Drink, Slay, Love

Chapter Fifteen

Over the next two weeks Pearl fell into a routine. In the mornings she had school. She spent lunch period outside in the brightest patch of sunlight she could find with Evan, Bethany, Zeke, and Matt, and she studiously avoided damaging any more cars. In the afternoons she ran track with Sana and the team and then she met Bethany in the library for tutoring. At night she attended Minerva's etiquette classes, sparred with Jadrien, and assisted with clean up of the mansion's cellar. Once in a while she managed to steal a couple hours of sleep plus a few pints from the storage room to keep her upright as she juggled both lives. And every other minute she had to spare (which wasn't many), she searched for the unicorn.

She had zero luck.

One evening she walked home from the library (rather than accepting a ride from Evan or Bethany) so that she could search for the elusive hoofed wonder. She didn't see anything more mythical than an elderly lady shooting hoops with her young grandson (a feat so impressive, given the woman's age, that Pearl had wondered if she were supernatural). She half-seriously considered asking the woman if she'd seen a unicorn—for all Pearl knew, humans had been spotting unicorns for decades, and no one had bothered to tell the vampires.

It wasn't as if her kind and their kind talked frequently. Until Evan and Bethany, Pearl had never had an intelligent conversation with a human. Brad didn't count, given the adjective "intelligent." She wondered if Brad had been capable of stringing sentences together before he'd met her fangs. She doubted it.

Still thinking about the unicorn, Pearl let herself into the house. She dumped her backpack by the door and headed toward the hall.

"Pearl."

She halted halfway across the living room.

Daddy rose to his feet. He'd been sitting in a leather chair. She hadn't noticed him. She mentally slapped herself. That sort of lack of awareness was the kind of thing that got you killed. Or, at the very least, surprised in an embarrassing way. "Daddy, you're home." She tried to muster up enthusiasm to fill her voice and failed. He didn't look happy to see her. He was frowning in that perfect movie-star way of his, with one tiny crease between his eyebrows and with his mouth in the shape of a perfect circumflex.

"I thought we could have a little chat about how everything is going," he said.

"It's fine," Pearl said.

"You haven't reported in lately."

"Not much to report," she said. "I've been laying groundwork, developing plans, making connections. Generally integrating myself with the student body. Learning the rhythm of the hunt. This is a complex hunt, not the quick snatch and grab, so I am trying to be smart."

He seemed to like that response. Lowering himself back into the leather chair, he indicated the wood chair next to him. Pearl elected to pretend she hadn't seen the gesture.

"I would love to hear about your experiences," Daddy said. "No vampire has ever seen what you see."

"It's . . . loud," she said. "Humans like to talk."

"They're a surprisingly social animal," Daddy said. "You could almost grow fond of them, like pets who perform interesting tricks." He clasped his hands on his knees and leaned forward, the picture of intensity. "Pearl . . . there is a danger to what you are doing."

"I'm careful," Pearl said. "No one knows what I am . . . what we are."

Daddy shook his head. "Not the obvious danger. I am worried about a much more insidious danger. Pearl, you are undercover now, which means you run the risk all undercover operatives run: identifying too much with your targets. To fit in, you must make yourself like them on the outside, and too often that can spill over onto the inside. You must hold on to the core of who and what you are."