He gave me a look saying that I was proving his point for him but didn’t exhibit much surprise about me being tangled up with Byron. Maybe he didn’t know him. Seemed a stretch; I figured vampire society in Tampa was a small-town, tight-knit kind of thing.
“Right. Well, I could use some help, obviously,” I said. It wasn’t like he had to make me feel worse about it.
“These vampires … I think I know the ones you are describing.” He stared at a scratch on the table’s black surface. “They won’t be easy. They’re not young—”
“Big fakers,” Xandra cut in, nodding her head matter-of-factly. “They dress young.”
Mill raised a thick brow. “Appearances can be very deceiving with our kind.” He leaned in. “They’re old. Hundreds of years old. And what they’re doing to your friend … it’s not their first time. We fall into patterns, you see. And this one … in spite of the Instaphoto angle … has the ring of a very old, very well-trod pattern for this crew. They’ve done this many, many times before. Hundreds, probably. Maybe thousands. Of victims.”
Xandra whistled through her teeth.
My throat tightened. I had promised myself that I was going to stay away from all of this stuff. I didn’t think my psyche could handle a second round of all this crap.
Mill was right; I was in way over my head.
Chapter 11
If somebody had told me two days ago that tonight I’d be sitting in a coffee shop with Xandra and Mill talking about getting involved with vampires again, I would have slapped them silly. The aroma of coffee, which had smelled so good a few minutes ago, was now faintly nauseating. Xandra’s pitying hand on my shoulder was making me twitch. And Mill’s cool stare was enough to make my skin itch.
“Look,” I said, snippily enough that Xandra withdrew her hand as if I’d stung her. “Byron overwhelmed me. These guys sound just as bad, maybe worse in their way. But …” I looked pleadingly at Mill. “Somebody has to do something. This girl—she’s kinda helpless, I’m sad to say. And …” I swallowed my pride. “She’s nice. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“‘Deserve’ rarely has anything to do with our fates,” Mill said. “Did you know that Draven—”
“Is after me? Yeah.” ‘Deserve’ damned sure didn’t have much to do with that.
“Oof,” said Xandra. “Biggest vamp in town, right? That Lord of Tampa or whatever?” She had found a coffee stirrer and was rolling it between her fingers.
“Yeah.”
“Oof, times two,” she said. “I’m starting to agree with your friend here. This is … way out of our depth.”
I looked at her. Our?
Mill began, “I’m sorry about your friend—”
“Neighbor,” I corrected.
Mill’s brow arched again. “People don’t throw their lives all willy-nilly on the line for ‘neighbors,’ okay?”
Xandra gave a snort of laughter. “Points for use of the phrase ‘willy-nilly’ in this context.” Definitely hamming it up for him. Ugh. Almost sickening.
“We’re not friends,” I explained, doing my best to shut out Xandra’s fawning. “She’s nice and all, but I don’t know her that well. And my life’s not on the line—yet. It’s just … starting to creep over it, or whatever.”
Mill took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Not for the first time, I wondered if vampires actually needed to breathe, or if Mill’s sighs were just a habitual sort of thing.
“I haven’t lived in a long time, I admit,” he said slowly, “but … even to me, this seems crazy.”
“Oh, I feel you,” said Xandra with an exaggerated waggle of the eyebrows. “It’s crazy to us too.”
I sighed, fighting against the aneurysm about to blow in my frontal lobe. “I know. But I just can’t let her die—and that’s where this is heading if I don’t help.”
Xandra’s eyes widened, her reverie with Mill broken as the reality of the situation set in again. “You’re right,” she said faintly. “That’s the logical end to all of this, isn’t it?”
Mill nodded slowly. “It’s how it always ends with our kind. Blood, life, death. It’s a linear progression.”
“So? Are you going to help me or not?” I asked.
