Darkness Before Dawn (2 page)

Out of habit, we check our watches and cell phones to make sure the hour and minutes are correct. Accuracy can determine life and death most nights, as we race the dark home, huddle in our rooms to await dawn. But not tonight.

Tegan’s mother knows she’s spending the night, but she expects us to stay here under Rachel’s watchful gaze.

Turning off the radio, I’m glad that Rachel’s working late at the Agency right now. She’d never approve of what Tegan and I are doing. The party is being held at a house near the wall.

“This party is going to rock,” Tegan says.

“How did you even hear about it?” I ask as I snatch my leather jacket from where I’d draped it over the couch earlier and slip it on. My favorite part is the fur-lined collar; it keeps my neck warm, makes it feel protected. My black hair is curling riotously past my shoulders. I decided not to tame it. Tonight I want to be as wild as my hair.

“Oh, you know,” she says evasively. “A friend of a friend who knows a guy…”

She knows lots of guys. They all want to know her. She’s petite, with short blond hair that frames her pixie face and makes her startling green eyes stand out.

I stop at the door. “Do they go to our school?”

“No. The one on the other side of the city. What does it matter?”

Warning bells go off in my head. “What do you know about these people?”

“They’re
vampires
,” she says sarcastically, not happy that I’m questioning things.

“That’s not funny.”

“Well, what do you think? You’ve gotten so paranoid since—”

She stops, looks embarrassed. I know what she was going to say. Since my parents were killed. “I’m not paranoid. I’m just being cautious.”

“These people are okay.” She shrugs. “I’m going. Be a chicken if you want and stay here.”

She opens the door. I can’t let her go alone. No. That’s just an excuse, a weak justification. The truth is: I want to go.

“Hold up.” I grab one of several metal stakes that sit in a ceramic vase like a hideous flower arrangement and wedge it inside my leather boot. I never leave home without one after the sun sets.

I close and lock the door behind me. She wraps her arm around mine, and we walk in sync to the elevator. “We’re going to have so much fun,” Tegan assures me.

I try to believe it. I want to believe. A final night of fun before I face my destiny.

The few precious cities left in the world are each controlled by an Old Family patriarch or a trusted member of his family. Lord Valentine is one of the oldest. He was the first to make the presence of vampires known. Although it’s been nearly fifty years since they stepped from myth into reality, the history books explain how it played out. They became overnight celebrities. From nighttime talk shows to the lowliest paparazzi, everyone wanted a piece. The number one question wasn’t how many people they’d killed or even how many vampires existed in the world. It was about fashion and traveling and how they saw humans. We had vampires in our midst and all we wanted to know was their opinions about us. We were so egocentric and oblivious, eager for entertainment. We’re not so entertained now.

I can almost understand why we were so naïve. After all, they must not have seemed that different from us: They have heartbeats, they breathe, their skin is warm. But the similarities only served to distract us from seeing the monsters hiding within—until it was too late.

Outside, Tegan and I head to the nearest trolley stop. Since the war ended, the only decent transportation in this city is the trolleys. Connected to the tracks and electrical lines above them that shoot out sparks, they carry people toward their destination. Always on time. Always efficient. Tonight it’s crowded and we have to stand. Tegan’s so close to the door that her leg sticks out and she playfully touches the ground every few minutes until the conductor yells at her to stop.

There aren’t many cars these days. People are left to walk the streets or take the trolleys, which are the lifeblood of this city. And if they’re the blood, the Works is the heart. No matter how many times I pass by it, I’m still captivated by its sprawling mass of steel pipes reaching out to the sky; only a handful of other buildings match its height. Out of the top plumes the constant blue smoke created from the processing and burning of coal, which fuels the massive generator that provides electricity. Rub your finger across any wall in the city and it comes back black. The closer you are to the Works, the more power you get and the more regular it is. The area near the wall where we’re heading puts up with daily rolling blackouts.

We head away from the center of the city. Plastering the walls along our route are the propaganda posters set up by the Agency to encourage citizens to donate blood.

A tube going from an arm into a glass mug:
HAVE YOU GIVEN YOUR PINT TODAY?

