A month. It had been a month since Alex stumbled through our front door under the midday sun, drenched in blood. The words she’d uttered that day still echoed in every corner of this house, “Sam’s gone.”

  It hit all of us… hurt all of us. Eleanor was a wreck. I was a wreck. Frank was… he took it hard. I think he felt he needed to apologize to our friend again for what had happened with Clive, but now he’d never get the chance.

  In the weeks that followed that painful revelation, that truth settled in like a slow poison, heavy and lingering. It added a dark weight to everything else that already threatened to pull us under. Our world, everything with Autumn’s curse, felt even more hopeless.

  The days blurred together. Night and day had lost their meaning because none of us slept right anymore. Not with the loss of our mysterious friend, who we all hoped would somehow swoop in and save the day like he had so many times. He wasn't coming. Not with Autumn screaming in the basement, her voice not entirely her own. It was screams of rage most of the time, while others were confusion and terror.

  I thought it was her peaking through, pulling back against the curse to break free a little; only it was this new version of herself that taunted us. She was trying to get under our skin… to lure us closer to the cage where she could reach. The curse didn’t just want to take her… it still wanted more of us.

  I cried for my daughter, hoping to see her break free of the curse. But it wasn't her, even though it sounded so real. It sounded like my daughter… and she needed help… she was scared.

  Alex stayed. She didn’t say much at first, barely spoke at all that first week. She’d sit near the window all day, the golden sunlight painted her pale face, her expression distant, a mixture of guilt and exhaustion. There was something there that she never explained. The reason she stayed with us was elusive, but Martin knew it had to do with Sam. If Sam had asked her to return to us before he was killed… I was unsure. But part of me felt she was here more for Sam than for us specifically.

  Martin hovered near her often, torn between worry for her and what he felt he had to do for us. Not to mention everything he was going through with the loss of Charles. Most days, I found them both near the window in the living room, staring out into the woods; Alex’s lithe form and blood-red hair lit by the sunlight, and Martin standing just to the side in the shadows. They looked outside to the woods.

  The rituals had multiplied. What began as hopeful, methodical attempts had turned into desperate routines. It felt like we were racing against a clock. Salt circles were redrawn every morning, candles burnt down to puddles of wax, sigils inked over sigils until the basement walls turned black. It became an ominous clockwork routine every day, each morning burning with an ember of hope to save Autumn, only to have her laugh and spit in our faces by the evening. Her body was beginning to look weaker, though she grew physically stronger. The curse was growing while it withered my daughter away… and it forced a pain in my head and chest at all times now to see her like that.

  Eleanor had barely eaten in days, her hands shaking as she traced old books in languages she didn’t even understand anymore. Clara and Wayland took turns reinforcing the wards, their faces hollowed out from sleepless nights. They had sent Delilah away to spend time with Wayland’s mom and dad, to keep her from danger, and knowing the truth. Frank handled the logistics as he kept everyone fed, the perimeter secure, and kept Uncle Chris from losing his temper when another ritual failed. Now that he was back, I think Frank felt he owed us something. He was there for everything, never taking breaks, and always prepared to do whatever we needed. But he held a darkness in his eyes about many things that were still on the horizon. I couldn’t think about that shit now, though. No threat, besides the one that held Autumn, meant anything to me anymore.

  But despite all the effort, Autumn was still stuck, and we had lost hope. I could see it in everyone… but nobody wanted to be the first one to utter the words. Seeing the same fear that we had already lost in everyone else's eyes, but no one was brave enough to say it… It made it worse.

  The girl we knew… my daughter, bright, sharp, the center of my heart… she was disappearing. Some nights, we’d hear her pacing below the floorboards, claws scraping against the bars of the silver cell. Other nights, she’d fall silent for hours, only for a guttural snarl to break the quiet when one of us dared approach. Her eyes… they weren’t hers anymore. They glowed faintly green in the dark, and every time I looked into them, I felt like something non-human was staring back through them. Something not of this world was wearing my daughter’s face like a mask.

