There are certain known facts about vampires. They revile change. They are obsessive-compulsive. They are illogical. They are cursed. They will burst into flames in sunlight.
They are dying.
With less than a hundred vampires left in the world, Yas...
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Libby hadn't always disagreed with Redbud. There'd been a definitive time when they'd simply ignored each other. Redbud had never succumbed to motherly instincts, perhaps on account of how much she'd hated her husband Asperius. She hadn't been unkind, but she certainly hadn't gone out of her way to spoil Libby. She was too busy preparing to offer Asperius more offspring, and fairy women went through enough ordeals to conceive a child, without adding the responsibility of raising another. Her magic was cantankerous, hardly worth merit, and so she was largely disregarded by the family.
And then the King had died.
Martinus was younger than Asperius, but he was infinitely more approachable. A natural charmer, Libby's uncle, and though he was the least genuine person she knew, he was also the only one who ever bothered to pet her on the head or offer her sweets. When the news had passed and all of the most ambitious Autumn fairies went out hunting for a fairy tree with which to prove themselves, Libby had asked her uncle if she could visit the old king's throne. He, ever the good uncle, had agreed.
Made of ash, it had stood in the midst of the prior king's court like a fairy tree of its own. The dais was nothing more than a pile of stones, assembled in a reverential ring, and Libby had struggled to crawl over them to reach the wooden chair. The seat had been level with her chest, too high for a dignified climb, but when she'd laid her hand on it, the wood grain had pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
