Blood-Kissed Sky (Darkness Before Dawn) Page 18

  Tegan’s face is buried against Michael’s chest. He’s holding her tightly, and I wish I had Victor to hold me, wish he was here to share these horrors with me. Even though I’m standing beside Ian, with my friends at my side, I feel alone. There will always be so much that I can’t share with Victor. Even if he was onboard the train, he couldn’t be up here in the sunlight.

  I wonder if he knows about these atrocious conditions. Surely Richard told him.

  As discontented as people are in Denver, we’ve got it pretty good. What I don’t understand is how this could have happened.

  A metal gate opens, rolling to the side and allowing the train to rush through, before quickly closing. Once again, the wall towers over us and lasts for several lengths of the train. But when we leave the chasm, my mouth drops open.

  The Inner Ring is like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s like the war never happened. It’s beautiful. The streets are paved and clean, cars run through them, pedestrians carry shopping bags. Everyone is tall and gorgeous and perfect. The sun itself seems brighter.

  “How is this possible?” I ask.

  Ian looks across the city. “Money. Privilege. Civilians on the outside willing to work for crumbs of bread.”

  At an intersection, a guy in a suit chatting on his cell phone is almost run over by a car. A trio of high-school girls smack their gum and text and look at their new manicures. A white convertible pulls up to them, two boys in it, their hair slicked back, shades on. The girls hop in and they ride off.

  I notice a group of twenty people standing off to the side, one of them holding a gigantic camera.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “This is the only place in the world that still films movies,” Ian says. “They aren’t distributed, not yet, though that’s always been their plan. It’s Hollywood—I guess they just can’t do anything else, you know? It’s in the blood of the city.”

  The white car stops and begins reversing. The girls get out, stand in their places again, and go through the same motions that they did a few minutes earlier.

  “We probably blew their shot,” Ian says, a bit of hidden laughter in his voice.

  I don’t get what he’s talking about, but I don’t understand how they can appear so carefree when so much darkness exists in the world. It’s like they’re so lost in make-believe that they’ve forgotten what reality is.

  “I’m not sure I’m returning to Denver,” Tegan whispers beside me. “Have you ever seen anything so sparkly and clean?”

  “I don’t like it,” Michael mutters. “Something about it is … wrong.”

  I agree. It’s not right that it’s so beautiful here and so ugly on the other side of the wall.

  The train eventually comes to a stop inside a gigantic building, complete with glass ceiling and marble floors. It’s a train station, one that I imagine gets plenty of scenes filmed inside.

  We get our bags and disembark.

  I could spend all day at the terminal, looking at the polished floors and stonework stairs, the ancient gargoyles nestled into the corner of the high ceilings. It’s stereotypical Gothic in its ornateness, so much so that it seems fake. Like the architects designed the place to be nothing but a set piece. It’s functional only as far as a train can pull through it. Looking around, I can see that winding staircases lead to dead-end walls, and that columns stand tall, only to hold up nothing.

  Tegan, Michael, Ian, and I begin walking up the stairs into the sunlight. I suppose Faith and Richard will have to wait until dark to disembark.

  Once we leave the station I immediately see the building that Ian told us last night would be our first destination. The Agency, much like the one in Denver, is housed in a tall, glass, reflective building at the heart of the city. But to get there, we have to deal with the people. And the traffic.

  “Look at all the cars,” Tegan says in awe. “How did they end up with everything here, while we ended up with nothing?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. I can’t imagine that there are any rolling blackouts here. If I hadn’t seen the ugliness that existed between the two walls, I might consider never leaving this place.

  Of course, the people aren’t exactly inviting. They may be gorgeous, but they’re rude, seeming to only care about themselves. Talking on their phones, they expect me to get out of their way because the business they’re discussing is too important. When one particularly obnoxious man shoulders me, Michael stops him.

  “Hey!” the guy yells.

  Michael grabs the man’s wrist, twists it, and pulls the phone free before launching it into the street, where fast-moving cars smash it.

