Matilda. Even though she knew she didn’t deserve him to think of her as anything but a monster, it hurt savagely.
“I’m not leaving,” Lydia said, turning to Julian, pouting. “You said she wouldn’t be like this.”
“I killed a girl,” Matilda said. “I killed her. Do you understand that?”
“Who cares about some mortal girl?” Lydia tossed back her hair. In that moment, she reminded Matilda of her brother, pretentious Dante who’d turned out to be an actual nice guy. Just like sweet Lydia had turned out cruel.
“You’re a girl,” Matilda said. “You’re mortal.”
“I know that!” Lydia rolled her eyes. “I just mean that we don’t care who you killed. Turn us and then we can kill lots of people.”
“No,” Matilda said, swallowing. She looked down, not wanting to hear what she was about to say. There was still a chance. “Look, I have the pass. If you don’t want it, then Julian should take it and go. But I’m not turning you. I’m never turning you, understand.”
“Julian doesn’t want to leave,” Lydia said. Her eyes looked bright and two feverish spots appeared on her cheeks. “Who are you to judge me anyway? You’re the murderer.”
Matilda took a step back. She desperately wanted Julian to say something in her defense or even to look at her, but his gaze remained steadfastly on Lydia.
“So neither one of you want the pass,” Matilda said.
“Fuck you,” spat Lydia.
Matilda turned away.
“Wait,” Julian said. His voice sounded weak.
Matilda spun, unable to keep the hope off her face, and saw why Julian had called to her. Lydia stood behind him, a long knife to his throat.
“Turn me,” Lydia said. “Turn me, or I’m going to kill him.”
Julian’s eyes were wide. He started to protest or beg or something and Lydia pressed the knife harder, silencing him.
People had stopped dancing nearby, backing away. One girl with red-glazed eyes stared hungrily at the knife.
“Turn me!” Lydia shouted. “I’m tired of waiting! I want my life to begin!”
“You won’t be alive—” Matilda started.
“I’ll be alive—more alive than ever. Just like you are.”
“Okay,” Matilda said softly. “Give me your wrist.”
The crowd seemed to close in tighter, watching as Lydia held out her arm. Matilda crouched low, bending down over it.
“Take the knife away from his throat,” Matilda said.
Lydia, all her attention on Matilda, let Julian go. He stumbled a little and pressed his fingers to his neck.
“I loved you,” Julian shouted.
Matilda looked up to see that he wasn’t speaking to her. She gave him a glittering smile and bit down on Lydia’s wrist.
The girl screamed, but the scream was lost in Matilda’s ears. Lost in the pulse of blood, the tide of gluttonous pleasure and the music throbbing around them like Lydia’s slowing heartbeat.
Matilda sat on the blood-soaked mattress and turned on the video camera to check that the live feed was working.
Julian was gone. She’d given him the pass after stripping him of all his cash and credit cards; there was no point in trying to force Lydia to leave since she’d just come right back in. He’d made stammering apologies that Matilda ignored; then he fled for the gate. She didn’t miss him. Her fantasy of Julian felt as ephemeral as her old life.
“It’s working,” one of the boys—Michael—said from the stairs, a computer cradled on his lap. Even though she’d killed one of them, they welcomed her back, eager enough for eternal life to risk more deaths. “You’re streaming live video.”
Matilda set the camera on the stack of crates, pointed toward her and the wall where she’d tied a gagged Lydia. The girl thrashed and kicked, but Matilda ignored her. She stepped in front of the camera and smiled.
My name is Matilda Green. I was born on April 10, 1997. I died on September 3, 2013. Please tell my mother I’m okay. And Dante, if you’re watching this, I’m sorry.
You’ve probably seen lots of video feeds from inside Coldtown. I saw them too. Pictures of girls and boys grinding together in clubs or bleeding elegantly for their celebrity vampire masters. Here’s what you never see. What I’m going to show you.
For eighty-eight days you are going to watch someone sweat out the infection. You are going to watch her beg and scream and cry. You’re going to watch her throw up food and piss her pants and pass out. You’re going to watch me feed her can after can of creamed corn. It’s not going to be pretty.
You’re going to watch me, too. I’m the kind of vampire that