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“Maybe,” I said, rising to my feet.

The wind stirred the roses. They moved like something breathing beneath the ground.

Vivian was watching us from the window, her eyes trying to reach mine as her hands held a teacup too close to her body. Her eyes didn’t blink. They just tracked us.

“How long have you been sick?” I asked Lenore.

She tilted her head. “How do you know I’m sick?”

I shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I guess I’ve always been a little tired.”

“Do you drink the bedtime tea?”

“Every night,” she said.

I smirked. “How about I bring you new tea from now on?”

She gave me a look, then smirked back. “Are you trying to poison me, brother?”

I laughed. “Maybe.”

I paused, watching her carefully. “Would you drink it?”

She grinned, stepping away toward the rose bushes. She plucked one in full bloom and brought it to her lips.

“Maybe,” she whispered, then disappeared around the side of the house.

I turned and walked back to the house, entering through the side door near the kitchen. Vivian was already there with her arms crossed, and her lips pressed tight.

She didn’t bother with a greeting. “Why are you really back?”

“Business,” I said, brushing past her.

Her hand snapped out and caught my wrist before I could move any further.

“Dorian,” she hissed. “Ezekiel doesn’t want you here. Neither do I. But you know, things I had preferred to stay buried. So I’ll let you stay. But the second you open your mouth—“ she leaned in, “you’re out.”

I smiled.

“Sure,” I said.

I slipped my arm free. She stared at me like I was that little boy she used to know, and now, no longer recognized. That scared her. It thrilled me.

Furious, she leaned back against the counter. I left her there and walked into the living room.

Ezekiel was on the staircase, flirting with the housemaid who was dusting the railings. His hand slid up her skirt, and she just smiled, giggling softly. He winked. Like this house had no rules.

The doorbell rang.

My stomach tightened for a moment.Cops? Something worse?

I moved to the door and peeked through the side window. Just a girl. About Lenore’s age. She had her blonde hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a white dress, and holding two pairs of roller skates in each hand.

I opened the door slowly.

She blinked at me, mouth slightly open. I thought I saw a thin line of drool slip from the corner of her lips.