“Three hundred and eight nationally. Eighty-six actually live in the House proper. They get dorm rooms or something.”
“So these vamps live in a mansion-slash-frat house, and you get a stipend just for having pointier teeth.” She cocked her head at me. “How much cash is it, exactly?”
“Decent. Better than TA-ing.”
“Minus the free will.”
“There is that.”
Mal cleared her throat, put the can on the counter, linked her hands together, then looked over at me. I guessed I wasn’t going to like whatever confession she was about to make.
“I called the university.”
The tone of her voice made my heart sink. “Did you tell them none of this was my choice?”
Her gaze dropped to the counter. “Merit, they don’t admit vampires. They don’t have to do it legally, and they’re afraid of the lawsuits if one of you was to, you know”—she frowned, waved a hand in the air—“with the teeth and the biting. Honestly, if Helen hadn’t done it, the university would have dropped you when they found out.”
That seed of hatred unfolded, sprouted. “But I wouldn’t have told them,” I persisted. “How else would they have known? I could have rearranged my schedule, taken night classes. . . .”
Mallory shook her head, handed me, with somber expression, a folded newspaper that lay on the tabletop. It was the morning’s Trib, open to a page that bore the word “CONGRATULATIONS!” in bold Gothic letters across the top.
I popped the paper open. The banner topped off a full-page ad in the lifestyles section. A list of names, twelve columns of them, a dozen names in each column. The text read: The North American Vampire Registry congratulates the following new Initiates. May your service be fruitful and fulfilling.
I scanned the Houses: Navarre, McDonald, Cabot, Cadogan, Taylor, Lincoln, Washington, Heart, Lassiter, Grey, Murphy, Sheridan. My name was listed in the Cadogan column.
My stomach clenched.
“Some reporters called,” Mallory quietly said. “They left messages on the machine. They want to talk to you about being a vampire. A Merit vampire.”
“Reporters?” I shook my head and chucked the paper back onto the table. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe they’d do this. That they’d out me.” I scrubbed hands across my face, tried to contain the anger that was beginning to well.
“Are you okay?” Mallory asked.
I dropped my hands and looked at her, willing her to understand. “I could have pretended, made sure no one knew. All I had to do was take evening classes, which wouldn’t have been so hard. My committee would have worked with me. Goddamn it! I didn’t even get a chance to try!”
The fury rose, quick, hot, and strong. It itched beneath my skin like my body was one size too small to contain it. Like my body didn’t fit. I rolled my shoulders in irritation, the anger still swelling.
I wanted to hit something. Fight something. Bite something. I slowly turned my head, cast a covetous glance at the refrigerator.
“Jesus H., Merit.”
I flicked a glance her way. Mallory’s eyes were wide, her hands clenched at the edge of the countertop. I heard the quick, flat double-thudding of a drum, and realized it was the thump of her heartbeat.
“What?” I whispered.
She reached out a hand, but snatched it back. “Your eyes. Your irises are completely silver.”
I ran from the kitchen to the first-floor bathroom, flipped on the light, and stared at myself. She was right. The blue of my eyes had become gleaming silver, the pupils dilated to pinpricks.
Mallory squeezed into the tiny powder room behind me. “You got angry. It must happen when you get angry.”
Angry or thirsty, I silently amended, since I’d just considered drinking blood as a means of stress relief.
“Open your mouth.”
My eyes still silver, our gazes met in the mirror. I hesitated for a moment, having to work up the courage for it, knowing what I’d see when I did.
I opened my mouth, saw the fangs that had descended from my upper jaw. My eyeteeth had lengthened, the tips becoming longer, sharper. That must have happened when I’d considered raiding the refrigerator. I’m not sure what it said about who I was now that I hadn’t noticed at the time.
I murmured a worried curse.
“Those weren’t there before.”
“I know,” I bit out.
“I’m sorry, but that’s wicked fucking cool.”
I snapped my mouth shut, and pointed out through a clenched jaw, “Not so cool the first time I get the urge to make you an afternoon snack.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
Her tone was easy, wholly confident, but I had no such faith. “I hope not.”
She picked up a lock of my straight, long hair. “Your hair is darker.” She cocked her head at me. “Maybe ‘sable,’ instead of ‘chestnut.’ And your skin is paler. You have this kind of . . . undead glow.”
I stared at my reflection. She was right—darker hair, paler skin, like the stereotypical vamp.
“What else do you feel? Stronger? Better hearing? Eyesight? Any of that?”
I blinked at my reflection. “I see the same stuff, and my hearing level is the same.” I thought of the smells of the house, the richness there. “Maybe a little better sense of smell? And I’m not bombarded or anything, but when I got excited, I could kind of sense new things.” I didn’t mention the prickle in the air I’d felt around her, or the fact that the new things I could sense included the resounding thud of her heartbeat.
Mallory leaned against the doorframe. “Since my hands-on experience with the walking dead is, like, eighteen hours old, this is just a guess, but I bet there’s an easy way to take care of this silver-eyes problem.”
This should be good. “And that would be?”
“Blood.”
We put it on the island, along with a martini glass, an iced tea glass, a food thermometer, a bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup, and a jar of olives, both of us unsure how best to attack. Mallory jabbed the bag with the blunt end of a bamboo skewer. It gurgled, and the depression in one side of the medical-grade plastic slowly filled back in. She made a sound of disgust and looked at me with sympathetic eyes. “Jesus, Merit.”
I nodded and looked down at the bag of type O. It was one of the seven that had been delivered. There was one of each type—A, B, AB and O—and three extra bags of O. It was supposed to have universal appeal, I guessed.
“Liquid, liquid everywhere and not a drop to drink,” I observed.
“Ugh. English lit geek much?”
“Corporate oppressor.”