  We refused to give up. El had been the one at Autumn’s side most often, whispering calm words even when the girl thrashed or screamed. Sometimes she’d sing to her like she did when she was just a little girl in her room upstairs. It was low, wordless notes that seemed to soothe Eleanor more than Autumn, before the rage erupted from her. I’d see Eleanor after those moments, sitting on the floor with her hands trembling, her brown eyes bloodshot from crying.

  One evening, near the end of that fourth week, I found Alex alone in the kitchen, sitting at the table with an untouched cup of water. The light above her flickered; her new, unknown powers were probably the reason. She looked up when I entered, her expression worn, not just tired, but haunted.

  “She’s not coming back, Carter,” Alex said softly, voice cracking just slightly as she spoke one of the few times in a day. “Whatever’s inside her… It’s winning.”

  I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that Autumn was still in there somewhere. But the words didn’t come. I’d seen it too, the way Autumn looked at us now, like prey.

  Martin came in a few minutes later, defeatedly carrying another stack of notes: ancient references, old vampire lore, fragments of ritual theory. He spread them out across the table, muttering to himself, his usual smooth composure replaced with something bordering on tired obsession.

  “There has to be something we missed,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “Charles would have…”

  He stopped himself. The name hit him like a physical blow. The loss of his maker… his vampiric father, in every sense that mattered, hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown heavier. Alex looked across the table, resting a hand on his. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” she whispered.

  Martin looked up at her, his jaw tightening. “If we stop, she dies. Or worse… she becomes something we’ll have to fight.”

  The silence that followed was unbearable.

  Through it all, the others tried to hold on to some semblance of normalcy. The girls, River, Rose, and Raine, stayed upstairs when we weren’t performing another ritual, whispering to each other in the dimly lit hallways about things we were too scared to talk about. Aunt Raven had taken to keeping a crossbow near her at all times, which was strange for her.

  Jane barely spoke at all anymore, her eyes darting toward the basement door whenever the house creaked. For Jane, the Alpha of the Talbot pack, to do that… was telling of how we all felt to be in the house with Autumn. She was the one who came and went the most; the needs of her pack never stopped, and she had responsibilities to take care of. Frank never left with her, though. She’d go alone, and then usually came back the next day looking more refreshed than the rest of us. Her dark hair and tanned skin looked healthy when she’d reenter the house, more so than when she’d left… almost like the curse had invaded the house itself, and was draining the life from all of us.

  Every night ended the same way: exhaustion, fear, and the quiet, unspoken prayer that tomorrow might bring a breakthrough. But it hadn’t. And somewhere deep down, I was starting to fear that Alex was right… that whatever was happening to Autumn wasn’t something we could cure. It was already done, and there was no coming back. I couldn’t lie to myself anymore… no matter how much I wanted it.

  The basement had turned into a war room. Every inch of the concrete floor was covered in chalk, salt, and candlelight. The air was thick with incense and the inky tang of old wards layered upon wards. Parchment sheets lay scattered across a long table: notes, half-burned spell diagrams, medical supplies, and the last resort we’d all been trying to avoid.

  The syringe sat in the middle of it all, thick as a finger. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, clear but slightly colored yellow, like some kind of resin. Clara had mixed it herself from Martin’s notes: a cocktail of chemical sedatives, herbal extracts, and blood-binding suppressants. It wasn’t meant for humans. It was meant for vampires, a way to incapacitate supernatural creatures when a specific fate was meant for them, other than death.

  Autumn hadn’t spoken in days now. The small cell at the far end of the basement, lined with silver inlays and old runes, had become her world. She was pacing, her breathing low and feral. She watched us all, sensing something was about to happen, something she hadn’t experienced yet.

  My son, Allen, and Eloise stayed at Jane's. They couldn’t be here… Allen was taking it all too hard, and it was affecting his own curse. He would lash out in anger and rage that he could barely control. I'm not sure how much it was just his own emotions letting his control slip, or if it was actually an effect of the two different curses brushing against one another. Jane seemed unaffected, at least in the way Allen was.

