"None, really." She sank into a large, leather armchair with a winged back, looking like a queen on a throne. There was no way that was an accident. "I thought we could try the potion again, if you wanted to."

He made a noise of disgust. "We have been over this time and again. Julia has captured the werewolf and her vampire companion. We'll have the child soon enough."

"There's no reason not to continue as planned, though!" Dahlia sat up straighter, pounding the arms of the chair with her fists. Her knuckles were white with tension. "We have no idea if the child will be born vampire or werewolf. Or lupin."

"The baby will be a lupin," the Soul Eater retorted calmly. "A natural-born vampire and werewolf combined. What use would I have for a mere vampire child?"

"A right hand?" Now Dahlia was reaching. She'd outlived her usefulness and she knew it. "A son. With the power of a natural-born vampire. Maybe if Cyrus had been—"

"My son Is not the issue!" The Soul Eater stood so fast he knocked over his chair and the delicate writing desk. Papers fluttered to the ground, all scribbled on in handwriting that I was sure belonged to him. I moved cautiously toward the desk as he continued to rage.

"I have warned you never to speak of him in my presence!" He advanced on Dahlia, throwing aside his overturned chair. It bounced off my legs and I muffled a shout of pain and surprise. Luckily, neither of them noticed, wrapped up in their rage and fear, respectively.

Dahlia crawled backward like a crab on her hands and feet, too tangled in her voluminous dress to create much room between her and the Soul Eater.

"I should destroy you now!" As his voice raised in volume, it grew in intensity, the voices of his past victims joining in the hellish chorus. I'd heard that voice once before, and I shuddered to hear it again.

"No!" Dahlia screamed, holding up her hands. "You need me!"

"Need you?" He continued to advance.

Carrie! Go, find what you have to and move on! It was Nathan's voice in my head, involuntarily replaying images of the night we'd both barely escaped this room with our lives. The night Nathan's son, Ziggy, had died at the hands of his sire.

I dropped to my knees and scrambled toward the mess of papers. Letters, a sequence of them, made out to Julia.

The second I touched one, it disappeared. I had to read them silently where they lay, transmitting their contents through the blood tie.

Julia,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have arranged a transport for you and the werewolf for the week of the seventh. This will ensure it is well past the time of the full moon.