ReAwakened Page 20

  August 12th, 1856

  I am certain that there is something amiss with my dear Zora. She leaves the house in the middle of the night and does not return until the break of dawn. Though she denies it, she appears utterly exhausted. Her face is paler than the brightest moon, her skin almost completely translucent. I worry that she is ill, but I do not know how to approach the subject with her.

  - A

  August 29th, 1856

  My suspicions are growing stronger. Zora has been slipping out almost every night this month. She is so very frail, plagued with worry. Even Elisa, who initially told me not to concern myself with Zora’s business, is growing anxious. I must find out what is troubling my lovely bride-to-be.

  - A

  September 8th, 1856

  I followed Zora this week. Two nights ago, she went to a small cottage on the outskirts of the village. A withered old man opened the door and let her in. His face was grim with sorrow, his cheeks stained with tears. Zora spent the night. This eve, she went to the Edwards’ household. Again, she spent the night. I do not know what to make of this. I am consumed by uneasy feelings. I fear for her declining health, but I also worry about her heart. When she’s with me, she appears bright and cheerful, but behind those violet eyes, she hides so much pain.

  - A

  September 25th, 1856

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I confronted Zora about her nightly expeditions. She assured me that she will explain everything once we are wed and I am turned. Patience is a virtue, they say.

  - A

  Countless blank pages followed. I flipped through the book in search of the next entry.

  November 30th, 1856

  Zora has kept her promise. She has confided in me on our wedding night.

  My dear wife heals the dying.

  - A

  That was all. I nearly dropped the little book, but quickly regained my grip and turned to the next page. The entry had no date or signature. It was scribbled in a noticeably rushed manner.

  Every Born vampire has a special power. Zora calls it her forta. Her power is the rarest of them all. It is unlike anything I imagined could exist in our world. I had long known that vampire blood acts as a healing elixir for humans. It can heal wounds and injuries, and even rid people of the common cold. The blood of Born vampires is infinitely stronger and can cure more severe illnesses—gout, measles…

  But what Zora can do with her blood is special. Very special. Zora can retrieve humans from Death’s doorstep. She has healed maladies that even the most modern of medicines could not. She has saved countless human lives, young and old. To our misfortune, the procedures are taking a toll on her. Every healing requires a full blood transfusion. It drains her completely.

  I fear that I will lose her. I must do everything in my power to protect her.

  - A

  December 15th, 1856

  Earlier in the week, Zora failed to save a little girl. The family had called her to the bedside of a small child, and I had convinced her to let me come along. I could barely watch as the doctor inserted a thick needle in her arm, extracting her blood into a glass syringe that attached to a tube leading to the little girl’s body. The process was utterly barbaric. With each drop of blood that she lost, Zora became more frail, until there was no more blood left inside her. She fought to keep that child alive, but as the clock struck midnight, the tiny girl gave out her final breath. Zora collapsed. She was bedridden for three long days, her eyes firmly shut, her beautiful golden locks spread about her like a halo. She really is an angel, but I fear her life on Earth will be cut short if she continues healing.

  - A

  January 11th, 1857

  I have been pleading with Zora to cease her healing work, especially now that we have learned the news. She is with child. I pray that she will heed my advice.

  - A

  The pages from the next section of the journal were ripped out, their torn edges painted with blood. I swallowed hard and found the next entry.

  May 20th, 1857

  Zora has passed the mid-point of her pregnancy. Each day, the light in her eyes dims a little. Elisa has ensured that she stays confined to bed, but the confinement is driving Zora mad. She desperately wants to be out in the world, to be helping those in need. She has not healed since the death of that little girl, and I know that with each passing day, she feels the loss of that young life.

  - A

  July 5th, 1857

  I’m a father. What began as the best day of my entire existence, rapidly turned into the worst. The baby came early. Zora had a difficult delivery. My daughter will not make it.

  - A

  That was all. I flipped through the rest of the journal. My heart pounding, I scratched at the last blank page in a desperate attempt to make more entries appear. Finally, I shut the book and looked up at Elisa.

  “What happened?” I whispered, though I already knew the answer.

  “Aurora was premature,” she replied, stroking my arm. “She was a weak, tiny thing. We just had to wait for her to pass on. There was nothing anyone could do.”

  “Except…our mother.”

  Elisa nodded. “Zora’s healing had always worked with humans, but she had never tried it out with vampires. The Made, anyway, because she feared the blood incompatibility between our kind. Aurora, being a Born, and her daughter at that, was a different story. But the Born need more blood than humans to be successfully healed. A lot more.”

  “My mother gave her life in exchange for Aurora’s.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Elisa responded anyway. “Yes.”

  All air escaped my lungs.

  “Aurora didn’t inherit the same forta as our mother, did she?” I asked, remembering what Sebastian had told me about his suspicion that Aurora could glamour.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Your father made certain to monitor that.”

  “So, what was her forta?”

  “Alastair kept another journal to collect evidence about Aurora’s possible forta, but I’m not sure if he ever found out exactly what it was. I’m not in possession of the journal—he hid it after you were born,” she explained, avoiding my eyes.

