A few months later, Lucette rolled over onto her back, atop the thick pile of animal skins on which she’d been instructed to stay. Utterly bored, she stared at the night sky.
It was bad enough that—after offering her a rare night outside the palace—her parents had brought her to this dull concert of the slowest, most tedious music she’d ever heard. To add insult to injury, they’d insisted it be a private concert, claiming Lucette could not be exposed to crowds. Some treat. Even while traveling to the concert, held in a huge grassy field surrounded by woods, she’d been bundled up in the back of a padded carriage. She was barely able to breathe in the heat of the warm summer night.
What did they imagine would happen if she were seen in public? Barely anyone in the kingdom even knew what she looked like, and even if her parents didn’t want to take her to a public concert, would it have been so horrible to bring along some other members of the palace household, or some of their kids? Even Gloria and Heather, who barely talked to her, would be better than this. But no, it was just the three of them in a huge, grassy field with the orchestra fifty feet away on a clamshell-shaped stage.
Maybe if her parents had other children they wouldn’t be so overprotective, but the few times Lucette had asked about that, it had opened more of a rift between them. And now that she had learned how babies were made—well, given how little time her parents spent together, especially at night—Lucette wasn’t banking on a little sister or brother to take off the pressure of being an only child anytime soon.
She studied her parents, who’d risen from their chairs to talk—more likely to argue—then she turned toward the woods at the edge of the grassy clearing, imagining what it would be like to walk through a forest. In the stories she read, kids often played among the trees, and Gloria and Heather had shown her drawings of flowers and animals they’d seen there. Tiny lights flitted around in the darkness. Startled, she sprang to her feet. The lights flitted and dove, as if they were chasing each other. Fireflies! She’d read about them in her books. If only she could actually see one up close.
She looked back toward her parents. Her mother’s slender arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her father towered above his wife like an angry mountain.
Lucette’s parents were absorbed in their argument, so sure of their obedient daughter that they probably wouldn’t even look back at her until the music was over. And the boring music showed no signs of stopping.
A rush of adrenaline flooded through her. If she bunched up the fur and put one of the cashmere coverlets on top, they might assume she’d fallen asleep on the blanket if they glanced back to check.
She scanned the area. Some guards were chatting, and others were looking for approaching intruders. Keeping one eye on her parents, she built her decoy, and then stepped off the blankets onto the grass.
She took one step—two, three, four—then turned to look over her shoulder. Her parents hadn’t noticed her, so she ran faster toward the woods, joyous at the feel of the dew splashing up onto her ankles and the fresh night air filling her lungs.
As she entered the forest, wonderful musty, mysterious scents swarmed around her. Moonlight filtered through the trees, and the fireflies seemed even brighter, but in spite of the warm night, a chill traced down her spine.
It was the first time in her life she’d ever been truly alone. It felt pretty great, but also scary. What if there were vampires? Big, horrible bloodthirsty vampires!
She blinked, hoping her eyes would adjust more quickly to the darkness. Then, seeing a group of fireflies whirling around a tree, she bounded toward them, but they were too fast. The fireflies wound down through some underbrush, so she cautiously walked forward, not wanting to scare them away. Placing her hand on the trunk of a tree, another rebellious idea flashed into her head. What would the surface of the bark feel like without gloves? After checking behind her to make sure her father hadn’t followed, she slipped off one glove and placed the tips of her fingers onto the bark. Hard. Rough.
A twig snapped above her. Heart racing, she slipped her glove back on and looked up. An owl flew between two trees. Scolding herself for being frightened of a bird, she tried to shake the uneasiness inside her. If she were a slayer, she’d never feel fear.
She needed a weapon. Scrounging in the underbrush, she selected a fallen branch. It certainly wasn’t as strong as a proper stake, and probably wasn’t sharp enough to pierce a vampire’s chest—if she even had the skills to do so. Still, she felt better armed.
“Are you lost?” a male voice asked. Lucette jumped back, almost tripping over a large fallen branch behind her.
She froze. “Who’s there? Go away!” Her heart galloped. “If you hurt me, you’ll be in big trouble!”
A pale, red-haired boy, not much older than she was from the look of him, stepped out from between two trees a few feet away.
She raised her stake—doing all she could to keep her hand from shaking.
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” He stepped into the light of a moonbeam. He was skinny and tall, at least four inches taller than she was, and his skin was so pale that it appeared to glow.
“My name’s Alexander,” he said. “But you can call me Alex. What’s yours?”
“Lucette.” Her voice came out lower than she’d expected, and wanting to hide her fear, she threw her shoulders back and raised her chin. “And you’d better not mess with me.”
He raised his hands, palms out.“ I surrender!” He grinned mockingly and pointed at her small branch. “What’ve you got there?”
“A stake.”
“What for?”
“Slaying vampires. What else?”
“Really.” He stepped forward slowly until he was close enough that she could touch him with the makeshift stake. Another step and she could touch him with her hand.
“Funny, you don’t look like a murderer.” He smirked.
