We couldnât afford to dwell on it. Not now. Not yet. There was too much to do, too many moving parts, and any second wasted on grief could undo everything weâd worked for. Later⦠maybe tonight, or next week⦠weâd have to confront the weight of Alexâs words and accept them as the truth. But for now, we shoved it down, locked it away in the recesses of our minds where it couldnât interfere.
Even as I tried to focus, some desperate, naive part of me still clung to hope. I kept imagining Sam barging through the front door, ready to throw himself into the chaos of saving Autumn. But Alexâs voice played in the back of my mind, her shaky recollection of the events in the pits. The way she described it⦠Sam being dismembered, eaten; it was too vivid, too final. I shoved the thoughts away before they could take root. If I lingered on them, Iâd break, and we couldnât afford that.
Upstairs, some of my cousins gathered, their voices a low hum of nervous conversation. Down here in the basement, it was quieter, heavier. We stood just outside the area weâd painstakingly prepared: the silver cell, the intricate warding etched into every surface, all designed for one purpose; breaking the curse that had Autumn in its grip.
Eleanor was focused, her hands steady despite the tension crackling in the air. She held a syringe and a small vial of tranquilizer, drawing out the exact dose weâd calculated to subdue Autumn without causing harm. It was a delicate balance. We needed her calm, pliable, incapable of lashing out when Patrick was brought into the circle. She couldnât hurt him. She couldnât hurt herself.
Alexâs voice cut through the stillness, sharp and unexpected. âWhatâs that for?â
Everyone turned. Her tone wasnât accusing, but there was a strange edge to it, a flicker of unease in her eyes that unsettled me.
Eleanor paused, lifting the syringe slightly. âItâs just a sedative,â she said gently. âItâll keep her manageable once Patrickâs down here. She wonât even feel it.â
Alexâs gaze didnât waver. âItâs not going to hurt her, is it?â she pressed, real concern lacing her voice.
Eleanor softened, shaking her head. âNo. It wonât hurt. Itâll only calm her down, make her tired. Thatâs all.â
Before Eleanor could say more, Martin stepped forward, his brows knitting together as he looked at Alex. âAre you all right?â he asked, his voice quiet but probing. He was clearly caught off guard by her fixation on Autumn.
Alex blinked, as though snapping out of some distant thought. âYeah. I justâ¦â She trailed off, her gaze flickering toward Autumnâs containment area. âI just want to make sure sheâs safe.â
Martin gently guided her a few steps away from the rest of us. They started talking in hushed tones, their words too low for me to catch, but I didnât need to hear them. I knew what they were discussing. It was Sam. It had to be.
Alex carried the weight of his absence like a physical burden, her shoulders hunched under its oppressive force. Her eyes betrayed her⦠every glance toward the silver cell, every nervous shift of her posture. She wasnât here because she wanted to be. She was here because she felt she had to be. Because Sam wasnât.
A cold realization settled over me like a shroud. Alex and Sam must have been closer than I ever realized. The look in her eyes, the way her anxiety seemed tied to Autumnâs safety, made it clear. She wasnât just stepping in to help us; she was here to honor him, to do what Sam would have done if he were still alive.
I couldnât stop watching her, noting every detail. The slight tremor in her hands. The way her breath hitched when she thought no one was looking. Her new daywalking abilities were impressive⦠terrifying, even, but they were secondary to the storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. She had touched on it briefly when she arrived, explaining how sheâd traveled here under the sun thanks to the Primevalâs fragment she carried. Something similar to what Sam had⦠just different. But beyond that, sheâd promised to explain more later. We didnât have time for the whole story, and I got the feeling she wasnât ready to relive it yet.
None of us were. We had to stay sharp, keep moving. There would be time for grief and explanations later. There had to be.
Eleanor moved toward the cell with slow, measured steps, her hand clutching the syringe tightly. I trailed just behind her, a silent backup. Autumn sat crouched in the corner, her eyes feral, burning with rage. She tracked our every move like a predator waiting to pounce. At first, she didnât budge, her stillness unnerving. But as soon as the cell door creaked open and we stepped inside, she sprang into action.
It happened fast. One moment, Eleanor was advancing cautiously, the next, Autumn lunged. A guttural snarl tore from her throat, a sound so raw and inhuman it sent a chill down my spine. Her body moved with terrifying force, muscles coiling and releasing as she launched herself at her mother. Every action and movement was like an animal, hell-bent on survival. The vial shattered on the stone floor, yellowish liquid spreading out in a useless puddle.
