I yearn to see Jasik again. I think Mamá’s final cruel joke when she left me a shell of the girl I once was, was that she stole all senses save for one: my ability to feel pain. I ache for my sire from my heart to the depths of my soul. The truth that I abandoned him to save these people, who would no sooner burn me at the stake, does not sit easy with me.
I feel their betrayal in my bones, and it stings like the summer Mamá doused my fresh cuts in lemon juice, praising the tart fruit’s healing properties. I did not heal any faster, but the pain from cutting my hand eased after I had something new to focus on: the tart bite of deception.
“Perhaps they should rest,” Liv says, her voice soft and far too quiet for the girl who helped plan my demise. What happened to the brazen fire witch who threatened to set me aflame? Was she sent into the same bleak hole as the vampire who once inhabited my body?
I glance at her, and I see her agony. She hates herself for what she’s done to me, but I cannot help believing she only feels regret because I am mortal again. If I were still a vampire, would she care? If I died instead of being reborn, would she mourn me? I remember the way she looked only an hour ago. She had such anger, such hatred in her eyes, so I do not think she would. Everything about her is fake.
Mamá guides me from the kitchen to the hallway. From the hallway, she leads me upstairs to my bedroom. Gently, she places me on the bed, tucks me in beneath the covers, and kisses my forehead.
“I know this is difficult for you, mija,” she says. “But trust that I am doing what is best for you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to look into hers any longer. I hate that they look like hers now.
When she leaves, she turns off the light and closes my bedroom door.
I stare at the ceiling. The thick curtains are drawn, but sunlight shines through the edges. Even with these strips of light, I cannot see the room. It is so dim that I find myself drifting off, with nothing but the steady clicks of a nearby clock to guide me into the abyss.
When I wake, the sun is gone, and the moon does not speak to me. I touch the window, letting the rush of cold slither from my fingertips to my spine. Goose bumps form, and I wrap my arms around myself to keep out the chill.
Ignoring a note on my bedside table to wash and dress, I stare at my old bedroom. Mamá kept it the same, and as I pace the floor, I shuffle through the items I could not take the first time I was ousted from my childhood home.
Pictures are still stacked in a pile on the floor. My desk is still cluttered, gathering dust like the rest of my potential. When I reach my dresser, my breath catches in my throat. Sitting atop the scratched wood surface is a plain black box. It is rectangular and sleek. I run my fingertips along the edges and gnaw on my lower lip, praying this is not part of my mother’s cruel game.
I open the box, letting the lid fall back as I stare inside. Sleek, matte gray with a shiny silver tip, my stake glistens at me. Etched with runes and doused in magic, it yearns to be used. It used to call to me, but now, I hear nothing. I feel nothing.
As I tease the metal with my fingers, I find myself wondering if this was Mamá’s plan all along. Did she hope I would leave this behind one day? Did she intend to reintroduce us after performing her dark spell? Did she plan for this to be a peace offering or a welcome-home gift?
I grasp the weapon and curl my fingers around its girth. Sniffling, I remember when Papá gave this to me. As Abuela’s son, he was supposed to take over leadership of the coven, and then it was to go to me. His death meant he would be bypassed, and for as long as I can remember, I felt obligated to prove myself to my grandmother. I never wanted to be a leader. I wanted to be a savior. I wanted to protect the humans and witches of Darkhaven from vampires. Only after I transitioned did I learn about the witches’ dishonesty.
I glance at my weapon as it rolls against my palm. It feels…different. Off somehow. Or maybe it is me. Either I have lost my power and my connection to the earth, or my stake has, and honestly, I am not sure I want to know which.
I wipe my nose and slide my stake into my jacket’s inner pocket. This is where I have kept it for years. I used this very weapon in my quest to rid the world of evil—or what I thought to be evil. Later, when I learned only rogue vampires have bad intentions, I tried to explain my discovery to the witches. They did not believe me, listen, or care about my findings. They just wanted vampires dead.
I try to withdraw my stake quickly, seamlessly, and I stumble over the motions. I lose grip of it, and it tumbles to the floor. It smacks against the hardwood, clanking viciously until it rolls to a stop. I scoop it up so quickly, I nearly trip over my feet. I lean against the bed frame and securely tuck my weapon back into my pocket.
My heart is pounding in my chest. I am so fearful the stake was placed there by accident and that the witches are going to make me give it back. But I do not want to. I may be surrounded by his pictures hanging from frames on the walls in every room of this house, but once I break free from this prison, my stake and my cross necklace are all I will have left of Papá.
I thumb the necklace at my chest, finding the familiar, smooth metal to be soothing, but still, something seems different. Everything about how I experience the world has changed. I do not feel comfortable in my own skin or my childhood home or even in Darkhaven. And I am terrified of what the witches will do next.
I cross over to the window and pull back the curtain. The moon is high in the sky, cascading light over the small village. I run my tongue over my teeth, where there once were fangs, and sigh. With one quick, sharp exhalation, I exit my bedroom and venture downstairs. If I want to escape this hell, I need to show the witches I am one of them again. Maybe they will let down their guard long enough for me to find my way back to the vampires.
“Good evening, Ava,” Abuela says. She stands as I walk into the living room.
I nod at her and glance around the room, searching for Will. When the witches have gone to bed, I plan to make my escape, and I bet he will want to come with me. When I do not find him right away, I frown. Where could he have gone? Better yet, what have the witches done to him?
“Where is Will?” I ask, my tone much more forceful than I intended. Internally, I chastise myself. This is the first time I have spoken to them since being cursed, and my concern is for Will, not the others. Even though I know this will not win me any favors, I cannot help myself. I must find him.
Abuela narrows her gaze at me, sensing my frustration with our situation. I do not hide the fact that I fear for his safety, and this upsets my grandmother.
“Why don’t you take a seat,” my grandmother says. “We have much to discuss.”
“I do not want to sit. I want to find Will. Where is he?”
I sound like an unruly child, but I do not care. I will not relent until he and I are reunited, even if that means facing the worst the witches can throw at me. I brace for impact, resigning myself to what is sure to be misery and pain.
“Ava, mija, por favor siéntate,” Mamá says.
I did not hear her approach. She crosses the room and reaches my side. With her guiding hand, she ushers me to a seat in the only open chair. Her subtle direction but firm tone is all I need to succumb to her desire.
“Where is Will, Mamá?” I ask, hoping I can play on her guilt. I speak softly, kindly.