I have a restless night, tossing and turning, waking up to every little sound. Expecting to see Victor hovering over me, coming for my blood. But my balcony doors stay closed.
The next morning I'm dragging as I get ready for school. When I go into the kitchen, Rachel is pacing the floor, phone to her ear. How could it have happened? You're sure they'll be okay? All right, yes, we'll just have to deliver what's left." She snaps her phone closed, spins on her heel, and comes up short at the sight of me.
"Trouble?" I ask.
"Someone broke into blood site five and stole a dozen bags of blood. Had to be a vampire. The guards saw a blur just before being knocked out. They have a headache this morning, but that's it. I guess the good news is that this vamp—whoever the hell he is—took legally obtained blood and didn't drain the guards. Of course, the bad news is that you'll have to explain to Valentine why we're short." In the long run, a difference of a dozen bags doesn't mean much, but Valentine will make sure I hear about it—and demand reparations.
Rachel sits down and starts stirring her oatmeal like she expects to find some answers there.
I ease onto the stool in front of the bowl she set out for me. While she eats hers plain, I absently pour sugar over mine. It had to be Victor. I'd feared he would attack someone—and he had, but not in the way I'd thought. A thousand questions are running through my mind.
It's hard to believe after everything that's happened lately, but today is only Wednesday. "We have a little bit of time. Maybe we can get some additional donations by Friday," I suggest.
"Yeah, maybe." Her brow is so deeply furrowed that it has to be painful. "Makes no sense. If he was going to sell it on the black market, why take only a dozen? If he was that desperate for blood, why risk breaking into a guarded facility at all? And then why not take it from the guards themselves?"
The same questions occurred to me, only I know where to get the answers. And then I'll make sure he understands I won't tolerate his stealing blood.
Before I leave for school, I go back to my room and open the jewelry box on my dresser. It was a gift from my dad. When it's opened, a tiny ballerina pops up and spins with the music. But what makes the box so special is that it has a little hidden compartment. My dad used to hide things in it for me to find. I never knew when he would or what it might be. Little things, silly things. A shiny penny. A stick of gum. A note that said, I love you.
Now it holds the key that Victor gave me to the theater the night he rescued Vivi and me. Then, with a deep breath, I pull open the drawer where I stashed the present he left me. For some reason, the stake looks much more lethal than the one I carry in my boot. I grab it and stuff it in my messenger bag. If he didn't want me using it, he shouldn't have given it to me.
I know it's dangerous to even consider confronting him, but I'm tired of his games, of his constantly making me think that he's something he isn't. I know the smart thing is to alert the Agency about him and the theater, but Victor has made this personal. I want to be the one to bring him down, with no help from anyone.
All through my classes, the key burns a hole in my jeans pocket as I review my strategy. Vivi and Michael are still so enamored with Sin, peppering him with questions about his life in Los Angeles between classes and during lunch, that they don't notice how distracted I am. Michael has practice after school and invites Sin to go with him. Vivi wants to hang out with me, but I tell her that I have Agency business. Which is true.
I have a vague idea of where the theater is, and I hop on a trolley that runs through that neighborhood. I have a stake hidden in my boot and Victor's gift in my bag, but the sun is still out, a much more effective weapon. I get off the trolley and start walking through the maze of abandoned buildings in this part of town. Hearing a sudden clang, I spin around. Rats scurry away from a Dumpster as a cat stalks them from its edge. I don't know why I'm so jumpy. I continue on. A few minutes later, to my immense relief, I spot the theater.
It looks different during the day. It's lost its romance, its majesty. Instead of an ancient relic fighting against the sands of time, it seems more like a hollowed shell supported by broken frames and broken dreams. I imagine the owner, fifty years ago, smiling at the giant lettering and the glass cases that hold posters of movies long erased from memory. He had no idea what it would become.
Yet the theater is just like me. Something different at night. It transforms with the setting sun, just as I transform into a delegate, into someone who has to put the citizens' needs above my own wants. Glancing around, I don't see anyone. I take the key from my pocket, slip it into the padlock, and—
To my immense surprise it opens and the chains roll out. I was worried that Victor would have changed the lock by now. I shove open the door and walk through into the quiet. My heart is thundering. I should have a cadre of Agency guards with me—but my encounters with Victor flash through my mind. Maybe I want to give him one more chance to prove he is different from the others.
I pull out my flashlight, click it on, and pluck the stake from my messenger bag. The weight of what I'm doing settles on me like a heavy stone as I strap on the holster. I'm not even sure why I put it on. All I care about is the stake, and right now I've got a death grip on that. I walk through the lobby and turn down the hallway. He could be anywhere, but I suspect the room where he placed Vivi on a bed is his nest, the place where he sleeps during the day.
I creep up the stairs and stop outside the door; just beyond it is the room where we waited out the vampires when I thought he was a Night Watchman. When I thought he was human. When I … liked him.
Slowly I open the door. Victor is right where I expected him to be—stretched out on the cot. The slumber of vampires is so deep, it's one of their only weaknesses. Even with my flashlight shining right into his eyes, they don't open. His chest doesn't move. He's like the dead.
Do vampires dream?
Why do I care? I move over to the small refrigerator that had housed the canned drink he gave me. I open it. It's stuffed with blood bags.
The disappointment that ricochets through me is astounding. Until that moment, I didn't realize how desperately I wanted to be wrong about him. In my heart, I didn't want him to be like other vampires. But here's the proof. Greedy, selfish, caring only for himself and his never-ending quest for blood.
I walk back over to the cot. He's so gorgeous, but it's just a facade to hide the monster that lives within. I want him out of my city—him and all vampires. And if he doesn't leave—
The sun must have set, triggering Victor's internal clock, because his eyes spring open. No, it isn't the sun, it's too early for that. It's something much more inescapable: the blood running through my veins. Even in his deep slumber, he could scent it.