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  After a momentary pause to process this question, Molly’s excited shout had followed. Now she was glancing back and forth between Rhes and Sarah, looking happy but unsure, as if she doubted the reality of what they were saying.

  “You’re serious, right?” she asked.

  “Very serious,” Rhes said.

  “Absolutely,” Sarah agreed.

  “So, like, I’d be your real daughter and I can call you Mom and Dad and everything?”

  Sarah nodded. “If that’s what you want, Molly. We’d love to be Mom and Dad.”

  “It is! Totally! Oh, this is so … cool …” Molly’s voice wavered. Sarah took her hand just as the girl burst into tears. Molly stood and Sarah stood with her, embracing her. Molly wrapped her arms around Sarah, crying into her shoulder.

  “You OK, kiddo?” Rhes asked.

  “She’s all right,” Sarah said. She felt Molly nod against her, still crying. “I think she’s just a little overwhelmed.”

  They both knew Molly’s story; she had been shuffled from foster home to foster home for most of her life, and had never been lucky enough before now to find a caring set of guardians. Instead she had found apathy and neglect, which had allowed her to come into contact with drugs, sex, and violence. Molly had been eleven years old, living in a Queens housing project and already smoking crack cocaine, when a friend had first introduced her to heroin. Within six months she had run away from home in pursuit of money to afford the drug. Life at Darren’s had followed, a waking nightmare from which there had seemed no escape.

  Then Two had brought her salvation. Molly’s body still ached for the drug sometimes, but as badly as she wanted it, there was something she wanted more, something that kept her from turning back to that life, something that she had spent her entire young life searching for without ever knowing it.

  “All I want is a mom and dad,” she cried into Sarah’s shoulder.

  Sarah hugged her and said, “I know, sweetheart. We’re here. We love you.”

  Rhes stood up, crossed the room, and put a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “We can’t wait for you to be our daughter.”

  Molly sobbed, her hands wrapped tight into the fabric of Sarah’s sweater. Rhes and Sarah waited, letting her cry, until she had at last regained some control. She loosened her grip on Sarah and stood back, sniffling and rubbing her hands against her eyes.

  “Sorry,” she said finally.

  Rhes laughed. “Nothing to be sorry about. Couldn’t have asked for a more enthusiastic reception.”

  “I can’t wait to tell my friends! Do I get to change my name and stuff?” New York State had assigned her a last name, Smith, and Molly hated it.

  “Of course,” Sarah said. “You can be Molly Thompson. Or maybe Molly Taylor-Thompson, if we go that route.”

  “Or you can pick a random last name and we can all change to that,” Rhes said. “I’ve always liked Santiago, myself. Listen to the majesty: Rhes Santiago!”

  He rolled his “R,” and Molly and Sarah laughed.

  “I think Thompson will do,” Sarah said. “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, and their daughter Molly Thompson. Sounds good to me.”

  “Me, too!” said Molly.

  “Motion passed,” said Rhes. “Let’s celebrate this historic decision by finishing dinner. There’s ice cream in the freezer and I’ve been waiting all day to break it out.”

  Chapter 12

  The American council

  “God, I’m bad at this shit,” Two said, pulling at her skirt to adjust the position of the waistband. It seemed like no matter what she did, the fabric didn’t want to hang on her hips in a way that she approved of. Behind her, Stephen laughed.

  “Those panties are lovely, but you might want to pull the skirt up in the back,” he said.

  Two growled and hiked the skirt back up an inch. “Am I still exposed?”

  “No, that will do.” Stephen’s lips were set in a subtle, sarcastic grin.

  Naomi laughed. “Honestly, Two, you’d think we were putting you through some kind of torture. Have you never worn a skirt before?”

  “I’m … more of a jeans person.”

  “Well, you look wonderful. You needn’t worry.”

  Two shrugged. “I’m not worried, just annoyed.”

