Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Victoria exits out of the video and puts the iPad down with a dramatic sigh. She purses her lips and looks at me. “How do you feel about artificial insemination?” Victoria asks, as if she’s talking about the weather.
“Like…in general?” I blink. “I don’t have any feelings about it, I guess. I don’t really think about it.”
Victoria laughs, leaning forward and touching Xavier’s arm. “She’s a funny one. I see why you’ve attached to her. I meant for you.”
I look at her, lips parting, but nothing comes out. I inhale and try again. “Why?”
“As you can see, they want you to be a bad guy or some dumb woman tricked into marrying a vampire. It’s harder to villainize a pregnant woman.”
“I don’t want to be pregnant,” I tell her.
“But you can be, right?” she asks.
I look behind her, staring daggers at Devon, who’s trying not to laugh.
“That is not happening,” Xavier says. I assume that would shut this ridiculous conversation down, but Victoria just tips her head and raises an eyebrow.
“It’s just something you should think about. There are plenty of statistics about how people feel about expectant mothers. And seeing you take care of her would humanize you in ways no vampire has ever been humanized before.”
“But I don’t want to be pregnant,” I repeat. “I don’t want a baby. I hear they’re quite involved.”
“Well, I’m sure you’d hire a nanny.”
“This is not up for discussion,” Xavier says, speaking each word a little slower this time.
“Yeah,” Devon laughs. “That ship has sailed.”
Victoria looks confused, but then moves on, shifting to creating fake social media accounts for Antonio and me. The fact that Mabel started a new account for me will work perfectly in our favor since we can use it as a rebrand.
I don’t have much posted on my personal Instagram. Maybe seven years ago, I made an attempt to photograph some of the beautiful places we traveled to while hunting demons. But I lost interest and didn’t want to put in the time it takes to edit photos. I only have maybe seventy-five photos total, and only two have my face in them, which is workable, according to Victoria.
Antonio, being slightly older, had a Facebook page, but he deactivated it a decade ago. It’s still searchable, though. She locks the account so people can find him but not see anything. I have no idea how it’s even possible to edit old posts on Instagram with new photos, but I suppose if you can hack a computer, you can do almost anything.
My private Instagram will become public soon, with just enough photos of Antonio and me to make us look like actual siblings. Our backstory is that we were born on the East Coast, which hits close to home for me. Beyond that, everything is kept vague, and I’m supposed to decline any interviews or questions. Which is perfectly fine by me. I hate being in the spotlight.
What feels like an eternity later, we finish damage control, and Victoria leaves. I keep checking my phone, hoping to see a text from Marie. I haven’t been this concerned with receiving a text since I had an active profile on Hinge several years ago. I asked a lot of questions about demons, and now I’m worried I said the wrong thing and pissed Marie off—assuming she’s not evil and is actually trustworthy. I thought she was when I first met her. I just want her to like me.
I’ve gone over the conversation in my head more times than I should admit. I was curious, of course, but that’s expected. And I made a point to talk about other, non-demon things too. Still, the voice in the back of my head—the one that tells me I’m not enough and that I’ll never fit in—has yet to be silenced.
“Hey,” Mabel says, coming into the kitchen. I’m sitting at the table, half-heartedly flipping through the books. I’m not going to find anything, but I need something to do.
“Can I order you a pizza?”
“Sure,” I tell her, and she claps her hands together.
“I’ve never ordered a pizza before! What kind do you want?”
“Cheese with extra black olives.”
“What about your brother?”
“Just pepperoni for him.”
“Pepperoni is meat,” she says, looking at me with wide eyes. “And you don’t eat meat.”
“Correct,” I tell her.
“That means I get to order two pizzas.” She lights up and shows me her phone. “I even downloaded an app!”
“It’s fun,” I say, smiling at all the little things she doesn’t get to do anymore now that she’s undead.
“I got turned at the wrong time,” she says, making a face. “If they had waited, I would be really old and probably not even alive anymore.”
“That is true. I’m glad you’re here,” I tell her.
“Me, too.” She smiles and sits next to me to order the pizza. “How are you doing?” she asks. “Like, really doing?”