"Have you ever seen a movie in a theater?" he finally asks.
"No." Entertainment isn't a high priority on the rebuilding efforts.
"Would you like to?"
"I've seen movies on TV." I'm trying to pretend nothing just happened. And I have to resist the temptation to spend more time with him. But why should I? Michael is probably with Lila.
"It's not the same as seeing one in a theater," he insists. "We're not that far away...." No, we're not. And the trolleys are still running. The truth is, I'm not ready to say good night to Victor, either.
"Yes. I'd like to see a movie."
Victor's hand holds mine gently as he leads me through the darkened theater, up a different set of stairs than I used before. I try not to think about how much I like the feel of his touch.
"How does hot buttered popcorn sound?" he asks.
"Unhealthy."
"Which is what makes it so good."
We round a corner and go into an alcove that smells heavenly. I hear a click, realize he hit a light switch. It's still not very bright, but I can see Victor move around behind the stainless-steel counter. He's opening doors, flicking other switches. "I used to love to come here before the war. The first time I ever saw the world in sunlight was when I watched a movie," he explains.
I jump when the popcorn starts popping. He turns to it, scoops some into a bag, and adds butter. Lots of butter.
"How do you get this stuff?" I ask, as I take the bag from him.
"I have ways." He retrieves two sodas from a small refrigerator.
He starts switching things off, leaving the lights for last. We plunge into shadows. "Let's get comfortable."
I follow him into a theater and realize we're up in a balcony section. The lights are low, and he leads me to a row of chairs that actually look fairly decent. When I sit, the chair rocks a little.
"I'll be right back," he says.
I twist around and watch him move along the top row to where a projector protrudes through a hole in the wall. He reaches in and suddenly there's flickering light and a steady clicking sound.
When I turn back, colorful images are dancing on the screen. Victor returns and sits beside me.
"Singing' in the Rain. One of my favorites," he says. I reach for the popcorn at the same time he does. Our fingers brush. Still. I wonder briefly if coming here was a bad idea, but then again, doing anything with Victor is a bad idea.
"You eat food?" I ask to break the tension.
"Just for the sensual experience. I derive no nutrition from it."
He moves his hand aside, and I grab some popcorn. I can't remember the last time I had any. Still, I barely notice its flavor. I know being here is the latest in a series of bad decisions I've made lately. But I'm still glad that I'm here.
I shift my attention back to the movie, try to concentrate on it. There's so much vivacity on the screen. People are dancing and singing. They're just … happy.
I glance over at Victor. The lights and images from the screen are playing over his handsome face.
I can't believe it—he's mouthing the words that the guy on-screen is singing. Victor must feel my gaze on him, because he slowly turns his head to look at me.
"Was it really like that back then?" I whisper. "Were people so happy?"
"People were sad, too. The movie is all illusion. How people wish things were." Slowly he reaches out and pushes a few strands of my hair behind my ear.
"Are you working your powers on me, Victor?"
"You mean am I controlling your thoughts and desires? It's a myth that vampires have that capability."
"It can't be. Too many people—"
"Fall to the lure of the vampire? It's easier to blame us for humans' lack of control than to admit their weakness."
"I'm not weak."
"No, you're not. That's what I like about you. You're strong, bold … reckless."
"I prefer the word adventurous."
He gives me a small smile. "That, too."
"Why are we here, Victor? Why are you suddenly in my life? What do you want with me?"
"Things I shouldn't want."
He cups his hand behind my head, then leans toward me. I know I should move beyond his reach. But I don't. His lips touch mine. A whisper at first. Soft, gentle. Between one heartbeat and the next everything changes. Passion rises up, and there's a hunger between us that I don't understand. That I've never felt, not even with Michael. I feel the point of his fangs, know I should be frightened or repelled by the reminder of what he is, but I'm not. I'm lost in the pleasure of a kiss that is anything but simple.