  She understood the necessity for the professional attire. This was, after all, a meeting of the most powerful vampires in the United States. It wasn’t even that the skirt was uncomfortable – it was, in fact, so soft and smooth that she almost understood why it had cost hundreds of dollars – but rather that she was unable to make herself look the way she wanted. This skirt, like virtually every other piece of clothing in existence, would sit better on Naomi’s curvy hips and emphasize her longer legs. Next to the vampire, Two felt like she looked short, dumpy, and unattractive no matter how she dressed.

  Naomi was wearing a long black gown that hugged her body and complemented her figure very well. She also had on a pair of black gloves that stretched nearly to her shoulders, and her honey-colored hair was pulled up into a bun. Emeralds sparkled at her ears and around her neck. She smelled of exotic flowers and was wearing makeup that accented her cheekbones and eyes.

  Stephen was dressed in a manner that, Two thought, was consciously set just a bit below the obviously formal standards of the council. He was wearing dark khaki pants and a cream-colored button-down shirt, loose at the collar, its sleeves rolled up. His reddish-brown hair was pulled into its customary ponytail. Still, Two noted, he had put on an obviously expensive pair of leather shoes, and a Louis Vuitton wristwatch that she doubted was fake.

  Two’s outfit was assembled from the best of the items that she had purchased at the boutique a few weeks before. Her long black skirt, made up of multiple, shifting, translucent layers, was complemented by a green silk blouse that matched her eyes. Naomi had helped her pick out jewelry that worked well with the outfit, and had applied Two’s makeup while chatting gaily about events of the week. For a brief moment, Two had been reminded of her first meeting with Melissa. Would this friendship turn out like that one had, in the end?

  These were phantom worries, Two thought. Naomi was in full possession of her body, was not threatened by anybody, and was a member in good standing of the American council. There was no Abraham lurking in the darkness, no madness or death around the corner. There was only the council, and the fear that they might deny her request. If that happened, Two was truly unsure of what she would do next. She hoped it would not be necessary to find out.

  They had spent the better part of the past week in relative peace, sleeping during the day and spending their nights keeping a low profile. For the most part, this had meant staying in the apartment, chatting quietly or reading while Stephen watched sports or went out for his fights. A few times, Two had accompanied Naomi to the club across the street.

  On most nights, Two felt that calming, pulsing warmth whenever she was near Naomi. She suspected that there was a meaning behind this sensation but was not yet sure how she felt about it. Probably, she thought, she should be concerned, but there was so much to worry about already. Two didn’t want to push Naomi away or make the vampire uncomfortable by asking about it, not while she was learning so much.

  Naomi enjoyed teaching what she had learned of vampire history, and in Two she found a willing pupil. She explained that the first strain of vampires, the Eresh, had by all indications arisen around 3100 BC in Mesopotamia. Eresh-Kigal, the Mesopotamian goddess of death and consort to the lord of the underworld, was thought to be the first true vampire, though how this came to be was unknown.

  The second strain arose when a woman named Ashayt, sometimes referred to in older vampire writings as The Girl from the Desert, was infected by an Eresh vampire in ancient Egypt. The blood had mutated within her, altering the effects of vampirism. Of the four source vampires, the Vamper Ovras, Ashayt was the last to have been seen alive. She had disappeared more than six hundred years ago, however, and was presumed to have gone at last to her
death.

  “Given the depression that most Ashayt vampires are prone to,” Naomi had said, “I find it unlikely that she yet lives. So many years alone … surely she would have had some sort of contact with the councils, if she were still alive.”

  Ay’Araf, the third Vamper Ovras, was a poet and a priest whose work had been revered in Persia for its complexity and beauty. How his progeny had come to be warriors no one was quite sure, but the strain seemed to reward those who sought conflict and confrontation. Ay’Araf vampires were, like Ashayt vampires, dissimilar in many ways from the Eresh. What exactly had become of the Ovras himself was a matter of some debate, though it was generally agreed upon that he had been dead for many centuries.

