Page 52 of Addicted in Blood
Even after death,Christopher continued to haunt me.It was different this time.My mom had my back.Who would have thought it?I’d have to reach out to her once Devon and the House were safe.
I climbed the stairs to the third floor, nodding to the vamp standing guard.That was new.Bodyguard or babysitter?
I’d barely knocked when Lyra called out, “Come in, Cressa.”
I hated when she did that.
Her room was bright with midday light, and the air smelled of paint.She stood in front of an easel that faced the western windows.I stepped closer, surprised at the scene that was both similar and foreign to her other paintings.The primordial forested island wasn’t in any of her other works—at least not the few I’d seen.But there was the familiar cove.On the white-sand beach, a single red umbrella shaded a blanket complete with picnic basket and a bottle of wine.A person sitting on the blanket was beginning to take shape, but it was too soon to tell if the figure was male or female.
Lyra finished a couple of strokes then set her brush aside, turning and wiping her hands on her paint-stained apron.She removed it and tossed it on a nearby worktable.
“It must be nice to be painting again.”I glanced at another landscape, the paint still wet.This scene I knew well.It was the gardens outside the manor with the old sycamore tree—another favorite object of Lyra’s.It showed up in several of her paintings, each setting a different time of day, different colors or shading, but the same tree.
Lyra perched on the sofa that faced the same windows and patted the seat next to her.“Come sit.”
She picked up a decanted bottle of wine and poured two glasses.Did she always take a break with wine, or was she expecting me?It wasn’t far-fetched that I’d seek her out once I’d returned.She said we’d talk about the necklace after New Orleans.
I considered the chair next to the couch, but she was still patting the sofa.
“What’s the matter, Cressa?Are you concerned about my dual personalities?Perhaps I’m still a bit crazy?”Lyra glanced out to the sea, the waves as wild as her heart.“Perhaps I am.And while there are two of me inside, there’s little to fear from either one.What do they say?The only one in danger of getting hurt is me.
“My best friend Avery and I would sit here, staring at the ocean for hours and confessing all our sins.”Her laughter sounded like a light spring rain.“If we only knew how silly our misdeeds were compared to the horrors of this world.”She closed her eyes and lifted her chin, exposing her long graceful neck.
I sat next to her and touched her arm.It was a moment before she passed me the wineglass.
“For as long as I can remember, I’ve viewed myself as the before and the after.You first met the after, the child that rose from the accident.The day my whole world was stripped away from me.Of course, it was months before I spoke at all.Maybe it was years.I don’t remember.They said I had some form of psychotic break, which seemed reasonable considering what I’d just been through.”
She sipped her wine, and when she turned to me, her expression wasn’t sad or regretful or angry.It was ethereally blank, as if she were telling someone else’s story.“I know I’ve shared some of this before, but I wanted you to hear it all in context.Other than Devon and the cadre, no one else knows the story.
“It was two months after the accident that the first dream came.So real.Too real.I was in a place I didn’t recognize, with people I didn’t know.I thought it was a nightmare, but at the same time, I recognized the feel of the dreamworld.The one Hamilton had introduced me to.”Her focus moved to a painting on the wall.“They came each night, all of them different, horrible, terrifying, and I began to experience the repercussions of continual beatings and starvation.The only way to avoid the dreams was to not sleep.Being vampire, it’s possible to go long periods between sleeping, but few of us have the stamina anymore.I was surprised how quickly it came back.”
“That’s when you started walking the property at night?”I asked.The first night I’d come to the manor, I’d seen someone with a lantern standing in front of the gravestones.My curiosity had been piqued to discover who that mystery person had been.
“Yes, and when I became a child again, unwilling to face the responsibility of being an adult, no longer remembering who I’d been before.The dreams lessened but never went away.”
She gripped my hand.“The dreams changed when you came here.Faces fell away as if pieces of broken glass.But the image behind the mirror is still elusive.I felt its presence when I put your necklace on.”
“A woman?”I thought back to the malevolent presence the first time I’d worn the necklace.
“No.A male.But I can’t see more than that.”She scratched her head.“It’s like an itch that won’t go away.But I’m more lucid than I’ve been since…” Her hand dropped into her lap.
After several seconds, I touched her arm.“Lyra?”
“We had traveled to the city—San Francisco—and met with one of Father’s oldest friends, Philipe Renaud.”
I jerked at the name then gulped the wine.Philipe Renaud was the vamp we were searching for.The one who could lead them to theDe første dage.I nodded to show I was listening, encouraging her to continue.
“Father had a private meeting with him while Mother had lunch with Hamilton and me.”Her voice cracked, and she glanced again to the sketch of a young man, the same man that was in the majority of her paintings.
I studied the image, understanding why she painted him so often.He appeared the same physical age as Lyra, and his hair was cut in a style similar to the early nineteen hundreds.He was quite handsome, and it wasn’t too wild of a guess to assume it was Hamilton.
She wiped at an eye and cleared her throat.“It was the first time Mother was civil to him.”She gave me a curious glance.“He was human.”
My eyes widened.“Oh.That’s interesting.”
She giggled, a sound reminiscent of the child she had been.“That’s the first time I’ve heard that response.”
“I’m sorry.That was rude.”
