I'm loafing on the settee in my room, half- listening to one of the cable news channels.
Bankers and politicians are corrupt, there's a famine in some sun-drenched land I'll never visit, and a woman's disappeared, with her boyfriend suspected of foul play. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.
Channel surfing. I'm channel surfing in a dead man's hotel run by some horny, probably sexually- violent psychopath called Jason, about to embark on a search for the guy who's responsible for me being a vampire. How much worse could things get?
My phone beeps. Have you found him yet?
Give me a fucking chance; I checked in, and I've been watching reality TV, depressing news, and brain-numbing quiz shows.
Using your time wisely, I see.
His replies are prompt. Obviously not too busy with Kieran to see to my angst and complaints.
Oh, screw you. Yes, I'm that grateful for his attentions. If I were back home, I'd have more interesting things to do.
What can be more interesting than trying to find Adam?
Oh, great. He had to remind me, didn't he?
Drinking battery acid and going for a walk to see the sun come up.
Ha bloody ha. Sundown passed; it's dark out. Go on, see what you can do.
Thanks a bunch, Will Bosworth. You really know how to gee a guy up, don't you?
I wish there was a window in this hotel room.
It's more like a cell. Sometimes, I like to stand at an uncovered window late at night and watch the cityscape. My flat is down in the basement, so it does not have much of a view. But if I ever have occasion to be in a high-rise or skyscraper after dark, I open the blinds or curtains and turn every light in the room off. That way, I don't see the reflection of myself---yes, we have reflections--- and my gaze falls on nothing but anonymous buildings and lights, both neon and electrical. All human life is there, but I'm not intimately involved with it. I'm high up, an observer. Like a god.
I definitely feel sick. It's like the time I woke up and realised I was dead and the first time I drank blood all rolled into one. Then, it was an unholy thirst that demanded to be satisfied, and even when it was, I still felt bilious, my stomach roiling with blood and disgust and the question, "What have I done?"
Now it's nerves, plain and simple. I don't like to admit to being scared, and Sergeant Nathan Stephenson never deserted, was never prosecuted for cowardice in battle. Nor was my father.
Stephensons never were. I'm not about to back away now. It's all about family honour. Living up to the name.
Honour, indeed. I could laugh at my own thoughts but am cautious about drawing attention to myself. Occasionally, people pass, as I walk along this unfamiliar street, clearly full of alcohol.
They'd probably think I was drunk too, if I laughed out loud, but discretion is the name of the game, at least for the moment, so I try my best not to.
I'd asked the taxi driver to drop me off a couple of streets away so I could calm myself as I walked, but it's not working very well. The street signs are clear, and the driver gave me directions also, so I'm not worried about getting lost.
I'm worried about actually getting there.
A flyer stuck to a lamppost flutters in the evening breeze. Vlad's---all drinks a pound until the witching hour. Vampire-friendly.
Ugh. It's all so brazen these days. Come to our bar, get drunk, and be picked up by a member of the undead. Although, why I'm so high-and-mighty about it, I don't know. I am one of the undead. I'm no better than the people who frequent these bars, am I? But I didn't choose this. I'm not here willingly. These idiots; they want this lifestyle. They see something glamorous in it, don't they?
There's no need to ask for directions; I simply follow the flow of foot traffic. These intoxicated people aren't turning in for the night; they're just getting started, and I can tell from their party moods that they're heading to a nearby bar or club. Logic and experience both tell me that such establishments are usually grouped together in city centres, so I trail a small group whose voices are raised in what they would say is song. I, on the other hand, would use the word "caterwauling."
The flyer had the correct street name on it, and even before that, Will looked up the bar on the Internet to check its location. He couldn't find a map, however, just an address. Even if there had been a map, it wouldn't have made much difference. I don't know this town at all, so I have no points of reference.
Turning a corner, I see a courtyard peppered with benches and wooden tables opening out onto the main thoroughfare. This courtyard is surrounded on three sides by buildings, and one of them proclaims in neon lettering---red, of course --- Vlad's.
My heart leaps in my chest. It hasn't done that in a long time. Especially from nerves. Over the years, I've experienced lust, anger, anticipation, hunger, thirst, but this fear is new for me.
I look over my shoulders, almost laughing.
It's not often a vampire has to do that, but tonight, I'm understandably nervous. If I'm going to see him, I want it to be when I'm prepared, or as much as I can be. I want to see Adam first so I can acclimatise.
It's cruel, I know, wanting to brace myself, while being willing to spring my presence on him, and though it's petty of me to say this, he kind of deserves it. That is to say, he doesn't deserve my consideration and respect. Not really.
Tonight, if he shows up, if I see him, if we converse? I want answers. I'm here to distract him from
