CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When I return to the key area behind Riley, I project the image of Miranda struggling to hold back tears. That’s easy. As soon as we re-enter the throng, Riley snaps his fingers at me as if I'm a dog, and I sit at the end of our table.
Zaza walks past, snickering at me. How mature. But I try not to look at her as she vanishes into a small group of well-dressed Trueblood women and joins a conversation about fashion and necklaces. If only I could relax like that. But here, I'm at the bottom of the totem pole by far. In fact, we Nightsides are lower than the human servers. The human servers have cut a deal with the Truebloods and had a choice about being here.
Not us.
No one comes to sit with me, and I watch as Trish picks up a snack tray and offers it to Riley, but not without a sneer. Stanley has vanished into the crowd as well, and I worry that he's off plotting something, or escaped through a side door. But all the side doors have a Trueblood in a suit with a radio strapped to his hip.
Yikes.
And just when my stomach is turning, I spot Stanley talking to Walton over on the far side of the mingling area. Phew.
I sit for a while as Riley continues to pretend that nothing is wrong, moving from group to group and suffering through more banter. I don't watch too closely, and as the hours slowly creep past, Lily dares a few glances at me as she keeps her place at the hunters' table, which has slowly accumulated members all night. I pick at snacks. Little fancy rolls. Fancy crackers. Exotic dips. This could be my last meal, and I can't eat.
In a short time, I might become the monster of the Prophecy. I might go too far, destroy the High Council, and subdue the Truebloods after all. If that's going to happen, it'll be at this event.
And the Originator will win in his plan to use me to rise to the top after all. In fact, he might make me go too far, turning the Prophecy into a self-fulfilling one.
At last, as the clocks creep to one A.M, an announcement comes over the speaker system and drones through the convention center, echoing off the walls. It's Stella herself, sounding bored.
“Attention, all Convening guests. Dinner will begin in fifteen minutes. All servants are to report to the food prep area, on the far left. All other guests, seat yourselves. The dance will now begin at two A.M and Convening matters will begin at three. Please, continue to enjoy your evening.”
I rise, along with the other Nightsides and human servers. A scattered flood of people walk towards the area Stella just mentioned, and as I follow everyone else, Lily appears beside me, seemingly out of nowhere.
“What's happening?” she hisses.
I quickly tell her, not daring to make eye contact. “We're going to have to fight,” I finish.
Lily's careful not to let her shock onto her face. “I have no weapons. They don't allow them in.”
“Then find some,” I blurt, hating myself.
“That's why I'm going to the food prep area,” Lily says. “The hunters always go, to ask the human servers how they're being treated. They monitor their welfare. Truebloods don't go into this part of the Convening, to honor the truce we have.”
That's good. No one cares about the Nightsides, then. We're just here to be kept under control.
The kitchen area is in another divided part of the center, and it's got no carpet, but lots of makeshift prep areas and food everywhere. Extension cords run to industrial ovens. Metal counters stand in rows. And food. It's everywhere. It's regular food, and I remember that Truebloods sometimes eat to enjoy the taste, even though it's all empty calories to them. Riley does, sometimes. And it's fancy food, too. Swordfish. Artisan breads. Steamed vegetables covered in spices. Human cooks have been slaving away all night, and I spot Lily eyeing the cookware. Long knives. Utensils, all metal. Pots of oil, still steaming, on ranges. Literally everything here is a weapon, but the Truebloods are so obsessed with luxury they've allowed a weak spot into the Convening.
Already, the Riveras are talking to a pair of ladies in white aprons, who smile and assure them that everything's fine, that they're being paid well. Other hunters mingle with the cooks in the space, and servers push around everyone, trying to reach the platters spread out on the counters.
Lily flashes me an evil grin, as there isn't a single Trueblood in here to spot it. “I might be a Rivera, and a hunter, but I'm a hunter working on my own now. The others won't help you, but I will.”
I snap my gaze to her. “You will,” I breathe. “But that's dangerous.”
“I'm my own person now,” she half-growls. “There's a lot wrong with the hunters. Letting my friend die is not my plan. I think I'll stay in here for a while.”
How can I argue? Lily's green eyes glint with some plan, and I know Riley and I will need all the help we can get. If less of the work is on me, I'll cut my chances of going bad like the Prophecy says.
And I know I can't stop her. Nothing else has, so far.
“Lily. Thanks,” I whisper.
“Just keep up your image.” Lily nods to the kitchen equipment and then studies the Nightside servers, the only servers not wearing gray uniforms. Already, a line is forming near the exit of the kitchen area, and everyone in it is holding a covered platter. “And drop nothing again. Don't look too clumsy.”
And with that, she vanishes into the throng.
I grab a tray for Riley while the other Nightsides of the new coven seize trays as well. An older human woman dressed in gray barks orders at us from the roped-off exit. We're to
