Page 7 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“That’s why this is worse!” Margaux throws her arms in the air. “You had a reason to do that. I still don’t knowwhyyou’re here, and if you’re being so elusive, I know it’s a terrible reason.”
This is the problem with Margaux’s presence. She knows me too well, but I’ve never dug a hole this deep.
The one thing I’m certain of is my reason for being here. I don’t care if Margaux agrees with me. Avenging Poppy is worth it, and getting answers means saving lives.
I continue to evade the question.
“Did you”—I lean in closer, lowering my voice—“drink the blood at breakfast?”
“No.” Her nose curls. “I like it fresh from the source. Some will disagree, but I am of the superior opinion that bottled is only for emergencies.”
“Fresh from the…?”
My stomach flips. I regret gobbling up my breakfast so quickly.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” she says.
Margaux is the one leading the way now, waltzing through the hallways as if she owns the school.
“I have willing sources,” she says. “There’s a waiting list of people hoping to feel my lips at their neck, but—currently, I’m seeing a mermaid.”
Normally, this is the type of information I would latch onto. My friend is dating someone, and I had no clue. I fight the urge to question her—in detail—longing to know more of the secrets she’s kept in our time apart.
I let the questions die on my tongue.
“Seafood. That’s fun,” I say instead. “It’s good that you aren’tallbloodthirsty.”
She narrows her eyes. “If you had given me a chance to explain myself, you would have known that from the start. You don’t know anything about me, or any other vampire, because you never bothered to ask.”
“You had years to explain yourself,” I say. “A good, what… twenty years? You wasted it. That’s not on me.”
“Let me ask you this: how does one tell their childhood best friend they’re a vampire? How would you have reacted? Actually, how would yourmotherreact? You know, the one who wears multiple cross necklaces every time she leaves the house? I’m guessing you haven’t told her.”
It’s a valid question, but I don’t want to hear it. I hardly had time to process Margaux’s secret before our friend passed, and now… everything has changed. Even though she’s close enough to share air, we’re worlds away.
“You could have told me,” I say. “You know I wouldn’t have told my parents. When do I tell them anything?”
“I know that, but…”
“I still don’t understand how you were a vampire as a child.” I’ll admit, it’s an attempt at drawing information from her. Margaux may not be a good friend to me, but she can be a valuable source of information. “Unless you were recently turned?” I’ve already ruled out that possibility.
I wait eagerly for her answer. The more I know about vampires, the better.
“I’m a dhampir,” she says, looking away. “I’ve never been a human. I’m a vampire born from a lineage of vampires.”
“So… a baby vampire?”
“No!” she snaps. “Adhampir. Being a part of a lineage strengthens us in some ways. I’m less susceptible to the sun’s rays, I blend in better with humans, and—oh, why am I telling you any of this? You’re just going to use it to get yourself in trouble.”
“I don’t know,” I say, “and you’re probably right.”
I truly don’t understand her. How does she go from keeping secrets for so long to spilling everything?
“You’ve always been easy to talk to.” Her features soften.
From the words to the look on her face, everything in me wants to melt for her in return.
I strengthen my resolve instead.
