Chapter One
June
And so it was the beginning of the end.
Ironically, we were right back at the start.
Not much had changed since Friar Barn burned to ash. Farmland still stretched out flat and plain with bunches of hay compacted into their white tarps, looking like giant marshmallows. So benign in comparison to the figure that stood before me, draped in dark, refined attire, maskless and bare for me to distinguish a pale, masculine face with a sharp jawline decorated with mild stubble. Green eyes like mine held my gaze, though they did not hold the gentleness I had yearned for all my life. His eyes were a piercing emerald, flecked with bits of silver that caught the crescent moonlight. They were cold and calculating, surveying me with a kind of clinical detachment, devoid any warmth or kinship. Despite the resemblance, his gaze felt unfamiliar, like scrying into a cursed looking-glass that reflected only the parts of myself I had tried so hard to bury. Every movement, every twitch of his brow, hinted at a history we shared but never spoke about, a bond forged in mere storytelling and false promises. The tension between us was palpable, woven into the stillness of the field, drawing the distant sounds of farm life into a hush as if the world itself was waiting for what would come next from the dark witch, Gennifer Silverbone.
“No…” I repeated. “You can’t be…you’re supposed to be-”
“Dead?” he inquired with an amused, raised brow.
Hesitantly, I muttered, “Yeah…”
He chuckled.
I blinked away my shock and demanded, “How are you alive? Why are you doing this? Why do you want to…” My heart skipped a beat thinking about it. “...hurt me?”
“Why would I not want to hurt you?” he inquired, voice level, almost bored, as if my anguish was nothing more than a trivial curiosity.
I stammered, the weight of the moment crushing my composure, “I’m your daughter. You’re my father. My real father.” My voice broke on the last word.
“And?” he returned, his gaze as cold and unmoving as stone. The indifference in his eyes sent a chill through my body.
Iciness ran through my blood, radiating from my core out to my fingertips. I started going numb, my vision narrowing as dread threatened to consume me.
“But…you’re…supposed to be…my dad…” I whispered, clinging to the word like a lifeline, desperately searching his face for any trace of warmth or affection.
He grunted, a sound devoid of comfort. “I did what was necessary to support you and exterminate any suspicion about my disappearance.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if explaining some trivial business transaction instead of unraveling the fabric of my reality.
I shivered. “Why?”
He chuckled again, smile lines forming around his eyes, but his irises were deadpan; he stated, “Why, indeed.”
This had to be a bad dream. Or a trick. This couldn’t be real. The way he left me cryptic tools to harness my power. The clandestine meetings with Mr. Vence, who always told me I was my father’s pride. I remembered every sacrifice, every whispered lesson, the unspoken promise that he’d be there, somehow, even in absence. How could this be?
“What do you want?” I demanded.
“Your magic,” he replied flatly.
I shook my head, fighting the wave of nausea rising in my throat. “No. You can’t be my father. This is a trick! Hawk, is that you?” I called desperately, hoping for a disguise, an illusion, some explanation that made sense.
He pondered my accusation for a moment, his emerald eyes narrowing. “Hawk from the Superiors? Yes, he wants to kill you also, but for different reasons.” His words sent a cold shiver down my spine, and I felt my resolve falter.
My stomach dropped as a cold sweat formed across my skin. Panic clawed at my chest, sharp and relentless. I forced myself to move, stomping across the rough-hewn ground toward the man who wore my father’s face. My breath came in ragged bursts. Desperation lent power to my mind as I expanded my consciousness, reaching for the core of his thoughts. I pushed, pressing deeper, past the surface memories and practiced lies, threading through the canals of his brain.
I reached into the spiraling helix of his DNA, unwinding the very blueprint of his being, configuring and reconfiguring in search of the truth. Images flashed. The echo of a lullaby, the warmth of a steady hand, the pain of loss and betrayal. All roads led to the same chilling conclusion.
Suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks. The certainty hit me like a physical blow. My heart hammered against my ribs. The man’s gaze hardened, devoid of compassion, as if daring me to challenge the reality unraveling before me.
“See? It is the truth. I am your father, Silverbone.” His tone lacked compassion, but voice was soft now, almost gentle, but it held the weight of finality. He reached a hand toward my medallion.
I gasped.
Mr. Vence.
Weightlessness.
Darkness pressed heavily from all directions. The air was thick, almost motionless, as if the Kansas humidity followed me; I could hear the low hum of the refrigerator blending with the faint tick-tick of a distant clock. All apart from an orange light that glowed from a kitchen just beyond an empty living space, casting elongated shadows across the hardwood floor. The light’s warm hue softened the stark lines of furniture in a neighboring living room: a sagging couch, a coffee table strewn with newspapers, and a pair of men’s slippers left neatly by the armchair.