  The final group of vampires, by far the most common, was the Burilgi. Their origins were lost to history, but it was believed that the strain had originated in the lower Russian lands near the Mongolian border. It was also suspected that Burilgi vampires were really nothing more than a bastardized strain of the Ay’Araf, created over a period of centuries by young, weak vampires making younger, weaker fledglings. The Burilgi had lost most of the gifts of vampirism, and were left predominantly with the less enjoyable aspects of the blood.

  Sunlight would kill them outright in a matter of minutes. Their victims were most often paralyzed not by lust or love, but by an overwhelming terror that locked their limbs and kept them from fleeing. Their blood was not strong enough to fight off high-level toxins, and they could be killed by venomous bites or by poison. Contact with silver, ash wood, fire and the chemical alliin, most commonly found in garlic, would burn them. Many Burilgi were severely altered physically and could not pass for human, and insanity ran rampant among their ranks.

  “They live like vermin,” Stephen had said. “They hide in sewers and abandoned buildings, drinking the blood of animals and the homeless and anyone else who stumbles upon them. There are few among them that haven’t been driven mad by the change. In those cases, one only feels sorrow that these good people were not gifted with the blood of another strain. Burilgi blood is a curse, not a blessing. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.”

  During the dark ages, an increase in the number of Burilgi vampires had led to many of the myths that still informed modern vampire lore. The European council had been established, in the years after the fall of Rome, as a direct response to the increased scrutiny and danger that vampires had come to face. The council, following codes supposedly laid down by Eresh-Kigal herself, had established a body of laws by which all vampires were held accountable. These rules – the Code of Eresh-Kigal – had been altered and added to over the centuries, but were still in effect.

  “The American council is both an extension of the European council and a separate entity,” Naomi had explained. “We are born of the same laws, but typically govern ourselves and rarely defer to the European council. Abraham made sure of that.”

  “What about vampires on the other continents?” Two had asked.

  “South America has its own council. I have met with them on occasion in the past two centuries. They, like us, operate independently but will sometimes contact the European council for help in interpreting the codes. The vampires in Africa, Asia, and Australia have remained largely untouched by our rules and laws. Most Japanese vampires, for example, will murder a vampire from another clan on sight.”

  “Couldn’t I hypothetically go to one of those places and find someone willing to make me a vampire?” Two had asked.

  “You would have to be prepared to never again leave those countries,” Naomi had told her. “If the American council rules against you, you will be an outcast for breaking the laws under which you were originally bound. Theroen was a part of those rules, even if he didn’t know it, and returning to council-dominated lands as a rogue vampire would earn punishment … perhaps death.”

  “In other words,” Stephen had said, “if there’s any real chance of you finding what it is that you really want, you’re already in the best place to do it.”

  Left with little option but to accept this as fact, Two had spent her time waiting, trying not to dwell on things that might or might not be, until her time with the council arrived. At last that time was upon her, and she would stand before them and be judged.

  * * *

  The American council of vampires met in a building that had been a cathedral, before the Roman Catholic Church had been forced by financial need to sell the property. Abraham and the other senior members of the council had bought the building through intermediaries and renovated it, and it now held offices for many of the council members in addition to a central meeting area.

  Two wondered if it was appropriate to find humor in the irony that such traditional creatures of the night were meeting in this place. She supposed it made sense, in a way. Even those in the mortal world who followed the mythology would be unlikely to guess that the most powerful vampires in the country met monthly under stained glass portraits of Jesus and the Apostles.

  Naomi had arranged travel with a car service, and they pulled up in front of the cathedral at quarter to ten in the evening. Standing in front of the building were a man and a woman, both vampires. The man was wearing a dark red suit that, Two thought, would have looked ridiculous on nearly anyone else. With his dark complexion and long black hair, coupled with a general aura of calm confidence, the man had the air of Mephistopheles: charming and debonair and deadly.