âAutumn, stop!â Eleanor shouted, but her words were swallowed by Autumnâs unhinged laughter.
âYou thought this would work?â Autumn spat, her voice distorted, dripping with venom. Her laughter grew louder, mocking us. âYou canât save me. Youâre too weak.â
Rage flared in me. I shoved her hard, harder than I intended, and she stumbled back, but her mocking grin remained. I knew it wasnât her fault, that this curse had twisted her beyond recognition, but it didnât stop the frustration from boiling over. It was wearing me down. Wearing us all down.
âOut! Now!â I barked, grabbing Eleanorâs arm. We scrambled out of the cell, slamming the door shut just as Autumn threw herself at it. She hit the bars with a loud clang, rattling them violently. Her screams turned to sobs, a horrible mix of rage and desperation as she clawed at the door. She was trapped again, but it wouldnât last. We needed another way.
âLet me do it,â Alex said, stepping forward. Her voice was calm, and steady, but there was an edge of steel in her tone. âIâll go in there. She wonât be able to fight me.â
I hesitated, glancing at Martin. Something about Alex still unsettled me, the way she carried herself now, so different from before when we only knew her peripherally. Her motives werenât entirely clear to me, and I wasnât sure how far I could trust her. Not until more explanations were given.
Martin nodded, his expression firm. âShe can handle it.â I could tell he was uncertain about the extent of her new power, but if she could walk under the sun, maybe the silver cell wouldn't weaken and disorient her like it would Martin, or any other normal vampire.
Eleanor didnât argue. She was too exhausted, too worn down by the endless cycle of hope and failure. She pulled another empty syringe and a fresh vial of tranquilizer from the desk drawer across the basement. Her hands shook slightly as she prepared the dose, drawing out enough to ensure this attempt wouldnât fail. The syringe was half full, more than weâd planned initially, but it had to be enough to bring Autumn down.
Alex approached Eleanor, placing her hands gently over my wifeâs trembling ones. âSheâll survive this,â Alex said, her voice quiet but resolute. She looked Eleanor directly in the eyes. âI promise. Iâll do everything I can to help her⦠for him. For Sam.â
Eleanorâs lips trembled as she nodded, a weary smile breaking through her anguish. She placed her hand over Alexâs in a silent gesture of thanks.
Alex took the syringe and turned toward the cell. She moved with a quiet confidence, every step deliberate. I unlocked the door for her, the heavy metal groaning as it swung open. She stepped inside, and I quickly shut it behind her, locking her in with Autumn.
Autumnâs eyes snapped to Alex, not in shock but in recognition. She knew this was different. Alex wasnât like the rest of us⦠wasnât someone she could overpower. But that didnât mean she wouldnât try.
Autumn lunged, her speed and strength explosive, but Alex didnât flinch. She sidestepped smoothly, her movements fluid and precise. They circled each other, tension crackling between them. Autumn snarled curses and threats, her voice cutting like a blade. I looked away, unable to watch as my daughter⦠my little girl⦠facing off against something far beyond her understanding.
A thud drew my attention back. Alex had pinned Autumn against the silver bars, one hand gripping her throat, lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing. Autumn thrashed, but Alex didnât budge. Her other hand held the syringe, and in one swift, practiced motion, she drove it into Autumnâs neck and pressed the plunger down.
Autumnâs movements slowed almost instantly. Her wild eyes began to dull, and the fight drained from her limbs. Alex lowered her gently, cradling her like a wounded animal, and carried her to the cot weâd set up in the corner. She laid her down carefully, brushing a stray lock of hair from Autumnâs face.
She murmured something, her voice too soft for me to hear. Maybe she was speaking to Autumn, maybe to herself. Finally, she turned to me, her expression calm but determined. âSheâs okay,â Alex said. âHer heartâs steady, just slower. Sheâll be out for a while.â
I nodded, unlocking the cell door to let her out. This time, there was no fear, no hesitation. Autumn was still, her breathing shallow but even. It was time to begin the ritual. Time to try again.
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The basement felt claustrophobic, thick with tension and the murmured hum of anticipation. Every inch of the lower level was occupied, bodies clustered in small groups or pacing restlessly. Most of my family had gravitated toward the weapons rack and training gear, their presence a grim reminder of what could come if this ritual failed. The air smelled faintly of sweat and steel, a mix of desperation and preparation.
