The Vampire Next Door by Natalie Vivien & Bridget Essex

Author:Natalie Vivien & Bridget Essex
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Rose and Star Press
Published: 2015-04-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six: Love and Hate

My fantasy of escaping to the misty moors of Jane Eyre while soaking in a hot, sudsy bubble bath evaporates the moment that I pull into my driveway.

I lean forward over the wheel, watching my house's blurry silhouette through the raindrops splattering on the windshield.

Something feels...wrong.

Maybe I'm just projecting, or absorbing the gloomy atmosphere. Dark storm clouds are hanging over the edge of the horizon, and the rain is falling silently, steadily. With an unaccountable dread, I slump out of Colonel Mustard and shut the car door. It thuds dully, and the rain thuds dully, too, on the top of my head: thud, thud, thud. My feet feel heavier and heavier with each step, as if they're urging me to stop, turn around, go back...

Just as I'm putting my key into the lock, the front door of my house opens beneath my hand.

And Mia's standing on the other side.

I freeze.

“Mia.”

I wouldn't be more shocked if a ghost suddenly materialized before me. Mia is the last person I expected to see right here, right now. The last person I wanted to see, given my state of mind.

She stares at me with wide, dark eyes surrounded by darker circles. “Hi,” she says shortly, stepping back and gesturing toward the room behind her. “Come on in.”

“What are you doing here?” My voice is icier than I intended, icier than I feel. “I mean, your car isn't in the driveway. How did you—” I begin, but Mia shakes her head, moves further back into the shadows of the house.

She looks agitated, haunted. Her long brown hair is drawn up into a messy bun. She's usually neat, even vain about her physical appearance. And I've never seen her wear a collared, button-down shirt before. This one is oversize, and the sleeves are rolled up to her elbows. The sight reminds me of those girls in high school who strutted through the hallways wearing their boyfriends' too-big varsity jackets.

I draw in a deep breath, and my stomach churns inside of me as I wonder—how can I help but wonder?—if the shirt Mia is wearing belongs to Drew Yarrow.

She doesn't kiss me, greet me. Doesn't speak at all. Impatient, she grabs my arm, and, instead of pulling me into the house, she yanks me back outside, beneath the silvery, pouring rain.

And her gaze is pointed very, well, pointedly toward Lare's house.

Oh, God...

I wrap my arms around my middle and bow my head, bracing myself. Raindrops slide over the bridge of my nose and drip from the tip of it, plinking softly to the ground below. Cold water streams over my lowered lids.

“Do you know who's living next door to you?” Mia asks, voice knife sharp. She's staring at me now, her eyes wide, wild, and growing wider and wilder as she waits for me to answer.

I stand my ground, lift my chin, my own words colder than the iceberg that sank the Titanic, and with the same cutting edge. “Yes. I know Valeria Máille.

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