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Once the sunlight goes to bed, that's when darkness wakes the dead.
When a series of grisly deaths devastate 19th-century New England, sixteen-year-old farm girl Faith must outsmart the Undead to ke...
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When we get home, Papa's not there.
A fire burns in the oven, the rabbit soup I prepared earlier simmering on top, yet he's nowhere to be found. It's not like him to leave the house unattended. When my gaze connects with Thomas, I can tell he's thinking the same thing.
"Did your father say where he was going?" Thomas asks as we look around.
Honor peeks his head into Papa's bedroom. "No." He blinks up at me, his eyebrows drawing closer. "Why would Papa leave our supper on the stove?"
"I'm sure he's around here somewhere." But my voice doesn't sound convincing.
With growing concern, I fling open the front door and step onto the porch, staring past the row of icicles sagging from the roof. Horse tracks trample the freshly fallen snow, as if they'd been in a hurry to get away.
"He must be in town," I call over my shoulder.
Victor pulls down his hood to scratch the top of his head. His fingers disappear inside his ratty, black hair. "I think your food's burning."
When I turn back to the kitchen, plumes of smoke rise above the stove.
"Oh, no." Pushing past him, I remove the kettle from the fire and set it on the counter, waving the smoke away with my gloved hands. I steal a glance at Thomas. "He's been gone for a while; the broth's completely evaporated."
He moves closer and lowers his voice. "There must have been an emergency." Something uneasy churns in the pit of my stomach. "Maybe we should head back to town and see if everything's okay?"
Snow batters my face as we plod down the uneven road toward the center of South Harbor, and the clouds are dark and angry above our heads. The further we go, the more my ankle throbs inside my boot. My teeth grind together. I must have twisted it while we were running away from the mansion. Somehow, I hadn't even noticed. I'm noticing now.
Thomas catches me limping. He slows his pace until he's walking alongside me. "Are you all right?"
"It's just a little sprain. When we get back home, I'll pack it in snow."
He doesn't say a word, he just loops his arm around my waist, helping me along.
His close proximity makes my heart race. "Do you think we'll need to amputate?"
"Your leg?" When our eyes meet, the corner of his mouth lifts. "We may."
A comfortable silence weaves in the space between us. With every breath, his chest rises against me, the soft exhale of air against my cheek. Our lips mere inches apart. When Thomas adjusts his hold, something funny stirs in my stomach.
But then the moment passes.
He glances at Honor and Victor walking several feet ahead. "Are we still going to tell your father what happened?" He hesitates, his expression conflicted. "I mean, what if Victor's right? What if we get arrested for breaking into the house?"