An unrealistic image of a woman giving blood while tucking her daughter into bed:
KEEP THEM FED
SO
YOUR CHILDREN CAN REST THEIR HEADS.

A veteran from the war in a wheelchair:
THEY GAVE THEIR BLOOD; NOW GIVE YOURS.

As part of the VampHu Treaty that ended the war, humans in the cities supply blood to the vampires on the outside. In return the vampires don’t attack the cities. Donating blood is voluntary; no one is
forced
to do it. At first, people were so scared of the vampires, the tragedies of war still recent memories, that they fled to the nearest donation site in the hope of keeping their new vampire masters fat and jolly. But after only a few years people are now full of excuses:
I’m too busy; I have to make dinner; I have schoolwork
. They assume others will do it for them. Our once-steady supply is beginning to slip. Every month we receive less. Which makes my new position as delegate much more challenging.

The sun dips below the horizon, turning the city from deep orange to light blue to dark purple, and finally to black. Everyone around us begins to fidget, checking watches as if in disbelief. They begin calling home, their signals bouncing off the one and only cell tower in the middle of the city.
I’m okay
, they say.
I got off late. I know. I know. I’ll be home soon
. The trolley is too slow for some, and they simply get off and make a dash for it.

That’s a dangerous game to play, but some protection is out tonight: I spy a Night Watchman slipping out of an alley. They’re easy to spot. Dressed all in black, they wear a balaclava or hood to hide their identity, and a distinctive medallion to distinguish them as an official elite guard of the city, a piece of metal so intricately designed that it’s impossible to copy. While most people scurry indoors once the sun sets, the Watchmen come out to hunt for the rogue vampires that sneak past the wall into the city.

And Michael will be a Watchman soon....

I try not to think about the dangers he’ll face. I’ve lost my parents and my brother. My brother, Brady, was only twenty when he died. I don’t know if I can survive losing someone else I care about so much. I shake off the thoughts. Tonight is about having fun.

As we travel farther out, the streets stop having names; the buildings stop having signs. After twenty more minutes of rumbling along, taking in the row houses and the homeless people staggering just outside of them, Tegan says, “This is our stop.”

We hop off while the trolley is still moving slowly, and I follow her. Bad things can happen to those who wander out here. The rebuilding efforts haven’t extended this far yet. It’s a part of town that most parents forbid their kids to visit. They think we’re too young, can’t take care of ourselves. Because it’s not a heavily populated part of the city, no guards are out here patrolling the streets. I know that makes it dangerous. But sometimes we just want to prove that we’re not afraid of the dark.

Even when we are.

Chapter 2

W
e wander through the neighborhood, searching for the right street. The cool thing about being this far from the center of the city is that in place of massive apartment towers are actual houses. Sure, they’re on shaky foundations and they’re just one storm away from being knocked over, but they’re houses nonetheless.

“Here it is,” Tegan says.

The house we’re in front of has more lights on inside than any other on the block, which isn’t saying much. Music is spilling into the street. Through the windows, I see the shadowy silhouettes of guys and girls having a great time. At the door, a large bouncer, six and a half feet tall and built like a train, holds out his hand to stop our progress. He has several crucifixes dangling from chains around his neck, despite the fact that they were proven to be ineffective against vampires long ago. I’ve even seen vampires wearing them.

“Fang check,” he says, and Tegan shoots him a wide grin. He lifts up her lip, examines her teeth, then waves her in.

“Fang check,” he says to me, and I endure the same process, his burly fingers rough against my mouth. “Have fun, ladies.”

It’s a silly ritual. Vampires can keep their fangs retracted, and when they do, they look just like us. But I guess whatever makes people feel safe…

Inside the music is deafening. Five guys and a girl are on a makeshift stage set up in the huge living room. Drums. Bass. Guitar. Synthesizer. Mic. They’ve got everything. The boys are attacking the instruments like their lives depend on it, but it’s the girl who catches my eye. She’s my age, but she has utterly mesmerizing tattoos covering one arm. She’s singing with one of the guys, but it’s her voice that comes through. It’s grungy, like she’s been smoking since she was born. Her hair is butchered, cut just above her chin.