“Don’t make fun of me.” She stepped back and furrowed her brow.
“So you’re not a murderer?”
She thrust her chin out. “It’s not murder to slay a vampire.”
“Really? Why not?” He leaned against a tree.
“Because it’s not murder to defend yourself against an evil, bloodsucking monster, that’s why.”
He cocked his head to the side. “What makes you think vampires are evil monsters?”
“Everyone knows that.” According to her mother, anyway.
“Name one thing that makes vampires evil.” One corner of his mouth turned up and he crossed one leg in front of the other as he leaned against the tree. His casual manner was both calming and annoying, his confidence fascinating. She felt oddly comfortable with him, as if something about him seemed familiar. Still, he was misguided about vamps.
“Vampires bite people’s throats, suck their blood out, and kill them.”
“Not true.” He held up a finger. “First, it takes three bites to transfer enough venom to kill, not just one. But more to the point”—he dropped his hand—“most vampires never bite animals, never mind humans.”
Lucette crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I know all about vampires. I’ve seen them attacking slayers outside the—outside my house.” She didn’t want him to know she lived in the palace.
He twisted his shoe in some dead leaves and looked down. “So, you’d condemn an entire species by the actions of a few?” He looked up. “Drinking human blood is gross.”
“No kidding.” She loosened her grip on her branch, as all the conflicting information she’d heard about vampires swirled in her mind. “It’s gross to us, but not to vampires. They live off blood, everyone knows that.”
“True, but most don’t suck on living things to get it.” He twisted his lips in disgust, then tipped his head to the side. “Besides, do you eat meat?”
“Of course, but there’s no comparison.” Lucette rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like she killed the animals herself—with her teeth.
“You’re right.” The boy crossed his arms over his chest. “There is no comparison. In fact, vampires are more compassionate than humans. Vampires live off animals, but they don’t need to kill to get their nutrition. It’s more like drinking milk.”
“But after three bites—”
“I already told you,” he said and stepped forward, “most vampires don’t feed that way. It’s so old-fashioned. In Sanguinia, blood comes from farms and it’s bought at the market.”
“How do you know?” She’d never considered that vampires might feast on anything but necks—with a preference for human ones.
“I just do.” He shot her a reassuring smile.
The fact that this boy was winning the argument filled her with frustration. “Yeah, well, you don’t know everything.” Her mother had told her the truth about vampires, and once she got older and gained some freedom, she planned to be a slayer. “Vampires do lots of evil things. They can read minds and influence you and make you do things against your will.”
“You believe that?” He looked at her with disdain. “Old wives’ tales. Besides, a pretty girl can make me do things against my will. Does that make her evil?”
She dropped her arms from across her chest. This boy seemed nice enough, but didn’t understand anything. “Yes, well, vampires are evil, hideous creatures, with no redeeming qualities. It’s impossible for them to be good. It goes against their nature.”
“Tell me,” he said, and leaned forward until she could see the slight yellow glint in his green eyes. “Do I seem evil to you?”
He smiled and she saw his pointed teeth.
He had fangs!
Trembling, she backed into a tree. This tall, red-haired boy wasn’t a boy at all. He was a vampire.
“Lucette,” he said, “if I’m so evil, why haven’t I attacked you yet?”
As his question came out, she found her courage and lunged, stake in hand. He brushed her twig aside and grabbed her arm.
She drew in a sharp breath and scolded herself for disobeying her parents and wandering into the woods. She’d left them arguing, without even trying to mediate, and now she’d die and they’d fight over that, too.
She could not let that happen. She screamed and stomped on his foot.
“Ouch!” He pushed her away. “Why did you do that?”
She fell back, but moving quickly, he caught her before she hit the ground. He moved so quickly, and demonstrated such strength.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Like I said, I don’t drink human blood. And even if I were starving, I wouldn’t drink yours. I have no idea what you’ve been eating.” He grinned, but she didn’t find it much of a joke, and backed away.
“Lucette, believe me—most vampires believe it’s just plain wrong to drink blood straight from the vein of any animal. It’s immoral, not to mention wasteful, to risk killing a source of food. Sanguinian vampires only drink blood from certified ranches, where the animals have been properly fed, compassionately treated, and hygienically bled.”
“I don’t believe you!” She wrenched her arm back. “You’re just trying to control my mind.”
“I can’t control your mind. Only our queen, the holder of the Stone of Supremacy, holds any magical powers, and even she can’t control people’s minds—much to her chagrin.” He chuckled.
“Liar! I just saw your powers. You’re so strong and fast.”
“Of course. I live off of a very pure diet. I can’t believe the garbage you humans put in your bodies. No wonder you’re so weak.”
The music stopped and Lucette turned to the clearing to see if anyone had discovered her absence. When she turned back, Alex had vanished.
Before she could even start back, her father came crashing through the forest. She dropped the twig to the ground and double-checked her gloves. Boy, was she in trouble. At least this time she’d be in trouble with both of her parents. Maybe punishing her would bring them closer together.