Prologue: Wayland Manor

Clarissa Wayland stared out of the wide window as sheets of rain slashed into the ground below. She let her forehead fall against the damp wet surface and she closed her eyes tight.

A weight descended on her shoulder, and she flinched away. "Jonathan? You aren't supposed to be up here."

"Father's not here to impose his rules. I can do whatever I want."

"He left again? He didn't tell me."

"He didn't tell you because he doesn't love you."

"And you think he loves you? His ghost."

Jonathan laughed. "I know he doesn't love me. The difference between you and me, sweet sister, is that I don't care."

"You're a monster." She shrugged away from him, but as she did she noticed a trail of red swollen skin peaking out of his shirt.

She grimaced. "Did he hurt you again? Damn it. Let me see."

He backed away. "I don't want your pity."

"Jonathan, please. You know I hate it when he hurts you."

"Why do you care?" His black eyes narrowed.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him. She wanted to scream that he was her brother. But she knew that trying to appeal to him in that way was useless. He would just laugh and call her weak as he always did. Could she even love someone or was she just as much of a demon as Jonathan? Her father had told them so many times that they were demons made flesh, his experiments. They had to stay hidden in this dark wasteland of a manor, so that no one would ever know that they existed. Jonathan was all she had, and no matter how awful he was, being alone scared her more than he did.

"If he kills you, I would be bored," she said finally, knowing he would accept that answer as sound.

He nodded.

"Why did he do it this time?"

Jonathan's lips turned up in a sly grin. "I found one of his secrets."

"Really?"

"I'll show you, if you want."

"Only if you're sure that Father is really gone."

"I'm sure." He grabbed her wrist and led her out of her bedroom in the tower, down a long winding set of stairs, and out of the manor past the stables.

He stopped at a small brick structure that was for the most part hidden by a tangle of vines. Clarissa stepped backward, breaking loose from Jonathan's grasp.

"You know we can't go in there. Father said ..."

"You care too much about Father's rules." He touched a loose strand of her copper curls. "Aren't you curious?"

She bit her lower lip. "I don't know."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll let you heal me with a rune, if you wish."

She sighed. He must really want her to go with him. He never let her heal him. He seemed to like wearing his scars as if they were badges of glory.

"Okay, Jonathan. I'll go in with you."

He pulled a large brass key from his pocket, and turned the key in the rusted padlock. The door squeaked loudly as it opened. Jonathan slipped inside, and she followed, feeling the odd dampness in the air stick to her skin. She shivered.

She followed Jonathan as he walked talked the center of the room. There was a large rectangular box covered with a wool blanket. Jonathan ripped the blanket away exposing a glass coffin. There was a beautiful woman laying on satin in the casement. Long red curls framed her face. Clarissa lifted her hand to touch her own red curls. Her features were sharp and angled, and her eyes were shut. She looked peaceful.

"She looks like me," Clarissa said.

Jonathan nodded. "She's our mother."

Clarissa gasped. "Are you certain?"

"Father told me."

Clarissa placed her hands on the glass. "Is she dead?"

Jonathan placed his hand on her shoulder. "No. I was thinking that maybe you could wake her up with one of your runes."