Page 5 of Dhampira

Then her stomach started to grow.

Mama ran. She never told me the name of her old village. I knew nothing of my grandparents or her life before I was born. That girl is dead, she’d told me, and she’d made me promise to never go looking for the past. But she showed me the secret compartment under my dresser. With the curtains drawn and the light of a single candle splashing shadows on the walls, she’d cupped my cheek with one hand and held the dress with the other. If anything ever happens to me, Corinthe, you take this gown to Sausberg and sell it. Each gem is worth a king’s ransom in gold.

It was never any use asking how she knew the stones’ value, just as it was no use asking about the vampire who fathered me. She didn’t remember. At least, she claimed she didn’t. But Mama wasn’t forgetful. She remembered things, especially important things.

I touched the gown’s sleek skirt. The stones flickered.

Downstairs, the back door opened. I jerked my head up as Mama’s footsteps echoed across the floorboards. As quickly as they’d started, they stopped.

Heart racing, I looked at the hiding spot under the dresser. There was no way I could stuff the dress back in before my mother reached me.

“Corinthe?” she called.

My stomach did a nervous flip. I knew that tone. Somehow, within seconds of setting foot in the cottage, my mother knew something was wrong.

“Up here,” I replied, surging to my feet with the dress in my hands.

“I know,” she said, her footsteps starting up again. They rang out on the stairs and then she appeared on the threshold—diminutive and strikingly beautiful. Her blond brows pulled tightly together as she stared at the gown’s black skirts spilling over the floor.

I clutched the dress against my midsection. “I can explain.”

“What happened to your hand?” She rushed forward, seized my linen-wrapped wrist, and unraveled the shift. I flinched as the fabric stuck to my wounds.

“Silver,” Mama breathed. The blood drained from her face as she watched my skin twitch and try to reknit.

“It was a peddler,” I blurted. Then I confessed the whole shameful tale, leaving nothing out. Lilawen Trevil had a nose for lies. And this was no time for deception. Cyprio could be on his way to the cottage, a mob of angry townspeople behind him.

“Did he follow you?” Mama asked, jerking her blue eyes to mine. “Was anyone with him? What did he look like? Tell me exactly what you saw, Corinthe.” She tightened her grip on my wrist. “Did you sense anything in the forest?”

“I did,” I said, wincing. She eased her hold immediately, and I repeated the story, describing Cyprio in detail.

My mother listened without interrupting. She went very still, the way she did when she was trying to decide which herbs would best treat an illness.

“So we’ll take the dress and run,” I finished. “We can sell it in Sausberg, just like you said.”

Mama was quiet for a long moment. Then she shook her head. “No. We’ll stay here.”

For a moment, I could only gape at her. My earliest memories were of her telling me how important it was to hide. The Feyline kept the human and magical realms separate. Humans didn’t cross into Nocta unless they were desperate or suicidal. For the most part, the creatures who inhabited Nocta stayed on their side of the line. Ghedda was full of human prey, but it also had sunlight and silver.

As a dhampir, I didn’t truly belong in either world. But I was safest in Ghedda. Until now. Sausberg posed its own dangers, but it was the only place we could sell the dress without attracting attention. Villages were invariably nosy places. Two women trying to offload a gown studded with gems would rouse instant suspicion. Once we had enough coin, we could find a new place to settle.

“We have to go,” I said. “The humans will kill me if they discover what I am. You’ve always said that.”

She reached up and pulled a strand of hair away from my cheek, her fingers cool on my flushed skin. “Yes, but only if they discover you. That hasn’t happened.”

“But the peddler—”

“Saw you stumble away from a sharp object,” she said firmly. “Nothing more. He’s a stranger from Sausberg. Even if he runs into town yelling about creatures from Nocta, no one will believe him.” Mama bent her head and examined my fingers. The scent of chamomile filled the scant space between us. “I’ve spent almost twenty-five years cultivating the goodwill of the people of Derryton. I won’t lose it over one man’s unfounded allegations.” She looked up. “We won’t lose it.”

Anxiety fluttered in my stomach. “If they come for me, they’ll come for you, too.”

“No one is coming for me, my love. I’m the only healer in town. People want their coughs treated and their babies delivered safely.” Her eyes flashed. “And if they try to come for you, they’ll have to get through me first.”

The steel in her voice raised the hair on my arms, and a familiar awe spread through me. My mother was a small woman, but she radiated uncanny strength. She was only a touch past forty and routinely passed for half that. If our looks had been similar, people might have mistaken us for sisters. But Mama was my opposite in nearly every way. Where I was tall and lean, she was short and curved in all the places that turned men’s heads. With her platinum hair and angelic blue eyes, most people expected her to be as gentle as she appeared.

If they were smart, they only made that mistake once. I’d seen her back a man twice her size into the corner of a tavern after he groped himself and asked if she’d like another child. He’d drawn a sharp breath, and the apologies that spilled from his lips had sounded like a squeaky wheel on a wagon. Later, when I asked my mother what she said to subdue him, she gave me a mild look. I thanked him for his offer. With a flick of her wrist, she produced the small, forged sickle she used for harvesting herbs. But I declined.

“The peddler sold faulty goods,” she said now, releasing me and unlacing her sleeve. “With a word from me, the folk of Derryton will chase him from town for distributing dangerous merchandise.” She gave a single nod as if her statement settled the matter. Which, considering what I knew of my mother, it probably did. She’d declared that no one in town would believe Cyprio Kormaz, and that was that.