At the heart of the room, a circle had formed. Aunt Raven stood at its helm, her presence commanding yet grounded, her bright green eyes flickering with quiet determination. Opposite her was Shelta, her expression serene but focused, the weight of her familyâs centuries-old knowledge etched into her every move. Flanking them were my cousins; Rachel, Roxy, and Rainie; each holding their place with steady resolve. Together, they represented the strongest gypsy force we had, a gathering of power that was rarely seen, let alone wielded. Their mission was singular: to save Autumn and Patrick from the creeping doom that threatened to claim them. The curse of Peter Grimwood.
Frank, Wayland, and I stood off to the side, near a rack of weights. Frank lowered himself onto a workout bench, his large frame slumping slightly as he exhaled a heavy, burdened sigh. His face was a canvas of quiet grief, each line etched deeper by the news of Samâs fate. Though he didnât speak much, the weight of his thoughts was palpable. I mirrored his pain but kept it locked away, forcing myself to focus on the immediate task. One thing at a time, I reminded myself. One thing at a time.
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Near us, Kayla and Arthur lingered with Sarah Wicklow, Patrickâs mother. The three of them stood rooted, their eyes fixed on the silver cell at the far end of the room. Inside, Autumn lay sprawled on a makeshift cot, her body motionless except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. Beside her, Patrick sat stiffly in a chair, his hands gripping the armrests as though they might anchor him. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tight, but his eyes portrayed his resolve. He was ready to face whatever came next.
Patrick was a complicated knot of regret and courage now. After everything⦠his lies, the secrets heâd kept, the time heâd stolen from Autumn⦠he was finally trying to make amends. Heâd only confessed when the truth was unavoidable, and though I knew he was here to help, part of me still hated him. Forgiveness wasnât something I could offer easily. Not yet. To me, Patrick was someone else now, someone I wasnât sure Iâd ever trust again.
By the door, Clara, Jane, and Eleanor hovered, their eyes never leaving the circle. Eleanorâs hands were clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles white, her lips moving silently in what I could only guess were prayers. Her heart had to be racing as fast as mine, the tension between us unspoken but shared. We both watched Autumn, our only daughter, lying helpless in that cell. We were clinging to hope, desperate for a miracle that felt just out of reach.
In the shadows near the stairs, Allen leaned against the wall, Eloise close by his side. His frustration was palpable, a storm barely contained beneath his skin. His time overseas had already stolen so much from him, and now, watching his sister suffer without being able to help, was tearing him apart. I could see the conflict in him, the way his jaw clenched, teeth grinding audibly. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as he struggled to maintain control.
Then, his eyes shifted. The warm brown was swallowed by a feral, blazing yellow-orange, glowing with a dangerous, primal light. The beast within him stirred, hungry and restless, its instincts honed for destruction. His gaze locked onto Patrick, and for a moment, I thought he might lose the battle. His teeth bared in a silent snarl, and his entire body seemed coiled, ready to strike. Eloise placed a calming hand on his arm, her presence anchoring him as he fought to suppress the beast aimed at Patrick.
Allenâs struggle was his own, one I couldnât fully understand. Iâd never battled something so deeply ingrained, so primal. Watching him wrestle with that inner force, I realized how much strength it took just to hold himself back. This basement wasnât just a battleground for unseen forces⦠it was a crucible, testing each of us in ways we hadnât anticipated.
The air grew heavier as my cousins, Raven, and Shelta closed their eyes, reaching out toward one another in unison. A low, rhythmic chant began to ripple through the circle, spoken in a language alien to me⦠a guttural and melodic cadence that seemed to hum with power. It wasnât loud, almost like a whispered conversation, but it resonated within the basement, stirring something ancient in the walls and floor. The words were not meant for us, only for the ritual. Each syllable wove into the next with a deliberate, almost hypnotic precision.
As their murmurs deepened, the intricate carvings and warding etched around the cell began to shimmer. At first, it was faint, like catching a glimpse of a mirage on a scorching day. But then, the shimmering grew more distinct, radiating not light, but something closer to heat. The kind of heat you see, not feel⦠the kind that bends the air above a flame. It was subtle yet undeniable, a distortion of reality emanating from the floor, crawling up the silver bars of the cell, and enveloping Patrick and Autumn in a spectral haze. Then⦠it happened.
A sickly green light began to seep from the center of the cell, slow at first, like tendrils of smoke unfurling. But soon, it wove outward, snaking through the room in pulsating waves. It wasnât light in the traditional sense⦠it was alive, a luminous essence that seemed to crawl and search as it moved. The moment it emerged, everyoneâs attention snapped toward it, the room shifting under the weight of its presence.
