I was not aware of Vincent or Rosemary draining blood from humans for pleasure. In fact, I was under the impression that they did not enjoy the sanguine taste or the lack of composure required to perform such an act. Instead, they preferred to drink the light of the moon. Its gentle rays provided whatever nutrient they needed. And while they could stomach the sun, its intensity was overpowering and often made them tired. Like too much strong wine.

So if this pyre put his fangs in me, just as my dearest friends had done, why was Vincent so worried? Was I not safer for it? And all the more fortunate?

I could sense his answer. <<You do not understand>>.

I did not. But I sensed no danger from the pyre or from the healed bites on my arm. Not only did I think him harmless, but I considered him fascinating and thus intended to purchase him and grant him his freedom as soon as my father allowed. And to further evidence this thesis, if Vincent sensed I was in danger with the pyre, he would have come to my defense. And he did not.

So I pushed past Vincent, filled my bucket, and went back inside. The forest at my back did not like being ignored, and it had been too long since I had lost myself among its snow-covered roots. But society demanded I at least pay it mind. The two systems were always vying for my attention.

Back in Kendrick Manor, my water bucket in hand, an unearthly tall and spindly woman met me in our grand foyer.

“I hear you are in need of a governess,” she said with a curtsy. Her nose was large on her narrow face and hooked at the tip. Her cheeks were pale and flat, her frayed, dusty hair in a rushed knot at the nape of her neck. “Governess June Rollins. You may call me June.”

I did not want to curtsy to this woman, and so I refused. Never had I met a governess worthy of more than a nod. They were often bent on manipulation, on taking me away from myself. My lack of courtesy made me an enemy of any teacher of the feminine arts from the very start of our meetings. It was my classic opening move.

But June chuckled. “You look as though you’ve had a night to remember.” Her plain, brown eyes twinkled. “What secret mischief you must create in that quiet world of yours.” Then she tilted her head, a thing governesses should not do, for straight, swan necks are the only true measure of the weaker sex. “Or perhaps you stay quiet because your world is already so filled with the wildest things.”

I could hardly believe that I smiled, but I did. And then I frowned. Turned out, my father found me a bright one after all.