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Rachon left them to their TV watching and banter. She slipped down the hallway to the room in the back of the house. The walls of the hall were covered with framed charcoal sketches of the family throughout the years. The faces of her cousins, aunts, and uncles were carefully captured with the sure strokes of a charcoal pencil. Over a century and a half of the same faces caught in various eras were lovingly recreated by her mother’s hand. Digital photos were framed and carefully arranged in one area of the wall, but they weren’t as remarkable or touching as the sketches.

Pushing the door open to the small bedroom, she peeked in at the young woman seated on the floor, her hands in her lap, staring at the TV.

“How are we doing, Bianca?”

As always, the pale vampire just stared at the screen blindly. She rarely showed an inclination to do anything other than to gaze into nothingness except for when Rachon opened a vein. Then she would mew like a baby and latch onto Rachon’s wrist until she was sated. Though Bianca’s eyes never revealed any sign of comprehension when Rachon spoke to her, the girl had to understand her commands to bring forth the dead. Without fail, every time Rachon took Bianca into one of the many graveyards around New Orleans, the girl would summon the dead per Rachon’s request. Yet, she never responded to any other order, never revealed a smidge of awareness, and never said a single word.

Rachon knelt beside the girl, her fingers tracing over the silky, baby-fine white blond waves. Prosper bought her lacy, frothy dresses and Delia put ribbons in her hair. Maybe they did it because they thought of Bianca as doll-like. Bianca was beautiful and delicate, like a perfect human-sized doll.

Staring into the blue eyes of the girl, Rachon lightly stroked her cheek. “Pretty girl, how would you like to go to meet our brother and your new sister?”

Bianca didn’t blink, didn’t move, and didn’t do anything other than stare.

Kneeling, Rachon gently took the girl’s white hand between her much darker ones. “I have to obey the last order of our creator. His last edict. But I need you to do exactly what I say, can you do that?”

Not a twitch, not a flutter of the eyelashes, nothing.

“Why do you try? She doesn’t understand you,” Prosper asked from the doorway. His huge body filled the door frame.

Rachon shrugged. “I don’t want her to lose her shit when we travel to Austin. ”

“I think you’re developing a soft spot for her. ”

“Shut your face,” Rachon scowled, standing.

Prosper’s grin only widened. “You’re one of the most ruthless, bad ass, evil muthafuckin’ vampires in the South, and yet you can be sweet as pie when you want to be. ”

Rachon placed her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “I do what I have to do to keep us all safe. To keep us in power. ”

“I hate that you still serve that pasty nasty Master even after he’s dead. ” Prosper shook his head.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, she pointed a finger at her cousin. “If not for him, we would not be here. You wouldn’t be what you are, living your grand life. So shut your fucking face. ”

“You still love him, huh?”

Rachon sighed, slightly shaking her head. “He was my Master. My lover. My salvation. I loved him and hated him. ”

“You two were always fucked up. ”

“Yeah, but now he’s gone. I at least owe it to him to do as he wished. ”

Prosper shrugged dismissively. “What are we doing when we go to Austin? Going to kill Cian and that new bitch?”

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Rachon glanced down at Bianca. The young woman was watching the flickering images on the old TV again.

“I have to take care of one last task for The Summoner. ”

“If you kill them, I ain’t taking Austin. I hate Texas. You know, in a way they did you a favor,” Prosper said, his voice almost timid.

Narrowing her eyes, Rachon fought down the swift anger that filled her and fought the urge to punish Prosper for his impudence. Her long fingers flexed, the need for violence making them tingle.

Ducking his head in subservience, Prosper stood cowed before her.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead,” she said at last, blinking her eyes so the heat in them would fade.

“Forgive me,” Prosper murmured.