“And they would know you destroyed Yanik.”
“Exactly,” I tell her. “An evil, powerful vampire who was working for Skarde. They’ll fear me, and if they don’t fear me, they’ll hate me. Or both.”
Amethyst gives me a small smile. “Is it such a bad thing to be feared?”
“Yes,” I tell her adamantly. “I’m supposed to be one of them now, right? I don’t want them all to hate me. I have to be with this crowd, well…forever. That’s like living your worst years of high school for eternity, never fitting in with the cool kids.”
She rolls her eyes. “Look,” she says. “The vampires that hang out at Dark Eyes don’t even like Solon most of the time. They tolerate him, and they only tolerate him because they fear him and because he gives them what they need. A place to feed safely. They know there are consequences for doing so outside of these walls. There may be no vampire police, but there are slayers who are more than willing to take them out, plus there’s the fact that even vampires can be implicated for murder, and the fact that a lot of vampires don’t like to kill people. They aren’t different from humans in that way. Just because I eat beef, doesn’t mean I’m going to walk around slaughtering cows. Same thing goes for them. So they need Solon. And because they need him, they’ll need you too.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s not like I grew up with this innate need to make people like me. I always knew I was different, and people treated me accordingly. But now, I feel so unsure of myself, unsure of my role in this new life, and who I am and what I can do and what it all means, that the idea of both being a vampire and having other vampires treat me as different, well, it kind of sucks.
“I just want to fit in,” I tell Amethyst, adjusting myself on her lavender bedspread. “I know that sounds lame.”
“It doesn’t sound lame,” she says, giving me a small smile before tilting her head sympathetically. “But you’re not going to fit in, Lenore. Hate to be a Debbie Downer on you, but you’re half-witch and half-vampire and that’s never going to change. You won’t fit in on the witches side any more than you’ll fit in on the vampires, so you might as well not try and just be yourself instead.”
I give her a withering look. “Did you go to Solon’s School of Confidence Building or what?”
She laughs. “I’m sorry. But if it makes you feel better, you fit in this house and you fit in with me and that might just have to be enough.”
I ponder over that as she finishes up the rest of my makeup. She’s right, of course. That I won’t fit in so I shouldn’t even bother trying. Vampires and witches have always been sworn enemies, so the fact that I’m part witch will always be something that the vampires see when they look at me. Not only that, but that I’m the daughter of Jeremias, a skilled sorcerer in the black arts, powerful enough that vampires seem to cower in fear at the mention of his name. And even though I feel like my powers amount to nothing, I did kill one of their own. I guess they do have every right to fear me.
But maybe that shouldn’t matter. Maybe all that really matters is that Amethyst doesn’t fear me. Neither does Solon or Wolf or Yvonne or Ezra. Maybe everything I ever need will be inside this house. Maybe it’s more than enough.
When she’s done pulling my hair up into an artfully messy updo, I’m ready to go. I’m already wearing my dress for the evening, an Alexander McQueen black leather calf-length number, with a bustier top and belt across the waist, that clings to my every curve. It’s certifiably bad-ass, and when I slip on my black stiletto heels, I feel a lot more confident than I did earlier. It helps that the heels make me super tall, and ever since I turned vamp, the preternatural grace that comes along with the bloodline has made walking in heels effortless now. Not that you still won’t find me stomping around in my combat boots, but it’s nice to wear a pair of “fuck me” heels too.
“Okay,” she says to me. “You’re all set.”
I get to my feet and glance at myself in her full-length mirror. Despite the fact that I haven’t worked out in like two months, my muscles are compact and sleek. If I look fucking strong, it’s because I am.
Amethyst playfully rests her chin on my shoulder and stares at me in the mirror, her black hair a contrast to my highlighted locks. “I have to admit, I’m kind of jealous,” she says wistfully.