Page 72 of Malice

“Again, we’re not saying that’s what’s happening here,” he adds. “But it does make you question how someone rises this quickly, this smoothly, with this level of public support.”

The anchor nods slowly, hardly keeping a neutral expression. He’s loving this. “And there’s another piece of this raising eyebrows. According to court records, Malus recently married a human woman named Florence.”

A photo of me from our wedding announcement photoshoot flashes on screen. I look good at least.

“She might be just as mysterious as he is,” the anchor says. “No one has been able to figure out who she is or where she came from. Even her maiden name can’t be found.”

“No public history together,” the commentator adds. “No long-term appearances. No social footprint. And then suddenly—she marries him.”

The anchor folds his hands. “A powerful, centuries-old figure with no documented past, a rapid rise in influence, and a relationship that seems to have materialized overnight.” He looks directly into the camera. “Is this simply a private man stepping into the public eye…or is there more going on behind the scenes?”

Victoria exits out of the video and puts the iPad down with a dramatic sigh. She purses her lips and looks at me. “How do you feel about artificial insemination?” Victoria asks, as if she’s talking about the weather.

“Like…in general?” I blink. “I don’t have any feelings about it, I guess. I don’t really think about it.”

Victoria laughs, leaning forward and touching Xavier’s arm. “She’s a funny one. I see why you’ve attached to her. I meant for you.”

I look at her, lips parting, but nothing comes out. I inhale and try again. “Why?”

“As you can see, they want you to be a bad guy or some dumb woman tricked into marrying a vampire. It’s harder to villainize a pregnant woman.”

“I don’t want to be pregnant,” I tell her.

“But you can be, right?” she asks.

I look behind her, staring daggers at Devon, who’s trying not to laugh.

“That is not happening,” Xavier says. I assume that would shut this ridiculous conversation down, but Victoria just tips her head and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s just something you should think about. There are plenty of statistics about how people feel about expectant mothers. And seeing you take care of her would humanize you in ways no vampire has ever been humanized before.”

“But I don’t want to be pregnant,” I repeat. “I don’t want a baby. I hear they’re quite involved.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d hire a nanny.”

“This is not up for discussion,” Xavier says, speaking each word a little slower this time.

“Yeah,” Devon laughs. “That ship has sailed.”

Victoria looks confused, but then moves on, shifting to creating fake social media accounts for Antonio and me. The fact that Mabel started a new account for me will work perfectly in our favor since we can use it as a rebrand.

I don’t have much posted on my personal Instagram. Maybe seven years ago, I made an attempt to photograph some of the beautiful places we traveled to while hunting demons. But I lost interest and didn’t want to put in the time it takes to edit photos. I only have maybe seventy-five photos total, and only two have my face in them, which is workable, according to Victoria.

Antonio, being slightly older, had a Facebook page, but he deactivated it a decade ago. It’s still searchable, though. She locks the account so people can find him but not see anything. I have no idea how it’s even possible to edit old posts on Instagram with new photos, but I suppose if you can hack a computer, you can do almost anything.

My private Instagram will become public soon, with just enough photos of Antonio and me to make us look like actual siblings. Our backstory is that we were born on the East Coast, which hits close to home for me. Beyond that, everything is kept vague, and I’m supposed to decline any interviews or questions. Which is perfectly fine by me. I hate being in the spotlight.

What feels like an eternity later, we finish damage control, and Victoria leaves. I keep checking my phone, hoping to see a text from Marie. I haven’t been this concerned with receiving a text since I had an active profile on Hinge several years ago. I asked a lot of questions about demons, and now I’m worried I said the wrong thing and pissed Marie off—assuming she’s not evil and is actually trustworthy. I thought she was when I first met her. I just want her to like me.

I’ve gone over the conversation in my head more times than I should admit. I was curious, of course, but that’s expected. And I made a point to talk about other, non-demon things too. Still, the voice in the back of my head—the one that tells me I’m not enough and that I’ll never fit in—has yet to be silenced.

“Hey,” Mabel says, coming into the kitchen. I’m sitting at the table, half-heartedly flipping through the books. I’m not going to find anything, but I need something to do.

“Can I order you a pizza?”

“Sure,” I tell her, and she claps her hands together.

“I’ve never ordered a pizza before! What kind do you want?”