I caught my breath. My heart thudded, echoing in the quiet, but wherever I was, I didn’t sense any danger. The silence felt inviting rather than threatening. I allowed myself to process, taking in the subtle scents of cleaner, brewed tea, and toasted garlic bread lingering in the air, remnants of someone’s earlier meal, likely dinner. As I began to calm down, I peered around me, understanding I was in someone’s house.
Whoa.
Someone’s very expensive house.
From what I could make out, the walls were adorned with classic paintings; the kind that screamed money. There was a grand staircase just beyond me, its broad marble steps gleaming dully in the faint light, the ornate banister curling upward into darkness like the spine of some ancient beast. To the left waited an empty kitchen, eerily silent, where the orange light shined, emitting from a lone plug-in nightlight just beside a coffee maker. The subtle glow cast over the countertops, highlighting the untouched cups and an open sugar jar, as if someone had left in haste. The windows were blocked by some kind of solid shutter with thick, seamless panels with no visible latches, as if to keep any source of light from entering or escaping, wrapping the room in a perpetual twilight. A perfect place for Vampires. And I could sense them. Many Vampires. Mr. Vence had to be among them.
Somewhere above, behind one of the many closed doors that lined the deep hallway, his aura pulsed. I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, considering teleporting straight to his room, but something tugged at me, urging caution. My intuition insisted I move forward slowly, feeling my way through the darkness, searching for the source of this new, unfamiliar sensation.
I stopped abruptly. Something felt different. There was a presence here unlike the others. I turned to the room beside me, its door heavy and ornate, carved with symbols that seemed to writhe in the dim light. I pressed my palm against the wood, feeling a gentle, almost imperceptible warmth. Vampires everywhere, except for one. I willed the door open, and it creaked softly, the sound slicing through the silence.
Inside, the room was shrouded in darkness save for a small nightlight on the bedside table. It cast a gentle, ghostly glow over the sheets and the sleeping figure within. A young woman lay curled beneath a thick quilt, her breathing slow and steady, face serene and untouched by the nightmares that haunted the rest of the mansion. Her brunette hair spilled across the pillow in waves, catching the blue-tinted light. She looked only a few years older than me, her presence gentle and human in contrast to the cold, predatory energy that radiated from the other rooms.
The air in the room felt lighter, almost hopeful. A faint scent of lavender lingered, suggesting someone had tried to build a sanctuary here amid the darkness. As I watched her sleep, I realized that this space was untouched by the shadows that prowled the halls. She was the anomaly, the spark of warmth in a house consumed by eternal night.
I lingered at the threshold, torn between curiosity and caution. Was she here willingly, or was she a captive, hidden away from the vampires who dominated the mansion? Perhaps she was the one that-
“Make another move, and you shall surely die.”
The threat itself wasn’t what sent a surge of tension through every muscle in my body; rather, it was the man’s voice. Rich, resonant, and undeniably foreign. It radiated an unwavering authority and self-assurance. The timbre was so deep and commanding that I half-expected the powerful vibrations to reverberate through my chest, leaving me momentarily breathless.
Slowly, I turned around to face a monstrosity of a person.
I thought Mr. Vence was fairly tall, but this man was humongous.
Well over six feet if not seven feet.
And built of pure, burly muscle that looked quite unsettling compared to his relatively gaunt face, which was discernibly brutal looking.
He was clad in black trousers which looked hastily fastened and a half done white button down shirt exposing his neck and the top of his pectorals. My gaze quickly dipped to his throat which revealed a gnarly scar that traveled across his neck; honestly, it was hard to miss.
I nodded to the blemish and blurted, “Ouch.”
He furrowed his brow angrily at me, though there was also a hint of bafflement.
Wow, I was so easily distracted. I clarified, “I’m looking for Charles Vence.”
The man straightened slightly, more like he was taken aback rather than assured.
I explained, “He’s Xavier Silver’s friend. He’s here helping Drakulya. You might have met him.”
The man’s dark green eyes held me before he dipped his head slightly. “Yes, I have heard of him. I am Drakulya.”
“Oh,” I blurted.
That introduction was almost like the movies. Only without the decrepit castle and bats. Or the cape. Or the slicked back hair. Or the armadillos.
He did have an accent, though. Maybe not as hyperbolic as the popular representation, but an accent nonetheless.
