weren’t at each others’ throats. There was no shortage of blood.”
“But how did they get it?” I ask. “Without donations it must’ve been difficult.”
“There was the occasional black sheep in the family who went out and took from whomever he chose. But for the most part, it was very civilized. Most Old Family would have Lessers infiltrate the morgues as assistants or even as morticians. There, they would drain those who had unfortunately passed. Few seemed to notice, or care, that these people loved the night shift. Most gladly gave it to them. There were also doctors who took from the living so that it was fresher. Blood-letting was not for the health of humans as the history books would have you believe, but was a secret way for us to obtain blood for the vampires.”
I try to imagine the entire operation of getting the blood to the vampires consistently. It must’ve been a real challenge.
“It just doesn’t seem like it would be enough,” I say.
“Remember, fewer vampires existed back then. Whereas now there are millions, back then there were hundreds, Old Family included. And the system was much better than the one before it.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. Back when there were kings and castles, we simply had to steal villagers in the middle of the night. Sadly, there was simply no other way to do it. Oftentimes we would keep a human alive for years, draining him slowly in exchange for food and modest shelter. In reality they were prisoners, but it was better than taking their chances as a serf.”
“Wait, wait, wait. That must’ve been, what? Eight, nine hundred years ago?”
“Hmmm, something like that.”
“Eustace, how long have you been a servant?”
He once again looks up at the black ceiling, shadows and darkness keeping its true height a mystery.
“Fifteen hundred years, I suppose.”
It’s probably poor manners to gape at that, my jaw wide in disbelief, but I can’t help it.
“Well,” I say. “You don’t look a day over fifty.”
He laughs a little. “Thank you, miss. I was fifty-five when Leo Valentine turned me. Before that, I was his blood servant, what you kids now call blood divas. I remained loyal at that post for thirty years. This was in Eastern Europe, the heart of the Valentine holdings. Leo lived in a gigantic castle overseeing the village below. One day, a massive plague swept through the town, and I fell ill. I would have died, but Leo, in his great mercy, turned me. I have served by the Valentines’ side ever since.”
That’s amazing. I’m talking to a walking history book, a man older than Victor.
“What happened to Leo?” I ask.
“He was killed by his son, Murdoch.”
“As in, Victor’s father?”
“Yes. I watched young Murdoch being born, held him in my arms, tutored him as he grew older. But I always knew, deep in my heart, that he would ascend the throne violently. It was a very bloody time for the Valentines. Murdoch killed many of his own family, all of them vying for the throne. When it was over, the Valentine dynasty was greatly weakened. It would have been destroyed by the other, more powerful families at the time. But Murdoch quickly gained a reputation for being ruthless and cunning. I think that time in his life, when he was battling constantly, stayed with him forever. Until, of course, Victor followed in his footsteps and slew him.”
It seems like it runs in the family. And now, it’s brother against brother.
“What was Victor like when he was young?” I ask.
“Bright. Caring. Compassionate. Not unlike his own father at the same age. When the war finally broke out, I watched him go off, knowing that he would change, just as his father had. One cannot fight for so long without the scars building on one’s soul. Even if he chooses not to show them, the scars are there.”
I think of a young and happy Murdoch Valentine, something I never even imagined was possible; but it was. Then I see him changing, becoming bitter over time, killing his own father, ascending, and then finding that the world is much more difficult and unforgiving than his idealism made it out to be.
“But Victor’s different, isn’t he?” I ask.
Eustace smiles, knowing that this question means more to me than I care to admit. “In more ways than you can ever imagine. And please tell me if I speak outside my bounds, but do you know what the biggest difference is?”
“What?”
“You.”
Chapter 19
After I finish breakfast, I get dressed and go into Victor’s room. He’s still sleeping. I’m not surprised since the clock in the hallway indicates it’s only two in the afternoon. Before we went to bed, he told me to take his car to Denver. I give him a light kiss on the cheek, grab his keys, and head out.
I consider paying Eris a quick visit, see how she’s holding up—or not holding up as the case may be—but decide her isolation will do us more good. She’s accustomed to being the center of attention. Being deprived of it is probably as tortuous as the belief that she’s going to become one of the Infected.
The drive into the city is lonely with no passengers in the car and nothing but my own thoughts bouncing around my head. The last time I drove was the day after Victor overthrew his father, and I had to get back to the city to tell Clive what had happened. Now I have something else momentous to share, and I’m dreading it. My thoughts center around how I’ll break my news, what I should emphasize.
I
Maybe I should start with a joke, lighten the mood—
Nothing seems adequate. There’s just no easy way to say this.
I’m grateful when I see the wall so I can start thinking about something else. I spot smoke billowing out in a couple of streams within the city. Day Walkers are still wreaking havoc.
At the gate, I show my credentials and am waved through. Encountering the destruction again makes me wish that I’d taken time with Eris and forced her to tell us what she knows about the Day Walkers in the city. Fewer people are out. I can’t blame them for staying indoors, and my anger is renewed. We shouldn’t have to live like this.
Crossing over trolley tracks, I turn down a street—
A Day Walker lands on the hood of the car. Revealing his fangs, he pulls his hand back to smash through the window.
I swerve and he goes sliding off. Reversing, I run over him. The action won’t kill him, but it’s bound to break bones and slow him down while he heals. I floor the pedal and race down the street. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see him squirming. I should have stopped to finish him off, but it could be a trap with his friends lying in wait.
I take evasive maneuvers, going around one corner and then another. I should have asked for an escort at the gate. Hindsight is always better. In hindsight, we should have staked Sin the day we met him. Too bad we didn’t know what he was.
I come to a screeching stop outside my apartment building, jump out, lock the door, and race up the stairs. In the lobby are two additional guards, stakes drawn. Extra precaution is being taken. Good.
“Is everything all right?” one of the guards asks.