  “Watch where you’re going next time,” Michael says, before shoving the man away.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “It’s my job,” he says, all business.

  Ian looks at him. “Normally I’d get onto you for lacking tact. But here, I can forgive you.”

  After that, Ian takes the front and acts like a wedge, diverting people around us, while Michael stays close by. But eventually, the congestion gets too thick and Ian decides it’s time for a cab.

  He hails one, a strange ritual in which he holds up his hand until one stops for him. He pops the trunk, and we place our bags inside before climbing into the vehicle. Ian pays the driver to chauffeur us around. We don’t have enough working cars—or gasoline—in Denver to allow for this sort of luxury.

  The driver takes us to the Agency. Ian instructs him to wait for us. Saves us the trouble of having to cart our bags around with us. We jaunt up the steps, but are stopped at the entrance by several armed guards. They seem like they’re playing a part. Their body armor and weapons are cliché. It’s just what I’d expect from a props department for one of the terrible television shows they put on in Denver.

  Ian gives them the proper paperwork, and they call in. Everything checks out and we’re waved through.

  “Some advice,” Ian says. “Everyone here has a huge ego. They’re idiots, but they’re very powerful. A dangerous combination. Whatever it takes to please them, do it. You were a delegate, so act like this is just another Old Family vamp you have to make happy. Use him to get what you need, but rely on yourself as your ultimate resource.”

  At the very top of the building, we exit the elevator. Ian tells a receptionist that we’re here to see the director. She presses a small intercom button.

  “Mr. Matheson, Ian Hightower is here to see you.”

  “Oh goodness me,” the gruff voice comes back. “Send him in right away. Yes, yes, indeed. Right away.”

  “He has several guests…”

  “Send them all in!”

  She clicks off and points to a heavy hardwood door.

  Ian doesn’t seem excited when he opens it, and he looks ready to leave this place before he’s even stepped foot inside.

  “Ian, my good boy, how are you?”

  Mr. Matheson, the Agency director, stands up from behind his desk. He’s one of the oddest characters I’ve seen so far. With a large mustache waxed at the ends, a monocle, and coat with tails, all he needs is a top hat and cane to finish the picture of an ancient aristocrat from one of my history books.

  “I’m well,” Ian says, shaking the man’s hand.

  Matheson’s elaborate office is the opposite of Clive’s. Instead of the rustic wooden furniture that was probably dug out of junkyards and revarnished, Matheson’s place looks like it was built brand-new yesterday. Once again, it reminds me of a stage set, and he appears to be just an actor in a movie waiting to be produced. It’s as if all their history came from the films in their great vaults, and they think this is how life should be lived.

  “And the Night Train? How fares it?”

  “We were attacked by rogue vampires.”

  “Really? My, my, what trouble that is. And who has accompanied you today into my fine city? Hello, little ones. I’m James Matheson, director of the Agency and the mayor of this wonderful metropolis.”

  The n
ews of the attack doesn’t seem to faze him in the least, and I’m wondering if this guy is for real, or if he’s fake like everything else I’ve seen so far. Either way, I hand over the letter from Clive. He barely gives it a passing glance before saying, “Dawn Montgomery? Denver’s delegate?”

  “Yes, sir.” I guess Clive thought a little fudging of the truth was in order, or maybe he’s reinstated me for the mission.

  “Terrible news about your parents. I’m so sorry, my dear.”

  “Thank you.” I say it automatically now; I’ve heard everyone’s sympathy too much to say anything else.

  “I’ve heard Valentine is a tough customer; I do hope he’s treating you well. I’m afraid to say that we have it lucky here. Old man Carrollton is merely a nuisance and little else.”

  “He’s had a change of heart recently,” I say. Apparently word of Valentine’s demise hasn’t filtered to the Agency here. Understandable. The vampires have done what they can to limit communication between the isolated cities. “Actually, his son has taken control.”

