsing in my neck. If this was Byron again, I wasn’t going to let him see me afraid.
The nerve he had, gawking at me like some disgusting peeping Tom. Iona was right; it was easy to see how all of those girls before me had gone nuts from his stalking. How was anyone supposed to feel like they had any privacy when he was around?
I chewed on my lip as I pushed the mower out from under the window, but I kept glancing over my shoulder at it. The blinds didn’t move again.
I leaned against the mower as I stared at the house.
How would have Byron gotten in? Was the family never at home? Was it a vacation home, only used for a few weeks out of the year? Or were they all away on a Sunday morning? Church? Shopping? Brunch? Damn it, why hadn’t I paid some more attention to the goings-on of my neighbors since moving here?
I seethed, first at myself, and then, snapping that chain of thought, at Byron. I wasn’t to blame here, and I wouldn’t allow my sanity to be eroded to the point that I thought anything else. He was a damned stalker, and I was through with it. Grabbing my flip-flops, I stormed toward the neighbor’s house, hands balled into tight fists. Last night, I killed a vampire—one that had taken me off guard, no less.
I wouldn’t be so stupid again.
I considered moving the wooden stake out of the back of my shorts and into my hair, but I didn’t want Byron to know that I even had it. I couldn’t be sure he hadn’t seen it the night before, but it was the best chance I had.
The front of the neighbor’s house was a lot like ours, but only a single story. The stucco was painted a sandy tan color, with red shutters, and the red door was bright apple red. There was a nice bench on the front porch with a few cute pillows thrown on it, and a basket full of seashells beside it. It was a cross between cutesy and tacky, but the overall effect was somehow homey.
I approached the front door—and stopped short.
What was I doing here?
Apparently, last night’s victory against Theo, eluding Draven from right under his nose, and the information Iona had given me, had me convinced I could take on the world.
Maybe all of this miraculous success was going to my head?
Would it be smart to follow through? What would Byron do if he saw me? Would he freak out? Try to kill me right then and there? Would he try to be cool like he was the night before?
There was only one way to find out.
I reached out and knocked on the door, then quickly stepped out from beneath the overhang and back into the sunlight. Behind my back, I clasped my hands—loose, in easy reach of the stake.
It was getting warm, probably in the low seventies. It felt like early summer weather for me. Crazy to think it was still only the end of January.
Time dragged … and no one came.
I listened, ears pricked. He might not have the balls to open the door to me, but surely he’d come down to investigate.
But I heard nothing from inside the house. Only soft noises from outside came to me: birdsong, the low hum of intermittent traffic, another mower being pushed around a garden a block over.
Was Byron hiding like a child? Did he not expect me to come over and confront him like this?
I smirked. Maybe I had, for once, surprised him. Still, my satisfaction about that aside, I was getting exactly nowhere here. And though I could start hammering away on the door, shouting—making the sort of scene psycho ex-girlfriends were famous for—it was no more likely to bring Byron out here. So, with a huff and a last glare at the door, as if it was the guilty party, I turned around—and the door opened.
I wheeled around, expecting to see Byron’s heavy-lidded eyes and tousled hair, hands moving to my stake in case he tried to get the drop on me—but instead I saw a tall, thin high school kid with sandy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and glasses.
“Hey, I know you!” I cried, pointing accusingly at him. All of the anger toward Byron took a sharp turn, redirecting itself straight at him. “You’re in like … half of my classes.”
The boy nodded his head and leaned against the door frame. “Can I help you?”
He was one of the smart kids, always knowing the answers, always paying attention in class. I had never spoken to him before. I was pretty sure that he didn’t even know I existed.
He wasn’t bad-looking, really. Kind, gentle eyes; well built, if maybe a little lean, but he carried himself well, and he definitely didn’t hang out with any of the losers I was aware of.
“You’ve been watching me from the windows, haven’t you?”
He stood up straight, unfolding his arms. Yet though my words would’ve made anyone else blush or go on the defensive, his expression remained fairly passive. Most of it was his gaze drifting away, for a moment, and a casual, small shrug of the shoulders.
“Who are you?” I pressed. “I forgot your name.”
The boy rolled his eyes with obvious disdain but sighed. “My name is Gregory Holt. And yes. We have Spanish, English, Pre-calc and History together.”
