Free Suddenly Sam (The October Trilogy) by Heather Killough-Walden

seemed natural to her, almost instinctive. I was made to wear this dress .
    They entered the dining room where Henry sat hunched over the table. An oil lantern rested nearby on its surface, shedding light upon something that Henry seemed busily working on. Little tiny pieces of wood were flying out from whatever it was he was busy with, and Logan guessed he was whittling.
    At the sounds of their footsteps, Henry turned in his chair , and Logan could see that he was in fact whittling. A nearly completed masquerade mask rested in his left hand, a small sharp knife in his right.
    Henry’s strange glowing gaze landed on Logan, and the old man froze for a moment in his chair. Then he slowly stood, his rickety body at once seeming older than it had before – as if he were stunned.
    “I take back me word,” he whispered. “The Dearg she may well be.”
    “Would serve you right,” Mabel harrumphed. “Such rudeness directed at a visitor.” She tsked him and shook her head. But Henry seemed to barely notice. He was humbler now, standing there, beholding her. He seemed smaller.
    Logan had never felt more conspicuous. A deep, hard blush crept up her neck, flushing her cheeks. But just as she’d felt beautiful for the first time in her life standing before Mabel’s mirror, she now felt something else for the first time as well.
    Power.
    The Dearg, or Dearg Due, she’d been told, was a seductress – a vampiress. As Henry told it, she had been a very beautiful woman in life who had fallen in love with a poor farm boy. Her father insisted she instead marry a rich man, who treated her terribly. The woman took her own life, and then rose from her grave as the Dearg Due, a vampiress who hunts the realms for handsome young men to drain, as she was drained in life.
    Logan was fairly sure she was no vampire , but to be compared to something as charming and potent was empowering. And the irony of the comparison struck deep. Henry may think she looked lovely in that blue dress that had once been worn by his wife. But if the old Harvester had possessed any clue that Logan had in fact inadvertently created several vampires with her “bard” words, he never would have invited her into his home.
    “Get the door, Henry,” instructed Mabel.
    But Henry had already been on his way to the front door, shooting glances of awe at Logan from over his shoulder as he went. He opened the door, turned around, and stepped to the side.
    Mabel gently nudged Logan toward it. “Off with you now,” she said softly with a smile. “You’ll be the heart of the masquerade tonight, I fear.” But she looked as though there was little to no fear involved. Instead, she looked very pleased with herself.
    She gave Logan another gentle nudge, and Logan stepped out the front door and into the street of The Village.
    The door began closing behind her, and Logan caught a few final words from her hosts.
    “I hope ye’re happy, woman. Ye’ve meddled, and there’s sure to be trouble over that one’s attentions.”
    “You forget that dress was mine once. I survived, did I not? And I told you that you would not finish that mask in time. Just wear your other one and finish it tomorrow –”
    The door closed tight, and Logan was alone .

    Chapter Twelve
    Logan turned away from the door to face the street of The Village. She was alone, but the street had changed since she’d traversed it earlier that night. Lanterns exactly like the one on Henry’s table lined the street on either side, giving off a warm and welcoming glow. They reminded Logan of runway lights, pointing the way down the cobbled stones to the opposite end of town, where Logan had not yet traveled.
    Mabel ’s feet had been much smaller than Logan’s, so Logan still wore her own leather soled boots under her gorgeous gown, and they made a clear, hollow sound as she descended the steps of the cottage and walked out into the street.
    Now that everything was more or less lit up, Logan could see the