Sleeping Beauty (20 page)

Her grandfather's shoulders were broad and strong, but he was thicker and more solid than her father, plus an entirely different kind of handsome—more rugged and less regal. Under his red hair, which could have used a trim, was a tanned face with a square jaw. A fine layer of lightly colored stubble sprang out from this chin so sharply that Lucette was afraid to touch it in case the hairs were sharp enough to prick her finger. She brushed away the silly thought—after all, she was wearing gloves.

Lucette's mother clearly took after her own mother rather than her tall, red-haired father. And since Lucette took after her own father, she had trouble believing she fit into her mother's family at all.

“I think the occasion calls for birthday cake,” he said, and then looked over her shoulder and winked at her grandmother.

“For breakfast?” her grandmother said. “They've been traveling all night. Perhaps Lucette and Catia would like to nap first, or clean up from the road.”

Her grandfather ran his strong arm along the back of Lucette's shoulders. “Sleep? On your sixteenth birthday?” He nudged her with his hip.“I vote for cake. How about you?”

A huge grin spread on her face. “I slept a bit in the carriage. Cake sounds great!”

A few hours later, after three slices of birthday cake, a tour of the
barn, and a drive over the vast, hilly property on the front bench of an open, horse-drawn cart, Lucette walked around the house, happiness flooding through her. Her grandparents had assured her mother that they'd sanded down every surface on the estate, and had even done their best to remove anything liable to prick Lucette in the barn. Wearing her gloves, Lucette felt safe and comfortable.

As badly as she wished her parents would reconsider their separation, she did think she was going to prefer living out here in the country to living at the palace. The air was so clean and fresh—well, maybe not so fresh in the barn—and in one day here, she'd enjoyed more freedom than she had in her whole life at the palace.

Lucette tested an overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace and her grandmother's cinnamon scent filled the air. She inhaled deeply, then studied the painting above the mantle, trying to figure out why it seemed so strange. It was a portrait of her mother, perhaps at twelve or thirteen, but something seemed lopsided—the painted fabric, draped to the right of her mother's image, hung in an unnatural manner. Perhaps the artist had been having a bad day.

Lucette looked at another portrait, which showed her mother on horseback with a taller horse beside her. Something was off about that painting, too. The coat of the riderless horse and the mountains behind it seemed unevenly painted. Lucette leaned closer, shrugged, and then turned back to the picture over the mantle.

She gasped and then examined the horse painting more closely again. Yes, she was certain. In both of these portraits, someone else had been erased—painted over as if he or she had never been there. Her father once mentioned an aunt who'd died, but he'd been so reluctant to discuss her that Lucette just assumed it had been
his
sister, not her
mother's. Was it possible her mother had once had a sister? And if she'd died, why would they have painted her out of all of the portraits?

She ran to the kitchen where her grandmother was stirring a big pot on the wood-burning stove. “Grandma, who's painted out of those portraits? Did I once have an aunt?” As soon as she asked the question, she realized it might not have been very sensitive. If her daughter had died, her grandmother would be sad.

Her grandmother spun toward her, eyes wide, but then they slowly narrowed. Her expression darkened as if a cloud had passed directly overhead. “She's gone. We do not talk about her—ever.”

Lucette was startled by her grandmother's reaction. Perhaps she'd ask her mother. But she'd have to find the right time. Clearly this was a touchy subject.

Hours later, Lucette yawned and stretched. “Oh, excuse me.”

“Nothing to be excused.” Her grandmother reached across the kitchen table where they'd eaten dinner—imagine, eating right in the kitchen!—and squeezed her gloved hand. “You must be very tired, and the sun is setting. Out here in the country, bedtime's never long past sundown.”

Lucette smiled, grateful that no one was offended by her dinner-table yawn, but she stiffened at the thought of sunset. She turned to her mother.“We left in such a hurry, I didn't bring any stakes or a crossbow or anything.”

Her grandparents didn't look shocked, so Lucette assumed her mother had told them about her slayer training. Her grandmother
stood and started to clear the plates from the table. Much to Lucette's surprise, her mother helped.

“You won't be needing weapons up here, Lucette,” her grandfather said. “Those vicious creatures are smart enough to stay away from my property. I'll keep all of you safe.”

Her grandmother pressed her lips together.

“All the same, Gramps,” Lucette said,“I would feel better if I had some weapons.” She turned to her mother. “Can we send back for them?”

“Nonsense,” her grandfather said. “In the country, a shortage of wood is one thing we don't suffer. Tomorrow morning, I'll make you some stakes.”

Lucette smiled, and her eyes soon drifted shut as she relaxed in her chair. The sun hadn't even gone down, but with last night's travel and the excitement of meeting her grandparents and touring their estate, exhaustion was winning.

“May I please be excused?” she asked her grandmother.

“Of course, darling,” her grandmother replied. “And no need to be so formal here. You're sixteen, practically a grown-up. You've earned the right to excuse yourself from the table.”

