The dust on the shelves and books suggested Deb hadn’t been in here lately, which was a shame. She’d once told me the best part of her transformation was the near-immortality that came with it, giving her more time to catch up on her reading.

I skimmed the titles: mostly history and biography, with a smaller section of vampire-related fiction. With a sigh, I pulled myself away to search the walls and ceiling. “No attic access in here.”

Something scampered past the window. I ripped the plastic away, opened the window, and peered out to see a bulky figure—too tall to be Deb—jump to the ground. Judging from the way he’d scrambled down the wall, he was probably a vampire. It would have been easy enough for him to transform to mist and sneak out through a vent.

“I’ve got a runner,” I called. “It’s not Deb.”

“Found it.” On the other end of the hall, through the empty doorways, I saw Lena rummaging through a closet. “There’s a door in the back—”

Two men lunged out. One grabbed Lena around the waist like a linebacker and pushed her across the bedroom, slamming her against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. The other grappled for her weapons. Lena brought her knee into the first attacker’s chin. When that didn’t work, she braced herself and struck again. Though the strike was identical, the sound and the result were very different. An oak spur punched through the man’s chin with a popping sound. He staggered back, screaming and clutching his bloody jaw.

“Quite the House of Inamoratos you’ve got here.” I was halfway to the bedroom when the front door smashed inward. Two more men moved toward the bottom of the stairs. Deb must have sent them out and around to flank us. Both appeared human and looked to be in their early twenties. I could see the vampiric magic in their veins from here.

I moved to the top step and folded my arms. “Listen, I’m having a bad day. I’d prefer not to take it out on you, but—”

They charged up the stairs.

“Love, do you mind?” I called.

“Do it.”

I reached out to touch Lena’s magic. Her power came from an old book called Nymphs of Neptune. I’d read it several times to better understand her and her origins. That familiarity made it relatively simple to read the story within her and pull a particular passage into myself. I channeled that power into the staircase.

The wood surged to life, remembering the touch of sun and soil. Branches sprouted to entangle the lead vampire’s foot. He went down hard enough to do something crunchy to his knee. While he screamed in pain, his friend struggled to climb past.