By the time we reached the path that led to the Abbott's back garden, my mind had cleared. The woods were beautiful, dark, wild, and mysterious.
One of the local legends was that long ago, fairies had settled the land and made it their home, hiding in the ample oak tree trunks and looking out for the forest life. Of course, I didn't believe the tale. I'd been through the woods and captured and kil ed enough animals to know there were no benevolent creatures protecting the forest. Or if there were, then they had better things to do than save an errant squirrel or rabbit that was caught in the clenches of a vampire's fangs. Stil , the story comforted me, if only because it proved that humans could stil believe in good, even when so much evil lived in their midst.
We walked toward the clearing, where the sprawling three-story brick manor house rose up on the crest of a hil .
"Here we are," I said, gesturing to the vast expanse, as if I were a king showing off my land to my subject.
"It's nice," Violet said, a smal smile creeping onto her pale lips. "Green. It reminds me of home." I heard the dog bark and I startled. I knew that most likely Luke or Oliver would be nearby, and I didn't want them to see Violet. There would be too many questions I didn't think I could answer. Hastily, I swept Violet into my arms and into my tiny cottage. Safely inside, I had her sit at my rickety kitchen table. I quickly changed my shirt, washed my face, and ran water through my hair. In the mirror, I saw Violet eyeing me inquisitively.
I turned around and she licked her lips.
"I'm so thirsty," Violet whimpered.
"I know," I said helplessly.
Just then, the cabin door creaked open. I glanced around in a panic. Perhaps my cabin wasn't as secluded as I needed it to be.
"Stefan, you're back!" Oliver came barreling inside, his tiny footsteps echoing on the floor. He threw his arms around my knees. "I thought I saw you. You came home early! Are we going hunting today?"
"Not yet," I said, ruffling his fine blond hair and trying to choke back my guilt. "I have a visitor. Oliver, this is Violet." His eyes widened at the site of her, reminding me of the way Violet captivated the crowds at the theater. She did have something special about her.
"She's my cousin," I lied as Violet sank to her knees and held out her hand.
"Hel o, little man," she said, giving Oliver a big smile.
But Oliver continued to stare at her, not moving a muscle. His face subtly changed from a sense of wonder to hesitation. Could he somehow sense her new nature? Back in Virginia, our horses would always become uneasy when Katherine was in their midst. But could the same apply to children?
"Is she going hunting with us?" Oliver asked, not taking his eyes off Violet.
"No, I'm sorry, she can't," I said briefly, hoping he wouldn't push for an explanation.
"Can you at least come to dinner? We've missed you, Stefan!"
"Yes. Why don't you run up and let Mrs. Duckworth know that Violet and I are here? We'l see you soon." Oliver nodded, but didn't move.
"Go on!" I urged. I hadn't wanted the Abbotts to meet Violet. I'd wanted her to die in peace. But I didn't want to arouse suspicion, and now we'd have to attend dinner and pretend that everything was in order. Already, Violet's skin had taken on a ghastly pal or, a clear indication that death was working its way through her body. Who knew how much worse she'd be in an hour? Time was of the essence, and I felt terrible that I was making her spend her last few hours living a lie.
"Yes, Stefan," Oliver said, trudging out the door and up the stone walk to the house.
"We have to go to dinner," I said. "I'm sorry."
"No, that's okay," Violet said. She looked drawn and overwhelmed, and guilt twisted in my stomach. Maybe she'd find some smal comfort at the farmhouse. At least I could hope.
"I'm going to tel them that you're my second cousin," I explained as I led her up the winding path toward the large brick manor house. "We met in London and I invited you to the country for a few days. Does that sound okay?" Violet nodded. She was stil licking her lips and I couldn't help but notice how large her pupils were becoming. She was wel into the transition, cresting to the peak where her very being was fighting to survive in any way possible, even if that meant drinking blood.
"Stefan!" George bel owed as we entered the foyer. It was clear Oliver had relayed my message, and he'd been expecting us. George's paunch was straining against his waistcoat, and his face was redder than ever. "You're here in time for dinner. And I was worried you'd be so caught up by the city that you'd never come back to the country. But I see you came home! And with company!" he added, his gaze flicking curiously toward Violet.