Michael and I have kissed. A lot. Yet I've never felt anything like this—a kiss that seems to encompass and inflame all of me. Is it because Victor is a vampire? Does he have a special power, despite what he claims? Or is there something between us, something primal that I don't want to acknowledge?
When he finally draws back, we're both breathing heavily. One of his palms is resting lightly against my throat, and I know he can feel the rapid pounding of my pulse, the rushing of my blood.
"I know I should resist. Vampires and humans … they never work out." Victor's words are only halfhearted, and he leans in to kiss me again. But this time it's bittersweet.
"I should take you home now," he says, "before I do something I'll regret."
I don't want to leave. But he's right. If I don't go, I might do something I'll regret. Because I'm not a hundred percent sure where Michael and I stand. We've never fought before. I don't know if our relationship is over.
Victor doesn't even bother to stop the movie. It just continues to play as we step out into the hallway.
"There!" someone yells.
And suddenly, Night Watchmen are rushing toward us.
Chapter 22
Four Watchmen are on a collision course with us, their black dusters flowing behind them as they run at remarkable speeds. Their faces are covered in dark cloth that hides everything but their eyes.
I've never seen them in a group, but I understand instantly why vampires fear them. It seems like they've become the new rulers of the night.
I don't have much time to admire them, though, as Victor rushes forward to meet the elite guards who've come here to slay him.
The Watchmen fight him with the respect he deserves, whether they know he's Old Family or not. Stakes drawn, they dance around him, trying to disorient the vampire. One goes in, and Victor easily takes his stake before throwing him across the floor. But the timing of the squad is perfect, like a clock whose gears have kept pace for centuries, and the next Watchman darts forward. His stake fails to find its mark, but comes so close that I scream. Victor throws him against the wall, and the guy lands in a heap. The third Watchman moves up, but Victor punches him hard and I hear his nose shatter. As the fourth and final hunter comes in, Victor wastes no time, shows no mercy. With amazing speed and force, Victor drives his stake through the attacker's thigh. He cries out in agony.
Victor whirls to me. "More are coming."
His vampire ears, so sensitive, pick up the approaching footsteps before my own can. He takes my hand and we run down the hall, heading toward a part of the theater where I've never been before. The darkness here is all-consuming, but I trust Victor's sense of direction. I trust him.
The Watchmen are right behind us.
Victor kicks open a door, and the faint light from distant street lamps barely illuminates an abandoned alleyway. He lets go of my hand and runs over to something that looks like a pile of junk covered by dark cloth. I'm unsure why he's wasting his time on it, until he tears the cover off in one sweeping motion, like a magician revealing his assistant to a mystified audience.
"You ever been on a motorcycle?" he asks, as I stare at the two-wheeled beast.
"No," I say.
"Well, no better time to learn."
He hops on, revs the throttle, and I quickly slip on behind him. The romance of being this close, the tension of our bodies touching, is lost as the door to the theater bursts open, three Watchmen tumbling out.
Victor blasts past them, and though they give chase, they quickly give up. Minutes pass; street signs fly by.
"Where are we going?" I ask, shouting into the wind of our movement.
"A friend's."
We're barreling through the city at breakneck speed. I'm clinging to Victor as though my very life depends on him. I feel like I'm following Victor down the rabbit hole. I don't know what his plan is, but I trust him.
Victor is driving so fast that everything is a blur, but I realize we're heading into the Far West District, known for its sparse population, vast empty spaces, and abandoned buildings. Agency posters and street signs fly by. As usual, few people are out, but those who are stop and stare. Motorcycles are rare. Especially one like this shiny restored model. Riding it makes us stand out, but then, not riding it would have meant Victor's death and quite possibly mine. I have no way of knowing if the Night Watchmen would have recognized who I was before they'd rammed a stake through my heart. Or maybe they would have decided it was enough to find me guilty by association.
