Page 195 of The Last Vampire
“For once,” I say, and we share a small grin. Then I look at the business card in my hand.
William and the vampires aren’t the only ones whose trajectories changed as a result of what happened. Now there’s a small group of humans who know for a fact that vampires exist and will be coming back. My friends and I are the only people who can give the Legion—and the world—a heads-up.
And I have evidence. Hidden on a thumb drive in my room. Even Salma doesn’t know about that.
“Why’d you take Trevor’s dad’s business card?” asks Tiffany as we walk back toward Zach.
“I don’t have any plans for next year. So I’m looking into internships.”
I want to tell her about the Legion, and that Trevor’s family’s involved, and that I think the best next step is for us to get close to that organization and learn if they’re trustworthy. Then I can decide what to do with the evidence I have to protect future generations of humanity.
But I can’t say any of that yet.
The last vampire could be listening.
NINE MONTHS LATER
The day I’ve been dreading has finally arrived.
I haven’t been able to stomach the thought of celebrating my birthday this year because it’s alsohers. For the first time in our lives, Salma and I won’t be blowing out the candles together.
I’m turning nineteen without her.
“I wore the wrong shoes for this,” my roommate complains. It’s her constant refrain since she lives in stilettos.
“You knew we were coming to the beach,” I say, kicking off my flip-flops before setting foot on the cool sand. The moon overhead is half full, and the horizon is so dark that the ocean blends with the black space.
“Hold up a sec!” she calls out, and I glance back. Tiffany looks like a flamingo in her pink dress, one knee bent in the shape of a 4.
“I got you,” says our third roommate. Zach holds her up by the elbow while she switches legs to slip off her other shoe.
“You okay?” Trevor asks me. In board shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, his curls frizzing in the briny breeze, he really looks the part of a Californian.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask. “This is just an ordinary day.”
Tiffany and Zach catch up to us, and we keep walking, until we’re far enough from the city that darkness surrounds us, the waves’ roaring drowning out all other sounds. “This is a good spot,” I say, and when Trevor reachesinto his bag, I flash to the flamethrower and that awful day in Huntington that only I remember.
He pulls out a large blanket, and the four of us each grab a corner. It flaps in the wind as we set it down, then we all sit on top of it. Fall doesn’t start for another couple of weeks, but it doesn’t feel like summer anymore. I hug my arms to my chest as I inhale the sea-soaked air.
Trevor pulls out a flask and a small bottle of rosé. He hands the wine to Tiffany, since it’s the only alcohol she likes.
“Here,” says Trevor, passing me a hoodie from his bag. “Figured you’d forget a jacket.”
I look down at my jeans and three-quarter-sleeves top. I thought I’d be warm enough, that New York had trained me better than this—but surprisingly not.
The rosé’s cap is a twist-off, and after Tiffany opens it, Trevor clinks his flask to its glass mouth. “To…Huntington,” he says, after reading the alarm in my gaze when I thought he would say my name or Salma’s.
“To Huntington,” says Tiffany, and they both drink. Then Trevor passes the flask to Zach, and Tiffany hands the wine to me.
Zach and I clink our drinks, too, then he takes the smallest, quickest sip possible. I’m going to do the same, but as soon as the fizzy liquid hits my tongue, I take a long swig.
Then I lie back and look up at the stars, thinking of when Salma and I did this as kids in Colorado. I wonder where she is right now, if she remembers what today is, or if birthdays don’t matter to her anymore.
She said she’d send me postcards, but I never got any at Huntington or at home. Maybe she didn’t think it was safe to send them to either place.
She must have tracked down her father and compelled him at some point over winter break because he called Ma and told her Salma had been spending time with him in Europe when she got sick and passed away.
Her body was transported to New York, and we held a funeral. I still wonder whose body we buried—or if there was a body there at all. Maybe Salma just compelled people into thinking there was.
