Page 145 of White Raven
She didn’t warn anyone before her free hand slapped the wall to her left, and the light switch flipped on…
And there stood a legend. An impossibility.
There stood Edgar Allan fucking Poe.
The only thing different about the man that stood before her, than the man in every portrait in this house—every man carved out of plaster or stone—was the modern cut of his hair…and the clothes he wore. The style was similar. A vest. A white shirt. A black peacoat, and slacks. He even sported a couple of tattoos. It surprised her a little to see them—especially the one on his wrist. One that looked identical to hers. Identical to Athan’s replica that he’d added to his chest. How much did he know about her? Did he get it to honor her? Or didsheget the idea from a whisper in a dream that maybe wasn’t even a dream. How long had he been a shadow in the corner of her life? How long had he watched her? Followed her? Influenced her every move?
Their eyes were locked together…so incredibly strong that she could feel the death rippling from him in waves. His mouth curved slightly beneath that short mustache, and he slowly nodded his approval.
“You look so much like your mother,” he said softly.
He meant it as a compliment, Sarah knew. But it filled her with bitterness.
“Yeah? And where were you?” Athan’s hand held steady, and she knew he wouldn’t let her go. Especially not when he was frozen in shock, probably starstruck, and still trying to figure out if any of them would make it out of here alive. “It’s always been the two of us. She never talked about you. She never made a big deal about whatever you put her through. How the hell did my mother end up with Edgar Allan Poe?”
Tony shifted behind her, and Edgar’s dark eyes shifted with him. They widened a bit, and then narrowed…he was piecing it all together.
“You…” he started, cocking his head. “I recognize you.”
Tony swallowed and managed a shaky nod. He seemed…terrified. “You should. We’ve met.”
The bird on his shoulder opted for a nearby bust—not of Pallas, but of Poe, himself. He inched a step forward, eyes still on Tony, and drinking in every feature. “You saved my life.”
“I didn’t,” Tony said, apologetically. “I tried. But she found you anyway. I’ve never been very good at a firm tone. Especially not with a kid as young as you were.”
Poe slid his hands into his pockets and studied them all carefully. “I’ve since learned that vampires aren’t typically as kind as you were. I suppose in a way…I should thank you. For the instrument of learning. For warning me of the ways my life would go.” Sarah didn’t take her eyes from him as he sat down in a wooden chair and gestured for them to take the others in the room. “Have a seat. I asked you here to tell you everything. And before you walk out of this house…you’ll have the answers you seek. But I feel I should start from the beginning.”
Athan’s jaw was ticking, and she heard him grind his teeth. He hadn’t said a word since he’d finished the last line of her father’s quote. He was sizing him up. Trying to figure out ifhe wanted to bury this fucker alive or grovel at his feet. Sarah found herself much the same, but tugged at his hand as they took a couple of chairs across from Poe. It was Athan’s turn to take the heat of the poet’s stare. The smile he wore looked something like…admiration.
“Of all the undead in the world…you are truly a spectacle, Athan Kane. It is a difficult feat indeed to surprise me at every turn.”
Athan looked him in the eye, and without a hint of resignation, he opened his mouth. “With respect?Go fuck yourself, sir.”
Sarah huffed through her nose, not bothering to hide her smile.
Nice. Took the words right outta my mouth.
He squeezed her hand in response, but didn’t take his eyes from Poe’s. Tony only cleared his throat in discomfort.
Poe crossed a leg, leaving his hands settled in his pockets, and smirking at them. “Do you know why I chose to use the name John Allan?”
“Because you’re a deceitful psychopath that likes to play head games, and lie through your stupid mustache?” Sarah seethed.
The mustache twitched as he quirked his mouth. It made her skin crawl. “John Allan raised me, as you know. He was the reason I was in Scotland on the night that I discovered the darkest realm of the world. When Dahlia Van Hausen found me that night…I was just a scared, misunderstood young boy. I didn’t know if she’d bleed me dry or let me live. I gambled that night. Gave her his name. But she said something that wretched evening that changed my entire life.”
Tony leaned in curiously, completely enveloped in the story. Poe sighed. “She birthed the very soul of my success. She told me to tellstories.” If it were possible for this man’s eyes toturn a shade darker, they did. His hate for Dahlia bled into the whites of them, making them shark-like and reflecting the pure evil that she was before they’d torched her on a rooftop. “She gave a twisted child an even more twistedstoryto tell. From that day on…I became obsessed with literature…with death. It devoured every part of me. I told the story to anyone who would listen, and very quickly did I make a dark smudge upon my name. They thought me insane. Perhaps I was…but it didn’t stop me.”
Sarah found herself finding an anchor in where this was heading, and she clung to it. All the mysterious pieces…they were starting to fit already, and he hadn’t even made it out of his childhood yet. Poe continued, “I penned every dark thought. Every sliver of truth that the world refused to believe. I still believe she passed a bit of her evil to me that fateful night. Even if she never harmed a hair on my head. It consumed me. Death was always on my mind. Always lurking in every corner. Always taunting me with its song. It followed me wherever I went…even in sleep.”
Athan’s voice sounded in her mind.
Sleep, those little slices of death—how I loathe them.
Sarah flinched, tightening her fingers around his as the words cut through to her soul.
“I was so intrigued by the liquid in those pints and glasses that night in the forbidden tavern I’d dared to enter when I found that seductress drinking blood from that man’s body. She’d been drunk on his life essence…the rest were drunk from their cups. I longed for that happiness. When I had grown older, I found myself overcome by the drink. John frequently displayed his disapproval. I never stopped writing about the visions in my head. I even tried to convince myself, for a time, that I had imagined it all. She said she’d come to reign over the covens in the New World…but for so many years…she didn’t. That notionalone had me believing that people were right. I had indeed lost my mind.”
He stood, never moving his hands from his pockets, and began to pace the wooden floor. Every footstep echoed like a ghost haunting the space. Even the moonlight filtering in from the window seemed to ripple with every step.
