Because, like you, when I'm summoned by my father, I can't say no. Disobeying him can lead to … unpleasant consequences."
A chill goes through me as I try not to imagine what those might be. I feel a twinge of sympathy toward him—which is the last thing I want. He's a vampire. I can't forget that. I move to my dresser and pick up my stake.
"If Rachel had come in here, would you have killed her? He turns and his eyes pierce mine. "The only answer you'll believe is yes, so why bother to ask?"
He's right. Even if he said no, I'd think he was lying. He knows me so much better than I know him. I'm at a disadvantage. One I'll stay at, because I have no desire to become familiar with him.
"I have to tell the Agency about you," I say. "I'm sorry, but I can't let an Old Family vampire walk the streets without alerting them."
"What will you tell them?"
"About the attack. The rescue. The theater."
"I can just move. They'd never find me."
"Still, I have to."
"I saved your life that night. If I've earned a measure of trust, no matter how small, then keep the theater a secret. If you have to tell them a Valentine is within their walls, I understand. But don't tell them you know where. If you do, any deaths that happen as a result will be on you."
I don't like the implied threat, but I think about Victor staking those vampires, how quickly he saved my life. He saved Vivi, too. He took us into his home. I think about the warm feeling that ran through me as we talked, and how good it felt knowing he was protecting us from the night. All these pictures and emotions rush through me, and I can't believe what I'm about to say. Okay. The theater stays between us. For now. But if I suspect you're killing humans…"
"Thank you, Dawn." He takes two steps, stops, and looks back. "A bit of advice: When you're dealing with my father, let him see the Dawn Montgomery who's facing me now. He doesn't realize how strong you are. I didn't either." He appears uncomfortable admitting that. "I—he—thought you were just a puppet. Learning differently will unsettle him. Give you an edge."
"Why would you give me advice?"
"Maybe I don't like my father any more than you do."
Before I can think of a response, he steps out onto the balcony and closes the door behind him. I rush across the room and open the doors wide. He's gone.
But I have a feeling I haven't seen the last of him.
Chapter 8
I walk into the kitchen to find Rachel staring at a small TV on the counter. The few available channels show news or some very, very low-budget soap operas. They're recorded in small studios using ancient equipment that barely works. One of the stations shows reruns of old television series made before the war. I wish a comedy were on the screen now, but unfortunately, it's Roland Hursch, the wealthiest man in the city, and the most anti-vampire. He's ranting outside of a blood site, protesting against those going in to donate.
"This is our enslavement! This is our curse!" he shouts, holding up two empty blood bags. "We give to those monsters, and for what? They still violate VampHu; they still find their way into our city; they still abduct our citizens and drain them dry. It's time we stand up against the Agency; it's time we make our voices heard. It's time for Dawn Montgomery to step down as delegate, and let someone with actual experience, actual knowledge, and take charge at the negotiating table with Valentine." I must have made a sound, because Rachel suddenly jerks around. "Sorry." She clicks off the TV.
"That's okay. It's not anything I haven't heard before," I say as I reach into the fridge for some orange juice and pour myself a glass. I try not to wonder whether Roland Hursch is right. Abductions are on the rise; blood donations are down. What good am I to the city? Then I remember what Victor said—that I'm stronger than he realized....
I shake my head. I'm not about to start taking compliments from a vampire to heart. They're notorious liars. Anything to get what they want, Victor included.
"Kids aren't bullying you at school, are they?" Rachel asks, her voice filled with concern.
"Nothing I can't handle." It's not so much political with them as it is jealousy. Working for the Agency, I get a nice apartment, clothes, anything I want. Plus I've acquired a sort of celebrity status—even if most of the press is negative, some kids envy that. "We can talk to the principal, have bodyguards with you at all times," Rachel says.
"Yeah, like I'd want bodyguards traipsing along behind me in the hallways."
"They'd be incognito. No one would know."