Wow. He knew exactly which classes. So much for not paying attention to me.
I squinted at him. “Okay then, Greg—”
“It’s Gregory.”
“Okay,” I repeated, more slowly. “Gregory.” Jeez, did I sound like such a loser when I corrected people like that? “Do you want to tell me why you were watching me out of your window? I saw you close the blinds today, and yesterday.”
Gregory stared flatly at me, unflinching.
“Dude, I caught you. You might as well fess up.”
Still he said nothing.
I held my hands out, palms up, totally at a loss. “Come on, man. I wasn’t born yesterday. It was definitely you—or are you going to tell me it was your dad being a creeper? Or your dog?”
“Don’t have a dog,” he replied.
I put my palms to the side of my head in exasperation. This guy. Why was he avoiding the obvious?
Could be embarrassment. I mean, how do you reply to getting called out like that?
I exhaled. “You know what? Whatever,” I said. “I don’t even care right now. Just don’t do it again.”
I made to turn around and walk right back down the path and around the back of the house when he spoke and made me stop.
“I’ve seen some weird stuff from your house. And I think all of it has something to do with you.”
I froze and turned back to face him.
He was still casually leaning against the door frame, but his eyes were scrutinizing me.
Now I was embarrassed.
I glared right back at him. It was hard to not notice just how blue his eyes were. The glasses didn’t even look all that dweebish on him.
“What do you mean?” I asked, a lot more acid in my voice than I had intended. He shrugged his shoulders and moved his gaze to something behind me.
“There have been these people hanging out at the window up there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb back toward my house.
I bit down on the inside of my bottom lip.
Here I was, coming over here to make a scene, when he, apparently, had a bone to pick with me.
I tried to smooth my expression into a smile.
“Oh?” I asked. He wasn’t buying it, going by the look he gave me: flat, but close to bordering on irritation. Like a cat getting pissed off with its owner for touching its tail. Might be enduring it for now, but much longer and the claws were coming out.
“One was a boy,” Gregory said. “He’s showed up several times. And last night there was a girl who sat on the sill for at least ten minutes.”
Oh, you have got to be kidding me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to conceal all of the shock on my face.
I was right, because his gaze became even more curious.
“That, and I saw you getting into an Uber last night. Dressed to the nines for clubbing or something.”
I wanted to smack this guy. Maybe it would make him forget.
In all of this time, I had wanted s
o badly to tell someone what was going on with me. I wanted someone to be able to believe me.
And here that someone was! Standing literally in front of me, and I immediately wanted to cover it all up. I wanted to lie and hide it.
But why?
Then it hit me. Maybe this was a trap. Iona made it very clear that Byron was manipulative to a fault and would do all he could to ensure that I was cut off from everyone and everything.
Why would he allow someone who lived so close to go unnoticed?
I glanced over his shoulder, almost expecting Byron to slip back into the shadows, grinning.
I shook my head. This was all just too much.
“Yeah, well,” I retorted, my hands on my hips, “it’s none of your business.”
Gregory’s curious eyes changed, and it took me a second to realize that he was looking at me with—sympathy. He was concerned.
Something in my heart stirred. Someone had a suspicion that something was wrong and cared enough to say something. And it gave me … hope.
I decided then and there that Gregory, though kind of weird and annoying, but also kind of cute, was not a threat to me. And somehow, Byron had missed this little possibility.
Byron wasn’t perfect at what he did, after all. Like Iona said: he was perpetually trapped as a teenage boy, with all their janky-ass thought processes. For the first time in all this, I gave mental thanks to his total fixation on me.
“I just …” Gregory started, and his tone had completely softened. “There was something weird with that guy when I saw him out on the lawn. I know that we hardly know each other, and maybe this is totally out of line …”
“What?” I asked.
“Cassie … do you need help?”
The question that I never thought would come but had longed for. But how was I supposed to respond?
The truth, the ugly bitter truth, was that he had no idea exactly what was going on. He saw weird stuff, stuff that hinted at stalkers and night visitors … but that wasn’t even a fraction of it. And if I spilled any details—that I’d fallen into a dark world filled with vampires—Gregory’s concern for my safety would transmute itself into a concern for a very different sort: concern for my safety at my own hands, off the back of some very serious worries regarding my sanity.
No One Will Believe You Page 15
