City of Fallen Angels

“She believed me,” Simon said reluctantly.

“Of course she did,” said Raphael. “Because you are a vampire. It is a power we have. The encanto. The fascination. The power of persuasion, you would call it. You can convince mundane humans of almost anything, if you learn how to use the ability properly.”

“But I didn’t want to use it on her. She’s my mother. Is there some way to take it off her—some way to fix it?”

“Fix it so she hates you again? So she thinks you are a monster? That is a very odd definition of fixing something.”

“I don’t care,” Simon said. “Is there a way?”

“No,” Raphael said cheerfully. “There is not. You would know all this, of course, if you did not disdain your own kind so much.”

“That’s right. Act like I rejected you. It’s not like you tried to kill me or anything.”

Raphael shrugged. “That was politics. Not personal.” He leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing black motorcycle gloves. Simon had to admit he looked pretty cool. “Please tell me you did not bring me out here so you could tell me a very boring story about your sister.”

“My mother,” Simon corrected.

Raphael flipped a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Some female in your life has rejected you. It will not be the last time, I can tell you that. Why are you bothering me about it?”

“I wanted to know if I could come and stay at the Dumont,” Simon said, getting the words out very fast so that he couldn’t back out halfway. He could barely believe he was asking. His memories of the vampire hotel were memories of blood and terror and pain. But it was a place to go, a place to stay where no one would look for him, and so he would not have to go home. He was a vampire. It was stupid to be afraid of a hotel full of other vampires. “I haven’t got anywhere else to go.”

Raphael’s eyes glittered. “Aha,” he said, with a soft triumph Simon did not particularly like. “Now you want something from me.”

“I suppose so. Although it’s creepy that you’re so excited about that, Raphael.”

Raphael snorted. “If you come to stay at the Dumont, you will not address me as Raphael, but as Master, Sire, or Great Leader.”

Simon braced himself. “What about Camille?”

Raphael started. “What do you mean?”

“You always told me you weren’t really the head of the vampires,” Simon said blandly. “Then, in Idris, you told me it was someone named Camille. You said she hadn’t come back to New York yet. But I assume, when she does, she’ll be the master, or whatever?”

Raphael’s gaze darkened. “I do not think I like your line of questioning, Daylighter.”

“I have a right to know things.”

“No,” said Raphael. “You don’t. You come to me, asking if you can stay in my hotel because you have nowhere else to go. Not because you wish to be with others of your kind. You shun us.”

“Which, as I already pointed out, has to do with that time you tried to kill me.”

“The Dumont is not a halfway house for reluctant vampires,” Raphael went on. “You live among humans, you walk in daylight, you play in your stupid band—yes, don’t think I don’t know about that. In every way you do not accept what you really are. And as long as that is true, you are not welcome at the Dumont.”

Simon thought of Camille saying, The moment his followers see that you are with me, they will leave him and come to me. I believe they are loyal to me beneath their fear of him. Once they see us together, that fear will be gone, and they will come to our side. “You know,” he said, “I’ve had other offers.”

Raphael looked at him as if he were insane. “Offers of what?”

“Just … offers,” Simon said feebly.

“You are terrible at this politics business, Simon Lewis. I suggest you do not attempt it again.”

“Fine,” Simon said. “I came here to tell you something, but now I’m not going to.”

“I suppose you are also going to throw away the birthday present you got me,” Raphael said. “It is all very tragic.” He retrieved his motorcycle and swung a leg over it as the engine revved to life. Red sparks flew from the exhaust pipe. “If you bother me again, Daylighter, it had better be for a good reason. Or I will not be forgiving.”

And with that, the motorcycle surged forward and upward. Simon craned his head back to watch as Raphael, like the angel he was named for, soared into the sky trailing fire.