“I did know about that,” Lucas admits. He pauses. “I met a blood dealer on the auction block. He told me some things before he was sold.”
Of course I’d heard about this—nonvampires selling vials of our blood to the citizens that can afford it. Years ago, Father came down hard on anyone that was caught doing it. Public executions. Lifetime sentences within the New Ve prison. Once, in the case of a human who had been selling it, the Vampire King ordered him strapped to a chair in Midtown, where he was forced to drink vial after vial of the dark liquid, until he got so fucked up from the high that he smashed his own skull in against the back of the chair.
I’d been twelve years old. It was the first time I saw the monster everyone else did.
What had we been talking about? Oh, right, the Turning process. I clear my throat and add, “Turned vampires are a lot more bloodthirsty than one who’s born, though. It doesn’t happen as often as books or movies make it seem.”
Lucas absorbs this for less than a second before he has another question ready for me. I answer it patiently. And the one after that, too.
The rest of our shift passes more quickly than I expect. Though Lucas has only been assigned to this sector for a month, he navigates the sewers without difficulty. We clear two blockages—a grueling process that involves stepping into rushing water and poking at a slimy grate with the tool Lucas is carrying—and lay down several rat traps. Apparently they’re becoming a problem in New Ve. Two hours later, Lucas’s walkie-talkie makes a trilling sound, and a male voice blares into the quiet of the tunnels.
With Lucas leading the way again, we move to rejoin the others.
The crosspost Nina mentioned is a spot where four of the metal ramps meet over a vast body of water. In some parts, where there are no waterways or grates, the surface is smooth as glass.
Spotting me, a tall figure breaks away from the group and jogs down the ramp to meet us. “So? How was it?” Drew asks, grinning behind a plastic mask. Most of its clear surface is covered in green foam, and the instant I notice this, I hold my breath to avoid learning what it smells like.
To his question, I mentally review the night. An entire evening spent below the city… and we didn’t encounter a single weeper. Maybe Drew was telling the truth, and this work isn’t as bloody as the stories make it to be. “I mean, it wasn’t an afternoon at the mansion, but I wasn’t beating off weepers with a rusty sword,” I tell him.
Raising his brows, Drew starts walking back in the direction of the service elevators. Everyone else follows his lead. “Sounds like a win to me.”
For some reason, the journey to the surface feels shorter than the one going below. When we arrive at the lockers, I pull off the borrowed boots delicately—they’re caked with mud and god knows what else. The scents wafting off them make me want to vomit. Drew shows me the way to a shower, with a small grate beneath it, meant to clean off tools and gear. There’s a short line, and as I wait, Lucas walks past. We exchange a tentative wave before he disappears through that distant doorway, and as I watch him go, I allow myself to hope that I’ve found one more ally in this frightening place.
Minutes later, I’m back in my normal clothes, and I’ve never been more relieved to be wearing a wrinkled sweatshirt. Drew stands beside me, pulling on a coat he took from his locker. “Want to come out with us?” he asks, glancing at me sidelong. There’s no sign of the smeared goggles he’d been wearing earlier. The collar of his coat brushes the edge of his jawline. “There’s a bar we always go to on Friday nights. Well, every night, really.”
“Oh. Yeah, okay.” While it’s tempting to hurry back to the boardinghouse and hide under that scratchy blanket again, I could also really, really use a drink.
Feeling nervous again, I follow Drew out of the warehouse and into the night.
The barest hint of light touches the horizon. Leaves skitter across our path, and a single bird sings the moon to sleep. We only have an hour or two before sunrise. As Drew and I walk together, we’re oddly silent. Even when he reaches over and tugs at the band around my ponytail, Drew doesn’t say a word. Before I can stop him, my hair falls around my shoulders in limp waves. I roll my eyes, but the effect is ruined by the tiny smile curving my lips. I snatch the small band away from him and shove it into my pocket. It feels as though we’re forming a language of smiles and brief touches, and I’m reluctant to return to words and difficult questions.
The choice is taken from us a few moments later as Nina catches up to us, telling Drew that someone named Hannah is looking for him. She jerks her thumb behind us, and the boy between us sighs, backtracking while Nina and I continue forward.
Who’s Hannah?
“So how was your first day?” Nina asks, twisting the backpack around so it rests against her stomach. She pulls the zipper open with a sound I barely hear, amongst all the clamor of the street. Apparently most shifts end at this time—the sidewalks are bloated with creatures rushing home or hoping to arrive at the bar in time for happy hour.
I let out a breath. “You know, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
Nina nods, as if this doesn’t surprise her. “We’re a family. We look out for each other and get the job done,” she says simply. A moment later, she finds what she’s been looking for—lipstick.
I watch her apply a new layer of it, the color red as a freshly-slit throat. “That’s really great. The family part, I mean. You and Drew, you’ve made me feel like this isn’t the worst thing in the world that could’ve come from me being a Lavender, so... thank you. Seriously.”
Rubbing her lips together to blend the lipstick, Nina follows my gaze toward Drew. “My brother is good at making people feel welcome,” she says after a moment. “He has a big heart and he cares about everyone.”
“I noticed that, too,” I murmur. “He’s slow to judge and quick to smile. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else like him.”
Nina slants her eyes my way again. “About that,” she starts, lowering her voice an octave.
As we continue down the street—a glowing neon sign appears on our right, announcing the workplace of a fangsmith—I glance at the human girl beside me. “Is there a problem?”
Nina smiles, but it’s far from friendly. The slight curve of her lips sends a shiver down my spine. “No problem. And we won’t have one as long as you don’t get involved with my brother. Anyone close to a Lavender tends to get killed, and Drew is too naive to look out for himself.”
My stomach somersaults at the insinuation, my cheeks flushing hotly, but before I can respond, she stops in front of a black brick building. There’s a small black awning over the door, and the windows on either side are tinted so outsiders can’t see in.
“Welcome to Rowan’s,” Nina says. A memory clicks from hours earlier, when I’d caught mention of the name. Apparently they’d been talking about a bar. “We come here after shifts because Ada doesn’t allow liquor at the house, so be careful not to piss off the bouncers.”
Nina glances past me and shouts to the others to hurry up before pulling the old wooden door open. Yards back, Drew appears deep in conversation with a pretty, silver-haired girl. The infamous Hannah, no doubt. A dark impulse steals over me—a thought that I could eavesdrop with no one the wiser. But that’s not who Gabriela raised me to be. Moving quickly, I step inside Rowan’s before the door closes.