“Another one of Charles’ creations,” I said, immediately comfortable. “Hummingbird cake?”
The smile she offered didn’t reach her eyes. “His sister’s favorite. Fresh pineapple, bananas, cinnamon. Roasted pecans on top. I never would have guessed Charles would remember the recipe after all these years.”
She went on about the cake, but I was stuck on something else: “Charles has a sister?”
“Oh, dear.” Valeria stopped chopping. “Please, don’t mind me.” She went back to slicing, working a little slower. She slid the sliced carrots aside with the edge of the knife.
I debated responding, but by the time I worked up the nerve to speak, the moment had passed. We sliced the remaining vegetables in silence. Though I shouldn’t have, I tried using my curse/gift to pry for more, but she’d pushed the sister from her mind. Two other children—young twins, one girl and one boy—lingered in the first sister’s place.
The front door creaked and clicked shut, jolting me from her thoughts, and the men thudded their way to the kitchen. I felt as though I’d been caught stealing…a feeling I knew all too well and never wanted to relive. I needed to stay out of their heads.
“Smells good in here,” Henry said.
Valeria smiled over her shoulder. “Oh, hush.” To me, she said, “You do have blood on hand? Henry of course can’t have soup or cake.”
“Charles has some from his last hunt,” I said.
I’d nearly forgotten pure earth elementals couldn’t eat human food. When I was first getting to know Charles, he’d said he needed blood because he was Strigoi. In truth, he needed it because he was part Cruor. I gave Charles a long look as I swept the vegetables into my hand and plunked them into the soup pot.
Were there other things he wasn’t telling me? He’d never mentioned a sister.
Pouring some animal blood into a glass, I tried to pretend the red liquid was something else. I thought of blood oranges, but that put me off from oranges more than comforted me over the idea of warming blood.
I carried everyone’s drinks into the living room on a tea tray. As I handed Valeria a cup of tea, I glanced at Henry. He sipped his blood, and my stomach lurched. Charles never drank blood in my presence. The jug in the fridge was tolerable, but consumption was another matter.
Henry set aside his glass. “Relax and join us, Sophia.”
Everyone was already sitting. I’d been staring. I hurriedly sat next to Charles on the couch. “So…how did you two meet?”
Another award-winning icebreaker.
Valeria plunged right into her story. She told me she was born to one of Queen Anne Boleyn’s maids in 1531, and she and her mother stayed with the royal family even after Anne’s death, continuing under Queen Elizabeth the First’s reign.
“My mother hadn’t known my father was Strigoi,” Valeria said, “but once I hit my teen years, I began shifting. We confronted my father, who explained what I was and what it would mean for me, but he refused to offer any support. He wouldn’t even accept responsibility over my life, as it was frowned upon for someone of the court to mingle with servants.
“At first, I’d been unable to control when the shifts occurred. My mother feared someone at the court might learn and have me executed. She gave me what little money she had and sent me to the street, swiping tears from beneath her eyes and trying to keep her composure so that no one would read anything into the exchange taking place between us. Different times, back then.”
The air in the room grew heavier. I curled up my legs and sipped my tea as Valeria shared the story of how she met Henry, her words painting the history between them like a movie in my mind.
...
AS THE LAW of 1547 said, after three days without a job, Valeria had to offer to work for any employer for any wages, even if only for food and drink. But no one would hire her; they all wanted strong men.
It was Henry’s father who, after finding her begging at the market, finally took her to the local magistrate, where under law she was made a slave to their family for two years. She’d been in service to Henry’s father for a year when he found a necklace she had kept hidden—the only keepsake of her mother, her only symbol of hope. He took the necklace from her as payment for the food and shelter he provided, and she dared not argue.
One night, Henry went out, and a week passed before his return. He knocked on Valeria’s window and asked her to leave with him. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you. Now I am certain we can have a life away from all this.”
“If they catch me, I’ll be branded to a life of slavery.”
Henry shook his head. “I promise no one will hurt you. Come now.”
She climbed out the window, and the two ran as far and as fast as they could—Valeria in such a state at the time that she hadn’t even noticed Henry keeping up with her own unusual speed. They didn’t stop running until they reached a small, windowless house with a thatched roof.