Inferior creature, Sorin thought. Elites had never killed for their sustenance, so they were soft.
“You won’t have any blood on your hands,” the Master said. “The new Vampire Killer is going to do it for us because fame is the big reward. The crowds will love this kind of violent exhibition, and our murderer knows it. All you have to do, Eva, is show a little bit of the killer’s transmission to your daughter. When she sees it, she’ll turn away from the life she’s currently leading and leave us with one less fighter to worry about.” The Master’s glow dimmed. “She really does need to change a lot of things about that life of hers.”
“I don’t like this,” Eva said. “It’s not right.”
“She’ll never know we’re a part of what’s going on. In fact, this is a perfect opportunity to win her over. I’m making it easy for you. Who will she turn to in her grief over tonight’s murder? Her mother, of course.”
Eva was quiet.
Sorin tensed, suspicious of her reaction. “Perhaps you can persuade us of your loyalty once again with your aid in this?”
At the challenge, Eva stiffened.
The Master held up a hand, silencing Sorin. “Eva, I thought you would be happier.” He sounded stung. “Dawn’s grief is going to help you as much as it will the Underground.”
“And you would help the Underground, yes?” Sorin asked the Elite.
“Of course. I’d do about anything. But…”
“This is just another step in persuading Dawn to come down here with me,” the Master added. “Think of it that way.”
Eva seemed to draw back from him, though Sorin did not detect a change in physical distance.
“You talk like she belongs to you,” she whispered.
“She will, Eva. Just like you do.”
The Elite stared straight ahead. “Benedikte, sometimes I think you’ve transferred your affection for me to her, and it…concerns me.”
The Master’s glow ebbed again. Awareness did not reveal to Sorin whether it was because Eva had shut him out or if it was because she doubted his professed love of Dawn.
Within seconds, the old vampire began to grow agitated; sparks lined the edges of his shadowed form. “You’re testing me, just like you did at the beginning, when you constantly moped around for your family. Back then, I tried to make you happier by accepting Robby’s petition to come Underground—”
“You accepted his dad’s petition,” Eva said. “Nathan Pennybaker wanted Robby to go through the change, not the other way around.”
“Nevertheless, I was willing to overlook my doubts about turning such a young boy because he was your friend. I thought he would be like a little brother for you and ease the pain of leaving your other family behind.”
But there was more to the Master’s story than he was telling, Sorin thought. The old vampire had lavished young Robby with attention, hoping Eva would adore him for it. Yet the Elite had not seemed to notice, instead taking the boy under her own wing and calming his terror at what had been forced upon him. Naturally, her mentorship had echoed their mortal relationship: when Robby had misbehaved with Eva, she had reportedly always adjusted his behavior.
Yet that had only produced trouble, because, when Eva was released, Robby had lost his only stabilizing influence Underground. He had attempted escape, although he had never visited Eva because of the risk that she would turn him in.
It had always been an ugly situation, and years had passed before the Master had even performed another procedure.
“I only want to make you happy,” the Master repeated.
Slowly, Eva stood, strong on her feet now that she had been reinfused with the Master’s lifeblood. “If this plan backfires, I have everything to lose.”
The Master reached for her hand. “You’ll have Dawn.”
“And Frank someday,” Eva said. “Frank, too.”
The Master’s night-shaded form contained quick strikes of lightning, an upheaval. “Frank?”
A rumble shook the room, and Sorin darted forward, wanting to stop the inevitable, but powerless to do so. “Master, you must prepare for tonight’s work—”
With a rock-blasting crash, the old vampire burst into his most terrible visage: a looming demon-fanged materialization of personal fear, not so much seen as felt by any individual unfortunate enough to see their own nightmares come alive.
The hate of a mother, the alienation of being stranded…all of it attacked Sorin with unclean fervor.
Screeching pierced the room, forcing Eva and Sorin to cover their ears and sink to the floor. Neither changed into their own angel-silvered forms—even in full greatness, they were nothing next to the Master: only a rainfall compared to a howling storm.
“You need my blood, Eva,” the maker keened, his voice like the scrape of claws over the downward slope from heaven to earth. “You need me.”