“What about you?” I asked Sal, snapping him out of his trance. “You got any Shadow Clan pals who might sponsor us? Maybe you could put in a good word—”

“Vampires are not my pals,” Sal snarled, wrenching his gaze from the window and whatever far-off memory he’d been watching. “And if they were, I still would not help you become one.”

He snatched up his post and spread his arms wide. “What exactly is it you think I’m doing here?”

I tried not to flinch as the pointy end of his stick swung in our direction. “Well, excuse me for—”

“And anyway, you are wasting your time,” he said. “Every former vamp who comes through that gate tries to appeal to the Elder Seat, and no one—not one—has ever succeeded.”

He kicked his chair back and stormed out the front door, my narrowed eyes burning holes in his back.

No one ever?

Challenge accepted.

Eight

Eternally Yours

A few hours later, our bellies full of barbecue (some human things were nearly as good as blood), Reg and I moved to the fields behind the cottage to finish our letter—three letters, actually. On Sal’s information, we had decided to table the formal appeal to the Elders until we could secure a sponsor. Instead, we had drafted identical messages to the heads of the Blood, Shadow, and Starlight Clans, politely begging them to share our request for sponsorship with their vampire houses.

We sank into long, soft grass on the crest of a hill overlooking endless fields of corn and smaller plants that Sal told us were beans. A cluster of lilac bushes nearby showered us with tiny purple flowers every time the breeze blew.

“How perfectly pastoral,” Reg said, spreading his arms toward the valley below.

“If you say so.”

“And the air!” He took a deep breath. “You can almost taste it.”

“I’d rather not.” I made a point of holding my breath against the offending reek of manure wafting up from the fields. It was bad enough to smell cow dung. I had no interest in tasting it.

Gingerly, using only my fingertips so as not to smudge the still-wet ink, I laid our three letters out on the ground for a final inspection, but Reg didn’t even glance at them. His eyes were on the horizon, where the sun was starting its slow, sleepy descent. He rested his elbows on his knees and pulled a long blade of grass back and forth between his fingers.

“It’s almost enough to make you want to stay, isn’t it?” he asked.

I leaned away, alarmed. “No, it’s not. And don’t say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking of staying human.”