Hanging up, I toss the phone back to Vivi and flop down on my bed. "I don't want Michael to find out what happened last night."
"Works for me, since I don't want anyone to know. We were pretty stupid. I just… I just wanted us to have a memorable night together before, you know, tonight."
"It was definitely memorable." Then I realize what she's truly saying. I sit up and face her. "I'm going to be okay."
"But what if you're not? I mean, your parents—"
"Now who's being paranoid?" I tease.
She gives me a halfhearted grin, and I can see that she's really worried. I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly. "Nothing bad is going to happen tonight."
A shiver creeps through me. Those were the same words my mother said to me every time she and Dad left for Valentine Manor.The Daylight Grill sits along the popular Day Street. Huge lampposts line the avenue, chasing away the shadows at night, trying to maintain a sunny atmosphere twenty-four/seven. Indoors, the oversize windows let the light in, but the farther one gets away from them, the darker it becomes. All shades of gray lie in between, giving the place an intimate feeling.
Michael and I are sitting in a booth, facing each other. Sometimes I still have a hard time believing he is my boyfriend. Tall and athletic, he's the hot guy in school, the one every girl crushes on. He wears T-shirts that mold over his broad shoulders and reveal his amazing biceps. But it isn't just his toned body, tanned from hours of training in the sun, that turns girls on. His eyes are a deep brown, not dull, but rich and dark. His blond hair is buzzed short, "the most utilitarian style," as he describes it. He exudes power and confidence.
Very much like Victor.
I consider asking Michael if he's met Victor during his training. But I don't want to explain how I ran across him, because that would lead to revealing how terribly stupid Vivi and I were last night. Michael doesn't know the party we went to was near the wall. And I want to keep it that way.
After finishing off a bowl of pasta and meatballs, we're sharing a slice of cheesecake.
"Wish I were going with you tonight," he says. "I don't like that Valentine gets to make all the rules."
"What choice do we have?" I ask, skimming my finger along the condensation gathered around my glass of lemonade. The Daylight Grill makes the best lemonade. "He controls all the vamps in this area. Keeps them from invading the city."
"He's doing a lousy job. Did you hear about that trolley car that was found abandoned on the tracks last night? Dead vamps in and out."
My stomach knots up. "Anyone know what happened?"
"A Night Watchman got to them, obviously." A gleam comes into his eyes. "I can't wait until I can be out on the streets, hunting with the Watchmen. Right now it's all training scenarios. Last night we pretended to raid a warehouse and had to find the other Night Watchmen hiding inside, pretending to be vampires. It was like a deadly game of hide-and-seek."
"I bet you kicked butt."
He grins. "I didn't do too badly. It was my idea to search the rafters, found two 'vampires' up there. The trainer said vamps will hide anywhere, especially when the Watchmen come knocking."
"Sounds like you had fun."
"Well, it's all to hone our skills. But I proved my worth. Which is why I should go with you tonight. I'm telling you, Dawn, I'm ready."
He might be, but I'm not willing to put him in danger. Still, if I admit that, he'll take it as a lack of faith in his abilities. So I fudge a little.
"I'll be fine. The coach carries Valentine's crest." The crimson head of a snarling wolf in the center of a V. "Vampires know that if they attack they'll have to deal with Valentine himself."
"That's not always enough protection." He falls silent and I know he's thinking about my parents. "The Agency has cars. Why can't you ride in one of those to Valentine Manor?"
He knows why. We've been through this a hundred times. Valentine insists that delegates travel by his coach. It's the only way he'll vouch for their safety. But I understand Michael's frustration. "Obviously Valentine has control issues."
"He needs to see a shrink."
We both smile at that, even though it's not really funny.
Michael sobers. "I could hide in the coach—"
I reach across the table and place my hand over his. "He'd kill you if he discovered you."
"I'm good, Dawn. Really good."
"And he's surrounded by minions. Please, Michael. I'll be fine."
He threads his fingers through mine. "I'll single-handedly start another war with the vamps if Valentine hurts you."
