“What’s the Politia?”
“You probably don’t know much about our government, The House of Keys, but when it was formed, a branch was created called the Politia, which focused on policing the improper use of supernatural power. This agency is still around, but it is extremely secretive. The Politia hires only the most talented supernaturals. I know that Caleb’s father works for them, and I think that this agency is recruiting Caleb as well. Shapeshifters are incredibly useful to this police force since they can basically become anything or anyone.”
“Why is this something I should be worried about?” I asked.
I could see she was trying to word her answer carefully. “The agency has been known to hunt things they believe are evil. And while there’s been a truce for centuries, vampires are decidedly considered evil.”
I looked at her skeptically. “So you think Caleb is going to off me tonight?” Then it dawned on me. “You think I’ve already been attacked by a shapeshifter—by Caleb.”
“Of course not,” she said. “The House of Keys has a truce with vampires. They do not kill rogue vampires so long as Andre deals with them.” I swallowed. “And anyway, Caleb’s not experienced enough to officially work for them. I was just thinking that his family probably wouldn’t approve of the date.”
“Well, thanks for the heads up.”
So Caleb was a shapeshifter? I could already tell tonight was going to be fun.
***
I didn’t see Caleb in my history class, which wasn’t surprising considering all of his previous absences.
When I arrived in my anthropology class, Oliver was waiting for me, holding The Beat, the supernatural community’s leading tabloid. He dropped the magazine on my desk. “You’re getting cozy with your mentor and you didn’t bother to tell me first?”
My eyebrows shot up. Splashed across the cover were pictures of Andre and me. One was from Mystique, clearly taken before I was attacked. Andre’s expression was soft in the photo as he gazed down at me, and I was looking up at him, a secret smile on my face. Another was a grainy shot of the two of us embracing outside the French restaurant, and another the awful shot of Andre carrying me over his shoulder. The caption read:
LOVE AT LAST?
Andre’s heating it up with Gabrielle Fiori,
the daughter of the deceased Count of Santo.
But is she the one, or will she get burned?
“Oh my—”
“You can say that again. At least your butt looks good.”
“Oliver!” I swatted him with the magazine. He dodged me and slid into the desk behind me.
“But seriously G,” he said, leaning over, “get used to this. The media loves him.”
From where she sat three rows ahead of us, Doris turned around and scowled at us.
“Oh, go hump a tree Doris.” Oliver rolled his eyes and began flipping through the magazine. Doris breathed in sharply at the insult before turning back around.
“Gabrielle, you haven’t even seen the best photos of you two.”
I groaned. “Can’t wait.”
Professor Blackmore cleared his throat, and the class quieted down. “Many of you and your parents have been concerned about the safety of school recently. Others of you have been the victims of violent circumstances,” he said, looking directly at me. “So today and next week I want to center our discussion on classicism. What is it, when it was created, why it’s been propagated throughout the centuries, and why academia has largely done nothing about it.”
Andre had used the same word to describe one of my textbooks.
“Classicism is bigotry based on how genetically predisposed to evil someone is.”
Outside the clouds had parted and the sun shone brightly into the room, bathing me and a few others in light.
“The flaw with this classification system is that it predetermines who and what is evil before the individual ever gets the chance to affirm or contradict the label.”
I blinked as my eyes began to burn. I rubbed them and was surprised to find that my face felt hot.
“This is the model through which the supernatural community has viewed the world for the last two thousand years …”
I could no longer concentrate. My skin felt like it was on fire, and my eyes were watering. I stood up, dizzy, and began walking down the aisle. Around me I heard gasps and whispers. Professor Blackmore paused in his lecture, looking concerned.
I pushed through the classroom door and ran to the bathroom. I went straight for the stalls and vomited. Weakly I walked over to the sink and held my hands under the water. Only then did I notice why my classmates gasped.
My arms were bright red. I looked up at my reflection. The sight was so startling that I staggered back. I was severely burned, my face red and swollen and my eyes bloodshot.
The sun had done this to me in under an hour. Which meant the stories were true—vampires couldn’t be exposed to sunlight.
I shivered at the realization. I was a little less human than I was a week ago, and it was showing.
***
After school got out for the day, I took a taxi to the International Bank of Man. Today I was going to find out what was in the safety deposit box that spooked Mr. Taylor.
When my turn in line came, I stepped up to the teller.
“Hello ma’am, how can I help you today?”
I placed the key I was given on the counter. “I need to close a safety deposit box today.”
The woman stared at my key for a moment before looking back up. “Please follow me.”
She walked me to a back office, where I waited until she returned with the safety deposit box.
She took my key and opened it. Looking vaguely bored she said, “It appears this was all that was left in the safety deposit box.” She handed me a thin manila envelope. Written on the front was a single name: Gabrielle.
This was what was so urgent?
“If you need some alone time, feel free to stay here. I’ll just be down the hall to finish your paperwork and close the account.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”
The teller inclined her head and backed out of the room.
I flipped over the letter and opened it. The sheet of paper I pulled out was already beginning to yellow.
