Page 91 of The Last Vampire
I have a growing sense of unease about Zach’s absence, and I need to talk to William. I need to know he didn’t have anything to do with this.
I’m more than an hour early when I make it to the Chocolate Bar, but William is already at my side, like he’s been waiting.
Or watching.
I know he kept tabs on me at school in the beginning, and maybe he never stopped. He must have overheard my conversation with Zach. But when did the vampire have time to do anything to him, if we left breakfast together?
“Shall we?” asks William, waving me ahead.
“First, tell me what happened to Zach.”
His eyes narrow, but not in denial. “Why did you not tell me of his threat?”
“It wasn’t a threat,” I say, my heart pounding. “I could’ve handled it myself.What did you do to him?”
“Why were you afraid to tell me?” the vampire insists.
“Because I didn’t want you to do exactly what you did!” I snap. “Just tell me you didn’t kill him,please.”
William’s amethyst gaze dulls, like some inner light has snuffed out.
“After everything I have done to prove that you can trust me—abiding your request to wait eight weeks, apologizing to you for my behavior—you still assume the worst of me. Will it always be like this?”
“William, you haven’t exactly been a saint.”
“And you thinkIam the prejudiced one?”
He takes off in anger, and I just stand there, looking after him. We didn’t even make it a full twenty-four hours as friends. And worse, despite his show of outrage, William didn’t say what happened to Zach.
Nor did he deny my accusation.
I weave through streets so fast and distractedly that I have no idea where I am. It looks like storefronts have morphed into warehouses in the less populous part of town. I check the map app on my phone to see how to get back to the retail area.
“Hello.”
I look up at the sound of a guy’s voice. I have no idea where he came from.
“My name is Nate, short for Natalio,” he says when I don’t say anything. He looks college-aged, and he has a long ponytail and sharp smile. “What’s yours?”
“Not interested,” I say as I turn my phone around to orient myself.
“Nice to meet you, Not Interested. This is my friend Cisco, short for Francisco.”
I spin back around to find another guy has appeared. He’s tall and muscled, and he nods his buzzed head at me in greeting.
“We only want to ask you something,” says Nate, and the way he moves closer to me must activate my fight-or-flight instinct, because my heart pounds harder as adrenaline courses through me. “Who was that guy you were with? The one with dark hair and those striking eyes?”
“W-why?” My throat sounds parched.
“I think I recognize him from somewhere.”
“Then you’ve got him confused with someone else.”
“Can you just tell me his name?”
“I don’t know it.”
“Looks like she’s not cooperating,” says Cisco, and before I can scream, his hand covers my mouth.