"Rachel, think about where I was earlier. Valentine Manor. Do you really think I'm bothered by a couple of kids at school painting my locker red?"
"Did they do that?"
"You're missing the point here. I'm okay at school."
She studies me for a moment, then says, "Let's move on then. During your meeting with Valentine, what did his son do, exactly?"
I lean against the kitchen counter and gulp down my juice. My gaze falls on a faded picture held in place on the side of the fridge with a magnet. It was drawn in crayon with a child's hand. My hand. It shows four people, all smiling. My family. The only picture I have with all of us together. I don't know why I keep it. It doesn't even resemble us, really.
"Just observed, mostly." I know I should tell her about Victor rescuing me or being in the city or his visit to my bedroom, but for some reason saying the words is harder than I expected. Not so much because it'll mean confessing what I was really doing that night with Vivi—but because I'm not ready to tell her everything about Victor. Which makes no sense. It's certainly not because of a stupid promise I made to a vamp. They're not binding.
"You're right. He's playing some sort of mind game," she says. She sets two plates of pancakes on the island counter. "Dig in."
I sit on the stool and drench my pancakes in syrup.
"So hit the high points of your meeting with Valentine," she orders I already did. I mentioned that Victor was there. I'm having a hard time moving beyond that, moving beyond his being in my bedroom, moving beyond his body pressed up against mine. It was so personal, so intimate. As I lift my fork, I catch a whiff of Victor's scent—tart and spicy—that transferred to my clothes when he was leaning against me. I have to stop thinking about him.
"Uh, well, he wants more blood," I finally say to Rachel.
"I hope you were a bit more articulate when you were with him," she says, her brow furrowed.
"I was. I'm just tired. It's been a long night." But I persevere. I tell her everything that Valentine and I discussed. When I'm finished, she tells me to try to get some sleep. I'll have to give my report to the head of the Agency before I go to school.
It seems forever before I'm falling into bed. The last thing I remember before sleep claims me is staring at the doors to the balcony—securely locked, for what good it will do—and anxiously waiting for the sun to chase away the night.
I wake up as the sun is barely peeking through my bedroom window. I'm glad that no vampires can surprise me now. I clamber out of bed, take another shower, and put on jeans and a red cotton top over a long-sleeved gray one. I pull my hair back into a French braid.
Grabbing my hoodie and messenger bag, I head into the living room. Rachel arches an eyebrow at me in disapproval.
"Why aren't you wearing your suit?" she asks. "You knew the director wanted you to report on the Valentines this morning."
I shrug. No harm in reminding him how young I am. "I am not wearing a suit to school."
"We could stop back by here after the meeting so you could change."
"I don't want to take the time. I'm going to be late enough as it is." I don't mind skipping history class. But there's no way I'm missing my defense class. I have some pent-up frustration I'm desperate to release since Victor's visit. Besides, Michael's in that class, and I'm anxious to see him. I don't know that I've ever missed him so much.
At least leave the hoodie in the car," Rachel orders.
"No problem."
When we get downstairs, a black sedan is waiting for us.
"Morning, sunshine," Jeff, the driver, says. He serves as our bodyguard whenever Rachel or I move about the city on official Agency business. He's wearing a suit and sunglasses. His strong jaw tells me he's taken more than his fair share of punches. His steady hands tell me he can place a bullet anywhere I care to point.
At first I think he's talking to me, but then I notice Rachel's blush.
"Jeff," she says succinctly.
Whoa! What is this?
He opens the rear door. Rachel climbs in. Jeff winks at me. Now I'm wondering whether it was more than vamp abductions that kept Rachel out all night. I slide onto the seat. He slams the door shut.
"What's with you and Jeff?" I ask quickly before he gets in behind the wheel.
Rachel gives me a stern stare and then turns her attention to some papers. Maybe I'll ask Jeff later.
We head downtown. Once we pass the Works, we take a sharp right and head toward the government district. Street after street is filled with apartment towers: forty-story buildings where the middle and upper classes, both relative terms now, live.
