Blood Child by Lucinda Rose Page A

the Stepford valets, and the boys relaxed. Adam had that effect on people, which was one of the reasons he was so good at his job. People couldn’t be nervous around him.
    The lady of the house descended the stone steps, drawing our attention. Em— Emily —was dressed in dark jeans and a deep-red, fitted T-shirt. Her clothes were understated, but her presence was intoxicating. Even cool man Adam stopped breathing for a moment. Em, little Em, wasn’t plain anymore. The air of authority she lacked at home in Florida swirled around her now.
    Adam was the first to recover and began talking with Emily about the architecture—how it reminded him of a palace he saw while backpacking in Europe. Emily soaked up every word, responding quickly. The boys looked about as happy as I felt watching the exchange. I didn’t even notice them moving into the house until Ben asked me for the keys to the car.
    Adam and Emily were just inside the grand entrance when I caught up to them. Adam had stopped talking and was back shooting the entrance. Emily stood by the door, explaining the changes that had been made to the hall. Nearly everything had been torn out and replaced. Skylights had been added to lighten up the feel. Atalik would not have approved of this new, inviting space.
    Emily had sold nearly all the household furnishings, using a European auction house to avoid unwanted attention. The renovation was so complete that little of Atalik’s palace remained. Even some of the marble floors had been torn out and replaced. It was the only way Emily could conceive of staying on. I was disappointed I wouldn’t be able to walk through the halls as Atalik had, though I understood why she did it. Seeing my disappointment, she explained that despite appearances, some rooms were unchanged. Her father’s office, the nursery, and the crypt were all intact. A shiver of excitement replaced the disappointment. I knew exactly where I would be finishing the book.
    Em hadn’t been pleased with the idea, but had finally conceded. Her father’s office would be the perfect place for some photos, since it hasn’t been touched since her father’s death. Emily had left it untouched for the director who was no longer coming. The office doors were locked, but the housekeeper, a Ms. Maggie Bivins, located the key in record time. She had one of those ancient key rings that jingled as she sorted through the myriad of options. She didn’t try a single key, just repeated the same ritual over and over until she found the right one. She would hold a key up to the light, firmly clasping it in her wizened fingers. Then shaking her head, she would let it loose and sort through the keys until another candidate was located. Adam, of course, was snapping the entire time.
    The doors were carved mahogany, featuring a huge tree with a dragon at its base. The lock didn’t want to accept its key at first. Ms. Maggie, as she preferred to be called, refused to give in to hardware. After a minute and a small spray of WD-40, it surrendered to her. The tree and its protector split in two with a dusty creak. The room beyond the threshold was covered in sheets and nearly a decade of dust. No one had used the study since its old master had passed away, not even once.
    “You have a week in this room,” Emily said from the threshold. She refused to step inside. “Then it is being gutted as well.”
    Ms. Maggie stiffened for a moment and then swiftly went about uncovering the room and calling for Ben and Michael to bring the cleaning supplies. Apparently the Stepford boys had duties beyond being valets and bellhops; calling them bellboys seemed wrong for the surroundings. They appeared moments later with cleaning accruements and respiratory masks around their necks. Adam and I were shooed out.
    Emily took us on a tour of the house and grounds, explaining the various and sundry renovations. The largest was a small cottage on the opposing side of the hedge maze her father had