That’s who I want to be. I want to be her. I want to be able to do anything I want, instead of what I’m forced to do. I don’t want to have to wear particular clothes or keep my hair a certain length because the Lord Vampire insists. I want to have no responsibilities. No worries.

Tegan grabs my arm and pulls me through the crowd. In the kitchen an older guy is handing out beer in small cups. It doesn’t taste very good, but still I chug it, then grab another and drink it as well. I want a buzz, anything to keep me from thinking about the dangers I’ll face tomorrow night. No one here cares that we’re only seventeen. It’s one of the reasons that Tegan chose this party. The other is that no one knows us. For someone like me, anonymity is rare.

“Where are you two from?” a guy asks us. He’s tall, with shaggy blond hair. Based on the smile Tegan is flashing at him, I can tell she thinks he’s cute, but he’s not really my type.

“Downtown,” she says, referring to the center of the city. The very safe, recently rebuilt center.

He laughs. “A couple of good girls, huh?”

“Not all good.” She winks; he grins.

“You ever been this close to the wall?”

“No, and we’re so scared,” Tegan says, holding on to me and faking a shiver.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He pulls his right pants leg up to reveal a wooden stake strapped to his calf.

Tegan looks like she’s impressed, but she’s carrying one as well. And, like me, she knows how to use it. Neither of us believes in relying on someone else for protection.

The guy looks at me, gives a little jerky nod. “Cool ink.”

“Thanks.” I know he’s referring to the crucifixes tattooed on my neck. One on each side, right where a vampire’s fangs would go. My brother had a pair as well. Not that they did him any good. I tell myself that now isn’t the time to be thinking about it. The nightmares devour my sleep; I can’t let them consume my waking moments, too.

The guy signals the one pouring the drinks to get two more.

“Some of the premium stuff,” he says, handing each of us a cup. “It might sit better with you. After all, you’re probably used to fine downtown drinks. Not that other garbage.”

We take them. Tegan, as if she has something to prove, swallows it in one gulp. “Awesome stuff. I could use another.”

“Sure thing,” he says, before stopping and staring at me, my drink still in hand, untouched. “Hey, you look familiar.”

My heart jumps, slams against my ribs. I’m going to be in big trouble if he recognizes me. My face has been plastered all over the news and newspapers lately. Luckily, it’s an official delegate photo—partial profile, hair up, makeup designed to make me look older, a blouse with a high collar covering my tattoos, and a dark jacket. “Just one of those faces, I guess.”

I think Tegan picks up on my nervousness, because she starts pushing me toward the door. “Maybe we’ll see you on the dance floor,” she says to Shaggy Guy.

She grabs my arm and drags me out of the kitchen before I even have a chance to drink the premium stuff, and I toss my still-full cup into an open trash can. Dancing is hard enough for me, but drinking while rocking to the beat—forget it.

“Don’t worry. No one is going to figure out who you are,” she whispers near my ear.

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

In the living room, she pulls me toward the dance floor, already swaying her hips, getting into the rhythm. Then she grins broadly as two guys approach. It’s just that easy for her. The little game is played, each one jockeying for position, deciding whether they want her or me.

Tegan whispers into their ears and then cuts to the chase, yelling to me over the music, “This is Chris”—she points to a guy with flaming red hair and a solar system of freckles covering his face—“and Marc.” His black hair falls across his brow, nearly hiding his eyes. “Pick one.”

Like they’re door prizes.

After downing the beer so fast, I feel as though everything is moving slowly. I don’t want to make any decisions. Tonight was supposed to be decision-free. Turns out it is. Before I can answer, Tegan takes off with Chris, and Marc grabs my hand and pulls me deeper into the crowd. Then he releases his hold and starts gyrating. I tell myself that I need this. Some fun, a little craziness. Everyone is looking for a good time, because nothing is simple anymore. Maybe it never was.

The music thumps, changes tunes, and we’re just dancing. I move my head from side to side, letting my long hair whip back and forth. I forget about my responsibilities. Forget about what awaits me tomorrow night. Forget everything except the rhythm of the beat.