Dinner With a Vampire (The Dark Heroine #1)(102)
Author: Abigail Gibbs

Me.

* * *

Sweat dripped down my face as we emerged from the trees, bare of the vibrant covering they had possessed in earlier months. Those leaves that had once been plush and alive were now as devoid of life as the inhabitants they surrounded; they were swept into rough piles at the very extremities of the grounds, out of site and view of the entrance as though they had never provided colour and pleasure.

But beyond that was a more curious sight. Lined up on the drive were dozens of the servants, their trim uniforms looking out of place against the disarray of the grounds. Even the disciplined butlers were amongst them, their crisp white gloves a complete contrast to their skin, burnt a deep red by the morning sun.

Cain meandered through them, attempting to chivvy them back inside, but at most he earned himself a few desultory bows. Instead, they all stared across the treetops, a few talking animatedly in little enclosed groups of two or three. As I moved closer, I caught a few words of the nearest group.

‘Found the first Heroine … Varnley … back to Athenea …’

Suddenly, one of them caught me looking and nudged her two friends who immediately hushed. I recognized one as Annie. She straightened up, squaring her shoulders and glaring defiantly at me. Unable to hold her gaze I shifted and moved to join Cain.

‘They’re watching the beacons,’ he explained. ‘They won’t hear sense, c’mon.’ He left the servants behind and progressed through the open double doors. Leaving Kaspar’s guitar beside the staircase, he turned to me.

‘I’m going to try and find someone who knows what the hell is going on. You better stay in your room.’

I nodded, not intending to follow his advice: as soon as he had disappeared into the corridor I bolted for the stairs and took them two at a time, dashing into Kaspar’s room. It was empty. My heart sank.

I took a few hesitant steps in. The door slammed behind me and I jumped, always on edge in this room below the gaze of the realistic, piercing eyes of the King and Queen, immortalized in oil and canvas above the mantle. I shivered. This was not a welcoming room: if wood could be cursed then the panels lining the walls were damned.

Most of the furniture, bar the bed, was still covered in dust sheets, adding to the eerie, unlived-in feel of the room. There was another draft, too: the French doors to the balcony were wide open, the dark voiles fluttering in the breeze and filtering the mid-morning sun. The few untampered rays fell across the floor as slits of light that I moved into as I reached out and grasped the material. Drawing them across I balanced on the lip of the doorframe, where my heart sank for the second time in a minute. He wasn’t there either.

I retreated back inside, question after question tumbling from my mind into my chest, where the dread mounted. I’m only human, what on Earth can I do? From that dread spilled resentment. Why did Autumn leave me? Doesn’t she get it? I have no one. No one but Kaspar, and where the hell is he when I need him?

Right here, a voice said.

I spun around so quickly that I stumbled and had to grab the voiles to keep myself from falling. That sounds exactly like—

So poised, Girly, the same voice said … wait, my voice said.

‘Oh God,’ I muttered.

You did ask where I was, it or he responded.

So you’re referring to yourself as Kaspar now? I asked cautiously in my mind.

It chuckled. Girly, I am Kaspar. Always have been, always will. It stopped and corrected itself. Actually, I’m a diluted version of his personality embodied in your sub-conscious since birth, but let’s keep it simple.

‘You’ve known all along?’ I spat as it occurred to me that I was having a conversation with my own mind – a mind that contained all the sass of Kaspar. Great.

Not really, it replied. I’m still your mind and I can only learn things as you do.

‘Well, diluted Kaspar, would you mind shutting up?’ I asked the empty room as I flopped onto the bed and fell back onto the sheets. My feet dangled off the edge and I swung them, my heels hitting the mattress over and over, remembering the last time I had lain here, stark naked, in the arms of Kaspar. A small smile crossed my lips.

I sobered quickly. I couldn’t forget what had been revealed to me that easily, and I was fully expecting to start panicking if I didn’t tell someone soon.

But what use is there in panicking?

I kicked my shoes and socks off, glad of the cool breeze steadily blowing through the open doors to the balcony. I let my head fall to the side and I was just contemplating going to look for him when a triangle of white tucked beneath the pillow, stark against the black covers, caught my eye.

Rolling over, I pinched it between forefinger and thumb and pulled, moving the pillow aside.

A ball of heavy, almost-yellow paper rolled into my hand. It was so creased that tears had begun to appear at the folds and where the paper had worn thin I could read inked words in reverse, written in an elegant, sprawling hand. Astonished, I folded it out flat on the bed.

As I did, it became apparent that it was in fact two sheets of paper and that they were both written in an identical hand, with an identical signature and coat of arms at the bottom. I picked up the nearest; the writing was difficult to discern because the paper was so battered, but as I made out the first few words I almost dropped it in surprise.

Dear sweet Beryl,

Sure enough, besides the royal coat of arms it was signed ‘Queen Carmen’ and swallowing an uncomfortable lump in my throat, I lowered the Queen’s last letter to the bed. Here it was, for a third time.

I took up the other sheet of paper in my hands. It too had been folded and refolded, but had not worn as much: the paper was thicker and had a faint musky smell, like it had been stowed away for a long time. The torn edge of a wax seal clung to one end of the paper and the sheet showed two defined creases where it had been folded, quite precisely, into three.

I turned it over and saw that there was writing on both sides of the sheet, although far more on the inner side. The handwriting was undeniably the same as that of the other letter. Beginning on the side with less writing, I noted the date: it had been written on exactly the same day as the other letter.

A shiver ran through my spine as I realized who it was addressed to: Kaspar. Sitting up straight, I fingered the paper in my hands.

My dear beloved son, Kaspar,

A warning, sweet child: I leave for Romania in a week and I will not leave without entrusting what I know to you. But I would advise that you don’t read on until you must – if you are at peace, my son, do not turn the page. I know you are wise and true enough to heed my words.