I try to picture this world he's describing. I want to, but it seems impossible, and I wonder when I became such a pessimist.
"Speaking of evil … did you discover anything when you saw the vampire at the morgue?" I ask him.
"I didn't know him. All I know is that he was attacked by something rabid."
As soon as we get to a section of the city with some light, I work my hand free of Victor's. I'm not sure exactly where we are, but eventually we reach trolley tracks. "I can get home fine from here," I say, not looking at him.
"I'm not letting you travel through the city alone. It's almost ten."
I release a little groan. "Rachel is going to kill me." I pull out my phone. Sure enough, missed calls and text messages. I'd muted it when I was going into the theater because I didn't want it to go off and wake Victor before I was in place.
"She'll forgive you once you're home safe," he says.
"I doubt that." Part of me wants him to take my hand again, wants to feel his touch. So instead, I cross my arms over my chest, just to make sure that my hand isn't within easy reach of his. "Doesn't it bother your father? You living here? I mean, an Old Family vampire, subjecting himself to a human city. It isn't exactly … proper."
Victor smiles. "You know him pretty well. That's exactly what he said. But I don't care."
"You're quoting stuff straight out of Old Family textbooks." I see the frustration in his face.
"I'm sorry," I say automatically.
He waves it away casually. "No, it's a testament to how much you learned from your father, how much you've studied us. There aren't many people in this city who know as much about vampires. I mean, it's one thing to read textbooks; it's another to see vampires in the flesh. Only a handful of humans have ever talked to my father and lived. It's given you a unique perspective, experiences few people have."
"My parents had them," I say. I'm not sure why. But I think I want Victor to talk about them. He must've known them. Their death opens up a chasm inside me, like a wound that's suddenly bleeding uncontrollably.
A long, drawn-out silence follows. Our eyes catch from time to time, neither of us wanting to speak.
"Did you know them?" I ask finally.
He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Dawn. I was in the city during their tenure. On the few trips I ever made to the manor, I never saw them."
I nod, accepting it. For some reason, I thought Victor could heal that wound better than anyone else. It's strange to think that this vampire, the embodiment of all my hatred, could act like a suture.
"I thought it was a son's duty to obey his father." Thank goodness, the trolley finally arrives. Only a couple of people are on it. We climb aboard and sit down on the back bench. Victor's thigh touches mine. I think of a time when I would have been repulsed. Now I draw comfort from his nearness. Or at least a feeling of safety—the prince of the night is escorting me home.
We don't talk during the ride. Or when we disembark. Or when we walk toward my apartment building. Only when we stop across the street does our silence end.
"I should give you back your key," I say, reaching into my pocket.
"Keep it. You never know when you might want to stop by and watch a movie."
"You really have movies?"
"It would be kind of pointless to have a movie theater with no movies."
"Yeah, I guess. Where do you get them?"
"I have a friend in Los Angeles who sends them to me whenever he runs across one."
I never really thought of vampires as having friends, as doing small, special favors for one another. Victor's becoming more and more human all the time.
"A Carrollton?" I ask. They're the Old Family that rules the vamps in that part of the country.
"That's right. I guess you know all the Old Families by name—and their territories. His name's Richard. You'd like him, I think."
"Not if he's a vampire."
"You don't say that with as much conviction anymore."
It's true; I don't. Since meeting Victor, everything that I've ever thought about vampires is being turned inside out. I feel like I should thank him, but I'm not sure for what. "Okay, then. I'd better go."
I start to cross the street, stop, turn back. "You're not what I thought."
He smiles. A devastatingly beautiful smile.
I race across the street to my apartment building, to home and safety. Because that smile scares me for reasons I can't explain. I only know that it makes me want to see him smile again.