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“Hey,” his tone came out grumbly. “I’m not lying. She’s just a very great aunt. I’ve lost count of the number of greats. What is she now, two hundred?”

Ashley wiped tears from her eyes. “Are you serious? She’s over two-fifty.” She looked him up and down. “She never mentioned any living relatives. And certainly not any…”

“Of course she wouldn’t mention me.” He laughed without humor. “My dad married a witch and made another one. Why would she share that kind of information?”

Ashley squinted at him, trying to see anything to connect him to Hannah, but nothing obvious stood out aside from them both being white. The hair was all wrong, he was much too tall and bulky, and she couldn’t recall what color eyes Hannah had so there was no way of knowing if his hazel eyes matched Hannah’s until Ashley saw her next. She wouldn’t let a chance run-in with, and subsequent disposal of, a secret nephew ruin her chances of joining the Family—even if he was a witch.

She took a step toward the door. “If you’re lying, I’ll be back.”

“Tell Hannah August said hi. She’ll hate to hear from me.”

August. Of course. She hadn’t fit it together until now. He was AugustPlatt, as in Plattsburgh Platts, town legacy. And apparently nephew of one of the oldest vampires in Plattsburgh.

Ashley

The Family lived in the old part of town in a gothic Victorianstraight out of a slasher film. When she first came to Plattsburgh ten years ago, Ashley was convinced this was a mistake. The house was obviously full of vampires, and everyone must know it. But she quickly learned post-transformation—humans were very good at rationalizing away the odd or unexplainable. The old house also blended in among other paint-chipped Victorians, so it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary.

Forgoing the peeling railing, she hopped up the steps and paused with her hand at the doorbell and took a deep breath in the twilight. Ashley had lived here for years before her banishment and been back for two months. She pulled her hand back from the bell. Yes, today she’d enter unannounced.

The door swung open before she could properly grab the handle.

“Ash, darling. I thought I heard you lurking. Come in, come in.” Claribel materialized from the shadows in a full, black-velvet-and-taffeta contraption from a seamstress she’d found on Etsy. She had a hard time with the idea of a girl named Ashley but loved the idea of ashes—hence the nickname.

Ashley let it pass. She needed to fit in, and it wasn’t a big deal.

A pure Victorian, lover of poetry, and wild storyteller, it was hard to tell if anything Claribel said was true. Supposedly, as a child, she took a nap under an ancient cemetery oak and inspired Lord Alfred Tennyson to write a poem about her. Later, as a new vampire, she sought to extract the essence of Edgar Allan Poe and instead ended up draining him in a gutter.

“University was well, I hope,” Claribel said.

“It was fine. Is Hannah still in?” Ashley’s skin felt tighter the longer she didn’t notify Hannah of a rogue witch gallivanting through town.

“She should still be in her chambers.” She passed Claribel and entered the foyer, its vaulted ceiling painted midnight blue and spangled in gold stars. Carved oak arches traced from thecenter of the vault down to the four corners, finishing in spiraled columns. From the center of the vault hung a curling, iron chandelier decked with five globes, their warm glow enough to make the gilded stars pop but not near enough to drown the shadows lurking in the corners.

Claribel took up her post on the settee, an open mystery novel in hand. Her black gown and updo blended with the rich damask walls and heavy wood accents of the house giving her face an extra ghost-like pallor.

Through the columned entryway into the front sitting room, Gus hung from the ceiling, his small, furry body nestled among the blood-toned velvet curtains. He preferred his bat form to human, so all she knew of him was his name and that he preferred the southeast corner of the front sitting room.

Ashley ran to the curved, double stairs at the back of the foyer, taking the steep steps two at a time.

“We don’t need another girl,” a male voice said on the other side of the door to Hannah’s room.

Ashley stopped, her fist poised to knock. Her chest squeezed as she recognized the voice as John’s and the complaint to be her greatest fear.

“Where is she going to go?” Hannah’s voice was short and clipped. She had a brisk, no-nonsense way about her that carried into her speech. “We have the room, and she’s done her time.”

“Five years is hardly any time.”

They were definitely talking about Ashley. This was her third attempt to pass the trial to officially join the Family. After her last slip-up, she was sent from the house for five years while they cleaned up her mess, erasing the memory of her from everyone she’d ever come in contact with. It was the longest five years of her life.

“We don’t need to be taking in charity cases,” John said. “I can?—”

“You can leave her be.” Hannah enunciated each word.

“Woman, I am the man of this household and over a hundred years your senior.”

“Old man, this is my house, and you may leave if it no longer suits you.”

John huffed. “You regency women and your liberal views. In my day, a woman knew her place.”