  “My mother…is that why my father didn’t tell me about the Born having a forta?”

  Elisa smiled sadly. “He feared that you would follow in her footsteps. He never told Aurora about fortas either, but he especially made certain that you never found out.”

  “Did he have a journal on me like he did on Aurora?”

  Elisa shook her head. “He didn’t have to. He knew the moment you were born.”

  “Knew what?” I asked slowly.

  “Knew that you were just like your mother.”

  Just like your mother. The words echoed in my ears, stirring a warm sense of joy inside me. But the happiness was quickly followed by cold terror. Just like your mother. An alarm went off in my head.

  “To date, there are no other Born recorded with the forta that you and your mother possess. Mind you, if they do exist, I’m assuming that they would keep their ability a secret. There is no one more dangerous and more desirable than someone who can heal the dying.”

  Dangerous. Heal the dying. I was hearing the words, but not fully processing them.

  “How did my father know? How did he know that I could heal?”

  “You healed your surrogate. The vampire who gave birth to you.” Elisa's eyes dimmed. “Unfortunately, a bad accident occurred in the facility right after your birth and she ended up dying anyway. The good thing was that they kept you safe.” She patted my hand.

  “Who was she?” I wanted to know. “Who was my surrogate?”

  Elisa frowned. “We don't have any records of her. Amelia Summers headed the entire operation, and both Alistair and I had very little contact with the lab. It was part of our contract. We had to stay out of the procedure, and in turn, if it succeeded, they vowed to keep your existence a secret. Amelia left the company shortly after your birth, takin
g all of her research with her.”

  It was odd to think that I'd been hatched in some laboratory while my father waited for news of my birth. The surrogate, the healing, the accident, everything about my existence was odd. Thankfully, even if Elisa didn't have any more information about it, I knew one person who would.

  “I need to speak to Amelia. Especially if she witnessed my forta firsthand.”

  Elisa shot me a tender, warning look. “Please be careful, Dawn. I decided to break the promise I made to your father because I thought that you deserved to know the truth. More importantly, you needed to know because you may be in danger. These…Born disappearances, the blood trafficking...I think they—whoever they are—are looking for someone like you.”

  “You think they want me?” I questioned, stunned.

  “I think they’re draining all these Born because they’re looking for something specific in the blood,” Elisa said. “I have this nagging feeling that someone is after what you have.”

  What I have.

  Five minutes ago I wasn’t even aware of what I had. How could someone else know?

  “Promise me that you’ll be careful, child.” Elisa pleaded. “For me?”

  I had no other choice but to say, “I promise.”

  I bid Elisa a goodbye, but stopped in the doorway. I had one more burning question. “Elisa…did Aurora really die?”

  “What?” Elisa gasped.

  “Back in 1875,” I said. “At the Hamilton House. Did she die?”

  “Yes, of course.” Her voice resonated with deep sorrow. “Your father found her remains.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She blinked. “Dawn…I wouldn’t lie to you about that. That’s why he…”

  “Cloned me. I know. Sorry for bringing it up. I just had to ask.”

  This confirmed that the girl I'd seen during the Halloween Haunt hadn't been Aurora in the flesh. She wasn’t real. Which meant that she was only a figment of my imagination. That thought didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it made things worse.

  I could fight real. But I had no weapons against the imaginary.

  As I tiptoed toward the rear exit of the Scarlet House, my mind reeled from both the shock and the excitement brought on by the blizzard of new information.

  Was I really like my mother?

  Could I heal the dying?

  I quietly made my way through the winding passageways—the very same passageways that my mother had once traversed, corridors brimming with more secrets than I could imagine. I hugged the wall as I silently slipped by Twitbrook’s office. I was almost in the clear when a herd of guards rounded a corner, rushing in my direction. I quickly ducked behind a gaudy suit of armor that my father had once purchased to “vamp up the mansion.” I had poked fun at his desperate attempt to appear traditional, but now, safely concealed from the guards, I gave a silent nod of thanks to the statue.

  The door of the office swung open, and the guards came to a stop. I peered around the statue's arm, watching as Twitbrook emerged from the room. His usually neatly-combed hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled. Even his glasses were crookedly arranged on his nose.

  “You didn’t find her?!” he cried, exasperated.

  “No, Sir,” a tall guard responded.

  “You made sure to check everywhere?”

  The guard nodded. “Everywhere, Sir,” he said. “We are certain that Miss Beth is not within the grounds of the Scarlet House.”

  Twitbrook’s wife, Laura, joined the group. “How can we be sure that they checked everywhere, Allan? What if she’s hiding somewhere? What if…oh, what if someone took her?”

  “No one took her, Laura,” Twitbrook asserted. “Please go inside and let me deal with this.” He motioned toward the office door. Grief-stricken and defeated, Laura retreated into the office.

  “Someone took her,” Twitbrook told the guards after the door closed behind her. “Someone took my daughter! Why aren’t you doing more to find her?”

