She dragged the mattress from the spare room into the kitchen. She locked the back door and wedged a chair under the handle. She checked the garlic hanging from the rafters, though she knew, deep down, that garlic was a superstition that amused the vampires more than it deterred them.
She lay down beside her brother, pulling the quilt over them both. Bram curled into her side instantly, his breathing hitching as he drifted into an exhausted, fitful sleep.
Isadora lay awake.
She stared at the ceiling, watching the firelight dance. Her mind wouldn't stop racing.
Elias is missing.
Caelan is ruined.
Prisoner 817 is loose.
And that face in the window...
As sleep finally began to drag her under, a strange sensation washed over her. The kitchen faded. The smell of woodsmoke was replaced by the scent of damp stone and iron.
She wasn't in the shop anymore.
