“This is my room,” he says.
I stop and look around as he heads over to the shut curtains, candles everywhere. It’s roughly the same shape as my room, but the design is different. Sparse, mid-century furniture, lots of greys and browns, a thick woollen rug on the hardwood. Very Scandinavian. Makes sense.
Then he opens the curtains, sunlight flooding through. Actually, when my eyes adjust, I realize it’s overcast, but the light feels like I’m standing on the surface of the sun.
“Take a look,” he says, staring out the window.
I walk over to him, wincing, until I’m right beside him.
I gasp.
We’re right across the street from Alamo Square, the famous Painted Ladies just to the left. Which would make this house…
“Oh my god,” I cry out. “We’re in the Charles Manson house.”
The Westerfeld House is a San Francisco institution, steeped in lore. I always loved walking past it, imagining the spooky-looking Victorian belonged to a modern-day Addams Family. Guess I was right. Though it has a storied past, one man is supposed to own it, fixing it up slowly to eventually turn it into a museum.
“Just rumors,” Wolf says good-naturedly. “Manson never actually lived here.”
“But he came here, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
“And you lived here.”
Wolf glances at me, but doesn’t say a word.
“So you knew Charles Manson.” If I had pearls to be clutched, I would be clutching them. “My god. Is…he a vampire?” I mean, he compelled those people to do his bidding, didn’t he?
“A vampire would never allow themselves to be caught,” Wolf says. “So, no. Manson was just a human sociopath. And I didn’t go out of my way to hang out with him, either. He could be funny at times, but there was something about him that made me uneasy. Obviously we all know why now. We’ve had a lot of people passing in and out of this house over the years, not all of them good.”
I lean against the window, staring at the world that’s moving on without me. Then I notice the window is open just a crack, and that there’s an older couple walking beneath the window, two stories down. Tourists.
It’s a long shot but…
I quickly reach down and push the window up, sticking my head outside, the fresh air a shock to my system.
“Help!” I scream, waving my hands out, knowing that Wolf is going to grab me at any moment, possibly hurt me, but I can’t be passive anymore. “Help me, please, I’m being held hostage!”
But the people pass by without looking up at me. In fact, no one in Alamo Square has looked in my direction, even though it’s chock full of tourists checking out the Painted Ladies and re-enacting the opening to Full House.
“Help, please!’ I scream louder, panic raging through me. Why is no one looking?
“Hey,” Wolf says, grabbing me by the waist as I attempt to crawl out the window, preventing me from jumping. I’d probably survive the fall; it would be better than being in here.
He pulls me back in and then grabs my wrists, holding me in place. Like Absolon, his strength is formidable, and trying to escape now would mean some broken bones. “You might want to keep your voice down,” he says gruffly. “You’ll wake up Ezra, and you don’t want to be around that fucker when he’s sleep-deprived. He turns into such a whiny bitch.”
“Everything okay?” A woman’s voice breaks through us, making me jump.
Wolf lets go of one wrist, but keeps a stronghold on the other as we turn to face the door.
There’s a woman standing in the doorframe, though she can’t be much older than me. Late twenties maybe?
Either way, she’s absolutely gorgeous. Wearing stilettos, black leather leggings, an oversized blue velvet blazer with a white silk blouse underneath, unbuttoned enough to showcase a black lacey bra, her breasts full and pushed to the high heavens. Her skin is honey-colored, her hair black, wavy, and shiny enough to be in a Pantene Pro-V commercial. Eyes tinged violet. She looks like a modern, young Elizabeth Taylor.
Wolf’s grip on my wrist tightens. I can’t tell if he’s trying to protect me from her or the other way around.
She’s definitely a vampire, isn’t she?
“Amethyst,” Wolf says, clearing his throat, his body tensing slightly, which makes me tense in return. Also, Amethyst? Of course she’d have that name. “I guess you haven’t met Lenore yet.”
“No, I haven’t,” she says, eyeing Wolf’s grip on my wrist. Then she looks to me. “I’d shake your hand, but I have a feeling that’s not a good idea.”
I frown. Wait. Is she afraid of…me?
And that’s when it hits me.
Her smell.
Like candied ginger and vanilla and something very sweet and real and raw.
Blood.
Her blood.
I can smell her goddamn blood.
My teeth feel like they’re growing, my body coiling like a snake ready to strike, the thirst inside me bursting through the dark well I kept it buried under.