The source became clear as green flames erupted, sprouting like jagged vines between Patrick and Autumn. The fire didnât flicker like normal flames; it coiled and surged with purpose, ailing and mesmerizing. It formed an infinite loop, spiraling in a figure eight between them, connecting the two in an endless cycle. The flames didnât stray, didnât waver⦠bound together by some unseen force. Patrickâs eyes were wide, filled with confusion and fear, reflecting the eerie glow. The flames licked at him, yet left no mark, no burn, only a strange, almost imperceptible pressure in the air.
"Oh my God," Sarah Wicklow gasped, her voice trembling. She stood frozen, her eyes locked on the green inferno entwining her son. Fear etched deep lines into her face, the memory of her husbandâs death fresh and raw. Now, her son was caught in something far beyond her understanding.
âWhat is that?â Janeâs voice broke the silence, the question hanging in the air, a fear we all shared but hadnât voiced.
âThatâs the curse,â Uncle Chris said grimly, his face set with determination. His tone was steady, as though he had prepared himself for this moment. He didnât flinch, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the unholy spectacle. He had seen something like this before, perhaps in his darkest nightmares, and now he was ready to face it.
The chanting shifted. Raven and Shelta exchanged quick, urgent words, their focus unwavering. âMaintain the circle,â Raven commanded her daughters, her voice firm but calm. Then, turning to Shelta, she added, âYou and I go in.â
The circle tightened as the two women stepped forward, passing through the shimmering heat and into the silver cell. The green flames writhed as if recognizing them, but did not lash out. Instead, they seemed to intensify, their serpentine movement quickening, the figure-eight loop pulsing like a heartbeat as we all watched; the light reflecting in our eyes.
Inside, Raven and Shelta took their places, standing on either side of Patrick and Autumn. They raised their hands, palms open, inches from the writhing green fire. Their faces were impassive, focused entirely on the energy cycling between the two trapped within.
âItâs him,â Shelta said, her voice low but filled with absolute certainty. âThis is Peter⦠his will⦠his intent.â Her words carried a weight that seemed to hang in the air. âThe signature is his⦠benefactor⦠The Unseen.â
The temperature in the basement seemed to drop, the oppressive energy pressing in on all of us. The name alone sent a ripple through the room, as though the walls themselves recoiled at its mention. The air grew colder, heavier, and we all knew: whatever force we were dealing with, it was ancient.
âWe stop the flow. Thatâs the only way this ends,â Sheltaâs voice cut through the mounting chaos, her words cold and sharp, laced with an authority that even the energy around us seemed to respect.
Raven and Shelta dug their will into the air, their eyes burning with intensity as they reached out mentally, gripping the intertwining life forces that bound Patrick and Autumn. Their hands twitched, veins pulsing as they wrenched at the connection, trying to pull it apart, to slow it down. The effort was written all over their faces; tightened brows, clenched jaws, and beads of sweat gathering at their temples. But it wasnât working the way they needed. It wasnât enough.
Even the three daughters were beginning to falter, their concentration slipping as the invisible energy around the circle flickered and wavered. The shimmering heat from the warding on the floor surged like a living thing, growing more erratic with every passing second, responding to the tampering, refusing to yield. The air crackled with it, stifling, oppressive, and thick with the power they were trying to suppress.
Then, the green light from the silver cell, once steady and ominous, began to dim in response. The fire inside flickered and sputtered, but it wasnât enough. The connection between them, Patrick and Autumn, remained. No matter how much the women strained, it held.
Patrick was the first to show signs of the curseâs toll. His face paled, draining of all color, the green light only making his sickly complexion more pronounced. His eyes were wide, unfocused, lost in some pain or confusion. His body began to tremble.
âWhatâs happening to him?â Kaylaâs voice cracked, her hand pressed hard against her chest as she stared, horror creeping into her expression.
I couldnât tear my eyes away from Autumn. Shelta and Raven struggled to maintain their hold on the intertwined life forces, but my gaze was locked on my daughter. Her form lay limp on the makeshift cot, unmoving, but it was her appearance that made my blood freeze. Her skin had turned ashen, a sickly gray hue, the blood leaving her face, leaving her lifeless, fragile. She looked like someone I had seen after they died⦠flesh cold and slack, the body devoid of all warmth, a heaviness that lingered in the stillness. My heart sank.
