Chapter 29. William
william
William is on a train, in a private car with Nate and Cisco, en route to Boston to get his new identity. Nate sits across from him and Cisco is to his left, closest to the door.
Something about the small space and their positioning makes William feel walled in. He gets the sense that even if he didn’t want their company, they would be escorting him anyway.
This past week, the vampires took him to tourist attractions like Central Park, the American Museum of Natural History, and the Empire State Building; a dimly lit speakeasy filled with clouds of smoke and half-dressed servers, where they had to compel their way in; and a musical on Broadway about a man named Alexander Hamilton who was a contemporary of William’s, only the vampire had never heard of him.
The rest of the time was spent at home, where they taught him how to play games with headsets and controllers.
“It has been a week since we met,” says William, “and I am still waiting for you to explain what exactly happened to our kind.”
Nate just stares back at him for a beat. William constantly feels the ponytailed vampire observing him, as if every moment were some kind of test.
“You are rather impatient for an immortal,” Nate says at last. “You are also the youngest vampire I’ve ever encountered. How old were you when you were turned? Eighteen, nineteen?”
“You do not look much older yourself,” says William. “Twenty-one, twenty-two?”
“The Treaty’s minimum age for turning humans was twenty-five, so that we would not affect humanity’s reproduction rate,” Nate reminds him. “Perhaps you have been in the company of that Familiar for so long that you have forgotten that in our day, mortal lifespans were not what they are now.”
William knows Nate did not bring her up by accident because this is the first time in a week that she has been invoked. It has also not escaped his notice that they are heading in her direction. Boston is just a few hours from Hanover.
“Lorena, you called her?” There is nothing casual about Nate’s question. His stare is so invasive that William wonders if the vampire can read thoughts. “Why don’t we pay her a visit?”
“Another day,” says William, not taking the bait. “How did you find me in Hanover?” he asks, trying to redirect the conversation.
“We picked up on your scent. You said your last name was Pride?” William gives a sharp nod, wary of where Nate is headed next. “There was a prominent Pride family in London … a favored bloodline among the Stokers. Many of you used to get turned once you came of age.”
“You have heard of us then.”
Nate’s mouth widens like he just caught William in a trap. “Yet for a Londoner, your accent seems to have Americanized.”
“My parents moved to the colonies before I was born.” William turns to Cisco just to take a break from Nate’s intrusive stare. “What about you? You look like you could be twenty-five.”
“I am!” says Cisco, like he is glad to join the conversation. “I grew up in Mexico with Natalio. He’s my older cousin, and he got turned first—”
“The fuck did we talk about, Francisco?”
Nate’s dark eyes are so blistering, William thinks he spies reddish notes in their depths. Cisco purses his lips and drops his gaze, as a shamed child might do. It seems at odds with his powerful frame and older appearance.
“Hanover is quite the distance from Brooklyn,” William presses, hoping Nate will let something slip in his anger. He still has no idea what the vampire wants from him, but he gets the distinct impression Nate is waiting for something to happen. “What were you doing in the area the day we met?”
“We had read about a coffin being discovered in a construction site, so we came to check it out. That is where you were found, right?”
“Right.”
Nate’s gaze seems to be registering even the slightest change in dilation of William’s pupils.
He is like a vampire lie detector—and he has William cornered.
By taking the tiny morsel of information William fed him and turning it into a bigger lie, Nate has ensured that William cannot challenge the explanation without giving himself away.
William turns toward the window, drinking in the rolling hills, sprawling farmlands, and leafless branches of rural Massachusetts. The hypnotic view makes his mind drift, and even though he has been trying hard not to think of her, all it took was one mention of her name to shatter his progress.
After Lorena accused him of killing Zach, he was too enraged to think or be rational. He had always known on a logical level that the two of them could never be friends, but it was not until that moment that his heart finally understood.
He took off on foot, not sure where he was headed, but it felt good to run. He had made it a good twenty miles when it happened: His skin grew heated, as if warm blood were rushing through his dead veins.
It was the closest his cold body had come to feeling alive, and he knew at once what it meant.
His Familiar was in mortal danger.
