Which was . . . surprisingly well lit, and filled with plush donation chairs that looked more like fancy recliners than terrifying instruments of torture . . . though the built-in restraints looked less than reassuring.
All the couches were empty, and there were two attendants standing quietly, watching as Eve hesitantly walked down the narrow aisle. “Um, hi?” she said. “I’m on the list?” There was no way she could manage to make that a declarative statement. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, I hear it’s for a good cause; is that right?”
“Smooth,” Michael murmured behind her, and she caught herself in a frantic giggle and turned it into a fake cough that turned real, and distressingly deep. One of the attendants—the taller woman with short, neatly trimmed dark hair—opened up a cooler and took out a bottled water, which she handed Eve. Eve popped the cap and drank frantically, and the cough finally stopped tickling her throat.
“Morganville General is low on plasma and platelets,” the woman confirmed. She didn’t sound very concerned about it, and Eve began to think that the lighting in this bus was more about making everyone’s skin look falsely pink than being reassuring. Because she was starting to think both of the lab coats were vamps. “Why don’t you take the couch on the right, dear.”
“Aren’t you supposed to do some kind of test first, or questionnaire, or . . .” Eve had Googled that part. She knew how it was supposed to go.
“We’ve got an in-seat system,” the attendant said. “No waiting.”
Michael moved up closer behind Eve, and despite everything, she couldn’t help but notice how deliciously warm he was. She pressed back against him. It wasn’t deliberate, but she just found herself touching him, and it felt so good.
He didn’t move back, either.
“Want me to go first?” he asked Eve. She turned her head and looked at him; at this extremely close distance, his blue eyes were even more stunning than usual, and for a second she couldn’t think what the answer to that question would be. Or even that there was a question. It wasn’t until the corner of his mouth quirked a little (because he knew exactly what she was thinking, dammit—she could tell) that she jerked herself out of her trance and straightened up to stop leaning on him.
“No,” she said, with as much dignity and courage as she could manage. (It wasn’t much.) “I’m okay. I mean, you only need a pint, right?” A pint seemed like what donations were supposed to be. According to Google.
“We’d of course much prefer a larger donation,” the chilly lady said, with a smile that didn’t seem like a smile at all. More like she’d studied what smiles meant.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “Can we talk to someone in charge about that? I have a cousin who works at Morganville General. Seems like they actually don’t need extra blood right now. I checked.”
That was a record-scratch moment, and Eve was caught just as off guard by it as the vamps. Could have told me that, she tried to eye-communicate to Michael; she wasn’t sure if she just looked scared, though. She felt scared, but Michael . . . looked totally calm. She didn’t want to assume she could read him that well, but she thought he was trying to silently tell her, I’ve got this.
The vampires in charge of the Bloodmobile hadn’t expected any lip from mere high school humans, she could tell; the one that had been talking to her seemed annoyed, but the other one, the leaner, Asian one, seemed more amused. “All right,” he said. “So if you know the blood’s not for the hospital, why show up? Most of you have better survival skills.”
“I’ve got excellent survival skills,” Eve said. “Want to see me run away screaming?”
“I’m not in the mood for fast food.” Wow, a vampire with a sense of humor as sharp as his teeth. She could almost appreciate that. “You’re in no danger, I promise. Yes, the blood’s being put to another use. Research.”
“Research,” Michael repeated. “Want to explain what that means exactly?”
“No.”
“Then how do Monica and her Mean Girl posse come into it?” Eve cut in. “Because they’re definitely getting a cut, right? Not of the blood, because, ew, I don’t think they swing that way.”
The female vampire walked away to flip through some paperwork. The male Asian vamp crossed his arms and gazed at her with thoughtful intensity, which made her way more nervous. “The mayor’s daughter receives a fee for each donor she secures,” he said.
“You have an entire town full of donors already,” Michael pointed out. “Why this? Why the high school?”
“The blood of children is different from that of adults. We’d rather have the donors very young, but your age group is a compromise we can accept.”