Page 131 of The Blood Witch

Vivian didn’t answer. With a squeal, she scrambled backward, back onto the kitchen floor, an emergency lantern clasped victoriously in her hands. It was a crank operated light, something he only kept in case the electricity went out.

Vee ignored him as she began to charge the lantern, cranking the lever so fast Jasper worried she might dislocate her arm.

“Hey, slow down,” Jasper said. “Here, I can help you with that?—”

He reached out, but Vivian scrambled away from him, frantic.

There was an organization to the chaos in his kitchen, Jasper suddenly realized, looking around. Sure, the kitchen floor was covered in junk, but…

On the counters were every flashlight and candle he owned, carefully set aside. Matches. Lighters.

“Viv… what’s going on?”

She didn’t answer.

“Vivian, whatever is happening, I can help you, I can?—”

The emergency lantern flared to life when Vivian flipped the switch, and in the soft glow of the kitchen lamp it blazed like a small sun. Jasper quickly looked away, blinking.

“You can’t help me,” Vivian told him. She sounded a little sad. But she didn’t look at him as she stood and clipped the lantern to her waist. Didn’t even glance his way as she scooped batteries and flashlights off his counter, shoving some into her pockets and securing others to her arms and legs with rubber bands.

“Please. Viv?—”

She stopped. Staring down at the mess on the floor, she frowned, as though only now noticing what she had done.

“Hey, Uncle Jas?” Vivian asked softly. “Can you tell Nan I’m sorry?”

“Stay right there, Viv,” Jasper told her, heart sinking. He ducked back into his room, grabbing a pair of pants and pulling them on. Shirt,where was his shirt? “Whatever this is, you can talk to me. We can deal with it together.”

There—a shirt, not clean, but clean enough. He grabbed it, rushing back to the kitchen. “Sit down, and just tell me what?—”

“Sleep,” Vee said, the word echoing through Jasper’s skull like a bell.

He was unconscious before his body hit the ground.

Chapter 61

AMALIA

At first, she thought it was a dream.

“This is your fault, you know,” a voice told her. A voice she recognized. A voice she trusted.

Amalia was slow to wake, her eyelids fighting against opening. Sleep was a warm comfort, and something was pulling her up, up away from that wonderful emptiness and into consciousness.

She blinked tired eyes, squinting around her bedroom.

A figure. A person, standing in her doorway, surrounded by a halo of bright white light.

“Vee?” Amalia asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

“You were just so trusting. So eager to please, to be seen.”

Amalia blinked. What time was it? What was Vee talking about? Rubbing the crust from her eyes, she forced herself to sit up, that warm blanket of sleep giving way to a cold reality.

It was Vee standing there. Vee, with flashlights strapped to her, taped to her clothing. Amalia frowned, squinting against the blinding light.

Was she crying?

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