Like father like daughter

11

I look around what little of my room I have set up and sit down on the bed. I moved in with the Astors on August 1st and started school September 3rd. I was with them for a little over a month, so I shouldn't be this attached. Why do I care so much that they're gone?

I've broken all of my rules! I'm supposed to be a shadow in these towns whenever I'm there. The people aren't supposed to know me. I'm not supposed to get attached. This is all wrong!

All of this with my dad has me messed up! If I had just stayed away, none of this would have happened!

I look over at my nightstand and notice a small piece of paper folded and stuffed in between the glass and the wood. I grab it and open it.

Erica Mikaelson,

If you are reading this, then that means he has come for us. I am so sorry we had to keep this from you, my darling. Your friend, Adam, didn't randomly choose us as your new foster home. We know about your father, also the rest of your family, and he knew we could help you. However, things didn't exactly go as planned.

I am bound to a promise I made to your mother that I would not tell you who killed us, but you are smart enough to figure this out, my darling. Your are brilliant. I am so sorry we didn't get to spend more time together. Everything you need to know you can find in the house. Good luck, my darling!

With all of my love,
Jenny Rose Astor

I drop my hands to my lap and look back at the dresser where I got the note from. Jenny knew or knows my mother somehow, but my mothers been dead for a thousand years! That mean either my mother is somehow still alive, or Jenny is an immortal. But Jenny said she promised my mother not to tell me who killed her, so it has to be the former. That's impossible. It has to be.

I stand up and stuff the not into my pocket then walk to Jenny and Larry's room. I huff out a sigh and grab my phone from my back pocket. If I'm gonna go through their stuff and find something important, I'm going to need backup. I unlock my phone and then call the number of the first person I think of.