Adrian Sinclair had not fed in three days. The blood sat in a glass on the table, dark and ready. But he could not drink until he counted every drop, and the curse would not let him stop until the count was perfect. His hands shook. He started again. "One. Two. Three." A drop slid down the glass, and he lost the number. He slammed his fist on the table and the glass tipped. Blood spread across the dark stone floor of the manor. He knelt and cleaned it, counting the streaks, hating himself. He was a half vampire. He had lived a hundred years being kind, giving to everyone in the village, hoping the goodness might buy him a cure. It never had. The curse held. If he wanted to feed like a normal creature, he had to break it. But he did not even know who had cast it, or how. He went to the library and pulled down his great-grandfather's journal. The cover felt soft with age in his hands. He had read it many times, but tonight he read slower. Near the back, a page he had always skipped held a single line about a witch who had wronged the family. No name. Only a warning: "Do not undo what you do not understand." That line stopped him cold. For weeks he had gathered spell ingredients, ready to attempt a cure of his own. Now he saw the danger. A wrong spell could bind the curse tighter, or worse. He needed someone who remembered the witch who started this. He needed a record older than his journal. He closed the book and left the manor before he could talk himself out of it. He walked to the cottage at the village edge, where the retired coven historian lived. He had helped her carry firewood many winters. She opened the door before he knocked. A small gray creature peered from behind her skirt. "Thalia Moonwhisper," Adrian said. "I need to know who cursed my bloodline." She studied his face over her round glasses. "You've come three days hungry," she said. "I can smell it. You should have come years ago." He held out the journal. "There's a witch in here. No name. I want to cure the curse, but the book warns me not to guess." Thalia took the journal and did not open it. "Good," she said. "Guessing would have killed you. I remember her. I remember what she wanted, and why she chose your family." She stepped back and held the door wide. "Come in. But once you hear her name, you can't unhear it. And she is not gone." Adrian crossed the threshold. The tabby cat watched from the dark. He had come for a name. He now understood the name would cost him something. He sat down and asked her to begin.

Adrian sat in Thalia Moonwhisper's cottage and could not hold a thought. Three days without blood had hollowed him out. His hands trembled on his knees. His mind snagged on the floorboards and began counting the cracks. One. Two. He lost the number and started again. The old historian watched him over her round glasses. She had known him for years, since the winters he carried her firewood. Now she saw a man too weak to sit straight. "You can't hear a name in this state," Thalia said. "You'd forget it before I finished." "Tell me anyway," Adrian said. His voice shook. He counted her earrings without meaning to. One. Two. Thalia stood and went to a cupboard. The gray tabby cat slid off her chair and followed her. She returned with a small clay cup and pressed it into his hands. "Drink. It's not blood. It's from the tree behind my cottage." Adrian looked into the cup. Dark sap, thick and sweet-smelling. "I have to count it," he said. "I can't stop myself." "You count blood," Thalia said. "The curse binds blood. Not this." She tapped the cup. "That tree grows over ground the coven blessed. What comes from it is outside her spell." Adrian lifted the cup. His whole body braced for the count to seize him. He drank. No number rose. No compulsion clamped down. The sap slid down his throat, warm and steady. His hands went still. For the first time in three days, his mind held one clear thought. He drank the rest and set the cup down. Strength crept back into his arms. The floorboards stopped pulling at his eyes. "It won't cure you," Thalia said. She sat again and the cat curled at her feet. "It only feeds you while you're near the tree. You cannot carry it far. The sap spoils by morning." Adrian understood. He could live at the edge of her land, tied to one tree, or he could break the curse for good. "Then tell me the name," he said. His voice was steady now. Thalia studied him a long moment. "You'll remember it now. That's the danger." She leaned close. "The witch who cursed your blood was my sister." Adrian went cold. He had come to a stranger for a stranger's story. Instead he sat across from the cursed witch's own blood. "She's still alive," Thalia said. "And she'll know the moment you go looking. I'll help you. But you should know what you're walking toward." Adrian rose. His legs held him. The hunger was quiet, for one night. He had come starving and unable to think. He left fed, clear, and bound to a truth he could not put down. The woman who could guide him was sister to the woman who had ruined his line.