Mill looked up into my face. His gaze was dark and contemplative. “If I don’t … you’re not going to find them. So, in effect … I’d be saving your life. But if I do that …” He pursed his lips, shaking his head. “Am I doing you any favors? Treating you like a child, keeping you from making your own choices? I’d be like one of the Elder vampires, the ones who think you people are just herd animals, waiting to be culled at our leisure.”
Xandra’s face paled.
“That … is a really disturbing insight into vampire culture that I’d hadn’t fully considered. I think I’m going to go full vegan.”
Mill bared his teeth in disgust. “Vegetables, ugh. Haven’t you ever heard of a blood bank? It’s a little more ethically sourced than most of your food.”
Xandra was about to protest, but I stepped in. “Mill, are you going to help me, or do I need to stumble around outside Draven’s penthouse looking for these people? Because I’ll do it. I’m a kind of crazy that you vampires haven’t seen before. I’m a teenager, okay? We don’t just eat Tide pods to express our self-destructive natures.”
The look that both Xandra and Mill were giving me were the exact same; wide-eyed, mouths slightly open. Clearly they preferred their detergent in their laundry, not in mouths.
But see, smartassery aside, I was totally lying. Because trying to help Laura was a possible death.
But stalking around outside Draven’s penthouse? That was death guaranteed—the difference between trying to ride a rocket into outer space, and sitting underneath the launch pad when it lifted off.
“I’ll help you,” Mill said reluctantly. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved his cell phone.
He opened up the Instaphoto app.
“Man, everyone is on that site, even the undead,” Xandra said bitterly. “My mom won’t even let me play Facebook games.”
I glanced at her. “Doesn’t she know you’ve faced vampires? Feels like the internet would be a little less scary than Byron.”
“I know, right? But I doubt she sees it that way.”
Mill scrolled through a group of photos. “There’s a hashtag they use to let us know when one of our own posts a photo. It’s a subculture, subset—whatever you want to call it. Right here.”
He pointed to the bottom of the photo’s description.
“Ewww,” Xandra murmured. “And also, that makes sense.”
I stared at the hashtag. I probably never would have figured that out on my own, and yet it almost seemed too obvious. Hiding in plain sight … or something.
“And they all use this?” I asked.
Mill nodded. “It helps the Elders keep tabs on us all.”
I swallowed hard.
Two little words—two words to open up the entire vampire world before me.
#bloodknights.
Chapter 12
Was there anything more dramatic, overblown, and pretentious than calling yourself a #bloodknight? With your fancy hashtag allowing you to identify fellow Blood Knights as you all posted pictures of your fun, YOLO- (YOUO? You Only Undead Once?)-loving adventures all over the world?
I didn’t think so.
I groaned as I closed my eyes against yet another vampire photo that made my stomach lurch, scrolling past it blindly. I was back in at home, in my room, doing research. Alone. Because Xandra had cooingly gone home to think about Mill or possibly sleep or something weaksauce like that.
But me? I was made of sterner stuff. I was sifting through the #bloodknights hashtag on Instaphoto.
Or maybe not. Because I hadn’t made it through fifty of these pictures before I needed a break, afraid that my dinner might come back up all over the floor.
What a ridiculous predicament. These people—sorry, vampires—they were supposed
to be humans’ only predators. The unknown, unseen creatures that were the stuff of nightmares. Had been the object of my nightmares. Yet here they were, posting pictures of themselves about town with their fangs out, and showing off dark stains on their otherwise pristine clothing. They talked about the “sweet honey” they found down at the club or whatever. Which was disgusting.
But they didn’t look any different than every other teenager in high school. They wore fashionable clothes, all of which were expensive. They went to coffee shops and posted cute, artsy pictures of coffee cups and books. And one of them even owned a cat and posted about it every hour on the hour. Should have hashtagged that one #catknights.
