It started with the mirror. Amanda leaned in to brush her teeth and didn't recognize her reflection. Not completely. It was her face, same hair, same eyes, but something behind it had shifted. Like her skin didn't fit right. Like her expression was waiting for her to catch up.
She blinked. It was gone. Just her again. Later, when she touched the doorknob to the hallway closet, her knees buckled.
She saw a man's hands. Not hers. Callused. Broken knuckles. Blood under the nails. He opened the door and behind it, a woman with her throat torn out.
Amanda screamed. Then blinked again. She was standing in the hallway. Door closed. No blood. No man.
'What the hell is happening to me?'
At work, it got worse. A man returned a book, smiled, thanked her.
And just like that, she saw his death. Not clearly. Just flashes. Him in a bathtub, empty bottles all around, music playing and the sound of water spilling over tile.
By evening, her hands were trembling. Her mouth dry. She sat in her living room, lights off, windows open.
She wasn't trying to sleep.
She was trying not to slip.
Because the feeling wasn't just creeping in anymore. It was waiting for her. Like it knew she'd let her guard down eventually.
Like it belonged.
Then, without warning, something new.
Not an image or a voice. A feeling. Loneliness. Ancient, endless and familiar in a way that made her stomach twist.
It wasn't hers.
But it fit.
And just like that, the whispers returned.
But this time…
They were names. Dozens of them. All at once.
Amanda was still sitting on the floor when she heard the knock.
Three sharp raps against the door. Not like Lucan. Too crisp. Too... formal.
She didn't move at first. Then the voice came through the door. Calm and polished.
"Don't be alarmed. I'm not here to hurt you."
Her stomach dropped. That was exactly the kind of thing people said right before they hurt you.
She stood slowly and moved to the door, peering through the side curtain. A tall man in black stood just beyond the porch light. Blond hair pulled back. Too still. Too clean.
Vampire.
She knew it before she even saw his eyes.
He looked like he belonged in violence.
"I'm a friend of Lucan's," he said, as if he'd read her thoughts.
Amanda didn't open the door. "He doesn't seem like the type to have friends."
Eric smirked, just a little. "Fair."
A pause.
"Let me in."
"No."
Another pause.
"Smart."
He leaned against the porch rail like he had all night to wait. "I came to see what you are."
"Not your business."
"It is now."
Amanda stayed behind the door. "Lucan sent you?"
"No. He wouldn't."
Eric looked toward the woods.
"But I'm not blind. I can see what he's circling. And I don't trust it."
Amanda felt the chill in his voice, not anger. Just clarity.
"You think I'm part of it?" she asked.
"I think you're something," Eric said. "And right now, this town doesn't need more unknowns."
Amanda felt something twist in her chest. "You think I wanted this?"
Eric stepped forward again, voice low.
"I don't care what you wanted. I care what you become."
That one hit her hard. Not because it was cruel. Because it was honest.
"I'm not one of them," she said, quieter now. "The people dancing in the street. The ones with black eyes."
Eric didn't move.
"But you're close," he said.
And that was worse.
He turned, stepping down from the porch.
"I'll be around."
"You didn't tell me your name."
He looked back over his shoulder.
"I didn't."
And then he vanished into the night.
Amanda stood alone in the doorway, hands still shaking. Not from fear. From knowing she wasn't invisible anymore. Not to Lucan. Not to any of them.
-----
Lucan felt the shift before he reached the edge of the woods. Like someone had whispered a name he hadn't heard in years, right behind his ear.
It stopped him cold.
Not Amanda.
Not the tether.
This was something else. Something intentional.
The trees were dead silent. Even the wind had gone still.
Then he heard it. A laugh. It wasn't loud or joyful, it was soft. Feminine.
Familiar.
He turned. And saw her.
Maryann.
Standing in the clearing like she was out for an evening stroll. A crown of broken twigs tangled in her hair. No blood this time. No theatrics. Just stillness. And in her hand? A strip of cloth.
Black. Burned at the edges.
Lucan didn't have to touch it to know what it was.
Godric's robe.
She smiled like it meant nothing. Like she wasn't holding a piece of Lucan's personal apocalypse.
"Found this in a dream," she said.
Lucan's voice was a whisper. Dangerous.
"You're lying."
"Maybe," she said. "Maybe not."
She dropped it on the dirt. Didn't step on it. Didn't burn it.
Just let it be there.
Like a wound she didn't need to open because she knew he would.
Lucan stepped forward once.
Maryann didn't move.
"I saw him," she said.
"In the sun. On the roof. I could smell the ash."
Lucan's jaw clenched.
She tilted her head. "You wanted to say goodbye. But you didn't."
He was in front of her in a blink. Hand at her throat. Lifting her clean off the ground.
But she didn't fight. Didn't gasp. Didn't even flinch. She just smiled.
"I love what grief does to your kind," she whispered. "It makes you real."
Lucan dropped her like she weighed nothing. She hit the ground and rolled to her feet in one smooth motion. Still smiling. Still untouched.
"You can kill me," she said.
"But you won't."
Lucan's voice was ice. "Don't be sure."
Maryann turned, already walking away. Her parting words were soft.
"I don't need you to join the feast, Lucan. I just need you to remember how hungry you are."
She vanished into the dark.
Lucan stood there long after she was gone. And the cloth, black and ruined sat at his feet.
Mocking him.