  We were all gathered now; me, Eleanor, Shelta, Sarah, Martin, Alex, Clara, Wayland, Frank, Jane, Uncle Chris, Aunt Raven, and her three girls, all ready to start this next attempt… the most dangerous thing we’d attempted yet.

  It was a dangerous and last resort plan because it would reintroduce Patrick into the equation. He would be within Autumn’s reach… and she was still just as obsessed with him as she had been before… wanting him so much that she wanted his life in her hands.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  The plan was simple on paper: sedate Autumn, bring her out of the cell, and place her back inside the ritual circle with Patrick himself. We’d found new writings, Shelta swore they referenced a tether, a bond of blood and memory that could pull her humanity back by siphoning the curse out and into an object. It was an object that the curse came in, and so it was an object that we’d return the curse to.

  Before, we were just trying to make the curse disappear. We broke Patrick free, only to realize that the portion of power that had left him and just moved over to Autumn. She now bore the brunt of the curse. She had it all inside of her, and it had nowhere else to go. That’s why we kept failing. But now, we had a plan and an object to take the curse. The green hairbrush, already attuned to this dark power, as it had housed it once before.

  But to do it, someone had to go inside the cage.

  Martin stood nearest the door, his expression carved in stone. “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head before anyone could ask. “The silver will weaken me before I take two steps to her.” He looked down at his hands, the faint tremor betraying him as he already could feel the effects of the silver bars. “If I go in there, I’ll be the one screaming before she is. No one is sure how strong she is, but we know that curse has changed her… just look at the cell.”

  I glanced quickly at his words, witnessing the destruction of the cell, the warped and bent bars as she fought and raged against her imprisonment for over a month now. Her strength was inhuman and wrong. She shouldn’t be this strong, but the mangled and skewed metal told a different story.

  Eleanor rubbed her arms, staring at the cage. “We can’t send anyone unprotected. If she turns violent…” Her voice caught, and she didn’t finish.

  Wayland cleared his throat. “What if we used the tranquilizer darts instead? Shoot through the bars?”

  Frank shook his head. “They won’t hit… she’ll move. You’ve seen it… how she jerks and moves erratic… like some kind of creature.”

  The conversation circled the same point over and over until the silence broke, and Alex spoke.

  “I’ll go.”

  The words hung in the air, cutting through every other thought like a blade.

  We all turned toward her. She was leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, her crimson hair tied back but messy from the constant nights of strain. Her green eyes were steady, almost calm, but there was something behind them; something deliberate. She wore tight jeans and a low-cut shirt, not really fitting the environment or situation, but that was always her presence.

  Martin stepped forward immediately. “Absolutely not,” he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. “The last thing we need is you getting ripped apart in there. You’re not…”

  “I’m more than you,” Alex interrupted, her tone flat, resolute. Her words bit against Martin, who was just looking out for her. “You all can’t even stand near that door without feeling her intent. I can. I’ve felt worse.” Her eyes darkened at a memory. Probably what happened down in the pits… with Sam.

  “Alex,” I said, “Are you sure? Whatever’s inside her is angry… aggressive.”

  Her gaze flicked to me, and for the first time, I saw something in her eyes that wasn’t just courage; it was guilt. A quiet, unspoken guilt that she wasn’t ready to explain.

  “That’s why it has to be me,” she said softly.

  Eleanor set a trembling hand on the table beside her. “Why? Why are you so sure?”

  Alex hesitated. “Because… if this came from Peter, who was tied to Sam’s world… then I’m your best bet. Because I’m tied to that world now, too.”

  The words drew everyone’s attention. Even Martin froze. She hadn’t really explained what had happened to her that let her walk in the sun, and had obviously changed her in ways that Martin could sense. He spoke to me about it, talking about her eyes… saying they weren’t the same, but I couldn’t see it.

  “What do you mean?” Martin asked carefully.

