“Shit, why are you so stuck up?” He's angry.
“Because I care about surviving what's coming,” Trish says.
At least the bad sweet talk has stopped, but I'm intrigued. I step forward into the sitting room just off the hall. There, I can hear better. I don't dare breathe in case Stanley and Trish can hear us.
“Everything’s against us, no matter what we do. Those Truebloods hate us and even the ones who don't just see us as pack animals.” Stanley’s words are hammers. “We might as well have some fun while we're breathing. This whole Convening thing is just to make sure we're all under control.” I listen as he unzips his pants.
“Stanley.” Trish is full of disgust. “No. I'm not attracted to you.” And then she storms to the bedroom door, with her pointed boots clicking against the floorboards and then a carpet.
“Bitch,” Stanley says with a sigh.
“I can't believe this,” I hiss. I thought Trish and Stanley were an item, and they're not?
“The kids. They're here,” Trish says.
“Great,” Stanley grumbles. His tone makes me wonder if he's the Originator after all. It's obvious he's not thrilled about us being home.
While I'm glad we won't get subjected to Stanley having sex and coming up with some cringe-worthy lines through it, I'm not glad that they’ve heard us. I shake my head and draw back against Riley, who puts his hand on my shoulder as we listen to Trish and Stanley straighten themselves out and exit the bedroom. Trish leaves first, coming down the steps, and she offers a low hello to Walton, who is coming out of the office.
There's nothing here, no evidence that anyone's plotting to betray Riley at the Convening and blow the fact that he took an ancient vampire's blood. Maybe the Originator, or the killer, isn't planning to do anything there but try to survive.
And the moon is made of cheese. There’s a reason the Originator came here.
“Well, that was fruitless,” I hiss
Riley grimaces at me as I turn to face him. “At least we didn't have to endure Stanley in the throes of pleasure.”
“We should call a meeting, though. If any of the Nightsides leave, then we won’t look good in front of the High Council,” I say. “We might as well do that tonight, while Walton is here. He's good at organizing everyone.” Apparently, he used to help run a homeowner's association back before he got turned, so he's got the skills. If anyone should run the new coven in Dad's absence, it should be him.
Riley shakes his head in exhaustion. “We have to be the leaders. This is so overwhelming.”
I reach out to embrace him, because despite my power, most of this nightmare is falling onto his shoulders.
And Riley accepts what little comfort I can give.
“If anyone gets out of control,” I say, “then I'll be there to hold the meeting in order. This might be a good time to weed out whoever the Originator may be.”
* * * * *
At least the other Nightsides are up all night and Walton, being the organized guy he is, calls everyone to the meeting. Though word has spread through the mansion, we're all gathered within half an hour, and then Riley and I have the joy of telling everyone about the surprise visit by the High Council last night.
And the entire time, I study the faces at the dining room table. Tension hangs in the air and I can barely breathe. Everyone is staring at me and Riley, standing there and sweating under the chandelier. And no one is smiling as Riley drops the news that we all get to look like dutiful servants if we want a ghost of a chance to get out of the Convening alive.
I spend the meeting hanging back as if practicing my fake role, despite being the one supposed to help lead this coven. I even keep my hands folded over my thighs, the same way I did when the High Council was here. Stanley and Trish now sit on opposite sides of the table, and Becky has taken a spot by Stanley's side as if sensing the new rift. Lola and Daeshawn still hang together, and Walton now sits near the head of the table, closest to me and Riley. The other Nightsides, all younger-looking people who spent their days wandering around since being turned, look lost.
I can't tell which one of them could be the killer. But he's here, among us.
And he's listening to our plan to survive the Convening.
Riley finishes explaining the Nightsides' part in the deal. And Stanley glowers at him, no doubt still salty over Trish's rejection.
“We are not powerless,” he says. “We are not servants.”
Riley nods. “I know that you're not, and this isn't fair. I don't view any of you that way. Neither does Olivia.”
I clear my throat, knowing Riley needs help. As I speak, sweat gathers on my back. I'm not used to public speaking. It's the number one phobia for a reason, and for me, it's multiplied by fifty.
Thanks, Dad, for The Leaving, Part Two.
But I'm powerful, and to get through this, I need to embrace it.
“Look, we only need to look that way to get through this event. We're Nightsides, and we can be sneaky. I'm going to hang in the background and look harmless, and I'm going to train in order to make that happen. And the rest of you should do the same. We go in there, heads hanging like we fear all those high-status Truebloods, and then we use our powers to convince them to let us live. That's all. I suggest that we all work on our mind powers over the next month and then come up with a plan before we go into that convention center.”
I'm shocked at the words that come so easily. I've never imagined myself speaking in front of a table, least of all to people all older than me. Even the younger Nightsides must only be in
