To be on the safe side, I turned to the window above the front door and tried again. My whole body was shaking with adrenaline, but I must have had the knack of it this time. I hit the window—this one didn’t shatter, but it crunched and a network of cracks laced out like a spiderweb.
This whole plan depended on them going upstairs to see what had broken the windows. I had to hope they wouldn’t come out the front door.
Did all plans feel this stupid in the middle of the execution?
I ran to the front door and opened it. Leaning in over the threshold, I took a deep breath of air and listened close. I smelled Alette’s house, but with an edge. People I didn’t recognize had been moving around in here. But I didn’t hear anything, no breathing, no footsteps. Except overhead—it sounded like someone was running on the floor above me.
I went inside and shut the door behind me.
The place was dark, empty feeling. I didn’t hear any breathing—but vampires didn’t breathe.
I moved through the foyer, attempting silence, but the rubber soles of my sneakers squeaked on the hardwood.
The parlor window faced east. The room was almost light, now. Gray and faded, but still light. In another half hour, the sun would pour in.
The furniture had been shoved away to make a clear space on the floor, in front of the window. In the middle of this space, far enough back that I couldn’t have seen her from the sidewalk, Alette sat on a chair. She faced the window, like she waited for the sun to rise, like she planned on watching it. Like she planned to die.
“Alette?”
She didn’t move. I stepped closer and saw her hands tied behind her back, to the legs of the chair. Rope or cord alone wouldn’t have been enough to hold her; there were also chains with crosses on them. Her feet were secured to the chair legs in front. A gag bound her mouth.
Crosses. Leo needed mortal humans to tie Alette up with crosses, which he couldn’t touch.
“Alette.” I ran to her. Inside the room, the rug squished wetly. What had happened here?
I pulled down the gag, a strip of cotton fabric. It snagged on a fang, but I got it loose.
Her gaze was wild, desperate, rapidly searching me. “Kitty, are you well? What have they done to you?”
I worked on the rest of the bindings. I started to toss the crosses away, then decided I might need them. I shoved them in a coat pocket. “Forced my national television debut. Don’t worry, I’m okay. I’m not hurt.” Physically . . .
“And Bradley—where’s Bradley?”
Dammit. I hadn’t wanted to be the one to tell her. This was terrible to think, but I’d hoped Leo had gloated. So at least she’d know.
“I’m sorry, Alette. Leo moved so fast, and he wasn’t expecting it.”
“No, I imagine he wasn’t. It was probably quick, painless?”
“Broken neck.”
“Kitty.” Her hands free now, she put them on my shoulders, gripping them. Free of the crosses, she was strong, very strong, and at the moment she forgot it. She squeezed, pinching, and all I could do was brace against it, so she wouldn’t topple me over. “They’re my children, do you understand? My children’s children, I’ve looked after my family all these years. I’ve provided for them, watched them grow and prosper. That’s all I wanted for them, to prosper. Do you understand?”
I started to. Bradley was her great—dozens of great—grandson. And Tom, and Emma, who said her family had been with Alette for decades. Her contacts in the police department, in the government—also descendants. That loyalty came from ties of blood. Would the distance in relationship have made any difference in Alette’s mind? I thought of all those portraits in the dining room, the photographs in the hall, in the parlor, all of them were her children. She kept pictures of her family throughout the house, like any doting mother.
“Alette, we have to hurry, they’ll be back downstairs any minute.” Not to mention the sun was rising right in front of her. I held her hands and tried to pull her from the chair.
“Wait a moment, Kitty—”
“Geez, did a pipe break?” I’d been kneeling on the wet carpet. My jeans were damp.
“Holy water. I’m sitting in it. I can’t walk.”
Her feet were bare. Not only that, they were burned, the flesh red and shining, rashlike. The red crawled up from her soles, touching every place that had gotten wet. Even if she’d been able to break free, she couldn’t walk anywhere. I scented a whiff of damaged flesh.
She looked at me matter-of-factly, though the acidlike touch of holy water must have tortured her.
“Well, that’s just great.” I looked around, trying to think. I hadn’t come this far to be defeated by a damp rug. “If they had this much of it why didn’t they just throw it on you?”