“Uh, hi, I guess. I’m Gennifer. With a G. Where’s Charles Vence?” My proclamations came out in quick succession just in time for me to snap back to my mission.
The man, Drakulya, studied me quizzically like I was some intriguing insect that confounded him yet was somehow amusing.
He inquired, “What business do you have with him?”
“He’s my teacher from Blackstone,” I responded. “I have some urgent news to share with him.”
Drakulya was very hard-faced and had a hint of stoicism that was hard to read, though a hint of assurance passed through his olive green eyes. Evenly, he replied, “Come with me.”
I followed him further into the hall until we reached a door he motioned to. Without hesitation, I entered the room, my footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath me. The soft glow from the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across the walls, revealing Mr. Vence sleeping peacefully in the available bed with the covers pulled all the way up to his neck. His breathing was slow and even, his face relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen in months. I blushed. I hadn’t seen him sleep in a bed since I time traveled a couple months ago. There was something tender about the scene, as if I had stumbled upon a rare moment of vulnerability.
As I approached the edge of his bed, I hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of him nestled comfortably, his hair slightly tousled against the pillow, one arm resting lazily atop the blanket. I reached for his shoulder in an attempt to shake him awake, feeling the slight resistance of the comforter beneath my hand. But then I paused, considering that it would be nicer if he woke up more gently, perhaps to the sound of my voice instead of a sudden jolt. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the subtle rhythm, and decided to softly call his name, hoping he’d awaken with a smile rather than a startle.
Mr. Vence, awake.
To my will, he stirred then opened his eyes. Recognizing me, he sat up. I trembled, taken aback, then bit my bottom lip. He was shirtless. And he was so beautiful!
“Miss Gennifer,” he greeted, surprised. “You’re here. In Romania. What has happened?”
I faltered, my throat constricting with emotion. The realization was crashing through me, cold and relentless, making everything else fade away. It was really now registering, the truth sinking deep into my bones.
Tears brimmed my eyes, blurring the edges of the world. My breath hitched as I struggled to speak the words that would change everything. “He’s Robert Silverbone. My dad.”
Mr. Vence’s dark eyes rounded. “What?” A beat. “Are you sure?”
My bottom lip quivered, then I nodded while a couple sobs escaped from the ache in my chest.
“Oh, Gennifer…” Mr. Vence swung his legs off the bed, swiftly pushing himself up before grabbing onto me and pulling me into a tight embrace. I shivered against him, though it wasn’t because of his cold skin; as hard as I attempted to stifle my cries, the grief only wracked my body.
Greif.
A sorrow for someone I created in my mind that never existed. A father who loved me. A real dad. Only to find out he was yet another monster.
Mr. Vence’s hands were gentle, circling my back with a steady, grounding pressure. For a moment, I clung to him; the truth stung so deeply it felt like it might splinter my chest.
“Gennifer,” he whispered, his voice low and careful, “I am so sorry. No one should bear this alone.”
There was hurt in his voice as well. After all, Mr. Vence had assumed that Robert Silverbone was his friend. The betrayal must have been eating its way into the crevices of his mind.
The trembling in my shoulders faded to a lingering ache. I wiped at my eyes, though most of my tears transferred to Mr. Vence’s shirt, though he didn’t mind. He waited, patient and still, as if he knew that words would not come easily.
I found myself staring at the pattern of the blanket that just moments prior draped over my Vampire, tracing the stitched shapes with a shaking finger. “I thought I knew him,” I managed, my voice thin and ragged. “All those things he prepared for me. Everything he provided. All the things I imagined. None of it was real, was it?”
Mr. Vence’s face shadowed with concern alongside a hint of bewilderment. “Sometimes we create the people we need in our minds. We paint them in colors that soothe our fears, fill our emptiness. But you are not to blame for his mask, for what he chose to hide.”
I nodded, but while Mr. Vence’s voice and the meaning behind his words brought solace, it didn’t make any of this situation okay.
How could he?
How could my father do this?
Trick us all like this?
And play along as if he is in the right?
How could anyone in their right mind think that way?
I shivered.
The AC was cranked high in the room.
“You’re cold,” Mr. Vence noted. “Perhaps we can discuss this downstairs by the fireplace. We don’t want to disturb the other guests with our conversation. And the kitchen is stocked with all kinds of teas.”
Again, I nodded, though my compliance was more out of exhaustion than anything else. Mr. Vence threw on a buttoned shirt across his chest and slipped on some loafers near the bedside before motioning me out of the room.
Sure enough, the big, bad Vampire king himself, Count Drakulya, lingered in the hallway, his monstrous form out of place in such a delicate setting.