Maybe it's wrong for me to experience a thrill of excitement over his words. I don't want another war, but it warms my heart to know I mean so much to him. Humans started the first war in an attempt to eradicate the bloodsuckers from among us, calling it a war for "human survival in the face of an unprecedented enemy." But after thirty years of fighting creatures that are nearly impossible to destroy, we surrendered. We gave up almost everything for an awkward sort of peace.
The sun is beginning to set when he walks me back to my apartment building.
"I have a couple of hours before I have to leave," I tell him. "Want to come up?"
"You bet."
Once we're inside the apartment, Rachel greets us.
"Michael's going to hang out for a while," I say.
"Don't forget how long it takes to get ready," she reminds me.
Valentine insists that I wear clothes from another century. Victorian. The corset alone takes thirty minutes to fasten, and I have to use an old-fashioned buttonhook on the stupid shoes.
"I won't," I assure her.
"Okay. I'm going to finish up some paperwork for the Agency. Then you and I will need to go over some things for tonight."
"Not a problem."
"See you in a bit then." She goes into her bedroom and closes the door.
"I didn't think she was ever going to leave," Michael says as he stretches out on the couch and gently tugs me down to join him, so I'm halfway sprawled over his long body.
"She's just worried."
"She's not the only one."
"Then I guess I need to distract you." Easing up, I kiss him. He threads his fingers through my hair, holds me in place as he deepens the kiss.
He smells so good. Like lemon. I've been carrying lemon drops in my briefcase to eat on the way, just so I can feel like he's with me.Drawing back, he studies my face as though he's trying to memorize every line and curve, as though he's afraid he'll never see them again.
"I'm crazy about you. You know that, don't you?" he asks.
I run one of my hands over his hair, feel the spikes tickle my palm. "I know. I'm nuts about you, too."
"Someday we'll have more time to be together, when we're not so busy learning how to save the world."
"Meanwhile we have moments like this," I remind him.
"Yeah, we definitely have moments."
Then he kisses me again. I want this moment to go on forever, just Michael and me, lost in a world where nothing exists except each other. Where passion consumes us. The kiss becomes more, becomes everything, feeding our desire for each other. I never want to leave him.
On the other side of the apartment, Rachel's door moans as it opens. Michael—always alert to his surroundings—ends the kiss. With his large hand cupping the back of my head, he nestles my face against his solid chest. I hear the rapid thudding of his heart. Even though I know I need to, I can't seem to move away.
"Dawn," Rachel says quietly, "you need to get ready."
Michael's hold on me tightens, as though he can stop the passage of time, the clocks from counting off the seconds, the world from revolving.
But beyond the wall, Valentine waits. Nothing Michael does can change that. All I can do is hope that this won't be the last time we're together.
It's dangerous out here, beyond the city walls. Starving vampires lurk in the shadows. The countryside is vast, desolate, and destroyed. I'm only seventeen, but even I remember the bombs falling in the distance. Dropped by us in desperation to win. So much ash rose from the burning ground it blocked the sun for years. I remember the sight of my first sunrise without a barrier of haze. I was thirteen.
"Ten minutes, Miss Montgomery," Winston, my driver, shouts from atop the carriage.
"Please, just call me Dawn."
"Yes, Miss Montgomery."
In the distance, Valentine Manor—with its three towers and far too many windows for a creature allergic to the sun—looms. A visitor first seeing the castlelike structure would think it was some medieval noble's estate airlifted from Britain. They say it took only two weeks to build. Lord Valentine has that many Lesser vampires serving beneath him.
Most vampires, like those who attacked me on the trolley, never see the inside of mansions like this. They never have lavish parties or court young girls. Only the Old Families hold that kind of power, enjoy the fruits of wealth. Most vamps go hungry every night. They work like crazy in the hopes of extra blood rations. But the Old Family vampires are often cruel, and I wonder sometimes if there would be fewer rogue vampire attacks if Lord Valentine would take better care of his minions.
Of course, blood rations wouldn't be a problem at all if people would stop believing the false promises of a better life and willingly embracing the opportunity to be turned. I don't understand why they don't get that turned vampires are called "Lessers" for a reason. They're not seen—or treated—as equals.
