I spotted Clementines parents in the crowd, arms clasped, not yet aware that their daughter was not among the somber-faced girls in the back of the crowd.
Theyd find out soon enough.
My thoughts were interrupted by an insistent clicking, like a watch counting or a fingernail tapping against a hard surface. I scanned the crowd, trying to trace the ticking to its point of origin. The sound was slow and steady and mechanical, steadier than a heartbeat, slower than a metronome. And it seemed to be coming directly from Jonathans hand. Clementines blood rushed to my head.
The compass.
Back when Father first became suspicious of vampires, hed created a committee of men to rid the town of the demonic scourge. Id attended the meetings, which had taken place in Jonathan Gilberts attic. Hed had plans for a contraption to identify vampires, and Id witnessed him using it in action the week before. It was how hed discovered Pearls true nature.
I elbowed Damon. "We have to go," I said, barely moving my jaw.
Just then Jonathan looked up, and his eyes locked directly onto mine.
He let out an unholy shriek and pointed to our mausoleum. "Demon!"
The crowd turned toward us as one, their stares cutting through the fog like bayonets. Then something rushed past me, and the wall behind me exploded. A cloud of powder billowed around us, and chips of marble slashed across my cheek. I bared my fangs and roared. The sound was loud, primal, terrifying. Half the crowd knocked over chairs in their haste to flee the cemetery, but the other half remained.
"Kill the demons!" Jonathan cried, brandishing a crossbow.
"I think they mean us, brother," Damon said with a short, humorless laugh.
And so I grabbed Damon and ran.
Chapter 3
With Damon behind me, I raced through the forest, jumping over felled branches and skipping over stones. I leaped over the waist-high iron gate of the cemetery, turning briefly to make sure Damon was still following. We zigzagged deep into the woods, the gunshots sounding like fireworks in my ear, the shrieks of the townspeople like breaking glass, their heavy breathing like low-rolling thunder. I could even hear the footfalls of the crowd pursuing me, each step sending vibrations through the ground. I silently cursed Damon for being so stubborn. If hed been willing to drink before today, hed be at full strength, and our newfound speed and agility would have already taken us far away from this mess.
As we cut through the thicket, squirrels and voles scattered from the underbrush, their blood quickening in the presence of predators. A whinny and a snort sounded from the far edge of the cemetery.
"Comeon." I grabbed Damon by the waist and hoisted him to his feet again. "We have to keep moving." I could hear the blood pumping, smell the iron, feel the ground shaking. I knew the mob was more afraid of me than I of them; but still, the sound of gunshots caused my mind to whirl, my body to lurch forward. Damon was weak and I could only carry him so far.
Another gunshot cracked, closer this time. Damon stiffened.
"Demons!" Jonathan Gilberts voice sliced through the woods. Another bullet whizzed past me, grazing my shoulder. Damon flopped forward in my arms.
"Damon!" The word echoed in my ears, sounding so much like the worddemonthat it startled me. "Brother!" I shook him, then began awkwardly dragging him behind me again toward the sounds of the horses. But despite having just fed, my strength wouldnt last forever, and the footsteps were coming closer and closer.
Finally we reached the edge of the cemetery, where several horses were tied to the iron hitching posts. They pawed at the ground, pulling on the ropes that tethered them so hard that their necks bulged. One coal-black mare was none other than my old horse, Mezzanotte. I stared at her, mesmerized at how desperate she appeared to be to get away from me. Just a few days earlier, I was the only rider shed trusted.
Footfalls sounded again. I tore my gaze away, shaking my head at being so sentimental. I pulled Fathers old hunting knife from the top of my boot. It had been the one thing Id taken when Id walked through Veritas, our family estate, one last time. Hed always had it with him, although Id never seen him use it. Father had never been one to work with his hands. Still, in my minds eye, the knife conveyed the power and authority that everyone had associated with my father.
I put the blade to the rope that tied Mezzanotte, but it didnt make even the smallest cut. Looking down, I saw the knife for what it was: a dull blade that could barely cut through twine, polished to look important. It was well suited to Father, I thought in disgust, throwing the knife to the ground and yanking at the ropes with my bare hands. The footsteps came closer and I looked wildly behind me. I had wanted to free all the horses so Jonathan and his men couldnt ride them, but there simply wasnt time.
"Hey, girl," I murmured, stroking Mezzanottes elegant neck. She pawed the ground nervously, her heart pounding. "Its me," I whispered as I swung myself onto her back. She reared up, and out of surprise, I kicked her so hard in the flanks that I heard the snap of a rib breaking. Instantly, she yielded in submission, and I trotted her to Damon.
"Come on," I yelled.
A flicker of doubt passed across Damons eyes, but then he reached over Mezzanottes broad back and hoisted himself up. Whether it was fear or instinct, his willingness to flee gave me hope that he was not resolved to die, after all.
"Kill them!" a voice yelled, and someone threw a burning torch toward us that arced and landed on the grass at Mezzanottes feet. Instantly, the grass began to burn, and Mezzanotte bolted in the opposite direction of the quarry. Hoofs thudded behind us--the men had leaped on the other horses and were now fast on our tail.