The wood creaks as Salma rolls over in the bed above mine, and when I look across the room, Tiffany’s pink bonnet is still against her pillow.
They invited me to the LUB with them, but I said I wanted to sleep. I heard when they left and when they came back; they stayed only an hour.
All night, I’ve been racking my brain to figure a way to convince the vampire to keep me alive—or at least buy myself more time. And I think I found it.
My eyes feel sore, but the thought of what I’m about to do sends an alert signal through me, and I grow more awake with every blink. I pull back the sheets, and I’m already dressed, so I tiptoe out the door.
I’ve located the library on the school map, and I quietly climb up the grand staircase to the second story.
Once I pass the hall of classrooms, I step into a wide sitting area with a row of windows that filter in silver light. There are no curtains, but the steel bar along the ceiling indicates there once were. At the other end of the room is another grand staircase, and I wonder if this space used to be a ballroom designed to give the hosts’ entrance more impact by having them descend the steps.
By the time I make it to the third floor, my breathing is choppy, and my head feels airy, as if the oxygen were rushing to my brain and bypassing my lungs. I lean against the banister and pull out my cell phone to lift the darkness. To my right are crystal double doors, and when I try to open them, they’re locked. As far as I can see, they lead to another wing of the manor.
Behind me is another set of crystal doors. The space beyond is illuminated by silver moonlight, revealing wall upon wall lined with books.
I try the handle, and this one turns. Dim lights pop on, seemingly activated by motion. Lifting my gaze, I count three levels of bookshelves and, above it all, a domed glass roof through which I can see the cosmos.
There are almost as many seating options as there are books. Armchairs and sofas and benches and large tables and desks and chaise longues and love seats and rocking chairs—comfortable reading nooks abound. Wide windows run along one wall, brushing the texts with starlight.
It’s every bibliophile’s dream.
I take it all in as I climb up a level, and new lights pop on as the ones below switch off. I keep going until I reach the top floor, which is smaller than the others. There’s a private area where the bookshelves end, and as the lights pop on, I see that it’s lined with computers.
I activate my phone’s camera and prop it against the opposite wall, with the screen turned away from view. I got the idea to do this from my own downfall.
When I spin around, the vampire is here.
Darkening the entrance to the computer wing in his ancient threads, he looks like a perfectly preserved human fossil. I edge to the right a little, hoping the camera is capturing an unobstructed view.
“Why are we here?” he asks, looking at all the desktops. He approaches the one nearest him and strokes some keys. The screen stays black, since the device is off.
“You do know these are calledcomputers,right?” My plan hinges on him being technologically ignorant.
“Tell me what you know.”
He sounds the way he did when he was compelling me—authoritative and unyielding.
“Nothingyet,” I say, and a frown wrinkles his unlined face, like crumpling up a brand-new piece of paper. “I asked you here because I think maybe these computers could have information.”
His frown graduates to a glower. “So you lied.”
“I had anidea,” I correct him. “If I’m wrong, you still get to kill me, don’t you?”
In a single breath, he’s right in front of me. His movements are so fast that it’s like my vision is dropping frames.
I have to tilt my head back to look at him, and even in the dim lighting, his amethyst eyes sparkle. As if rather than reflecting light, they produce their own.
“Show me.”
“First, I—I need to know some things.” The only way this recording will matter is if it exposes him in some way. “Like, um, who are you? How old are you? What were you doing in that coffin—?”
“I will be asking the questions.” His voice is sharp enough to slice through me, and as adrenaline charges my blood with urgency, I can feel how close to death I am. He could kill me before I even know it’s happening.
“Th-that’s how a computer works,” I say, trying to get the words out before he strikes. “I have to input search terms to get results.”
He studies my face, like he’s searching for the lie. Having his full attention when he’s not trying to kill me makes my mind go fuzzy. I should bethinking ahead, coming up with my next move—but this close to him, it’s hard to form a coherent thought.
“My name is William.” He pauses a beat. “Pride.”
