Page 5 of My Vampire Plus-One

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a little winded.

“You’re welcome.” He stood up, and brushed off the front of his legs. “Now, I must be off. But do let me know if I can somehow make this up to you, later.” He winked at me. “I owe you one.”

It was an empty offer, of course. I’d never see him again. I floundered for something to say in response to such an awkward comment from a stranger.

Before I could come up with a reply, he shook his head. “Good luck with wherever it is you were headed in such a distracted rush, Amelia Collins.”

Without another word, he turned on his heels and sprinted away.

“What a weirdo,” I muttered under my breath. Not much rattled me anymore, but whatever had just happened between me and that guy…

Whatever that had been, it had rattled me.

But I didn’t have time to think about it. I had the Brown Line to catch, a family dinner to attend, and way too much work to do to waste another second thinking about that peculiar stranger and the giddy way his laughter made me feel.

TWO

Excerpt fromThe Annals of Vampyric Lore, Seventeenth Edition

“Index of Notable Vampiric Organizations,” pp. 2313–14

THE COLLECTIVE

Original accounts from vampires in the court of William the Great suggestThe Collective, as it is now colloquially known, first formed in England in the eleventh century A.D. as a social club for dilettante fledglings from powerful vampire families. WhileThe Collectivestill serves a social function for current members,The Collective’s central mission has grown dramatically over the centuries, expanding far beyond its original scope.

Today, the group is primarily focused on three things. First: celebrating their rarefied lineage (eligibility for membership remains limited to those who can directly trace their bloodlines to the original founding Eight). Second: creatingnew vampires. And third: vigilante justice for wrongs that many in the vampire community consider trifles.

While the vampiric community has historically turned a blind eye to most ofThe Collective’s antics, it has drawn more criticism in recent years. Some of its more vocal detractors have argued a group so affluent and storied ought to find better things to do with its time.

Reginald

I leaned back in Frederick’sleather armchair and reread the The Collective’s note. It was crumpled from how frequently I’d gone over it since it arrived at my home four nights ago.

I had to admit that scribbling their threat in what looked like blood but smelled like raspberry syrup was impressive. An admirable commitment to the bit—even if the bit involved wanting to kill me.

“On the one hand,” Frederick began, “I’m not surprised these people are furious.”

For what felt like the thousandth time in the past four days, I went back over the circumstances that had caused this predicament. “Even if I fucked up—”

“If?” Frederick asked, incredulous.

“Okay, fine,” I conceded. “I did fuck up.I admit that. Even so, it’s hard to understand why they’re still this angry with me. It’s been areallylong time.”

Frederick got out of his chair and began pacing his living room, hands clasped behind his back. He always did this when he was thinking. Between the two of us, Frederick had always been the more circumspect.

It was part of why he was so annoying—the man couldn’t even order dinner from the South Side blood bank without agonizing over his choices for days—and why I knew I couldn’t handle this situation without him.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “It was over a century ago. Even I didn’t hold my grudge against you for that long.” Frederick stopped pacing to admire a new painting his girlfriend had recently hung up behind the leather sofa. Although, calling it apaintingwas generous. Cassie called herself afound art artist. The framed picture Frederick was looking at had McDonald’s soda straws and a bunch of other stuff glued to the canvas.Treasures, she called them.Crapwas what it looked like to me.

But there’d be time to criticize Cassie’s so-called art later. For now, there was preserving my life to think about.

“I’d have hoped they’d have found something better to worry about over the past hundred and fifty years,” I muttered.

Frederick raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like…oh, Hades, I don’t know.” I shook my head and ran a distracted hand through my hair. “Climate change, maybe.”

Frederick shot me a skeptical look.