I open it to find the address I scrawled down for her that first day in English class. What must have happened to give Vlad the opportunity to prowl through Violet's belongings? My fingers tremble. I never should have left.
"Where are the other vampires?" I ask again, but Vlad has already sauntered over to the far wall that Marcie has transformed into a shrine of family photographs. It runs chronologically from left to right, from pudgy snowsuits to Caroline and me trying to be ironic while standing next to Minnie Mouse and failing because we both still secretly loved her.
"Where is your mother?" he asks as he examines our early years.
"The mall."
He gives a strained chuckle. "Your real mother. Because here you are with cake on your face at what I hope is an early birth celebration," he says, pointing at a red-framed photo, "and there Caroline is at hers, but you do not appear in the same photographs until . . . here." He points at the photo of all of us standing in front of this house; I was five and Caroline was six, and we had all just moved in together.
"That's none of your business," I say. The truth was that my mother left when I was two, and no matter what tricks I pulled, my father wouldn't talk about it. As I got older, I realized that someone who didn't bother to stick around to take care of her two-year-old wasn't worth the fascination. Child psychologists may call me a liar, but I honestly don't think about her much, other than to curse the genetics that turn me into a lobster after one hour in the sun while everyone else gets to look like a sexy peanut. And now I can add giving a conspiracy-theorist vampire more fuel for his theory.
"You still think that it's me," I say. "After everything Neville told you, you think that it's me because I have a stepmother and you can play connect the dots on my back."
He turns to look at me. "I have other reasons."
"Mental illness?"
His nostrils flare. "Neville's betrayal was a blow, to be sure, but perhaps they kicked him out because he is not to be trusted. And then there is my recent realization," he says, and then pauses as though waiting for a drumroll. I refuse to give it to him.
"Where are my friends?" I ask again.
"They are gone!" Vlad explodes. "They have left! I told them if I ever saw them again I would burn them all alive myself."
I don't move. He is not boasting of killing them, and knowing Vlad, he would if he could. But James wouldn't have just left without saying good-bye; he couldn't. When I continue not to say anything, Vlad throws his journal at me hard enough that it thwaps against the couch cushion. After a few moments he clears his throat and pretends that handing it to me was his intention all along.
"Please, Sophochka, turn to the marked page and read the underlined section aloud."
I pick up the journal with trembling fingers and begin to read the beginning of the section I didn't make it to the night before. "And the child of the Mervaux was mortal, immune to the vampire. There were those who thought that it-"
"You can stop," he says and then leans forward to tear it back out of my hands. "Do you see?"
"See what?"
"I cannot influence you," he says. "I always assumed that ‘immune' meant only that the child was mortal in birth, but now I see the evidence was there all along. I can sense your thoughts flickering, but I cannot grasp them."
I'm relieved that this is his big revelation. Frankly, exceptions to their powers ranks right up there with miracle babies on the list of things that vampires should stop being so surprised about.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but James taught me how to prevent you from butting in."
For a second, his triumphant expression wavers, but then he doggedly shakes his head. "No. That first night, in the woods, I tried to use my sway over you and it did not work. You wiggled when I bit you."
It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him that James hears more than enough of my thoughts, but I stop, partly because thoughts of James will make me lose my focus and partly because I make the mistake of meeting Vlad's eyes. They are steel gray and glittering with single-minded purpose. He's pursued this for almost half a decade; no matter what I say, he will twist it around to fit his theory. Even if I do manage to convince him that I'm not the one he wants, he will start his search again, and I'll be back to lurking in locker rooms trying to predict his next target. Or dead.
"Maybe it is me," I lie, "but like Neville said, you have to be one of the original nine families."
"Neville underestimates me if he thinks that I was not aware of that," Vlad snaps, and then just as suddenly, stands and walks to the bookcase. "Do you know how old I am?" he asks, slipping out one of my father's historical tomes and idly paging through it. "One hundred and eight. I grew up in-"
"Romania," I say.