  The woman was tall, nearly six feet, and also had dark hair. Her skin was very pale, even for a vampire, and her eyes were a light and watery shade of blue. She was dressed in a gown patterned in black and red that matched the man’s suit. The red-suited man stepped forward with a wide smile.

  “Stephen, vate se posir!” the vampire said, extending his hand. Stephen grabbed it without hesitation and shook it, grinning.

  “Far too long, Jakob,” he said. “I trust those Burilgi last week weren’t too much for you?”

  Jakob laughed. “Hardly enough exercise to work up an appetite.”

  “I’ve no doubt.” Stephen turned slightly and addressed the woman standing behind Jakob. “Sasha, you look lovely.”

  The woman nodded and, in an accent that Two thought was eastern European, or perhaps Russian, said, “Thank you. Perhaps one day someone will teach you how to dress, and I shall return the compliment.”

  Stephen laughed, stepping backward and to the side, allowing Naomi to move to the front. Jakob took her hand and kissed it. Sasha gave her a brief embrace.

  “You both look stunning as always,” Naomi said. Jakob and Sasha thanked her, complimented her outfit, and looked at Two, who tried to return their glances without showing any discomfort or concern.

  “Introductions?” Jakob asked after a moment.

  “This is Two,” Naomi said. “Two, this is Jakob and Sasha. They are Ay’Araf warriors and members of the council. Sasha is Jakob’s fledgling.”

  “Pleased to meet you both,” Two told them, shaking their hands.

  “The pleasure is ours,” Jakob said. “We’ve been eagerly waiting to meet Naomi’s human.”

  “She’s Theroen’s human,” Naomi corrected. “Though I suspect she belonged no more to him than Sasha belongs to you.”

  “Theroen was never interested in owning anyone,” Two said.

  “Not much like his father, was he?” Jakob asked.

  “No, not at all.”

  “That is for the best.”

  “It was until the end,” Two said, glancing up at the dark sky and thinking of her days at the mansion. “At the end, he could have used a bit more of Abraham in him.”

  “Oh?” Jakob asked. “And why is that?”

  Two returned from her reverie and looked into his eyes. “Because then he’d be standing here with me right now, and that murdering piece of shit would still be just as dead.”

  Jakob tilted his head, glanced at Naomi, and said, “I believe this will be a very interesting evening.”

  “Of that I’ve no doubt,
” Naomi said.

  “Shall we?” Stephen asked and, opening the door for them, he beckoned them inside.

  * * *

  The American council consisted of nineteen vampires. Of these, the majority were Ay’Araf. There were two Eresh, two Burilgi, and three Ashayt vampires. There should have been four of the latter, Naomi explained, but she had not yet selected an apprentice.

  Two felt like an intruder and, beyond that, like an animal in a zoo. While most of the council members were careful not to gape, Two could still feel their eyes examining her. She could feel smoldering disapproval from some, and thought it likely that she was the first human ever brought through these doors during a full meeting.

  Only Stephen and Naomi seemed unconcerned with her presence. During the period of general mingling that preceded the actual meeting, Stephen wandered with Two, spending most of his time on the sidelines, murmuring explanations to her.

  “These meetings are usually brief,” he said. They stood at one end of the room, which had once been the rear of the cathedral. The altar at the other end had been converted to a podium and, down below, where once there had been pews, there was now a loose gathering of overstuffed leather chairs.

  “I think this one might run a little longer than normal,” Two said.

  Stephen nodded. Two glanced around at the group and her gaze fell on two men who seemed different from the others. She realized after a moment that this was because they were, while not ugly, not beautiful either. The other vampires all seemed to be amazing physical specimens, perfectly shaped and without blemishes. These two looked much more like average human beings.

  “Those are the Burilgi, aren’t they?” Two whispered, making a small gesture toward the men.

  “Yes. Good eye.”

  “They look normal.”