  Alex swallowed hard, her teeth clenching and her throat working as she searched for words. “When I said I’ve felt worse… I meant it. When I was down below with Sam… I felt things… absorbed things. It made me stronger...”

  She stepped closer to the cage, her boots echoing softly against the cold concrete. Autumn stirred at the sound, a low growl reverberating through the metal bars. The sound made everyone tense, weapons shifting subtly in hands.

  Alex didn’t flinch.

  “If she’s still in there, even a little,” Alex whispered, “We have to find her… for him…” She didn’t say a name, but we all knew who she spoke about.

  I knew now, for certain, what we had all been thinking. She wasn’t here for Autumn, but was here to do something for Sam. I realized in that moment that they must have had a true connection for her to be here for Sam like this. Even Martin was taken aback. He realized that she was connected to Sam more deeply than she was to him.

  Martin moved to block her path, desperation slipping through his usual composure. “You don’t know what will happen if you walk in there with this new aspect of yourself.” Martin had real fear in his dark eyes. It was the fear of losing someone else he considered close to him in this dark world. He had already lost Charles, and he didn’t want to lose Alex, too.

  For a long moment, no one spoke. The candles' yellow flames burned in the background, flickering shadows across the walls.

  Alex didn’t say another word. She just picked up the syringe from the table, flicked the glass with her finger, and stared at the shimmering liquid inside like it was something sacred… or deadly. She really stared at it for a long moment… thinking about something.

  Everyone watched her move toward the cage. Nobody tried to stop her this time. There was something in her eyes that made it clear she wasn’t asking for permission anymore… she knew what she was going to do.

  The air in the basement grew still. The low hum of the lights seemed to fade as she reached for the key that hung just out of reach of the cell. The sound of the lock turning echoed in the room, punctuating the finality that we all felt in this attempt to break the curse. Something was going to change… we all felt it.

  Autumn’s growl was the first response; low, guttural, and wrong. The moment Alex stepped through the doorway, Autumn moved like an animal uncoiling, blackened hair hanging wild in front of her face. Her eyes were nothing human anymore; green and furious, burning with something ancient.

  “Be careful,” Eleanor said under her breath, but Alex didn’t even look back.

  Autumn launched forward with a sound halfway between a scream and a snarl so shrill that it pierced all our ears. She barred her teeth in a fury. For a heartbeat, it was chaos… chains snapping taut, dust shaking loose from the cage from how hard she jarred it… then impact.

  Alex caught Autumn mid-lunge, her hand snapping around her throat with impossible speed and strength. In a single motion, she slammed her into the steel bars so hard the whole cage rattled again. Everyone lost their breath for a moment.

  Even Martin couldn’t hide his shock. The force she used wasn’t just vampire strength… it was something far heavier. And yet, impossibly, Autumn wasn’t hurt. She continued to thrash under Alex’s power.

  The two of them stared at each other, Alex breathing evenly. The syringe held firm in Alex’s free hand with no damage whatsoever. Alex was in control.

  Alex’s voice came out low, but with a fire that burned through. “Stop fighting me,” she whispered, pressing Autumn harder against the cold alloy. “This isn’t who you are.”

  Autumn spat in her face, her voice cracked and venomous as it came out for the first time in what seemed like forever. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything, whore!”

  Alex didn’t flinch. She leaned closer, her lips barely moving. I could barely make out the words over the ragged breathing and the scrape of chains. I did make out the last two words she spoke in that moment.

  “…for him,” Alex whispered.

  The words froze me in place. She was speaking about Sam.

  Autumn snarled, her lip curling as something twisted inside her voice; rage and hatred and something deeper, broken.

  “Fuck that stupid piece of shit,” my daughter spat in her face.

  The sound of the slap cracked through the air like a whip. Alex’s hand connected with her face so hard that it shook the air around me. Autumn’s head snapped to the side, black hair falling to the side. Alex’s expression didn’t change; she looked furious, but tears were standing in her eyes, trembling, refracting the dim light.

