Page 2 of The Last Vampire
According to the school’s website, until recently this manor was condemned. For centuries, the estate had been owned by the Huntington family, and when the last member died, they bequeathed it—along with their formidable fortune—to the founding of this school.
I survey the other families clustered in front of the castle-like home, saying their goodbyes, and I meet more than a few people’s stares.
Ma’s arms wrap around me.
“Clean slate,” she says, reminding me of what we’ve been discussing all summer. When we pull apart, she holds on to my hands. “I know it hasn’t been easy being my daughter.”
A ray of light from the falling sun makes her eyes glow like gold, and I wonder if mine are just as gilded. “This is your chance to prove to me—and yourself—that you are ready to make your own way.”
Sometimes I’m not sure if she can hear how condescending she sounds. I meet Salma’s asymmetrically arched eyebrows, and I know she’s thinking the same thing.
“Okay, Ma. Love you.”
“Love you,” and as I start to walk away, she adds: “Make smart choices!”
I roll my eyes since Ma can’t see my face, but when I try to share a look with Salma, there’s a small comma between her eyebrows. And I hate that as long as Ma doesn’t forgive me for what I did, Salma won’t forgive herself.
We roll our suitcases across the cobblestones toward the manor’s open front doors, and many of the conversations around us lull as we approach.
Salma nudges me with her shoulder, and I follow the direction of her gaze. A couple of women up ahead are trading words while darting glances at Ma. Of course Viviana Navarro can’t set foot on a school campus without being recognized.
When I look behind me, a woman is already introducing herself to my mom, holding Ma’s new book in her hands, a purple hardcover titledThe Parental Pardon: We Can Forgive Our Children, But Can We Forgive Ourselves?
“… thought Huntington had cut ties with Viviana Navarro.”
I straighten when I hear Ma’s name, and I spy a platinum-blond woman speaking. “Are we sure about sending our children to the same school as thismommy influencer?”
“I can’t believe her daughter was accepted after that video,” says her friend.
The two of them look at me and go quiet, as if just realizing I might be within hearing range. I keep my face stoic, but Salma raises her hand and waves to them.
When they wave back, Sal folds down her fingers, leaving just the middle one up.
The women’s fake smiles melt into grimaces, and I look down to tame my grin as I loop my arm around Salma’s elbow. Together, we approach the open double doors waiting to swallow us.
“Name?”
A woman with a deep voice is holding a clipboard. She’s the tallest person I’ve ever seen, and her bloodred hair makes her presence even more striking. Beside her, a pair of women are seated at a table with alphabetically arranged envelopes.
“Lorena Navarro.”
Red’s brow arches like my name means something. Her irises are so dark I can’t make out the pupils. From the way they suck me in, her eyes could be black holes.
“So you are,” she says at last, without even consulting the list she’s holding.
A large envelope is thrust into my hands by one of the seated women, and when Red looks away, I remember to blink. Then Sal introduces herself.
“Salma Santos.”
Once she gets her envelope, the two of us cross through the towering doorway. I feel a tingle in the back of my neck like I’m being watched, and when I peer back at Red, our eyes lock again.
I quicken my pace, pulling Salma forward as we enter a foyer the size of a small museum enshrouded in textured burgundy wallpaper. The space is furnished with a low-hanging chandelier and wood-trimmed couches and armchairs with dark velvet cushions.
Since the hall has been cordoned off with red ropes, we have no choice but to corral ourselves in here. Only a few people are seated, while others are examining the massive fireplace with its elaborately wrought stonemantel and the series of black-and-white portraits along the far wall framed in burnt gold.
“Still no service.”
I glance at Salma, who’s looking down instead of up. She shows me her phone screen so I can see that she has zero bars.