"This isnât working!" I shouted, the words tearing from my throat in a desperate panic, drowning in the chaos.
Uncle Chris glanced over at me, his eyes hard, resolute. "You have to trust them," he called back, trying to pull me back as I inched toward the cell. My pulse roared in my ears as I fought against his grip, against the overwhelming urge to rush in, to do something, anything to save my daughter.
"Trust them?" I spat, the words bitter. How could I trust them when my daughterâs life was slipping away before my eyes? I didnât understand their ways, or their ritual, and every second that passed felt like an eternity. I wasnât going to sit back and watch this happen.
But Uncle Chris had his hands on my arm, pulling me back, forcing me to stop. âYou canât break the circle, Carter. You canât. Trust them. Please.â
My stomach twisted with a sickening mix of helplessness and anger. The strain on all the womenâs faces grew heavier, their breaths shallow, but still they pushed on, pulling at the curse that held my daughterâs life in its grasp.
The green light surged brighter, an impossible intensity blooming from the center of the cell. I could see it, feel it in my bones. It was as if the curse itself was waking, fighting back against the womenâs will. Raven and Sheltaâs grips weakened, their mental focus shattering under the pressure. The flames between Patrick and Autumn flared wildly, the figure-eight loop spinning with a ferocity that shoved them back, pushing them away.
A blast of force slammed into Raven and Shelta. Their bodies were thrown back, crashing against the silver bars of the cell. The sound of bone and metal clashing rang out in the basement, a sickening, jarring sound. Both women let out cries of pain as they collided with the unforgiving steel, their bones rattling under the impact. Autumn and Patrick were completely unaffected by the force.
The daughters faltered, their eyes widening in shock as the shimmering heat that had risen from the warding ground died. The circle had broken. And with it, the twisted green flames between Patrick and Autumn began to fade. Not like an extinguished fire, not like a slow burn that eventually dies out, but as though it was being removed from sight. Vanishing into nothingness, but never truly gone. Blazing in a separate realm of existence.
My heart pounded, a heavy, hollow thud in my chest. It was gone. But it wasnât gone. We all knew it. We could feel it.
The curse was still there. It still clung to them, lingering in the air like a shadow that wouldnât leave. And there was nothing we could do to break it. Nothing we could do to save Autumn.
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âWhat do we do now?â I asked, my voice hollow, the words barely able to escape my throat. My chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of failure crushing every ounce of hope I had left. I had put everything into this, had trusted every single step, every plan⦠and it meant nothing. None of it worked. It was like I was watching everything slip away, like watching a fire burn through the forest, leaving only ashes in its wake. Autumn was still there, trapped in this curse, and I had failed her. I⦠her father⦠had failed.
âWe canât give up, Carter,â Eleanor said, her voice quiet but firm. Somehow, despite everything, she was the one holding on. The one still steady, still grounded in the chaos. She always had been. But even her calm couldnât reach the pit in my stomach, couldnât undo the suffocating failure that threatened to swallow me whole.
âItâs one setback,â she continued, her eyes searching mine, trying to give me something to hold on to. âOne failure. But we donât quit. We keep trying. We find another way.â
Her words felt like they were bouncing off me, empty, reverberating in the air with no real power to break through the walls of defeat I had built around myself.
âRaven and Shelta are already dissecting everything they felt from that exchange,â she added, her voice softer, more assuring now. âTheyâre getting a better understanding of whatâs happening inside Patrick and Autumn. Theyâll come up with a new plan, a new strategy. Iâm sure theyâll find something, some new way to split the curse, slow it down. Itâs powerful, Carter. We knew it wouldnât be easy.â
But it wasnât just powerful. It was unbeatable. And it was consuming my daughter. My own flesh and blood. The reality of it hit me like a punch to the gut. What had I been doing all this time? What had all this sacrifice meant if we couldnât even keep her safe? If I couldnât even save her? My mind was spinning, fighting against the crushing weight of failure. Nothing we had done was enough. We had trusted them, trusted this ritual, this plan, and it had all amounted to nothing.
I shook my head, the sharp sting of defeat running through me like a cold wave. I felt lost⦠completely lost. I had nothing left to give, no strength to keep pretending that there was hope in this. All I had was this heavy, hollow feeling deep in my gut that told me this was bigger than anything we could ever handle. It was suffocating, and I couldnât breathe through it.
âWeâre failing, Eleanor,â I whispered, the words a barely audible confession. âWeâre failing her.â