Page 23 of The Vampire Debt

The second we come to a stop, Mr. Devereaux opens the carriage door and steps out. He doesn’t offer me a hand, and I don’t expect one. Not even from someone who comports themselves in a typically gentlemanly manner.

My muscles are decidedly less sore this time. And at least I’m not soaked to the bone in cold river water.

The three figures that had come to greet us stand with perfect posture, eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of them. He walks up the steps, knowing I’ll follow. As he passes each one, they greet him with a bow and a, “Welcome home, Master.”

Four servants total, counting the driver… I’ve never seen so many belonging to one household—one, possibly two, for the most elevated families back home.

I, of course, might as well be a specter, unseen by the living. He doesn’t introduce me, and why should he? I am nothing more than a food source for him for whenever he feels like it.

I will count myself lucky if I don’t end up in some deep underground layer of the manor, forgotten and left to starve to death.

Inside, most of the candles are not lit except for two candelabras and a handful of single candlesticks… all lit with sweet smelling wax candles. Not the acrid scent of tallow candles the rich use back home, and not the inadequate rush lights we use.

The floors and wainscoting are all dark mahogany wood, polished to look as if there’s a thin layer of glass over it. Area rugs and runners are strewn in just the right spots with intentional perfection. Heavy drapes are pulled to the side along all the windows, letting in the pale light of the moon.

It takes me a moment to notice the wallpaper in the foyer, it’s a simple cream color with a subtle damask pattern made in glittering threads woven into it that shimmer in the candlelight. The effect is so muted I almost miss it.

I can’t tell if he chose something like this because he doesn’t care or because he dislikes the bold contrasting colors and stark lines and floral patterns that are so popular.

In the drawing room, a large fire roars, casting warmth and a bit of light into the hall.

He lifts a candelabra and hands me a single candle stick from it. Soft murmurs float toward me as the servants disappear. Except one. She hovers a few feet away, barely noticeable. I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She can’t be much older than me.

Mr. Devereaux seems to notice and makes a point to dismiss her as well.

“Follow me,” he says, pulling my attention back to him. And there’s nothing for me to do other than to oblige him.

We walk through the halls of the manor that is nearly a castle in its own right. For the most part he is silent, only bothering to point out how to get to the kitchen and a few other rooms. We skip the entirety of the southern wing of the manor.

To my relief, he leads me upstairs to the second floor and not down into some horrid underground place. He passes a staircase and says nothing.

It’s pitch black up there and the light from my measly candle doesn’t even come close to piercing it.

“What’s up there?” I ask.

He stops in his tracks but doesn’t retrace his steps. “Thatis not for you,” he says in clipped tones. “Stick to the places I have shown you. No others, especially up there.”

When he resumes walking, I notice two large double doors that are unlike any others we have passed.

“What about that room?”

He stops again with an exasperated sigh and looks at the doors as though he had somehow missed them. “That is the library. You may go there…” He looks me up and down. “…ifyou don’t prove to be distracting.”

A library. All my life I’ve only had the one book, but behind those intricately carved doors lies an endless selection for me to choose from—

I stumble back as something flies past my face and lands on Mr. Devereaux’s shoulder.

“What disgusting demon sent creature isthat?” I ask, pointing at it.

He frowns at me as he reaches up to stroke its head as it clings to him. It’s a bat. It’s a fucking bat—small and black with leathery wings and large red eyes—and he’spettingit. It chirps and squeaks in my direction.

“Do not be rude, Clara,” he admonishes, and I almost feel bad, except it’s abat—inside—his house. “This is Cherno.”

The creature looks…hurt.But that is insane. It’s just an animal—and a disgusting one at that.

He resumes the tour, walking a little faster this time, and with the little creature still clinging to his shoulder. He stops once we reach the end of a hall and without ceremony, he swings the door open and gestures for me to go in.

“This is your room.” I look past him into the room. A lazy fire burns in the hearth.