Once we reach the Far West District, the alleyways get very narrow. Without slowing down, he cuts through them, and we find ourselves on streets that could barely be called that. A car could never make it through the sharp turns and tight passageways.
The Works doesn't even have pipes running out here, and people have to use their own oil lamps or fireplaces to light their homes. The signature feature of this place is the small, crude windmills atop every building, like strangled dandelions twirling slowly in the wind. They provide the few families who live out here with just enough power for the basics, like pumping up water from the sewers and filtering it to make it barely drinkable. The same strong winds that move those turbines also blow the Works' coal dust over here, where it settles on everything. But most people say it's actually the dust of ground-up dreams. It's the harshest district in the city. Not because of violence, but just cruel indifference.
Suddenly we stop between two huge buildings. I see a few people milling around, but I suspect they aren't really people, but vampires. Another thing this place is notorious for: a thriving black market for blood. Victor turns off the ignition, and the quiet is almost deafening. I realize I'm trembling. I thought it was just the rumble of the engine beneath us, but I must be in some sort of shock after the attack.
Victor puts his hands over mine where they're knotted in front of his chest. "We're safe here."
"Yeah. Okay." I untangle myself from around him and slide off the bike, nearly falling to the ground, my legs are so weak. But Victor is there to pull me back up.
"Are you okay?"
"Just … just adrenaline."
He touches my cheek. "You didn't get hurt?"
"No. I'm okay. Just shaken. How did they find us? I swear I didn't tell anyone about the theater."
"No one at all? Not even Vivi?"
"No one."
"We'll figure it out. Come on."
He leads me over to a door that is so rusted it blends in with the red brickwork. He opens it onto a hall lined with oil lamps that give the cramped corridor a haunting glow. I follow him inside and he closes the door behind us. I stay in his shadow, never more than a step away, as we move forward.
A light at the end reveals itself to be an entire room. Inside are several couches, like those from Valentine Manor, and old oak tables that people only dream of having now. No windows for obvious reasons: The three vampires within wouldn't want any sun coming in. They immediately rise. I can feel the tension radiating from them, the alertness, the sense of a threat.
They're like Victor, well dressed and well manicured. But one in particular stands out as Old Family, because his jeans and buttoned shirt are crisp and show no sign of wear. His features are the strongest, and his long brown hair is fitted with a single knot of gold ribbon framing the right side of his face.
"We've got a problem," Victor says.
The Old Family vampire runs his gaze over me. "I can see that. Why did you bring her here?"
"I didn't have a choice. Night Watchmen raided the theater, tried to kill us."
"I'm not surprised. I've gathered some of the information you wanted. It's not good, Victor."
As though suddenly remembering his manners, Victor says, "Dawn, this is Richard Carrollton, along with his trusted bodyguards."
"From Los Angeles," I say.
Richard tilts his head. "You've done your homework." He looks at Victor. "What does she know?"
"Nothing."
I jerk my gaze over to Victor. He gives me a look that's riddled with guilt.
"But you can speak freely in front of her. She's going to have to know everything now."
"And just what is everything?" I ask.
"We're about to start a war with my father."
Stunned, all I can do is stare at Victor as he guides me over to a couch.
"Are you insane?" I ask as he eases me down to the cushion.
"I hope not," he responds, sitting beside me and wrapping his hand around mine, offering comfort and strength. I know I should subtly withdraw mine, but right now I need the physical contact to anchor me.
Richard retakes his seat, but his bodyguards remain standing.
"Richard's been in the city for a while," Victor says. "He's my second in command."
"Second in command of what?" I ask.
"An army I've been assembling. My father, Richard's father … all the heads of the families … they're from another time, another era, another … mind-set. No more bombs are being dropped, but there is no peace. Not really."
"And now that the Thirst has infected the Los Angeles territory, it's only a matter of time before it spreads everywhere," Richard says.
"What's that?" I ask. In all my numerous vampire courses and studies, I've never heard of the Thirst