  “Sir, she’s only been gone two hours at most. Maybe she just stepped out…”

  “Stepped out? Stepped out?!” Twitbrook’s voice echoed throughout the hallway. “She’s seven years old! She wouldn’t just step out, and even if she did, it’s your fault for letting her off the property! Your fault, you hear me?” he screamed, pointing a finger at the lead guard. “Or maybe it’s my fault for hiring idiots!”

  The guard flinched at Twitbrook’s harsh words, but didn’t speak.

  “You’re going to search every nook and cranny from here to Canada,” Twitbrook instructed. “And you’re going to bring Beth back. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” the guards said in unison.

  “Go!” Twitbrook shouted as they hurriedly dispersed.

  I listened to Twitbrook dial a number on his phone. “You…” he spat at someone on the other line. “You promised me that she would be safe.”

  There was a pause, then Twitbrook exhaled sharply.

  “I know that you have her. What did you do with my daughter? If you dare touch a hair on her—”

  The speaker on the other line interrupted. I strained to hear what was being said, but all I could make out were a few muffled words.

  “…didn’t listen…trade…last chance…”

  The line went dead. Twitbrook threw his phone against the wall. He rubbed his face, then retreated back into his office.

  I left my hiding spot and made my way toward the discarded phone. Its screen had cracked on impact with the wall, but otherwise, the device was intact. I searched through the recent calls, and pressed Redial. Excitement rose within me when the phone began to ring, but after two rings, my optimism plummeted.

  “The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again,” the operator said mockingly.

  Regardless, I copied down the digits into my phone, hoping that Seth could locate its owner. Glancing around, my gaze fell upon a portrait of Twitbrook, Laura, and Beth. The image had been added to the wall recently, replacing an old photograph of my father and me. Beth sat nestled between her parents, her dark eyes brimming with warmth and trust. A small, confident smile played across her lips—she was ready to take on the world. Dread enveloped my body at the realization of what I had to do. No matter how much distaste I harbored for him, I had to help Twitbrook find his daughter.

  I pushed open the office door. Twitbrook sat at my father’s old desk. His head snapped up when I entered and his eyes narrowed as they focused on me.

  “You!” he whispered hoarsely. Removing his glasses, he rubbed a hand over his strained face. There was a tall glass of something red and alcoholic on his desk, and he downed the liquid in a gulp as I made my way to a chair across from his desk. I sank into it, feeling the soft leather through the fabric of my jeans.

  How many times did my father and I sit in this very position?

  “Are you here to gloat?” Twitbrook spat.

  “Of course not,” I said gently.

  “You were right. Happy? Born are missing.” He poured himself another drink. “My daughter is missing.”

  “I’ll do my best to help you get Beth back,” I promised him. “But you’re going to have to tell me everything you know.”

  Twitbrook took a moment to absorb my words. Defeated, he nodded slowly. His eyes darted to the couch where Laura lay cradling a picture of Beth against her chest. “Darling, why don’t you—” he began, but I held up my hand to stop him.

  “You have to stop treating your wife like she's fragile just because you’re embarrassed of your actions. She should stay. After all, she has every right to know about the mess you’ve gotten your family into.”

  Twitbrook nodded again. “All I had to do was follow a few simple orders, and they promised that Beth would be safe,” he mumbled. He focused his gaze on a smudge of ink on his desk, refusing to meet my eyes.

  “Who is this they?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging.

  “
No?” I prodded. “You’ll have to do a little better than that if you want my help.”

  Twitbrook looked like he was going to throw up. “I truly don’t know,” he moaned. “I swear. They contacted me a couple of weeks ago. Two phone calls and two callers, I think, but their voices were too distorted to recognize. I don’t remember much about our talk. It was like they had reached into my brain and extracted all of my common sense.”

  “I’ll say,” I muttered. “So what can you remember? What were these orders?”

  “Three main ones,” Twitbrook explained. “Fire your father’s guards and hire the ones they sent to replace them. Stay out of all investigations into the Born disappearances. And…find a way to deliver you to them.” I let the information sink in as Twitbrook continued to talk. “The guards were easy. It was harder to hear about Born being kidnapped and do absolutely nothing. As for you, the attack after your father’s memorial was supposed to be a way to accomplish that.”

  “You’re a very sick man,” I spat, then corrected myself. “No, you’re not a man. To call you a man would be giving you too much credit.”

  “You don’t understand. Beth is everything to us. Laura and I are both Made vampires—we can’t have children. She’s our life.”

  “The Born vampires who died because of your cowardice were also someone’s everything!” I thrust my clenched fists underneath my thighs. Sitting on them would prevent me from hitting Twitbrook. At least for now.

  “I know! And for that I'm sorry! After the attack, I regretted everything. I sent you away because I didn't want to obey their orders anymore. I tried to look into the kidnappings, especially after we retrieved all those bodies from that hospital, but I just hit a lot of dead ends. They found out what I was doing, so...” He coughed, choking on his words.

  “They took Beth?” I guessed as I regained control of my emotions.

  “Yes,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Who did that number you called belong to?”

  Realizing that I'd been privy to his conversation, Twitbrook raised his head to meet my eyes. “It was an old contact they’d given me,” he said. “I was supposed to use it to let them know when you arrived at the memorial.”