Free Generation V by M. L. Brennan Page A

Fortitude has dressed appropriately,” Chivalry said mildly. He was probably already planning the ways that he would corner me later and disparage my sartorial decisions, but Chivalry has always stood up to Prudence for me, and has often suffered the fallout.
    “I work with stockbrokers younger than him every day,” Prudence said. “He is dressed worse than the intern whose entire job revolves around bringing back lunch.”
    Apparently the tie had been a poor choice. Prudence and Chivalry both looked to Madeline, whose eyes had been fixed on the door the entire time.
    “What Fortitude wears is unfortunate but ultimately uncorrectable at this point,” she said. “Our visitor has just arrived. A show of unity is in order, my children.”
    There was a brief pause, and in the silence I could hear the sound of a car crunching up the gravel driveway. Apparently deciding that no tie was better than this tie, Prudence had it loosened and over my head before I even knew what was happening, and dropped it into the mouth of a convenient urn.
    I let out a less-than-impressive squawk of irritation. “That’s mine, Prudence!”
    “Yes, and now you are no longer wearing it and I have less desire to claw out my own eyes. Everyone wins.”
    I glanced up, but Madeline wasn’t paying any attention to us, and Chivalry gave me a very pointed shake of his head, letting me know that on this one he wasn’t going to get involved. Given that I had as much chance of winning a fight with Prudence as I did with slapping a jaguar in the face and not getting mauled, I gave my tie up for lost. I did give Prudence my best glare. She returned it with interest.
    Prudence positioned herself on the step just below Madeline, and the process of elimination left me trying to situate myself impressively on the lowest step, just to the side of Chivalry. I was uncomfortably reminded of posing for photos for my senior prom. On that occasion as well, I’d been a disappointment.
    There was the sound of footsteps now. At least an academic question had been answered—I didn’t feel the new vampire the way I felt my mother or siblings. With them there was a complete certainty about identity andlocation. With this one, there was just an odd little buzzing in the back of my head, as if I were standing too close to high-voltage wires.
    Three loud knocks on the door, then a pause. Madeline called, “You are granted hospitality. Abide by its rules and be welcome.”
    I elbowed Chivalry for the CliffsNotes translation. “It means that our visitor behaves himself or we kill him,” Chivalry muttered just loudly enough for me to hear.
    I risked one more question: “Where’s Bhumika?”
    “Already in bed. Now please shut up.”
    The vampire entered first. He was tall and lean, with a pouty lower lip, slicked-back black hair, and an almost feathery thin mustache. He had black pants, glossy black wingtips, and a dark purple shirt with a few too many buttons undone that exposed a few curls of dark chest hair. Even though it was a dark night with no moon, he was wearing designer sunglasses. I felt distinctly disappointed—the first nonrelated vampire I’d ever met, and he was a Euro-trash tool.
    Two more people stepped through the doorway to flank him, and my disappointment melted away to be replaced by nervous discomfort. On the vampire’s left was a cadaverously thin man, whose olive skin was pocked and scabbed on almost every surface. Nothing had scarred, and some of the marks sullenly oozed pus and fluid. Even as I watched, the man was digging his long nails at a gouge on his chin, yanking and scratching with frantic motions. He giggled quietly, and his eyes were scanning over everyone in the room yet not seeming to absorb anything. His teeth looked sharp, and he didn’t have a lower lip anymore, just a line of gnawedand sullenly bleeding skin that made me cringe. He was dressed identically to the vampire, but his shirt and pants were covered with dark, stiff