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“Hello? Stephanie? Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, Aunt Bernie. You’re on speaker, and the others are listening.”
“Hello,” Bernadette says, and the trio of males return the greeting.
“Aunt Bernie, Eden just had a vision.”
She goes on to tell the whole story, from the scent of rotting flowers only I could smell to the revelations that spurred the phone call. There’s a beat of silence from the phone, then Bernadette hums.
“Yes, that certainly does sound like a vision to me. The magic of your bloodline must’ve lured you into that cabin, Eden. That would explain why only you smelled the lingering traces of it and was drawn there, despite the spell placed upon it to keep vampires out.”
“So…you’re saying I witnessed the birth of…who? My mother? My grandmother?”
“Most likely your great-great-grandmother, or even your great-great-great-grandmother, considering Bethany Grundelier died in nineteen-sixteen at the age of seventy-three. Your vision probably took place in the eighteen-sixties, if my math is correct.”
I shake my head as confusion fogs my mind. “Is there a chance I imagined the whole thing? I mean, Bethany named the baby Eve. What are the odds that her baby would be named something so close to my own name?”
“Bethany’s mother’s name was Eve,” Bernadette says slowly. “I found it in the historical records. It’s not such a stretch that she’d name her child after her own mother. In fact, it was pretty common. I wouldn’t be surprised if your own matriarchal grandmother was named Eden.”
“But…I always assumed I was named in the system. I was found as a newborn, so the department of family services would’ve named me, right?”
“Is it possible there was something left with you? Something that would indicate your name, or maybe a trinket that reminded the case workers of the Garden of Eden?” Bernadette asks.
“I don’t think so,” I say, my mind whirling. “If there was, I was never told about it.”
“You should call them and ask for your records,” Steph says. “Maybe there’s something in your file.”
I meet Jesse’s eyes, and the concern in their dark depths makes my knees feel weak. I lean into him, taking comfort as his arms band tightly around me. Steph ends the call with Bernadette, who promises to keep digging for information before the line goes dead.
Something strange is going on here. If I did have a vision, and Bernadette is right about the naming tradition, then my parents must’ve named me. But why make sure the strangers who rescued me as a newborn knew my name? Wouldn’t it be easier to keep this whole mystery under wraps if they let the name die? If I’d grown up as a Samantha or a Christine?
I heave a sigh. It’s possible I’m overthinking this, but I need to find the truth.
It could be a big coincidence, or it could be the beginning of a trail of breadcrumbs my parents left behind for me. So that I could find them if I ever needed them.
Either way, I intend to see this thing through to the bitter end.
8
EVERY LAST DROP
By the time we get back to the hotel, I’m feeling a weird mix of mental exhaustion and too much physical energy. Jesse slips a hand into mine to calm the restless fidgeting of my fingers as we climb the stairs to our floor, and I shoot him a grateful look.
“Are you hungry?” he asks quietly as we approach our door, and my feet stop moving.
“How would…that work?” I ask, my mind flying to worst case scenarios.
Would we have to hunt? Find some drunken souls down on Bourbon Street and lure them into a dark alley? Or maybe sneak into one of the rooms in this very hotel and drink our fill while they sleep? Could I really do that? I might have to, won’t I?
“Eden.”
Jesse’s deep voice rips me from my chaotic, spiraling thoughts, and I meet his dark gaze as he pushes our door open and motions for me to enter. His smile is warm and comforting, and I return it with a small one of my own and a shake of my head.
“If you’re hungry,” he says, closing the door behind us, “there are established donors in the area. All I have to do is send a text. Someone will be here within the hour to willingly feed you.”
“Sorry,” I murmur, hearing the light censure in his voice.
I know how this works. Vampires aren’t hidden in the shadows anymore, and there’s no reason a sane, civilized member of my new species would need to lurk in dark alleys or attack unwilling victims.