  “Don’t you ever talk about him like that again,” she hissed. “You don’t know the depths of things he’s done… who he truly is… what you meant to him.”

  I caught the past-tense she used when she said ‘meant.’ I felt a knot grow in my throat at this detail. Sam was truly dead… just as she had told us so many times in this last month as she recounted the details of his grizzly demise. Eaten by monsters in the pits.

  Autumn glared back, breathing sharp and ragged, and for just a second, a flicker; there was something in her eyes that looked like fear.

  I couldn’t see exactly what Alex was doing as the two of them stared at each other through that terrible stillness. The air between them felt heavy, charged, like something unseen was happening that none of us could name. I knew she was supposed to inject Autumn… that was the plan… but as Alex’s hand came up, the syringe glinting faintly in the light, something changed.

  Her grip on Autumn’s neck didn’t loosen, but her arm stopped mid-motion. It wasn’t hesitation exactly… it was like she’d seen or felt something none of us could. Her body went rigid, her expression unreadable from where I stood. I could see the profile of her face… still, focused, her jaw tight, but her eyes dropped downward. She was looking away from Autumn’s face and to the needle.

  That pause felt longer than it probably was. Maybe two seconds. Maybe five. But it stretched, bending time into something distinct but confusing. Why had she stopped?

  I followed her gaze, but from where I stood, I couldn’t see what she was looking at. There was nothing obvious, just shadows, chains, the faint shimmer of silver light off the bars. Still, the look on her face… There was something almost reverent about it, or afraid.

  I couldn’t see the syringe of tranquilizer anymore. That’s when I realized what she was staring at, but I didn’t know why. It was almost like she was second-guessing doing what she was about to do. The intensity on her face didn’t fit the situation, like she was dreading doing it. But… it was just a tranquilizer.

  Autumn’s eyes grew large for a moment, sensing something that changed her cursed mind. It was a confusion and fear of her own that almost mirrored what I had been feeling. But… why was she…

  Then, before I could think about it any further, suddenly, Alex moved again. The syringe flashed once in the dim light, and I saw it drive into the side of Autumn’s neck.

  My daughter screamed; a raw, animal sound that tore through the basement. Her body convulsed, every muscle straining against Alex’s hold. The veins in her neck bulged, her teeth bared in fury as the sedative flooded her bloodstream.

  Alex didn’t flinch. She kept her pinned, one hand gripping her throat, the other pressing the plunger down with a slow, steady pressure. Autumn’s thrashing grew weaker, her movements slowing until they became uncoordinated, sluggish… and then nothing. Her body went limp.

  Alex exhaled one long, trembling breath, and for a moment she just stood there, looking down at her, expression unreadable. She used the same keys to unlock Autumn’s chains and free her from the bondage we had to keep her in. Then she shifted her arms, lifting Autumn from the cold silver floor as if she weighed nothing at all.

  When she stepped out of the cage, we all stepped back instinctively. The room was silent except for the low hum of the lights and the faint rattle of chains still swinging from being undone.

  Alex carried her to the open space where the ritual circle was already drawn by the Wicklow women, the symbols smeared and redrawn so many times they had begun to blur together. She laid Autumn down carefully in the center of it, brushing a lock of dark hair from her face before standing again, silent and distant.

  Alex retreated to a far corner of the basement and remained silent. Martin watched her, but stayed near Autumn’s unconscious body, just in case she woke. We all noticed the shift in Alex’s personality. She went from her usual silence and internal torment to something strangely more emotional. She was crying… sobbing silently in the back corner of the room for reasons that were beyond me. We all looked at one another, but we had to move. We would deal with whatever was happening with the anthropophagous vampire after the ritual was complete. My thoughts knew it had to be something to do with Sam, but I couldn’t dwell. Not now.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had made her pause in that cage. Whatever she’d seen or felt… it had changed something.

  “Now,” Aunt Raven stepped forward alongside Shelta. The room was almost vibrating with a building power. “Let’s begin.”