Page 1 of The Midnight Order (The Thorngray Vampires Duet #1)

Silver

Fall in New England is picturesque. Light bounces off the oranges and mauves as I steer my Tahoe down the winding Massachusetts roads. My GPS is still going strong, even as I get deeper into the sprawling, never-ending forests on both sides.

I don’t know what I was thinking when I told the lawyer I would come personally.

Scratch that. I was thinking I could actually breathe air that wasn’t riddled with pollution and the scents of an overpopulated city.

My phone rings, cutting off the image of the map on my car’s computer screen, and I sigh and tap answer when I see who it is.

“Cara, darling, I’ve only been gone a day. Not even. What is it?”

I click back onto the map in case I miss some hidden turn and end up lost.

“I know I said I wouldn’t call, but John…”

“John knows where I am, and John also has all his faculties to finish the Burnberry account on his own,” I snap, cutting her off.

My left leg moves anxiously back and forth, a telltale sign I need to get off the phone and focus on what’s in front of me, which is currently nothing.

“He’s standing right here,” Cara says, and I can nearly see her wince through the phone.

“What I said stands. John, did you somehow lose all your abilities to close a deal on your own?”

“No, ma’am. All I wanted to know was if you were discounting their closing costs. They mentioned something about a…”

Rolling my eyes, I slow around a curve, my hands gripping the steering wheel tight as my red stiletto nails dig into the black leather. “I said I would discount, yes. Take six grand off the closing costs.”

“Thanks, Boss,” John replies, and I hear him move out of Cara’s office as the door closes behind him.

“Sorry about that. You left no notes to the effect, so I had no choice but to call.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everything else is going fine otherwise?” I ask, my leg shaking more vigorously as nerves build in my body.

“Yup, everything’s fine.”

I wince at her nonchalance.

She knows I hate it when she’s flippant, but I’m trying to be less constrained.

“Thank you, Cara. From here on out, speak to Kris about office matters while I’m gone.”

“Will do. I hope you have a fun time away!” she muses, and I shake my head as I end the call.

Taking a few steadying breaths, I stop my leg’s shaking and focus on the road.

This trip was my therapist’s idea after the lawyer overseeing my great aunt’s estate called and told me I’d been left everything she owned.

Great Aunt Soliel was a wild card, so I can’t imagine she had much to her name.

Either way, I was entering a hardcore phase of burnout, accompanied by a cyclical bout of anxiety and panic attacks, and time away was warranted when the call came through.

Good for me, Dr. Greer told me. Resetting.

It’s what I’m meant to do, but I don’t know how much downtime I’ll have when I’m fighting for my life in the wilderness.

It’s not that dramatic, but going from the Upper East Side to this… It feels like a life-altering change.

I’m reeling in my head when I notice something moving on the road and slam on my brakes. The Tahoe moves back and forth as the tires grab for purchase on the cracked asphalt, screeching like an owl caught in a trap.

“What the fuck?!” I breathe, leaning forward and gazing over the steering wheel as my leg shakes again.

A white snake is lying on the road, lifeless.

A black bird is pecking at it until it cranes its head in my direction, cawing in warning as if I’m going to get out and fight it for its dinner.

Not a chance, Hun.

Turning the wheel, I steer around the roadkill and the bird from hell as I pick up speed, looking back in the mirror at the bird as it looks up and glares at me.

As I finally enter a small town, my breathing is erratic, and my heart is racing.

Blackmoore isn’t much, but it’s spooky.

It looks like Halloween threw up all over the town, and the townsfolk were too lazy to clean it up.

Everywhere you look, it is overly decorated and lit up.

Even though the people walking its streets look normal, I wonder if they are.

There’s an energy here I can’t quite shake as I drive the posted twenty miles per hour through the town, as the GPS instructs, only pulling off the road when I see a sign for a coffee shop on my right.

I tug the Tahoe into a spot, throwing it into park as I take a deep breath.

The shop in front of my Tahoe seems unassuming, nestled between two other local businesses.

It blends into the fall decor surrounding it until you face it head-on.

The vintage furniture and unique art give it a warm and inviting feel, thanks to the massive outward-facing windows.

A peaceful calm seeps into my veins as I take in its atmosphere momentarily, and after the incident with the bird, I need that.

Grabbing my purse, I step out into the chill of Massachusetts fall, shutting the door behind me as I enter a new world.

Even as the bell over the door of Spellbinding Coffee sounds, I can’t get my mind off the snake and the bird I saw coming into town.

It’s like it was an omen.

If I believed in that kind of shit, that is.

“What can I get ya’?” a woman says from behind the counter.

Looking up at the menu, I see no options for what I add to my coffee back home and sigh.

“Do you have oat milk?” I ask her, flicking my eyes back down to hers.

Disappointment in the question spreads across her face. “You won’t find any fancy swanky coffee here, ma’am. Only the fine flavors of fall blended to perfection,” she tells me.

