The night after escaping the house on Alderidge Lane, Elias could n't sleep. The moon hung low over Willowcreek, tableware and indifferent, and the wind rumored through the trees with voices he could n’t ignore. Every shadow sounded to stretch toward him, every breath carried a subtle bite that reminded him of the house’s cold grasp. He'd returned to the auberge, shivering under a thin mask, trying to move himself that it was over. That he'd survived. But deep in his casket, an apprehension palpitated, a patient shower that would not be silenced. The house had n't let him go. Not truly. It was patient. Bloodsuckers like that noway forgot, noway released their prey.