"Why does everyone always assume that?" he asks, genuinely perturbed as he shoves the book back onto the shelf. "I am Russian. I have been speaking glorious Russian endearments to you." He closes his eyes and touches the bridge of his nose, what I'm coming to understand is the vampire equivalent of taking a calming breath. When he opens them, he asks, "Do you want to know why I became a vampire?"
Latent egomaniacal tendencies is my guess, but I just shake my head.
"My family had fallen, along with the czar, during the revolution. Everything, everything we were, was stripped in an instant and we were forced to throw ourselves on the mercy of relatives who we would not even have let in our door a year earlier," he sneers. "But then . . . then came this creature who offered a chance to be above all that. Power, strength, eternity, all in one bite. Little did I know that in the society of the vampires she was nothing more than a parasite. I started my eternal life even lower than my mortal one," he says, turning to face me with his eyes lit up with more pure emotion than I have ever seen him show. "But you . . . you are my way back. I have dedicated every day of the past forty-four years to restoring you to them. To restoring me. I will not give up now."
Suddenly, he is kneeling in front of me, gripping my fingers and holding on tight when I try to pull away.
"I have come to admire many things about you, Sophochka," he says. "Your unique sense of what should be worn and when. Your eccentric wit. Your relentless curiosity, and your . . ." He blinks as though he's come up blank. ". . . your pluck. Is that the right word? I do not know the contemporary phrase. Nevertheless, I would be honored if you would become my vampire wife."
For a second I can only gape, and then I am yelling, all thoughts of diplomacy disappearing in a vortex of shock.
"Are you insane?" I scream, scrambling over the back of the couch in my effort to get away from him. My leg catches on the way over, and I fall, banging my knee against the hardwood floor. The next thing I know he is beside me, extending a gentlemanly hand and chiding me for crawling around on the floor during such an important moment.
"But why?" I ask when I can finally form words again.
He does everything but roll his eyes to show his impatience. "You are Mervaux. And since you are of greater rank, once we marry I will be Mervaux as well." He pauses. "Also because of the previous attributes I mentioned. Well, what is your answer?"
"No," I say. "No. Never. Nyet."
My vehemence throws him off for a second, but not much longer. "You are being coy. You should be grateful that I came here to pull you out of obscurity. Not many at your high school even know who you are."
"I like it that way."
He chuckles until he sees that I am serious. "No one likes it that way. Come now, you must agree, or it will not be valid," he insists. "I will wait here and ask your father for your hand. Will he be long?"
The thought of Vlad having any contact with my parents, of edging any further into my world, makes my heart seize in terror. He is playing nice now, but who knows how long it will be before his patience thins. I need to get him out of my house; I need space to plan.
Doing my best not to wobble, I get to my feet. "I need time," I stall.
"Time? What would you possibly need to consider? I am offering you an eternity of prestige."
"You tried to kill me."
"I was not aware of who you were," he says as though I am being childish, but when he sees that this is not enough to make me swoon, adds, "I understand your surprise and hesitation, dorogaya, I do. I have been remiss in not courting you with more . . . delicacy. I will tell you what-I will make a few circuits around the neighborhood, and when I return you may give me your agreement."
"A month," I say, and then immediately wish that I had said a century. Or an eon. Or a googol-eon.
Vlad shakes his head. "This has taken far longer than I expected already. I had assumed that your vampire lineage would raise you above your human peers, which is why I began with your sister. Little did I know you would be a l-" He stops, reevaluating his word choice. "A diamond in the rough. No, I will give you a day to understand that I am not someone to fear."
My tenuous grip on sanity starts to crumble. A day is not enough time. I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts that it takes a moment before I register the sound of Marcie's minivan bouncing into the driveway and her shout at Caroline to come back and help her carry in all the diet soda that she made her buy. This is it. Everything's going to collide and there's no way to stop it from spiraling out of control. I look up, expecting to find him watching me with a triumphant look, but instead he's watching the door with an unadulterated terror that almost mirrors my own.