As we drive farther into the government area, the buildings get taller, shinier, until the one at its heart looks like a giant crystal cigarette. Windows all around reflect the sun back down on us. We park in the multistory garage.
"Showtime," Rachel says.
In the director's office a floor-to-ceiling window makes up the entire wall behind his desk. From this height I can see a portion of the high barricade that encircles all of Denver. Guard towers stretch above it periodically, each one with spotlights and soldiers armed with flamethrowers—terrifying weapons that deliver liquid hell to any vampire reckless enough to scale the wall.
Rachel is beside me as we take our seats opposite the director's imposing desk.
"Miss Montgomery," Clive, the director of the Agency, begins. His white hair looks as though he's plowed his fingers through it a hundred times, and his slight frame doesn't seem capable of supporting the weight of responsibility he carries, but I learned early on not to underestimate him. He's protective of the citizens. "How was your meeting with Lord Valentine last night?"
Okay. Here I go. My first official report. I give as accurate an accounting of the meeting as I can.
Unfortunately, Clive is less than impressed with the evening's results. "You have to convince him that he needs less blood, that these abductions are his fault, that he needs to get his damn bloodsuckers out of our city! That's your job; that's what your parents did. We had a blood surplus for the first time ever while your parents were delegates. Since their deaths, we've lost it all."
And what of my loss?
"Clive," Rachel says quietly, "it was her first time."
"I knew she wasn't ready," he huffs.
"I am ready," I announce, surprising not only Rachel and Clive with my outburst but myself. I remember what Victor told me. "I'll be more forceful next time."
Clive leans back in his chair, studying me, then looks contrite. "I'm sorry, Dawn. I know Valentine is not easy to deal with. I can never figure out what games he's playing. The Valentines were one of the most vicious families during the war. That's why they have so much power now. It's the reason they were given Denver as their territory." I know that Denver is strategically located and an incredibly valuable city. Only twenty walled cities remain in the United States, and ours connects the five in the West with the other fourteen to the east. If we're ever taken over by vampires, then the country would be split in half. The two closest cities, Salt Lake City and Wichita, aren't within a daylight's ride of each other. No way to send reinforcements during a fight or flee to safety elsewhere. If we fall, the rest will follow.
"You know what they called Lord Murdoch Valentine during the war, right?" Clive asks.
"The Bloody Valentine," I say.
"And for good reason. Just be careful out there. I don't want to lose you, too."
Clive was the second person to see the burned carriage that held my parents on the road. He left his footprints in their blood and he can't wash it off.
"Overall you did a good job for your first time solo. Your parents were wonderful people. They would be proud of you."
"Would they?" I ask, and Rachel's eyes go wide.
Clive hesitates, but knows I'm speaking out of frustration. "That'll be all."
Rachel and I step into the elevator. I'm staring at the numbers, watching them go down. Still, I can feel her gaze boring into me.
"Your parents would be proud of you," she finally says.
"I don't want to talk about them."
The rest of the ride down is silent. I didn't mean to snap at her, but I have some unresolved issues with my parents. Ones that will never be addressed because all I have left of them is a tiny box filled with their ashes, and there aren't any answers to be found there.
By the time I get to school, the hallways are silent and empty, except for the occasional student heading to the principal's office. In a way, I'm glad no one is around as I open my locker. Since I became a delegate, it's been a little weird at school. With my new position came certain perks. I don't get in trouble for being late to class. I can turn in homework whenever, if at all. The students resent my privileges, and I can't blame them. But their bitterness adds to the challenges facing me these days, so I wish they wouldn't take it out on me.
After getting to the gym and changing into my sweats, I am more than ready for a strenuous workout. Vampire Defense is more popularly known as Kick Vamp Ass.
As soon as I walk in, I spot Michael. He's talking to some other boys, but seems to sense my arrival and turns around. Tearing away from his group, he comes over to me. God, he's hot. And the way he looks at me makes me glad to be here.