Gabrielle,
If you are reading this then I am dead, and you are in grave danger. At the moment I write this I believe someone in the coven is preparing a political coup, and they appear to be targeting our family and Andre de Leon, the king of the vampires.
However, if you are reading this, then it also means that you survived into adulthood, and that Cecilia did her job and hid you well, something I can only hope for. I suspect that the betrayer, whoever he or she is, will tie up loose ends and attempt to kill you, regardless of whether or not Andre has been dealt with.
Do not believe you are safe simply because a decade has passed. That’s the blink of an eye for a vampire, and we have the ability to hold grudges for centuries. My beautiful daughter, I must pass on this great burden to you—to find my killer before he finds you.
I don’t have much relevant information for you to protect yourself with—only that this vampire is probably someone of high rank.
On the back of this letter I have written Cecilia’s address. Find her. She is one of your greatest allies, and she will give you the answers you seek. Remember, people are almost never who they appear to be.
Lastly, never forget how much I love you. I know what loneliness feels like, and I suspect you now do too. I am more sorry than you can possibly know. I never meant to pass on that particular family trait. You are forever and always in my heart.
Dad
P.S. Speak of this to no one.
I reread the letter, holding onto the only written proof that my father loved me. Wiping away a couple stray tears, I focused on the more critical message. Political coup? That’s what this was about? Why would I ever be a target? Andre I could understand, but me? I
was too young and too ignorant to be significant.
Briefly I wondered if I was somehow vampire royalty—my father, after all, had been important—but the thought was too weird to hold onto. However, in general the idea that my lineage needed to be eradicated made sense—political coups often involved killing all members of the pre-existing ruling family. I just wasn’t sure that my lineage was all that important.
Regardless, Andre clearly hadn’t died, so what had happened?
My dad was correct in assuming that someone would try to kill me. However, the man that attacked me seemed to think I was an abomination. His attempt was more like a hate crime. It hardly fit with the motives of someone who wanted to overthrow a leader, and instead appeared to be more similar to the motives behind my mother’s demise.
And Cecilia. The name clicked into place. She had been my nanny, the woman who helped me escape the night of the fire. The thought of seeing her again excited me, but I couldn’t understand why she would be involved in vampire politics.
Now there were too many loose threads. I stared at the letter quizzically, trying to force together puzzle pieces that just weren’t fitting.
I flipped the letter over and read Cecilia’s address:
Cecilia Girari
Via Aldo Rollandi, 34
19010 Manarola, Province of La Spezia, Italy
My father said she had all the answers. I guess I was going to plan a trip to Italy.
Chapter 15
WHEN I GOT home, Oliver was waiting for me, munching on a stash of chocolates I always kept around.
He stood up, and a dozen little wrappers drifted off his lap and onto the floor. With the movement his skin shimmered, reminding me that he was otherworldly.
“You didn’t tell me you had a hot date!”
I rolled my eyes. “As if it were newsworthy.” I dropped my stuff next to the door and sat down next to Oliver on my bed. “So,” I said, “how was your week? I haven’t seen you for a while.”
Oliver unwrapped another chocolate and shoved it in his mouth. “That’s because you’ve been a hermit, and I’ve met the lust of my life!”
I raised my eyebrows and grabbed a chocolate. “Who is he?”
“His name’s Rodrigo, and he’s a Brazilian werewolf!”
I almost choked on the piece of chocolate I’d just popped into my mouth. A Brazilian werewolf? That sounded like a horrible wax job. Or a hideous hairdo. But definitely not an appropriate name for an object of lust.
Oliver contemplated his next chocolate. “He’s just so gorgeous. Oh—and he’s friends with Paul, my roommate. Apparently they went to boarding school together.” Oliver’s eyes lit up. “Maybe we could all grab dinner or something? That way I could be conveniently introduced without it seeming strange!”
“Ah. You haven’t met him.” I laughed. “Fine, set the date and I’ll go. But only because I would never let a friend pass up the opportunity to officially meet the lust of his life.”
“Oh my God!” Oliver grabbed my arm as another important thought came to him. “I’ll take him to the autumn ball. It’s in a month or so!” His eyes widened and he gasped. “You can take Andre. We’ll be the cutest couples.”
I let out a disgusted sound. “Not going—and definitely not with Andre.”
“What? Of course you’ll be going.” He waved my statement away.
“Nope.” I shook my head and plopped another chocolate into my mouth. “I hate dances.”
“You have to come.”
I shook my head.
“Oh yeah? Well if you still have that attitude in a month, then that wicked little side of me that our textbooks thoroughly discuss will have to make an appearance.”
I looked at him, trying not to laugh. “Are you threatening me?”
“You bet your knickers I am. I will not let you miss one of the best dances you’ll ever go to because your little feminist heart has a problem with getting dressed up.”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes again. Bad habit of mine—along with eating chocolates and swearing. “What exactly are you planning to do if I don’t go? Because, let’s be honest Oliver, you don’t exactly strike fear into my heart.”
