Read Online Dead is the New Black by Marianne Stillings - Free Book Online

should.
    If you’ve ever asked a writer, Where do you get your ideas? this is where. Turn any
corner and BAM! without warning, an idea slams into your head and
you’re off creating your next story—even if your life is in
danger.
    That’s how warped writers are.
    Trust me.
    As I resumed my hurried pace along the
hallway, I plucked an antique saber from the wall in case I needed
to defend myself against a possible attempt on my life—or my
mom’s.
    If anything—human or undead—came at me now, I
was ready.

Chapter 7
    Returning to
my room unscathed, I discovered my mother was awake and sitting in
her wheelchair, staring out the window at the falling snow. Lucy
sat close by, her legs curled under her in the window seat, reading
a story aloud to my mom.
    “‘ Oh, don’t pay any
attention to me,’” said Charlotte. “‘I just don’t have much pep
anymore. I guess I feel sad because I won’t ever see my
children…’”
    Lucy stopped reading and looked up. Closing
the book, she uncurled her legs and stood. “Hello, missus. We’re
havin’ a right good time.”
    I looked around the bedroom. There were no
bookshelves in the room and no books lying about. As far as I could
recall, Lucy hadn’t held anything in her hands when she’d
arrived.
    I glanced at my mom sitting quietly in her
wheelchair, off somewhere in her own world. Had she heard Lucy
reading the story? Probably not.
    “Where did you get the book, Lucy?”
    “My room.”
    “Where is your room?”
    She shrugged and closed the book. “Just down
t’hall from t’study,” she said cheerily. “There’s a whole shelf
with picture books on ’em. This here’s my favorite. Who’d’ve
thought a lady spider could be so clever.”
    Lucy thought Charlotte’s
Web was a documentary? Okay.
    “When?” I said. “When did you get the book
from your room?”
    Abruptly, the sparkle left her eyes and her
mouth turned down. She lowered her head and looked at me dead on
like a feral cat tracking its kill. “Why do ya wanta know,
missus?”
    Jon and the others were assembling
downstairs. Now was not the time or place to engage in what could
turn out to be a to-the-death confrontation, so I shrugged, “No
reason.” Grabbing the handles of my mother’s wheelchair, I circled
the chair around and headed for the door. “Dr. Van Graf wants to
have a word with everyone in the parlor. Could you please lead the
way, Lucy?”
    Bustling past me, the maid opened the bedroom
door and held it while I pushed Mom’s wheelchair out and headed
toward the elevator at the end of the hall. As we entered the
elevator, I happened to glance down at my mom. Her hair was
disheveled from her nap, so I finger-combed it a bit to get it off
her neck.
    As the elevator door slid closed, I noticed
the marks on Mom’s neck.
    Two marks about an inch apart.
    Two tiny puncture wounds.
    My blood turned to ice, then to fire. Someone
had bitten my mother? Was it Lucy? Or had the “lady” Jon had
claimed to have been with really been my mother?
    Could he?
    Would he?
    Did he?
    I tried to think past my racing brain.
Scenarios came and went, each horrific scene replaced by the next,
each one more terrifying than the last.
    Calm. Calm. Steady on. Think. Breathe. Do not
panic.
    I had to protect my mother. But how? I had
nobody I could turn to. I was isolated in an unfamiliar place,
trapped by a snowstorm, surrounded by a creature or creatures
intending to do my mother and me harm.
    The elevator came to a halt and the door slid
open, but my mind continued to race. What to do, how to escape?
Make blind accusations against—whom? Keep quiet, avoid arousing
suspicion, and wait for the chance to get away?
    Shit, I’d been stupid. I’d rather be starving
on the street than subject my mom to something like this. But
that’s what I’d done. I’d walked right into a vampire’s den. I
gritted my teeth. Not Vampire , so-called
“ethnic” group as Jon had claimed, but bloodsucking monsters.
    Lucy