Free Darkness Before Dawn by J. A. London Page B

of the press is negative, some kids envy that.
    “We can talk to the principal, have bodyguards with you at all times,” Rachel says.
    “Yeah, like I’d want bodyguards traipsing along behind me in the hallways.”
    “They’d be incognito. No one would know.”
    “Rachel, think about where I was earlier. Valentine Manor. Do you really think I’m bothered by a couple of kids at school painting my locker red?”
    “Did they do that?”
    “You’re missing the point here. I’m okay at school.”
    She studies me for a moment, then says, “Let’s move on then. During your meeting with Valentine, what did his son do, exactly?”
    I lean against the kitchen counter and gulp down my juice. My gaze falls on a faded picture held in place on the side of the fridge with a magnet. It was drawn in crayon with a child’s hand. My hand. It shows four people, all smiling. My family. The only picture I have with all of us together. I don’t know why I keep it. It doesn’t even resemble us, really.
    “Just observed, mostly.” I know I should tell her about Victor rescuing me or being in the city or his visit to my bedroom, but for some reason saying the words is harder than I expected. Not so much because it’ll mean confessing what I was really doing that night with Tegan—but because I’m not ready to tell her everything about Victor. Which makes no sense. It’s certainly not because of a stupid promise I made to a vamp. They’re not binding.
    “You’re right. He’s playing some sort of mind game,” she says. She sets two plates of pancakes on the island counter. “Dig in.”
    I sit on the stool and drench my pancakes in syrup.
    “So hit the high points of your meeting with Valentine,” she orders.
    I already did. I mentioned that Victor was there. I’m having a hard time moving beyond that, moving beyond his being in my bedroom, moving beyond his body pressed up against mine. It was so personal, so intimate. As I lift my fork, I catch a whiff of Victor’s scent—tart and spicy—that transferred to my clothes when he was leaning against me. I have to stop thinking about him.
    “Uh, well, he wants more blood,” I finally say to Rachel.
    “I hope you were a bit more articulate when you were with him,” she says, her brow furrowed.
    “I was. I’m just tired. It’s been a long night.” But I persevere. I tell her everything that Valentine and I discussed. When I’m finished, she tells me to try to get some sleep. I’ll have to give my report to the head of the Agency before I go to school.
    It seems forever before I’m falling into bed. The last thing I remember before sleep claims me is staring at the doors to the balcony—securely locked, for what good it will do—and anxiously waiting for the sun to chase away the night.
    I wake up as the sun is barely peeking through my bedroom window. I’m glad that no vampires can surprise me now. I clamber out of bed, take another shower, and put on jeans and a red cotton top over a long-sleeved gray one. I pull my hair back into a French braid.
    Grabbing my hoodie and messenger bag, I head into the living room. Rachel arches an eyebrow at me in disapproval.
    “Why aren’t you wearing your suit?” she asks. “You knew the director wanted you to report on the Valentines this morning.”
    I shrug. No harm in reminding him how young I am. “I am not wearing a suit to school.”
    “We could stop back by here after the meeting so you could change.”
    “I don’t want to take the time. I’m going to be late enough as it is.” I don’t mind skipping history class. But there’s no way I’m missing my defense class. I have some pent-up frustration I’m desperate to release since Victor’s visit. Besides, Michael’s in that class, and I’m anxious to see him. I don’t know that I’ve ever missed him so much.
    “At least leave the hoodie in the car,” Rachel orders.
    “No problem.”
    When we get downstairs, a black sedan is waiting for