Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
The lights inside the vehicle dim. The limo moves.
“Please,” says George through the partition. “Have a sip of champagne. I would hate for it to go to waste. It is paid for.”
Kyle stares at the bottle, at the empty flutes lined next to it, rolls his eyes. “So if I don’t drink any, it’s wasting Markadian’s dime? Why should I care?”
“Insolent,” mutters George.
Kyle hears him, doesn’t care. “Forgive me if I’m not in the mood for fucking champagne.”
“It will ease your nerves,” says George, then gently closes the partition, ending their conversation.
Kyle sits in silence for a short time. He regrets leaving his phone at the house during the chaos that ensued the moment he returned from the desert with Drake and Mikey. He didn’t think he’d need it anyway. Their plan was just to hunker down in the church with Cade and Layna making fleeting use of that book Elias got from his mom. Now Kyle feels completely and helplessly disconnected from everyone. Did the vampires leave Nowhere after George forbade them from taking Mikey? Are they all safe now, just like they’re supposed to be?
Kyle pulls open the partition. “Who’s that Mance guy?”
“Who?” asks George, staring blankly ahead as they drive.
“Mance. The weird guy in the cowboy hat.”
A look of complete mystification clouds George’s face as he stares off like he’s in a dream.
Kyle frowns. “Uh, hello? George?” Still silence. Is George just refusing to answer? “I know you know him. You guys came together to collect me. He knew your name.” No answer, even still. It’s like he’s in a trance. Kyle sighs. “Earth to George?”
George’s head turns, as if just now hearing Kyle. “We will arrive shortly. Drink the champagne as the driver continues to direct our vehicle to the House of Vegasyn. One sip will do.”
After a brief pause of abject wonder, Kyle asks, “Is the … Is the champagne drugged or something …?”
“Yes,” answers George.
Kyle sits back, at a loss. “Why in the hell would I drink any of it, then?”
“The champagne contains a modified extract of Nymphaea caerulea that will put you to sleep, more commonly known as blue lotus flower, grown in our gardens. As you are still not a formal resident of the House of Vegasyn, it is important to me that you continue being ignorant of its precise location.”
Kyle stares at the champagne bottle.
The empty flutes next to it.
A totally different understanding in mind.
“Drink,” says George again, as calmly as the first few times.
Kyle only now glances at the driver’s face in the rearview mirror. And his Reach, ever so delayed in his distractions since entering the limo, suddenly picks up a braid of obedience and needle-like fear twisted tightly together inside the man. It is nearly impossible to distinguish whether he’s more obedient or afraid. Maybe the two feelings have been so deeply associated with each other throughout his life that he literally can’t tell the difference between the two—like a metal alloy made of the two, now becoming something entirely new, unable to be separated. He is both afraid for his life and completely loyal to George.
“You keep humans at the House of Vegasyn?” asks Kyle, breath sucked from his lungs after experiencing the unique fear cocktail within the driver, turning his eyes back to George. “Is that not against some laws you guys have? Protected Blood and all that? Do you keep … human slaves?”
“I am not a slave,” says the driver, and despite sounding at ease, Kyle instantly picks up a robotic undertone—something a soulless creature like George might quickly overlook. “I am an honorable servant to the House of Vegasyn.”
George turns his head once more, eyeing Kyle. “Drink.”
Kyle looks at the champagne again, sitting there, looking like a deadly threat. He feels so strangely alone. He wonders if this isn’t the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life, to go with a person like George, to agree to any of this.
“If I die, I die,” he says to himself. “I was so close, anyway.”
“You will not die,” George states, hearing him, continuing to stare ahead blankly. “You will only sleep. When you wake, it will be in a lovely guestroom. There will be an outfit for you, in precisely your size, to each and every measurement. Tristan will then collect you and take you to the event. Despite all you have come to believe about the House of Vegasyn and its occupants, there is no harm intended to you this night. No harm at all. At the event’s conclusion, like I said in truth, you will be returned safely to Nowhere, alive and well.”
Kyle sighs, bored of hearing George talk. “Fine.” He opens the unsealed champagne, pours a flute, then brings it to his lips without further protest. It tastes just like champagne, not even the slightest bit off. He wonders for a moment if George didn’t make up all of that about the blue lotus extract.