The Den of Shadows Quartet - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes [91]
Breaking into a house at ten o’clock in the morning was not generally a good idea, but somehow she doubted she would be welcome if she simply knocked on the door. Swathing herself in magic, she approached through the side yard. If a human glanced in her direction, he would see her movement as the rustle of leaves in a breeze. She wasn’t invisible, but humans saw a great deal that they didn’t consciously notice. She hoped her magic would keep her safe from detection of the blood bonded humans inside as well, since if any of them saw her, the vampire would shortly follow.
The house was upper middle class, nondescript but for a string of clematis that bloomed a brilliant violet around the mailbox and wraparound porch. Trees grew heavily in this neighborhood, providing plenty of shade in which simple plants grew. Someone had devoted time to gardening.
The image of a long-hunted vampire practicing horticulture was amusing enough to bring a smile to her face, although she doubted he was the gardener.
From the yard, she sized up the house. It was three stories, four if it had a basement. The top floor had a large bay window on the northern side, but white curtains blocked Sarah’s view.
After a quick check to make sure all her knives were in place, Sarah swung onto the porch, her sneakers barely making a sound. A quick burst of laughter alerted her just before two girls came around the corner of the house. Focusing her power, Sarah threw a burst of it at the two, the magical equivalent of a hammer to the head. Both girls collapsed, instantly unconscious. They would wake awhile later, groggy but unharmed.
Taking a deep breath to regain her focus, Sarah stepped past the girls and slipped through the open door they had just exited.
Instantly she felt color-blind. Black and white, Robert had said. She was in the right place.
The carpet of the living room was plush black. The walls were white but for abstract designs that had been painted onto them in black. The furniture was a combination of black and white.
Her head nearly spinning at the abrupt change of scenery, Sarah barely avoided knocking a vase of white roses off a black table. Their green leaves were the only bit of color in the room.
She passed through the first floor quickly, easily satisfied that it was empty. On the second floor she passed one door behind which she sensed another human. This one was probably sleeping, but Sarah didn’t risk checking. The rest of the house was empty but for the vampire she sensed on the top floor, probably in the room with the bay window.
Climbing another flight of stairs, she sensed him very close by. If he was sleeping, she still had a chance to surprise him. More likely he had already sensed her the same way she could sense him, and was expecting to fight.
She opened the door that she knew must lead to Nikolas’s room, but what she found there threw her entirely off balance.
The walls were pure art, covered with pictures drawn in careful black paint, like a sketch enlarged to become a mural.
And she recognized the figures. Kaleo and Kendra, and other high-society vampiric killers, each in aloof portraits, graced the walls. Worse, she recognized her friends — Christopher and Nissa.
Still dazed, she spun when she sensed someone behind her.
Christopher?
He was dressed entirely in black — black boots, black jeans, and a black T-shirt. His hair was much longer than it had been when she saw him last, and the ebony waves were tied back.
He looked exactly the same except for the hair, but something was very wrong.
His expression was dark and angry, as opposed to the open, smiling one she had grown so fond of. But the wrongness didn’t reach her brain until he pushed her back into the wall, forcing the breath from her lungs. The vampire’s aura washed over her like ice water — too strong, too dark. Christopher did not