There was no overt violence, which I kept expecting as I scrolled. Violence was probably against Instaphoto’s terms and conditions (gotta be honest—I didn’t read them when I signed up), but even if not, I would bet anything that the vamp higher-ups prohibited it. No sense in drawing unwanted attention; their whole society would crumble in no time at all if they managed to get the attention of the human populace. However pedestrian the photos, however, they still implied the vampires’ lifestyle, with red smudges on the fingers and faces of the subjects in the photos, all pale and all beaming—knowing that they could sweep under the radar so effectively, cold-blooded killers who were entirely unknown to ninety-nine point nine percent of the populace.
A quick knock on the door scared me so much that I threw my phone in the air. It hit the wall with a crack. I got off my bed to pick it up as Mom stepped through the door.
“You okay?” she asked, peering at me. She watched me stoop to pick up my phone from the corner.
“Yeah, fine; you just startled me.”
Not to mention that she could have seen the weirdo vampire stuff on my phone. Too close.
“Oh?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. “What are you up to?” She arched an eyebrow. She thought I was hiding something, I’m sure.
She was right, of course.
I sank back down onto the bed, the scent of the lavender fabric softener in the sheets filling the air. “Not much,” I replied. “Just thinking, I guess.”
Mom’s tight smile faltered slightly. Her brewing skepticism dissipated. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I answered. Typical teenager answer.
“I know you. Cassandra,” Mom said flatly. “Something’s bothering you.”
“I’m just …” I started. “I’m just tired.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why do teenagers always say they are just ‘tired’ when they don’t want to talk about stuff?”
The urge to just come clean about what was going on was strong.
It had been when Byron was around, too. I hadn’t done it then—and look how things had turned out. How they could have turned out.
“It’s just some stuff with Xandra,” I said without thinking. “Boy stuff.”
Mom visibly relaxed.
Guilt crept in.
Well, guess there went my short-lived non-lying streak. And I had been doing so well.
“So, how was your date with Dad?” I asked, trying to deflect her attention—and my own, from the sick twist in my gut. “Did you get something yummy?”
Mom’s face split into a smile. “Ooh, yes. I got a perfectly cooked sirloin, with an herb butter that I’m determined to recreate. Dad got a delectable swordfish, so fresh and flaky. It was paired with these little potatoes that were unlike anything we’ve ever tasted.”
“I’m glad,” I replied. “That sounds good.”
She yawned behind her hand, and then stretched her arms up over her head. “All right, kiddo. Dad’s already in bed. I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were still alive in here.”
“So far, so good,” I said, and then laughed nervously, like an idiot.
She smirked, then turned to leave.
“Mom?” I said.
She turned.
“If you saw something bad about to happen to someone, and you thought you could stop it … like a bus speeding toward them … would you do it? Even if it meant you might get … run over by the bus?” It sounded stupid even to my ears.
Mom studied my face for a second. I could tell from her eyes that her lawyer mind was searching for some deeper meaning. She shook her head. “It’s not worth it,” she replied, but there was a tightness in her voice. “You don’t know that you’d be able to save them. It’d be better to just shout and stay safe on the sidewalk. You know what I mean?”
I understood, and normally, I’d totally agree.
“It’s not worth throwing your life away.” She took a deep breath and then snorted. “You should hear some of the cases I’ve dealt with in the past. Good Samaritan gets it in the neck for their efforts. Trust me, sweetheart. It’s not worth it. Stay in your lane. Focus on school.”
“But what if there was no other way?” I pressed. “If you don’t do something … something bad will happen?”
“That’s awfully dramatic. Are you talking about Xandra here, honey?” Mom sighed, and then shook her head. “When you get older, you’ll see. These sorts of problems won’t be an issue anymore.”
I nodded glumly, hoping she was right—fearing, knowing, that she was not.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Xandra will be fine. Just be the good friend to her that I know you are.”
“Yeah, Mom.”
She gave me a final once-over, searching again for some sign about what I was keeping from her. Not finding it, she finally said, “All right, dear, I’ll see you in the morning. Want to go out for breakfast?”
“The Egg-Cellent?”
