In the Forests of the Night by Amelia Atwater-rhodes

Author:Amelia Atwater-rhodes [Atwater-rhodes, Amelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Fiction
ISBN: 9780440228165
Publisher: Laurel Leaf

In the Forests of the Night

CHAPTER 7: NOW

NEVER BEFORE AND NEVER AFTER have I felt the soul-tearing, mind-breaking pain I experienced that night. I have looked into the minds of willing fledglings; never have I seen my own pain reflected. My line's strength comes at a price, and the price is that pain. It has changed us all. One cannot be conscious throughout one's own death and not be changed.

Perhaps that was the worst part. Or perhaps the worst part of my story is yet to come.

The visions of my past linger in the present. Alexander's face floats in my mind, and I cannot seem to make it disappear.

My two lives have nothing in common, and yet as I stand in this house I feel as if I have somehow been transported back to the past, before my brother was killed.

Seeking a diversion, I bring myself to New York City. I do not shift into hawk form. I simply bring myself away with the ability that only my kind has—the ability to change to pure energy, pure ether, for the instant it takes to travel in that form to another place. It takes me only a thought, and I arrive in less than a second.

I automatically shield my aura as I appear in the alley, not wishing to announce my presence to the world. Then I walk through the scarred wooden door that leads to Ambrosia, one of the city's many vampire clubs. This place was once owned by another of Ather's fledglings, a vampire named Kala. But Kala was killed by a vampire hunter. Yes, they do exist; witches and even humans often hunt our kind. I do not know who owns this place now that they have killed Kala.

The club is small and looks like any café — or it would if it had windows and more light than the single candle in the corner gives. Of course, I can see by the dim light, but a human would be close to blind in Ambrosia.

At the counter is another of my kind. I do not know him. He has his head down on the counter, and the skin I can see is almost gray. As I walk through the door he does not even look in my direction, though he does raise his head long enough to empty the glass that stands on the counter near him, and to lick the blood from his lips as a shiver wracks his body.

“Who did this to you? ” I ask him, curious. There is no disease on Earth my kind can catch, and almost no poison that affects us, so I wonder why he looks ill.

“Some damn Triste,” the stranger growls. “He was in the Café Sangra. I didn't even realize he wasn't human.”

I wonder how Aubrey would react if he learned a Triste witch had been in the Café Sangra.

The Triste witches appear almost identical to humans. If one can read auras, their auras feel the same. Their hearts beat, and they breathe.

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