The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

"I buried another one today," Mrs. Holloway said, unpinning her hat and stabbing it onto the hallstand like she was spearing a trophy. The black lace veil clung to the wooden peg, limp as a dead spider.

From the kitchen, Cartessa didn't look up from kneading dough. Flour dusted her forearms like ash. "Which one this time?" she asked, fingers pressing deep into the soft mass. The yeasty smell should have been comforting, but the house always smelled faintly of embalming fluid no matter how many windows they opened.

Mrs. Holloway's gloves hit the side table with a slap. "The young DeWitt boy. Consumption." She untied the stiff mourning ribbons at her throat with quick, practiced tugs. "They wept beautifully. Paid extra for the pearl buttons on the shroud."

Cartessa's hands stilled in the dough. The DeWitts lived three streets over—their youngest had been tossing apples to neighborhood girls from his treehouse just last week. She could still hear the high, bright laughter when one landed in a pinafore. Her thumbs pressed harder into the floury mound, leaving crescents like half-moons.