Mr. Vence dipped his head to him, politely. “I am taking my student down to the drawing room. I hope that’s alright.”
The nostrils of his aquiline nose flared as he inhaled sharply, yet quietly, aware of his surroundings. I couldn’t really tell if he was displeased; for that matter, I wouldn’t be surprised if his face was perpetually stuck in a hardened expression for hundreds of years.
However, he gestured us onward. “My house is yours. Make yourselves comfortable. As always, you know what the repercussions are if you betray me.”
Damn. He wasn’t one for subtlety. A bit paranoid, too. Though given his status, and that he just transitioned from the bad guy to good guy? I guess?
“Of course, Count,” Mr. Vence replied before leading me through the hall. Protectively, almost like movement from an involuntary muscle, Drakulya side stepped our movements, hovering beside the door where the girl was. I could only assume that she was the woman he was in love with.
Still, it seemed unfair that such a bad man could have so many good things.
Mr. Vence brought me to the kitchen, switched on some lights, and brewed me a cup of black tea before escorting me into a massive living room with an equally colossal fireplace. Everything screamed opulence. So, he was ex-evil and rich. Meaning he had been evil and rich. Though I suppose he had all the time he needed to accumulate so much wealth. Ethically, who knew?
Mr. Vence and I sat upright on the couch across from the newfound flames engulfing dry firewood. A few moments of silence fell between us. Perhaps we were both trying to understand really everything that was going on.
My father.
Robert Silverbone.
He was someone who was supposed to protect me and value me beyond all else.
Well, he did value me in the end, but not as a daughter, but someone he could use to fulfill his own desires. After everything that happened, he wanted my power. That was the only reason I existed was for him to take my power for himself. After everything that he planned for me, the quests, the gold card, ensuring I was financially set for Blackstone. Everything that a loving parent should provide for a child. At least, that was how it was supposed to be, right? They provide for their children. That was how it worked, right?
Except that wasn’t what it was.
It was also supposed to be loving and supportive and kind and emotionally available.
Now that I was sitting here, away from his shadow, I could see it for what it was. A transaction. An investment. Not love.
I thought I only didn’t receive that because he was dead.
No. He chose to be cruel, instead.
I didn’t ask to be born. I didn’t ask for any of this.
If it weren’t for Mr. Vence, I would prefer to be dead.
I shifted awkwardly, clutching my mug as if the heat could seep into my bones. Mr. Vence cleared his throat, the sound startling me out of my thoughts. I glanced at him, unsure if I wanted to speak, unsure if I even could. He didn’t push, just sat there, a quiet pillar against the storm inside me.
“You’re safe here,” he said finally, voice low but firm. “No one will hurt you. Not anymore.”
Part of me wanted to believe him, to reach out and accept the safety he offered. But another part, the part my father had twisted and shaped, didn’t know how. Did I deserve kindness?
Mr. Vence’s dark eyes drifted over me. “Miss Gennifer, it is alright to take this time to grieve. In a way, this betrayal is like a person passing. But with that said, don’t slip into darkness. I am always here for you.”
Don’t slip into darkness.
After killing some people, I was pretty sure that ship already sailed.
Maybe this was some kind of punishment? Surely, it was my fault, wasn’t it?
Mr. Vence’s cold hand gently grabbing mine pulled me back into the present. My blurring vision met his black eyes, which once used to perturb me but now filled me with so much reassurance and warmth. Swiftly, he wiped with his thumb a lone tear that managed to spill onto my cheek. His worried brow concentrated on me like I was the only person in the world that ever mattered. A bit of the weight of grief lifted, and I knew how I could eradicate it completely.
I slammed into Mr. Vence’s chest, coiling my arms around his neck as I molded my lips to his. He stiffened momentarily, surprised by my eagerness, but he embraced me, returning my kiss. Unintentionally, I moaned. Mr. Vence was every comfort to me.
When his lips parted from mine, he murmured, “Miss Gennifer…” There was a hint of warning in his gentle voice. He pulled away, leaving me unsated.
“Can’t you kiss me here?” I inquired, the hurt in my chest swelling.
Mr. Vence released a pondering sound before he carefully replied, “I think because you are in pain right now, you might be relying too much on our newfound relationship.”
I frowned. “Like I’m taking advantage of you?”
“No. More like I would prefer any romantic situations between us be formed by love rather than sorrow,” he told me.
Basically don’t rely on him like he was a drug to numb the pain.
I nodded. “But still…I want you…that way…”
This time he nodded. “Eventually.”
