Accidental Sire(12)

Like any child, a new vampire needs boundaries. Just think of your newly turned vampire as a murderous toddler.

-The Accidental Sire: How to Raise an Unplanned Vampire

I wasn't allowed to go back to my dorm room. I wasn't allowed to leave the containment floors. I was led down yet another hallway into an enclosed parking garage. It was more than a little horrifying to watch Ben's body being loaded into the hidey-hole in the back of a Council SUV and closed in under the lid inset in the floor, like he was inconvenient luggage. They didn't wrap him in a body bag or anything, though, so I guessed I should be thankful for that.

I would miss New Dawn, a recently completed residence hall added to the far side of the UK campus, which had been built with coed, commingled living in mind. The college had been eager to be one of the first in the country to prove that all students, living and undead, could coexist in a safe, federally subsidized environment. Only three floors showed aboveground, containing the administrative offices required by the people who supervised vampires on campus. Below ground level, the floors alternated between living and undead students, then were sorted by male and female. Beyond the lack of "been lived in for decades" smell, the dorm featured a coffee bar in the lobby, super-fast Internet, private soundproof study pods, and a third-floor lounge containing board games from every decade since 1850 to encourage play among the students. I loved Board Game Nights.

The black vehicle with its heavily tinted windows was driven by a friendly, recently turned brunette named Miranda Puckett, who kept up a steady stream of conversation with Jane for the long drive. Mostly funny stories about an extremely uptight vampire named Collin whom Miranda appeared to be dating. I didn't think Jane intended to ignore me, but it sounded like she and Miranda hadn't caught up in a while.

Miranda drove us through a tunnel that seemed to go on for miles, until we finally emerged into the inky dark of Kentucky in October. Just before Ophelia had been "urged away" by the goon squad, she'd pulled me aside and told me that no matter how stupid or complicated things seemed at Jane's, I needed to make my placement there work. I wasn't sure what she meant by that, but since she didn't follow it up with some sort of hyperbolic threat, I knew she was serious.

"Otherwise, you could end up staying in one of the Council's holding cells," she'd said. "You do not want to end up in one of the Council's holding cells."


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With that piece of helpful advice echoing in my head, I leaned back against the headrest and stared out the window. The trees slipped past, melting into one giant dark shape. Headlights from other cars zoomed by. I blinked as headlights and the stuttering white of the center line became one long, syncopated pattern, flash dark flash dark flash dark.

All of the stress and worry of the last few hours seemed to drain out of me. I relaxed against the seat, from my toes to the top of my head. My eyes strained to keep up with the moving shapes in the distance.

Dark shapes. Dark shapes moving in front of my eyelids. I am lying in a small, dark box, with the hum of an engine nearby. I can't move, but that doesn't seem wrong. I'm not scared. Just tired. A familiar voice. I can hear someone talking and laughing, but that voice is muffled. It is nice, though, to hear something I recognize nearby as I bump along through black emptiness.

And suddenly, cold hands were shaking my shoulders. Screaming, I swung my fist and felt my knuckles collide with a cool, soft surface.

"Ow!"

My vision shifted into focus, and I was back in Miranda's car. Jane was hovering over me, one hand shaking my shoulder and the other cradling her nose.

"You punched me. In my face." She groaned, backing out through the car door. "In terms of trying to get into my good graces, that's an interesting strategy."

"I'm so sorry!" I cried.

"Sadly, this isn't the first time I've been punched in the face," she said, yanking her nose to the left with a crack, setting the cartilage. She shuddered. "It is the first time I've been punched by an unconscious person, which is more humiliating than I thought it would be."

"I wasn't unconscious," I told her. "I wasn't asleep. That was some sort of weird road hypnosis, like a creepy daydream I couldn't escape. I've never done that before. Also, I don't usually punch people in the face."

"Are you someone who is easily hypnotized?" she asked, eyebrow arched. "Because I've run into that before, and no good comes of it. Only crying werewolf brides and visits to Precious Moments hell."