She smiled. “My thoughts exactly.” She started to pull the door closed. “Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
And then she was gone.
Just be the good friend that I know you are.
Well, that settled it. I wasn’t going to just stand idly by and watch from the sidelines—I would help, damn it. Ironic, considering Mom had been trying to talk me out of that very thing … but what she didn’t know couldn’t kill her.
I mean, it hadn’t with Byron, right? Uh … nearly, but it didn’t.
Stifling that thought, I reaffirmed my decision. No one else could help Laura.
Cops wouldn’t get involved, and really couldn’t; I’d figured that out pretty quick with Byron. And if Laura’s parents were anything like my own, then they were totally in the dark, or wouldn’t believe her. She might get thrown in the psych ward if she even opened her mouth. I mean, just look at her crumbling so readily when I talked to her about vampires. She’d kept her worries locked down, living in fear not just of the vampires, but of what people would say and think of her if she said the “V” word. And so, when I’d come along and spoken my truth, boom. She’d cracked easily, out of relief as much as anything else.
I knew exactly what that felt like.
Steeling myself,
I reopened Instaphoto, typed in the dumb hashtag again, and continued searching.
Mill said that this was the way to find them, and I was going to find them. The magic of social media. It had to be the only time I was grateful it existed.
A photo of a pale, blond male with his tongue pressed up against one of his fangs stared up at me, winking. He wore a green band tee and had styled his hair on par with a model. He was definitely one of the vamps harassing Laura the night before. Royal_Vee47 was his username.
I checked the date at the bottom of the picture. Recent—today. The location tagged him at Zen.
After a quick Google search, I groaned into my pillow.
Of course it had to be one of Tampa’s most exclusive night clubs. Of course.
Chapter 13
To party with vampires, you will need the following:
#1: Clothes that fit their style. I started rifling through my closet, yanking and pulling anything out that looked remotely cool. (Note to self: in serious need o
f a shopping trip.) I decided on an ivory crop top that Xandra had loaned me, dark high-waisted jeans, and the same ankle boots I wore the last time I hung with the vamps. They had done me well then.
#2: You will also need jewelry, but nothing over the top. I donned a simple black choker, a few silver bangles, and a pair of diamond earrings from my dad. Just enough sparkle, yet not enough to draw too much attention. These vampires seemed to appreciate the finer things in life. Or afterlife. If I could show that I had some class or status, then maybe they would believe me to be one of them.
#3: I pocketed my cell phone. Vital if you’re hanging out with vampires. I had Instaphoto ready to go, with notifications turned on for any new postings by Royal_Vee47.
And finally, if you are dumb enough as a human to spend any time with vampires, #4: you need a weapon. I opened my side table drawer and withdrew two thin stakes—another set I’d whittled (so I hadn’t been completely relaxed over this past few months, okay?), reminiscent of that first chopstick-like affair from Iona. I put one in the waistband of my jeans, shifting it until I found a comfortable and secure position, and the other tucked in my messy bun.
It was sort of becoming my trademark look.
The old habit of sneaking out came back to me too quickly. Both Mom and Dad were asleep; their room at the end of the hall was dark, and Dad’s snores were consistent. Content that I wouldn’t be disturbed, I closed the door to my bedroom, threw open the window to the surprisingly warm night, caressed by the subtle saltwater mist blown in from the Bay, and slid out onto the roof.
It was too easy. I knew to slide my window until it was almost closed so I could sneak back in later. I knew where to step so I didn’t slip or make noise. And I knew the best place to lower myself down off the roof and fall lightly to the ground below. Down here, where the fence blocked the soft, sea-borne waft of salt, the night smelled of grass and sulfur; the neighbor’s sprinklers were on. Their chittering, popping spray was my soundtrack.
I quickly made my way around the yard and down the sidewalk. My Uber was waiting, idling at the sidewalk. I hopped into the back and told the driver where to go.
Someone Should Save Her Page 6