  “An ascension? Those are usually so violent and create turmoil within the vampire community. Have things gotten ugly in Denver?”

  “They have, but not because of Victor. Are you familiar with a vampire named Sin?”

  He looks taken aback. “What an unusual name. I wager that he’s a troublemaker.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. He’s a Day Walker with an agenda.”

  “Oh no,” he says, chuckling. “Not you, too. Their existence is a myth.”

  “Believe me, we wish that were true. Sin is trying to take over Denver. We thought you might know something about him because he says he came from here. Do you have any information that might help us defeat him?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard of the fellow. And I’ve certainly never seen a vampire walk in the sun.” He twists the end of his mustache. “Although I suppose I wouldn’t. We don’t allow vampires into our city.”

  It makes sense that if Sin had been here, he wouldn’t have shown his hand. He’d save his unveiling for Denver so it would take us by surprise.

  “Then maybe you have information on another problem we’re facing: the Thirst.”

  “Ah, yes, the vampire plague. Trust me, its dangers are vastly exaggerated.”

  “Not based on what we’ve seen.”

  “Well, then, perhaps you simply need to understand it as we do.” He presses the intercom button on his desk. “Julie, please send in Simon.”

  “Yes, Mr. Matheson.”

  He looks back at me. “Simon is our resident scientist. He’s been studying this Thirst for some time now.”

  He stands up and walks over to the window. “Please, join me while we wait. Take a look at our wonderful, walled sanctuary.”

  I stand next to him and see little wonderful about it. If this epicenter were all I’d seen, maybe. But the Outer Ring is so rancid, how could anyone describe it as wonderful? And as much as I’d like to say exactly that, I have to put on my delegate hat.

  “When we came in, I noticed the Outer Ring wasn’t up to the standards I see down below. It seems a shame that so many must live on so little.”

  “It was their choice. We expect certain behavior here. Those who fail to comply—” He shakes his head. “Consider them the rabble-rousers, the disobedient, the refuse of society. They brought their suffering upon themselves, Miss Montgomery. Life is about choices and they chose … poorly.”

  They’ve managed to escape the control of vampires, but I’m not sure they’ve managed to create a Utopia. Denver, somehow, seems better. From up here, the walls are in a clearer perspective and I can see their tops. They stretch to such an amazing width, they could build another city across them.

  “It took twenty years to erect those,” he says. “That was the benefit of surrendering so early in the war. While the rest of the country was fighting a losing battle, we did the smart thing. We signed an unofficial treaty with the Carrolltons. We started building the wall as a ‘defense against the occasional unruly vampire,’ as we described it. Really, we were preparing for the inevitable. But Lord Carrollton was so busy with the war and fighting everyone else, he didn’t notice until it was too late. The wall, which started a few feet high, grew until it was larger than the city itself. Now look at us. We’re free to live our lives without fear. No one else in the country can do that. All their bravery and all their optimism bought them nothing in the end.”

  “I didn’t realize cowardice was a virtue,” Ian says.

  I see a flash of anger in Matheson’s eyes. It quickly disappears, swallowed back inside, which somehow makes it even more frightening. Like it was never meant to surface in the first place.

  “You have become a soldier without a war, Mr. Hightower,” Matheson says, not even bothering to look at Ian, to give him the courtesy of eye contact. “But we were realistic. The fight couldn’t be won. You can talk about cowardice, but my citizens still have their children. In other cities, such as Denver, for example, how many people talk about losing their sons and daughters in the war? How many of them are broken? Look them in the eyes and tell them that their child died for a noble cause, and then have them look at the world they’re living in. They died for nothing.”

  The door to the office opens and someone who is no doubt Simon steps in, tearing us away from a conversation that was only going to serve up hard feelings. He’s wearing a lab coat with a pocket protector and pens, thick black-rimmed glasses, and his hair is in desperate need of combing.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asks, his voice noticeably wheezy.