"Sir," I said quickly, my stomach twisting on the word home. "I invited my cousin, Violet, to explore our town. I am sorry for the short notice."
"I heard so much about this place and I felt I had to come," Violet said, playing her part like the actress she was. She curtseyed prettily.
"Cousin Violet," George murmured. "Enchanted, my darling," he said, bowing slightly at her.
The three of us walked into the parlor. I could smel a roast being prepared in the kitchen, and I loved how familiar and simple my surroundings seemed. Luke and Oliver were on the floor, playing a game of dominos, Emma was rocking a dol in her arms, and Gertrude was working on her needlepoint, an exquisitely crafted flower scene. Nothing had changed here, and yet, for me, everything had.
"How was London?" George boomed, catching my eye as he crossed over to the drink cart in the corner and poured a dark amber liquid into two glasses.
"It was fine," I said shortly. "Loud."
"I can imagine. And where did you stay? With your relations, the - "
"Burnses," Violet said quickly. "I'm Violet Burns." I watched her. Were her eyes too bright, her face too pale? I couldn't tel .
"He wasn't too much trouble, was he?" George teased.
I grimaced internal y. They had no idea that trouble fol owed me everywhere. "No, he was lovely," Violet said final y, as if she'd been coached.
A fond smile crossed George's face. "Our Stefan has that effect on people. And I'm so happy you have relations nearby. A man shouldn't have to fend for himself in the world," he said, catching my eye as he raised his glass in the air. "To family," he said, tipping it toward me.
"To family," I murmured, nursing my own drink. A silence fel in the room and I was al too relieved when Mrs. Duckworth came into the parlor to announce that the roast was ready.
Violet licked her lips as she stood up and smoothed her skirts. She'd been doing it obsessively, and my heart went out to her. I knew that she was experiencing her first pangs of real, soul-crushing hunger that couldn't be quenched with any mortal meal.
"Violet, darling, sit here," Gertrude said, guiding Violet to a seat next to her at the large cherrywood table. "You look half-starved, which is understandable. I'm sure the food they serve on those trains is appal ing!" She clucked sympathetical y.
"I'm sorry," Violet said distantly. "I don't feel very wel ."
"Wel , have a bite to eat, and then if you need to have a lie down, go ahead and do it. A good meal, some country air, and you'l be good as new," Gertrude said in her loving, maternal way.
We settled, and I watched as Mrs. Duckworth cut the roast. A trickle of blood oozed from the meat with each cut, and I saw Violet lean forward, her blue eyes shining.
"Here you go, dear," Mrs. Duckworth said, putting two slices on her plate. Without waiting for the rest of the family to be served, or helping herself to the potatoes, beans, and rol s set in heaping bowls on the table, Violet dug in. She barely used her utensils as she shoveled the meat into her mouth.
"You must have been hungry," Gertrude tril ed as she stood up to help Luke cut his meat. Luke, perhaps taking a cue from Violet, was forgoing his knife in favor of stabbing his slice of meat with his fork.
"I don't know what came over me," Violet said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. Her gaze was stil on the meat. A silence hung in the room.
"Just the brisk country air," Gertrude repeated, an edge to her voice. I knew that the Abbotts could sense something was wrong, but they couldn't put their fingers on it. I desperately wanted them to like her, and for Violet to find the same type of peace on the farm that I'd found. But of course, Violet felt confused and famished. Damon or not, maybe it would have been better if she'd died surrounded by the marquee lights of the West End.
"Have you always lived in London, dear?" Gertrude asked, obviously giving Violet the benefit of the doubt.
"I'm original y from Ireland," Violet said, her mouth ful of food. Luke and Oliver were watching her with fascination.
"Ireland." George cleared his throat. "I thought your relations were from Italy, Stefan."
"They were on my father's side. There's some Irish blood on my mother's side," I lied. If Damon could reinvent himself as a count or a duke, I could invent some Irish relatives.
"Ah," George said, slicing into his own meat. "Wel , in any case, it's lovely to have you here, Violet. Consider our house your house."
"You're too kind," Violet murmured, her eyes frantical y darting around the table, desperately looking for something to satiate her hunger. Even though there was nothing that could.
Just then, Emma pul ed timidly on the sleeve of Violet's dress.