“I don’t know,” I say.
I touch his face. The bristle along his jaw scratches my fingers. I’ve never understood how I can experience all these sensations when we’re together like this. “I need you, Victor. Please, get to us as soon as you can.”
“I will,” he says, and I feel him move sharply.
It’s like his body is being pulled from me by some invisible string, jerking him across vast distances. My hand passes through the empty air where he stood just a moment ago.
He’s woken up, breaking our connection. He’ll find me. I know it.
I walk over to the throne and stare at what remains of the ancient vampire.
What if I am a descendant of the lost vampire family—the Montgomerys—as Octavian claimed? It changes everything if I’m no longer human. What world do I fit in? The humans won’t want me, and since the Old Families signed a death warrant to eradicate the Montgomerys, I’m pretty sure the vampires won’t want me either.
Like him, I may be cast out, forced into hiding, and left to live my life alone.
Chapter 2
Slowly my consciousness returns to my body from what feels like a journey of a thousand miles. Every time I fall into Victor’s dream, upon waking I’m never quite sure I was truly there. The memories of that place, of holding Victor, of talking to him, gently re-form in my mind. I add details: the scent of his cologne, the softness of his hair tickling my nose, which I would have laughed at if matters weren’t so urgent. I carry these sensations into the real world. His fragrance lingers; the press of his body against mine still warms me. Hopefully it was all real, and he heard my pleas. If so, he’ll be here soon.
I sit up on my cot. The light in the room outside is entering slowly, hovering just at the edges. I hear the scratch of a pen from the next room. I don’t want to think about how vampires have such keen hearing. My senses seem more attuned to my surroundings. Is it just my imagination? Or is it vampiric blood beginning to stir?
I rub my face, washing away the final cobwebs of sleep. Michael is still snoozing. I’m grateful he’s able to escape the pain for a while.
I stand up, stretch, and walk toward the beads. As silently as possible, I slip between them, not wanting to disturb Michael.
The front room is as simple as I remember. The sparse furniture—a sofa, table, and chairs—was salvaged from somewhere. Everything is mismatched; the colors, shapes, and heights all from different styles, different eras. Holding a mug that seems to be handmade from clay, Dr. Jameson sits at a table, busily jotting down something.
I glance over at the window, nothing but a hole in the wall with a few metal slats making a crude cross.
“It’s night?” I ask. How long did I dream? It seemed only minutes, but time has no bearing in that other world.
“Yes,” Dr. Jameson says, making a few final flourishes before looking up. “You were out cold. Probably for the best, as you certainly needed the rest.”
“Has anyone else arrived in town?” I ask, suddenly realizing Victor may already be here if enough time has passed.
“No,” she says flatly. “Were you expecting someone?”
“Maybe,” I say. “He isn’t trouble,” I quickly add. “A friend. A very good friend.”
“Well, let’s hope he arrives safely.”
I nod, picturing him on the road, driving in his black Mustang, looking for the windmill.
My heart jumps when I think of the Thirst, a madness vampires acquire when they begin taking blood from each other instead of humans. The blood of an Old Family vampire would be considered a treat to those Infected. What if he’s ambushed? What if that’s what Sin wanted all along?
No. No, that’s impossible. Sin doesn’t know about our dreams, about our ability to communicate. He couldn’t know, could he?
“Help yourself to some food,” Dr. Jameson says. “I imagine you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” I admit as I take a chair near the desk and reach for a sandwich. It’s filled with avocado, tomato, onion, lettuce. My mouth waters with the variety of flavors. “You must have a greenhouse.”
“We do. It’s relatively small, nothing like your city’s massive ones, but it meets our needs. With plenty of sun and adequate water, all we had to do was gather up soil. It doesn’t provide everything, and we still scavenge for old supplies in abandoned or half-destroyed ration factories. But we’re working on becoming more self-sufficient. We’ve even managed to round up some dairy cows. Animals seem to be growing in number again.”
Their blood is of no use to vampires and with no humans out here to hunt them down—
Maybe our ecosystem will finally right itself.
“What city did you live in?” I ask. “Before you came here.”
She seems uncomfortable, tucking her hair behind her ear, studying the notes she was making when I came in. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Depends on what you know and what you’ve seen.”
She laughs. “That’s the delegate talking.”
I give her a wry smile. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Settling back in her chair, she studies me intently. “You’re a little young to be a delegate.”
At seventeen, I’m the youngest ever. Victor’s father, overlord at the time, personally requested me. The Agency, charged with protecting the citizens, had no say in the decision. The vampire hold over humans is that strong. What vampires demand, they get.
“My parents were delegates,” I explain. “They were killed one night on their way back from Valentine Manor.” I didn’t know at the time that Sin killed them on Lord Valentine’s orders. Valentine wanted me as delegate so he could keep a closer watch on me. He knew what I was. He wanted to use me, just like Sin wants to now. But I’m only going to share with Dr. Jameson the surface of my life, because I still have a hard time swimming through its depths.
“Valentine,” she mutters. “The most ruthless of all the vampires from what I understand.”
“He’s dead now. His—”
I cut myself short as the door opens and the guard who first welcomed us strolls in. With his wide-brimmed hat and bandolier of stakes, George looks like a cowboy gunslinger stepping out of the pages of a bizarre western story that foresaw the rise of vampires.
“I hope you’re enjoying your stay,” he says, taking off his hat and wiping his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his blue-checkered shirt. His beard glistens with the day’s hard work.
“Your hospitality has been amazing,” I say.
He rests his rifle against the wall and sits down, exhaling heavily. I study him as he stretches out his legs and crosses them.
“A rifle and stakes?” I ask.
“We get vampires wanting our blood and bandits wanting to steal our water. Need to be prepared for both.”
“Do you suffer many attacks?”
“We did at first. But I think everyone knows to leave us alone now.”
“I didn’t realize so many humans were roaming the countryside.”
“More than you’d think. People get tired of being walled in and under the thumb of Old Family vampires.”
Dr. Jameson stands up, goes over to a small pot, and pours coffee into three mugs, bringing them back to us.
“Thank you kindly,” George says with a deep, slow drawl.
The coffee is strong and tastes rich; it provides the energy boost I need.
“Are you on guard duty tonight?” I ask.
“Every night.”
“And every morning. You were the first one to greet us.”
“That’s right,” he says. “Never was one to sleep much.”