  “Yes, Simon. Miss Montgomery has been asking about the Thirst. And since you are the expert, I decided you could help clear things up for her.”

  “Of course,” he says. “Come with me.”

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Montgomery. I do hope you enjoy your stay and I’m sure we’ll cross paths again.”

  I do little more than give him a nod. I have a feeling that he’s dismissing me and my concerns. Fine. I can discover what I need to know without this bloated jester.

  Simon takes us to the elevator. We ride down for so long that we must be underground by the time it stops. When it opens, we enter a completely white room with doors branching off, and test tubes and equipment occupying clean, black slab tables.

  Simon immediately removes his coat, revealing surprisingly ripped biceps; takes off his glasses; and quickly slicks his hair back. When he turns toward us, he looks nothing like he did. He looks, well, good. Hot, even.

  Tegan blinks her eyes as though she’s not sure what she’s looking at now. “Why would you choose to look so … so—”

  “Different? Sorry about that,” he says, his voice deep and minus the annoying wheeze. “It’s all about image here, you know? The closer you are to the center, especially. I applied for this job two years ago and they didn’t accept me. I came in looking like a dork and I was immediately hired; they didn’t even look at my résumé.”

  “You have to meet their expectations,” Ian says.

  “Precisely. We’re all movie clichés. Our historical books and documents didn’t make it out of the war, but our massive film archives did, and they’ve served as a crude blueprint. Anyway, we’re going this way.”

  Walking through several doors I see more equipment and have the sneaking suspicion that, like Simon’s glasses, it’s all fake or at least nonfunctional.

  At a strikingly polished metal door, Simon holds up a key card and rubs it against the electronic pad. The light turns green and the door opens.

  The room is like all the others: testing equipment, computer monitors, clean and neat surfaces, the smell of sanitizers. But against the wall is a cell containing a monster. I have no doubt that this vampire is one of the Infected. Just like Brady. Just like the ones on the train. And the only thing separating him from us is very thick, clear glass.

  Tegan releases a tiny screech, and I realize she has never had a chance
to really see an Infected up close. She digs her fingers into Michael’s arm.

  “Don’t worry, the prison is completely impenetrable,” Simon says. “Even an Infected vampire doesn’t have the strength to break through.”

  I take a step closer—

  “Dawn, don’t—”

  “I’m fine, Tegan.” I can sense that Michael is conflicted. He probably wants a close-up look as well, wants to do his job and guard me, but he can’t leave Tegan when she’s so obviously frightened. “Michael, stay with her.”

  I see the relief in his eyes that I’ve taken charge here, that I’ve given an order. Ian is beside me, his hand wrapped around a holstered stake.

  “The pitch-black eyes,” Simon says with a measure of admiration in his voice, like someone commenting on a beautiful butterfly instead of a hideous creature. “The engorged jaw and teeth. The long, tough nails. All clear signs of the Thirst. They go from dangerous as vampires, to absolutely deadly when the Thirst kicks in. It’s like they become designed to kill and do nothing else.”

  “Tell me everything you know,” I say, staring at the creature, who surveys the group before focusing his attention solely on me. A chill shivers down my spine. Goose bumps rise on my flesh. If I didn’t know better, I would think he knew who I was.

  Simon walks very close to the cell, but is completely comfortable, having observed this creature for a long time. He tells us that the Thirst is activated after a vampire drinks too much vampire blood within too short a time span. As far as he knows, different vampires have different tolerances.

  “For some it takes only once, for others it takes once a week over an entire year. It’s a lot like an infection in humans. Some just have stronger immune systems than others.”

  “What about Old Family? How long would it take to affect them?”

  “I hadn’t even thought about that,” he says. “But it must take ages. I hate to think about an Old Family vampire infected with the Thirst. Imagine how powerful he’d become.”

  He’s lost in his own thoughts for a moment, his scientific mind maybe crunching numbers, visualizing how it would be in an advanced calculus equation. But he shakes out of it.