We arrived at Bishopcourt a quarter till one. Like Peel Castle, candles flickered along the mansion’s walls, throwing off both light and shadow. In between them hung oil paintings of various people in different eras of dress. The light played along their faces, making their frozen eyes dance and leaving me to wonder if they were still alive.
I followed Andre’s sure strides until we arrived at his private quarters. I looked around at his antiquated office, which appeared to double as a library. Shelves of books filled the room. Behind a giant mahogany desk was a yellowed map of the world.
The room was an ode to history. Stacked on various shelves were clay and stone figurines, shrunken heads, carved animal masks, Egyptian stele, a collection of various ancient coins, and intricately carved weaponry. I stood there, mouth slack, taking in his collection.
He offered me a chair and sat across from me. “You like my office?”
“This is amazing. I feel like I entered Indiana Jones’s office,” I said, sitting down.
He shrugged. “When you live as long as I have, you inevitably garner a collection. I was actually thinking of redecorating.”
“No,” I said too quickly, and Andre raised an eyebrow. I cleared my throat. “What I meant to say was that I really like it, and I don’t think you should change it.”
He looked around the room, reassessing his office space as though he hadn’t really seen it in a while. His eyes came back to mine. “We’ll see.”
He changed the subject. “I want to talk about some of the basics of being a vampire. There are three main rules. One, you are forbidden to change anyone into a vampire. Two, never drink to kill. And three, tell no one of who we are. Now—”
I interrupted him. “Uh, question. Doesn’t everyone already know who and what we are?” I shifted in my seat. That electric thrum between us was stronger than ever, and I kept catching myself noticing things like Andre’s silky hair or his strong jawline. Luckily he hadn’t yet caught me ogling.
“Only the supernatural community knows our identity. But I am talking about the entire world. Humans have no idea we exist. Thanks to popular media, they believe we are simpering immortals who pine for true love. I’d like it to stay that way. That means no one can know we exist, and that also means drinking blood must be done privately—no witnesses.”
“Ew.”
He ignored my comment. “If rule one—never turn a person into a vampire—is broken, then it is punished by death. Unless the vampire has sired other vampires; in that case they’re permanently incapacitated, since killing them would inadvertently end the lives of those they’ve sired.
“Rule two—never drink to kill—is not punishable by death unless it becomes habitual. Instead, punishment includes imprisonment and meals of animal blood.” I made a face. I was going to have to get used to this drinking blood thing. “This rule can be difficult to follow because it is easy to accidently drink too much and thus kill a human.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?” The second I asked it, I realized what a faux pas the question must be. Like asking an older woman her age.
His mouth thinned. “Yes.”
Rationally I knew this, but thinking about it still made me squirm.
He watched me, in silence. I searched for something to say. I remembered my father’s letter.
“My father left me a note in a safety deposit box,” I said, sidestepping the current discussion. Despite Mr. Taylor’s and my father’s advice not to trust anyone, I thought Andre should know his life might be in danger. “He believed there was and still is a conspiracy to … remove you—and possibly me—as part of a political coup. He wrote that we were both in danger.”
Andre was quiet for a long moment, thinking over what I just said. “Santiago left this for you?”
I nodded.
Andre said, “At the end of his life, Santiago came to me and confessed that he had reason to believe there was a conspiracy to kill me. I did not think much of it at the time since the evidence was circumstantial, but after he died I became very careful. But months and then years passed and nothing happened.
“I will consider your father’s words, but we both must remember they were written over ten years ago, and nothing has happened to me since.”
Andre’s words made me sad. I’ll admit I agreed with him—the letter made no sense—but Santiago was my father, and I wanted him to be right.
“Why do you think Santiago thought I’d be in danger?”
He stared at his folded hands for a long time before looking back up at me. “Probably because you are related to him. And probably because he knew that after your powers were Awoken, you’d find me, making you a very visible target.” He gave a small smile and looked at the clock. “I should probably get you home.”
***
It was past 1:00 a.m. when we rolled up to my dorm building. I waved goodbye to Andre, watching his car—this time a sensible Audi—drive away.
I rubbed my eyes. God, I was so tired.
The wind carried a whiff of something—sweat? I heard a rapidly accelerating heartbeat and knew I had a split second to move.
I jumped out of the way as a man, intending to ambush me, flew past me. He rolled and was on his feet again.