“A whole year is a long time to wait,” I thought out loud then grimaced. Jesus, Gen, you can be so callous. A year? Try four centuries. Like Charles did. Immediately, I added, “Sorry…”
Of course, because he was a saint, he wasn’t offended and assured me everything was alright.
Changing the subject, which I equally loathed, I asked, “What do we do now?”
“I’ll contact my fellow administrators at Blackstone. Surely Ms. Grace will relay this information to AASB. You shouldn’t be alone. I will go with you to Kansas-”
That did perk me up, however, I added, “I don’t want to take you from here. Clearly, Drakulya needs you…”
“Drakulya will be fine without me,” Mr. Vence insisted.
“I beg a differ…”
Mr. Vence and I turned to the entrance of the living room where the Vampire king himself loomed in the doorway like some backrooms creeper.
Continuing with that rumbling voice, Drakulya continued, “Retrieving Roland is not the only feat we must face; it is imperative that Miss Grayson has all the manpower to protect her at Snagov. Forgive me for the imprudence, but whatever affair that transpires in this school of yours and all that is connected to it do not matter to me. You must stay, Vence, not only for your friend Silvers, but for Miss Grayson’s benefit.”
Miss Grayson. She must’ve been the young woman in the bedroom. Yes, that made sense…Who the hell was Roland?
Regardless, I was starting to like Drakulya less and less.
Mr. Vence stood, though there was an air of respect to his movements, and I wondered if he was performing to ensure an amicable mood from the demanding Vampire. He said, “Forgive me, Count, but my student also needs help. There are other factors at play other than Eléston and your current affair…”
“Send someone else to protect your lover,” Drakulya insisted.
Mr. Vence stiffened. “I am not sure what-”
“You love her,” Drakulya continued. “Beleive me, I can tell.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. Damn, he was direct.
Conceding, Mr. Vence added, “Then you must understand why I must protect her.”
“I can protect myself,” I interjected. For once in my life, I was truly capable of doing so.
“Miss Gennifer…” Mr. Vence warned.
“No,” I insisted, a horrid thought suddenly entering my mind. “Stay here,” I insisted. “I will go back to Kansas. I can protect myself and my family. But I want you out of harm’s way.”
Mr. Vence turned to me, taken aback. “Miss Gennifer…”
I ordered, “Stay with Drakulya. Who knows what…” Dad? Is that what I should call him? It seemed wrong, especially after what he did. “...Mr. Silverbone is planning…” Ugh. That sounded wrong, too. To Mr. Vence, I added, “I don’t want him to hurt you.”
He frowned, emotions warring in those irises like pools of oil. He appeared genuinely touched by my desire to shield him, yet troubled by his inability to reciprocate and protect me in return.
Continuing, I said, “If I need help, I’ll get Spencer and Kiara.”
Mr. Vence’s shoulders dropped.
“I understand your predicament, Vence,” Drakulya went on. “Yet, I must make sacrifices as well. You know that Miss Grayson and I will be separated at Snagov…”
“It is not the same.” Mr. Vence twirled to the burly Vampire. “You will still be on the same property with her while Miss Silverbone and I will be separated by an entire continent and ocean. Has your current affair taught you nothing of empathy? Are you blind to the hypocrisy?”
Drakulya remained stoic. He might as well have been made of marble. In fact, a marble statue would have more emotion than him. Well, apart from his eyes. Even though they were lighter in color in comparison to Mr. Vence’s, they were entirely cold, perhaps even slightly indignant as if vexed by my Vampire’s challenge.
“You are a good friend of Silvers,” Drakulya responded. “He speaks of you fondly, including how resourceful you are. Because of this, I prefer you stay. That is all. But I understand your point.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assured Mr. Vence.
He looked unconvinced, and for a fleeting moment, I thought he might protest again. But he only pressed his lips together, a thousand arguments churning behind his eyes, and nodded. “If that is what you wish, Gennifer, I’ll respect it. But I want your word that if anything, and I mean anything, feels wrong, you’ll call me. Immediately.”
I must’ve smiled, because the tension in my chest loosened. “You have my word. I’ll keep my phone close.”
Drakulya’s brows lifted, the cool mask of his face cracking minutely in what looked almost like approval, if such a word could be applied to the king of the undead. “Then it is settled.”
Mr. Vence inclined his head, accepting the verdict, but I caught the flicker of regret in his gaze.
Drakulya had already turned away, a swirl of shadow and command, leaving the living room tense in his wake. I exhaled, feeling deflated. Emotioned threatened to well up in my eyes again, but I held back, knowing there was much more I needed to do, and I didn’t want Mr. Vence to see me cry before I left.
