Page 95 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
Caldwell nods. “I’ve never met him.”
“Yet, you use his name,” I mutter under my breath.
“You’re the son of a demon, and… your mother had the gift of sight as well, I presume?” Margaux has taken over the questioning.
I’m grateful. My mind runs a mile a minute as they talk.
“Yes,” he says. “My grandmother, too, and my great grandfather as well. It is a generational… gift.”
I can read between the lines; it doesn’t feel like a gift now. It feels like a curse to him, but Caldwell has no clue what a real curse is. He doesn’t know how it feels to be surrounded by monsters without a single defense.
I let out a bitter laugh, and the two continue to ignore me.
“This is what you were hiding,” Margaux says. “I could tell there was something, but… it was your mother, wasn’t it? Her involvement in things?”
Caldwell nods.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I finally speak, turning my gaze to him.
“Because,” he says, “you hardly trusted me. If youknew my mother was involved… you would have trusted me even less.”
“True,” Margaux mutters.
“This conversation, and your reaction to everything, is proof of that,” he says. “I showed you my mother screaming, begging for her life, and you still do not believe me. I won’t believe she was the killer—and Iknowshe was the one trying to stop it. I don’t need a vision to tell me that.”
“I can’t—” I start.
“She’s gone now! If she were on their side, she wouldn’t be. I want revenge as much as you do.” His voice is harsh and cutting. “No, I may want itmorethan you. I’m willing to trust you with a knife, to letyoutie me up…”
“You love it,” Margaux says.
“Hush,” I mutter.
“The only one I want to kill,” he says, “is the person responsible for my mother’s death. And whether you believe me or not, I know who it is. I’m theonlyone who knows who it is.”
“I assume you have more half-baked proof?” I lift a brow.
“I’m sure the two of you will poke holes in it, but… I do have proof.” He smiles—a slow, lazy smile. “I wouldn’t consider it ‘half-baked’ either…”
“What is it?” I ask warily.
“A vision,” he says. “When I found the last body, I saw their face—and I can show you, too.”
“That’s why you were there, with the body stuck in place?” I shudder.
He nods. “I touched the mask to receive a vision of the wearer, and… it worked.”
“And what about the blood on your hands?” I ask faintly.
“A pathetic attempt at saving the victim, I’mafraid.” He looks down, frowning. “I found them when they were mid-kill, but they were gone before I approached. By the time I tried to stop the bleeding, It was already too late.”
“It was a messier kill this time,” I say.
“Likely because I interrupted,” he says. “Vampires are usually… clean eaters, but the killer pulled away quickly, disappearing in a blur.”
“They must have pierced the wrong spot,” Margaux murmurs. “It happens—either with baby vampires or with certain distractions. If they tried to run away with their fangs still dug into the neck, then… I can see it happening that way.”
“Caldwell was the distraction…” I muse.