His Hamlet-like questioning about Lorena—to kill or not to kill her—had haunted him for months. Yet the instant her fate was decided by another, he did not hesitate to come to her rescue. It felt as if there was no choice to be made. His instincts simply took over.
That is how he knows leaving Huntington was the right thing to do.
WILLIAM FOLLOWS Nate and Cisco down a wide avenue, gusts of wind blasting him in the face. He finds Boston’s brick buildings and gold-crowned trees more comforting than the glass and steel of New York.
A scent intrudes on his thoughts. An ancient musk that tells him there is an unknown vampire in the vicinity.
“Who knows what happened on December sixteen, 1773?” asks a tour guide dressed in impeccable colonial attire. So impeccable, in fact, that the fabric gives off its own aging musk, too subtle for human detection.
“Boston Tea Party!” someone calls out from the group of a few dozen humans gathered around him to listen.
“Right you are,” says the tour guide, flashing a sharp-toothed smile. “But did you know that its exact location is the subject of great debate?”
A few people say no, and others shake their heads.
William murmurs to Nate in a volume audible only to vampires, “Who is he?”
“Henry. He owns a tour business in Boston, and he’s the forger closest to us.”
“Forger?”
“Every few decades, each of us has to move to a new area and change our look and identity. Thanks to the advanced technology of this millennium, all documentation has to stand up to scrutiny. Lucky for you, Henry is an expert.”
“Listen up!” Henry’s volume does not rise, but the fact that he looks at William and Nate makes it clear he is addressing them.
“There’s a historical marker commemorating the Tea Party on the corner of Congress and Purchase Streets.
Now go explore, maybe treat yourself to a bowl of authentic New England clam chowder, which we all know is better than the Manhattan version.
” A few people laugh, and since Henry looks at Nate and Cisco, William gets the sense it was a pointed comment.
The tourists disperse, their phones raised to capture every view, while others look down to consult paper maps. Henry strides past the vampires at a brisk pace.
He does not say a word, but Nate tells William, “Come on.”
The three of them trail Henry to a street lined with brick buildings. Henry’s Historical Tours is a tiny storefront that looks like it was squeezed between larger ones. Inside, it does not seem like much, just a desk and a few chairs with posters boasting views from all over the world.
As soon as they are alone, Henry says, “So this is number fifty-four!”
He shakes William’s hand, examining him like he is a painting being evaluated for purchase.
“You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” says Henry, cracking his sharp smile. “The humans are going to love you.”
“They already do,” says Nate, and William feels his entire body tense like a fist at the reference to Lorena.
“That so?” asks Henry, who is still running his eyes all over William. “I’m sure these guys already told you that it’s been decades since someone new has awoken. Finding you gives us hope.”
“Hope for what?” asks William.
“That there are others,” supplies Nate, jumping in quickly, like he did with Cisco on the train.
Henry’s mouth closes, like he is not about to disagree with Nate, and he sits down at his computer. “Full name?”
“William Archibald Pride.”
Henry types alarmingly fast. “What are your years?”
“I was born in 1749 and became a vampire in 1768.”
“What date did you go into death-sleep?”
“February 13, 1769.”
Henry narrows his gaze, and Nate notices. “What is it?” he asks.
“That’s just rather early,” says Henry. “The plan began to make the rounds in 1773, a few months shy of the Tea Party in fact.” He is clearly a historian; Henry reminds William a bit of Ms. Floreville.
“What exactly was the plan?” chances William.
“I need to take your photo and get your fingerprints,” says Henry, who appears to answer only Nate’s questions. About an hour later, William has a fake New York license featuring Nate and Cisco’s home address, a US passport, a Social Security card, and a birth certificate.
“This is your new phone,” says Henry, yet when William holds out his hand for it, the forger/tour guide places it in an envelope. “I’ll have it messengered to Anne today.”
“Who is Anne?” William asks when they are on the train back to New York. “Why is she getting my phone?”
Neither Nate nor Cisco answers him.
There is no doubt the other vampires are keeping secrets. Yet beyond what they are hiding, William wants to know why.
What is it about him they distrust?