Lucette drew a deep breath of nighttime country air. After two weeks at her grandparents' house, she found the freedom of country living exhilarating, and although she missed her father and sent him letters nearly every day, she loved being here. Strolling along the dirt path to the barn, she looked up to take in the stars filling the sky above
the distant mountains. They shone so much brighter away from the gaslights and candles in the village that surrounded the palace.

Startled by a noise, she pulled a stake from her quiver and quickly spun toward the sound. A rabbit darted across the path.

She shook her head and stifled a laugh.
Killer bunnies. How scary.
Now that she was living in the relative safety of the country, she needed to learn how to relax. She stashed her stake.

Her mother and grandparents had fallen asleep two hours ago, but Lucette loved taking these short walks at night and saying good night to the barn animals. The only way she'd ever been able to walk alone back at the palace had involved sneaking around, trickery, and often climbing down a rope from her bedroom window. She liked the barn after dark, when the animals were quiet and the only light came from the moonbeams that streamed in between the wooden slats. Besides, if the worst happened and her nights
all
became solitary, wouldn't it be better if she got used to it first?

Lucette pulled the barn door open and followed the moonlight inside. A few pregnant sheep waddled over to their pen's fence, and she reached through the carefully sanded wooden slats to pat their woolly coats. When one nuzzled her hand, she felt a strong urge to pull off her glove to feel its wool, but stopped herself. Whether it was sanded or not, she wasn't so reckless as to put her bare fingers near wood.

Thunder, her grandfather's favorite stallion, neighed, and Lucette left the sheep to see what had upset him. Probably a mouse scurrying through the stall, or maybe the horse was jealous she'd been paying so much attention to the sheep. She smirked. That wasn't likely. In the two weeks she'd been here, Thunder had barely let her get near him, even after her grandfather gave her sugar cubes to tempt him. She'd
tried a few times and could only assume the horse was put off by her gloved hands, because he would never accept her sweet gifts.

She stepped in front of Thunder's stall and he reared up, his hooves rising high. Then he walked forward and put his head over the top slat of the gate.

“Thunder,” she said softly, “what's wrong?” She spotted the box of sugar cubes and, determined to win the horse's favor, she pulled off her right glove and tucked it into the waistband of her slacks. She could be careful.

The cool night air felt good on her hand, and taking three sugar cubes, she placed them in her bare palm and held the cubes out to Thunder. But he twisted and kicked and backed up, as if he didn't even notice her offering.
Stubborn horse.
She'd seen him gobble sugar from her grandfather's hand.

Weighing the danger, she used her gloved hand to open his gate. The risk of Thunder barging out of his stall and trampling her seemed lower than the risk of sliding her bare hand between two slats of wood, and she hoped that the closer she got to Thunder, the more she showed that she trusted him, the better the chances that he'd trust her back.

Thunder pawed the straw on the barn floor, then slowly clopped closer. Her heart thumped as he nudged his nose and mouth into her hand and gobbled up the sugar. His hot, moist breath tickled her palm and the thrill sent little chills racing through her. With a shock she realized that she'd almost never felt another's touch—human or animal—on her bare hand.

Thunder raised his head sharply and kicked behind him.

Startled, Lucette grabbed the stall door—with her right hand!

As she checked her fingers for splinters, her heart raced even faster
and harder than Thunder's hooves when he galloped across an open field, but after finding her fingers prick-free, she replaced her glove, the soft leather suddenly comforting. Thunder kicked again, so she slowly stepped forward, hoping to calm him.

Then she spotted the problem.

A vampire. Thunder reared on his hind legs, and the vampire eyed her from the back wall of the stall. Her heart raced and she pulled out a stake.

The vampire licked his fangs and snarled. “I was planning on horse blood for breakfast, but you will do.”

Thunder kicked again, and the vampire ducked to the side, protecting his head with his arms. Lucette marveled that such a strong, vicious creature felt threatened by a horse. Couldn't he take Thunder down if he wanted to? She felt sure that he could, and it was up to her to protect the horse, to protect herself.

“Get out of here!” she shouted.

The vampire bared his fangs. “Not before eating. I'm starved. Now, scat before I change my mind about horse and choose girl.”

His words were threatening, but something in his voice sounded less so. But Lucette couldn't be certain and didn't plan to die.

Feeling a rush from the danger, she gripped her stake tightly, every muscle in her body ready for battle. Nearly three years of training and she was finally face-to-face with her first vampire, alone. But right now, getting around Thunder seemed a much bigger obstacle than staking her enemy.

As she advanced down the side of the stall, the vampire kept Thunder between them as he moved along the back of the stall and then started up the other side. “Get lost, or I'll bite you,” he said menacingly.

“You're the one trespassing,” Lucette said. “Come near me and you'll die.”

“Murder?” The vampire looked startled. “That's a bit extreme.”

Lucette narrowed her eyes. “You threatened me first.”

“Not with death,” the vampire said.“I'm just hungry. I haven't eaten for three days.”

“That's not my problem.” She shivered. “And no excuse to bite me.”

The vampire shook his head. “If I wanted human blood I would've headed for the house, not the barn, don't you think?” He moved toward Thunder, licking his lips. “Now let me eat.”