He smiled, and it was full of nefarious intentions. “I’ll tell Andre you still have his blanket. And you sniff it every night.”
My jaw dropped. I grabbed the decorative pillow next to me and wacked Oliver over the head. “I do not ‘sniff’ his blanket!”
“Ow!” Oliver smoothed his shirt out. “Harpy woman.”
“How would you even contact him?” I asked.
Oliver looked offended. “I am a social media goddess. I have my ways. Just try me.”
“Fine. I’ll consider going.” Heaven forbid Oliver tell Andre I sniffed his blanket. “But remember that you’re to blame for the miserable time I’m going to have.”
***
A half hour before I was supposed to meet up with Caleb, I threw on some black skinny jeans, a silky maroon shirt, and a pair of my knee-high boots.
After I put on a little mascara and a touch of eye shadow—my version of getting dressed up—I opened my laptop. I sent my mother a brief email. I’d increasingly had to censor myself when it came to communicating with her, something that made my head throb. We’d always been close, and omitting information felt a whole lot like lying to her.
Once I sent out the email, I pulled out my dad’s letter and searched the Internet for Cecilia’s address. When I couldn’t dig up any information, I switched over to a virtual map. Google pinpointed the location, and I clicked on a satellite view.
My blood chilled as I stared at Cecilia’s address. It was an open plot of land. Whatever was there had been condemned long ago.
“Girl, what are you doing?” Oliver sauntered over to my computer.
Immediately I exited out of the webpage before Oliver could see what I was looking at.
“Nothing.” I swiveled in my chair to face him.
He took me in. “Tsk, tsk—you’re not planning on going out looking like that, are you?”
“What’s wrong with how I look?”
“You are going on a date, right?” I nodded. “Well, then you have to put some effort into getting ready.”
“I have.”
“Here, let me help—I’ll be right back.”
“Oliver—” I called out, but he ignored me and left the room. Five minutes later he came back with a bag of makeup in tow.
“Oliver, how did you get all of this?” I asked.
He brushed my question aside. “Paul is a conjurer, remember? Now hold still.”
I let Oliver Barbie me up for the second time in two weeks. I had to admit, Oliver did a good job.
Once he was done, I looked in the mirror and saw someone who looked like me, only now all her striking features were amplified: bright blue eyes, red lips, pale skin, and prominent cheekbones, all surrounded by a halo of dark hair.
I briefly wondered what Andre would think if he saw me, and then mentally kicked myself. I didn’t like him—even if the kiss we shared had been exquisite—and I didn’t care what he thought. Just to prove a point I threw Andre’s blanket from my bed into my closet.
My phone rang, and I snatched it up.
“Hey, I’m downstairs,” Caleb said.
“Great, see you soon.” I grabbed my purse and a coat and dashed past Oliver, who was sprawled out on Leanne’s bed. He had moved on to eating Leanne’s guacamole-flavored chips—specially shipped from the U.S.—and was watching some romantic comedy on her laptop.
“Bye!” he shouted, mouth full.
***
I found Caleb leaning against the building when I came outside. He straightened up once he saw me. “Wow. You look … amazing.”
He might’ve been involved in my attempted murder. His charm was so disarming that I had to repeat this to myself.
“You clean up pretty well yourself.” He managed to look both angelic and masculine—a tough combo to pull off—with h
is tan skin, blond hair, and those blue eyes.
“Well, I try.” He smiled wide, his eyes crinkling. So misleading. Two, however, could play that game.
I smiled back eagerly. “I haven’t seen you all week!” Because you were missing school to learn how to kill me. “I was worried you were going to cancel our plans.” I pouted.
“Never!” He held out a hand. “Ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Fantastic.” Just what my life was missing, surprises.
Not.
***
For once the surprise was actually something I enjoyed. Caleb took me to a zany fondue restaurant. Graffiti covered the walls, and all drinks came in glass baby bottles. We chatted about our boring professor, liking our classes, and living on the Isle of Man.
I remained suspicious of his true intentions, but talking to him was easy. And sadly enough, I liked the guy; it was too bad he and his family probably wanted me dead.
“So,” he said after a lull in the conversation, “what’s it like being a vampire?”
I looked up. “What do you mean?” Warning bells were going off inside my head.
He took in my expression. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to offend. The thing is, most of us grew up being told vampires were evil, bad—that if they weren’t trying to steal your soul, they were trying to steal your blood and your life. It’s a superstitious belief. We know that vampires do have souls and a code of ethics, but that fear has been passed down generation after generation. But you—you don’t strike me as the ‘evil’ type.”
“Whew,” I said. “One down, only several thousand more to go.”
He smiled, still waiting for my response.
I looked around the room. The noisy atmosphere covered up our conversation. I leaned in. “Being a vampire, or at least becoming one, doesn’t feel like anything special. I have some heightened abilities, which make me feel like I’ve been colorblind my whole life. The sun has started to irritate my eyes and skin, so there’s some discomfort. But other than that, I feel no different.” I thought it best to hold back on the fact that fear and blood excited me, and that my new best “friend” was the king of vampires.