Her cheeks are plump and rosy, and her smile is almost too full.

Something about her puts me on edge, but I know it’s got to be that she’s nothing like the people I encounter in the city.

“Uhh, okay. Well, let me try your Pumpkin Cheesecake Latte,” I tell her, knowing it will be too sweet the moment I order it.

Nothing else calls to me on the menu, though.

“Ooh, good choice. Coming right up! Name for the order?” She picks up a cup and holds a marker over it, even though there’s no one else in the coffee shop to get my order confused.

“Silver,” I tell her, ready for the all too familiar lines about my name being so strange or unique.

“Silver. Got you. That’ll be five seventy-five,” she says.

“Oh, I wanted a large; I forgot to say, I’m so sorry,” I tell her, grabbing my wallet from my purse and pulling out my debit card.

“I’ve got you down for a large already, Hun. By the looks of you, it’s what you need. Pardon my saying so.”

She takes my card from me as I’m stunned at the price.

“I’ve been driving forever. I’m certain I look like death,” I tell her with a fake smile curling up my lips.

“You can clean up in the restroom while I make your coffee, if you’d like. It’s right through there.” She points down a hall to the right of the counter, and I swallow.

She’s charming, but so was the witch who lured Hansel and Gretel into her cabin.

“Thank you.”

I relieve myself and try to fix my messy, dark hair, which has been a mess for days from travel. When I’m happy with how it’s lying, I head back into the coffee shop, startled by how many people have come in.

I was only in the bathroom for a few moments.

“There ya’ are!” the woman shouts. “Your coffee is up!”

I weave through the crowd, making my way to my coffee before snatching it up and getting outside.

I take a deep breath, turning back to look through the weathered glass of the shop’s window at the crowd I’d neither heard come in nor heard bustling when I was cleaning up.

I chalk it up to being tired and get back on the road.

I almost hate the woman more when I take a massive mouthful of the latte and moan at how good it is.

“Fuck you, Blackmoore!” I shout, never wanting to see the spooky little town again.

I nearly smile to myself, too.

That’s before my GPS tells me to take the next right, and I’m not out of town yet.

Fuck.

My great aunt’s house is tucked back in the woods at the end of a mile-long driveway. Its exterior is dilapidated and appears to have been white at one time.

It’s a dingy grey from the weather and years of disrepair.

I had planned on staying here while I got it ready to sell, but by the looks of the outside, that might not be in the cards.

I groan as I brood over returning to town and staying there for more than a night.

Parking in front of the monstrosity, I stare at it as I sip the sickly sweet coffee that’s slowly altering my DNA and turning me into a fall coffee drinker—which I fucking hate.

In my mind’s eye, I assess the work that needs to be done.

A thorough inspection is likely warranted to ensure that the foundation and exterior are not only sound but also in compliance with current building codes and regulations.

And that’s before I can even start updating the interior.

Years of being New York’s top real estate broker have earned me more money than I know what to do with.

When this project came along, and my therapist agreed I needed it, I leaped at the chance to get the hell out of the city and do something where I could stop breathing into brown paper bags every time I turn around.

But this…

I’m starting to wonder if I bit off more than I can chew.

My eyes flick down to the time on my dashboard screen, and I notice it indicates my phone has no signal.

Great.

Letting my head bang back onto the headrest, I take a steadying breath before getting out and heading inside to take in the depth of this idiotic project.

Without a second thought, I reach back in for my coffee and snatch it up, grumbling about pumpkin-flavored, sugary drinks.

The key is where the lawyer said it would be, in a frog on the porch in plain sight.

Ignorant.

However, looking around at the sprawling property tells me I could probably leave the key on the porch, and no one would bat an eyelash.

Once inside, I cover my nose at the musty smell as I move through.

It’s not bad…

Sure, there’s updating that needs to be done, but the style is country-chic, and the wood floors look original and pristinely cared for.

There are two stories, and I check each room before I allow myself to calm down.

This is a project I can handle, and now that I know that, I can let go of some worries I’ve had since planning this trip six weeks ago.

In under an hour, I had the windows open, my things brought in from the Tahoe, and some candles lit, which I had brought from home.

I knew the place had been closed, so I knew I’d need them.

Once I’ve dusted all I can stand, I change into something more town-appropriate before returning to the Tahoe and setting off for dinner.

Once I’m in town, my phone dings with a million notifications, and I don’t have the space for any of them. I shut it off and toss it into my purse. I find a small diner called The Lampshade and head inside for a bite to eat.

Again, I’m greeted by a proprietor who’s too kind and eager to help, but this time, I ignore the strange feeling in my gut and return his kindness as I order the ravioli and a glass of red wine and sit at a table by the window.

If I’m going to live here for a while, I need to get along with my neighbors.

Even if a foreboding feeling in my stomach tells me not to.