The road curves around in front of the massive building. Thick fog settles outside my windows. We stop and Winston's shadowy silhouette appears in the mist. His hair is thin and gray, too long for his short face. He opens the door and holds my gloved hand as I step down; my other fist clutches the handle of my briefcase. We walk past the two horses that brought us here. Large and strong. Uneasy at the smell of vampires in the night.
"I'll be waiting," Winston says, and swings up onto the small bench at the top of the black carriage.
"Thank you, Winston," I say, already shifting into ultrapolite mode. I've had Victorian etiquette drilled into me, because Valentine expects a certain tone during the meeting.
For some reason, Valentine likes the ancient rituals. He insists that delegates wear Victorian-era clothing. Which is why I'm in a long black dress with a high collar and a corset that cinches in way too tightly, making it hard to breathe. My hair is piled on my head in a complicated style with a few dangling curls. My feet, bound in pointy shoes that look like miniature torture devices, click across the thick stones. I go up the steps. Time to announce my arrival. I let the iron knocker fall; the growling wolf's head bangs into the door, sending its ominous echoes across the silent fields that surround the manor. Except for the one building and stables, it's desolate and haunting out here. To calm my nerves, I take a deep breath, hold it for a count of three. A little trick my mother taught me. I can do this; I've been trained to do this.
The door opens with a creak and I'm once again face-to-face with a vampire: the fangs, the pale skin, the feral eyes. I can't help it; my heart skips a beat when his black gaze dips to my neck. Beneath the high collar of my dress my pulse pounds. He can probably hear it.
"Good evening, Miss Montgomery. The Lord is waiting for you in the dining hall."
"Then I shall not keep him." I've rehearsed the stiff line over and over to get the inflection—or lack of one—just right.
The chilled night air follows me inside. No electricity runs through Valentine Manor. Instead, hundreds of gas and oil lamps give off a unique, haunting glow. Vampires can have anything they want now, and this is what they choose. I don't understand their aversion to technology's advancements.
We walk past a sweeping marbled staircase. Along the walls hang portraits of Valentine family members, past and present. Once they pass through puberty, born vampires show the effects of aging much slower than we do. Twenty of their years to every one of ours is the closest estimate we have. Then at a certain point, the aging process stops. Immortality awaits.
Or so we believe. Vampires reveal to us only what they want us to know, so we have a lot of unanswered questions.
The vampire leading me is one of the Valentines' most trusted servants, turned by Lord Valentine himself. I wonder who he was in his previous human life. I wonder if he even remembers. He could be hundreds of years old. Lesser vampires never age beyond what they were when they were turned. This one is tall, with long hair that drapes across his shoulders. He's dressed to the nines in a suit and vest, a gold pocket watch hanging from it. His pasty skin makes me wonder whether he was ill when Valentine turned him. Some humans ask to be turned rather than face death. Eternal life is a tempting purchase. But at what price?
One I'd never pay. Nothing is worth becoming a monster.
Thick wooden doors line either side of the hallway we walk along. Ones I've never seen opened. Probably rooms made of pure gold, or at least worth that much. There is no end to an Old Family's wealth.
We head toward a pair of French doors twice my height. Flanking either side are massive sculptures pulled from Greek ships that sunk millennia ago. Marbled and weathered, they are gods in human form that stood the test of time. Despite their majesty and the history chiseled into every crack and vein, they're outdone by the vampires who live longer. Human gods have been replaced by more tangible ones.
The servant opens the doors wide. The dining hall is the size of a small house, the single table stretching from one wall to the other. A parody of grand living. At the far end sits Lord Valentine, his massive chair carved out of a single oak tree, turned away from the table so it's more of a throne than a piece of dining furniture. Its thick, rounded legs end in talons. In his coal black suit, the vampire himself is far more impressive. Well over six feet. Broad shoulders. The large ancestral ring is wrapped around his right forefinger. In spite of everything I was taught about the protections offered to delegates, and all the reassurances that my host would not select me as a tasty midnight morsel, I'm suddenly scared. I wonder if my parents were, too.