Rowan didn’t remember driving home. The entire ride was a blur of flashing streetlights and the ghost of Lucien’s voice echoing in her head. She parked crookedly in front of their small shotgun house and didn’t even bother locking the door as she stumbled inside, pulse still racing.
Maisie was at the table eating cereal, her little feet swinging under the chair, her curls wild and eyes wide as they always were when she was happy and unbothered.
“You’re home early,” she said with a mouthful of marshmallows. “Did Mr. Vampire scare you?”
Rowan’s chest tightened.
She walked to her daughter, brushed crumbs off her cheek, and tried to smile. “Why did you call him that?”
“Because that’s what he is,” Maisie said plainly. “I saw it. In the dream. He drank from a woman’s neck, but he didn’t kil
