original.”
She turned back to him. “What do you mean?”
“They’re duplicates, in a manner of speaking. Vamp City is an exact copy of Washington, D.C. Or at least it was at the time of its creation 140 years ago. Not everything replicated, of course. Almost nothing living—people, animals, even the plants and grass failed to reproduce.”
“But you have trees.”
“Dead trees. Oddly, they grow that way, which makes them ideal for firewood. V.C. is a world devoid of life but for the vampires and their slaves who soon moved in. But the wealth of D.C.’s citizens did replicate. The money in the banks, the silver in the silver chests, the artwork.”
Quinn stared at the landscape on the opposite wall. “They must be worth a fortune.”
The vampire grunted. “How do you sell an original of a painting that already exists?”
“I see your point. So you keep them and enjoy them.”
“I do, yes. Others have sold paintings as forgeries. Extraordinarily good forgeries. The amount they get is far less than they would for the originals, of course. But there is little chance of giving ourselves away.”
Quinn took a bite of hash browns, which melted in her mouth. Susie was an excellent cook, there was no doubt about it. Already, Quinn felt her strength returning.
“Where do you get the food if you can’t grow it here?” She stabbed a bite of tomato.
“Traders—nonvampires—can still come and go. They make weekly deliveries to each of the vampire strongholds, truckloads of goods and foods from the real world, though I fear the shipments may stop as the magic continues to fail.”
“What are Traders? Are they human?”
“They are not your concern, cara. Finish your meal.” He took another large bite of eggs Benedict, clearly enjoying the taste. As he cut another, he glanced at her. “You will tell me about yourself.”
She bristled slightly at the command, then sighed. “My name is Quinn Lennox, twenty-seven, born and raised in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and I’m a research technician.” She looked at him curiously, wondering if she needed to explain, but he appeared to understand.
“And your people? Do you know your family history?”
She almost smirked. “Are you wondering if you’ve known any of my ancestors?”
“I am.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
He peered at her. “Six hundred, give or take.”
Six hundred. Holy shit. “You were born in the 1400s ?”
“I was. Your family . . . ?” he prompted.
The 1400s. My God, the things he’s seen. She shook her head, trying to clear it enough to answer his question. “I don’t know much about my mom’s family. Her parents died when she was a teenager, and she died when I was a toddler. I’ve never met any of my relatives from that side.”
“Her name?”
“Jillian Minor. I don’t know what her parents’ names were. My dad is Darrell Lennox. His mom was a Markham, I think. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“You know little about your own flesh and blood.”
“My ties with my family have never been strong. Except with my brother.”
“Tell me about Zack.”
“Why?”
“I wish to know.”
Was he finally going to help her? She tried to quell the flutter of hope and couldn’t quite manage it. “He’s actually my half brother, born to my stepmother three years after my mother died. He’s twenty-two and looks kind of like me except he has curly red hair.”
“A half brother,” he murmured. As if that mattered.
They lapsed into silence as the vampire finished his meal. Ernesta cleared their plates, then poured them each a cup of coffee. So . . . civilized. As if she were his guest and not his captive.
“What are you going to do with me?” she blurted.
He watched her as he took a sip of the steaming liquid, then looked away. “I will keep you.”
“As your slave.”
“Yes.”
Still he didn’t meet her gaze, and her instincts began to ring a low warning. He wasn’t being honest, and she wasn’t sure
She turned back to him. “What do you mean?”
“They’re duplicates, in a manner of speaking. Vamp City is an exact copy of Washington, D.C. Or at least it was at the time of its creation 140 years ago. Not everything replicated, of course. Almost nothing living—people, animals, even the plants and grass failed to reproduce.”
“But you have trees.”
“Dead trees. Oddly, they grow that way, which makes them ideal for firewood. V.C. is a world devoid of life but for the vampires and their slaves who soon moved in. But the wealth of D.C.’s citizens did replicate. The money in the banks, the silver in the silver chests, the artwork.”
Quinn stared at the landscape on the opposite wall. “They must be worth a fortune.”
The vampire grunted. “How do you sell an original of a painting that already exists?”
“I see your point. So you keep them and enjoy them.”
“I do, yes. Others have sold paintings as forgeries. Extraordinarily good forgeries. The amount they get is far less than they would for the originals, of course. But there is little chance of giving ourselves away.”
Quinn took a bite of hash browns, which melted in her mouth. Susie was an excellent cook, there was no doubt about it. Already, Quinn felt her strength returning.
“Where do you get the food if you can’t grow it here?” She stabbed a bite of tomato.
“Traders—nonvampires—can still come and go. They make weekly deliveries to each of the vampire strongholds, truckloads of goods and foods from the real world, though I fear the shipments may stop as the magic continues to fail.”
“What are Traders? Are they human?”
“They are not your concern, cara. Finish your meal.” He took another large bite of eggs Benedict, clearly enjoying the taste. As he cut another, he glanced at her. “You will tell me about yourself.”
She bristled slightly at the command, then sighed. “My name is Quinn Lennox, twenty-seven, born and raised in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and I’m a research technician.” She looked at him curiously, wondering if she needed to explain, but he appeared to understand.
“And your people? Do you know your family history?”
She almost smirked. “Are you wondering if you’ve known any of my ancestors?”
“I am.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
He peered at her. “Six hundred, give or take.”
Six hundred. Holy shit. “You were born in the 1400s ?”
“I was. Your family . . . ?” he prompted.
The 1400s. My God, the things he’s seen. She shook her head, trying to clear it enough to answer his question. “I don’t know much about my mom’s family. Her parents died when she was a teenager, and she died when I was a toddler. I’ve never met any of my relatives from that side.”
“Her name?”
“Jillian Minor. I don’t know what her parents’ names were. My dad is Darrell Lennox. His mom was a Markham, I think. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“You know little about your own flesh and blood.”
“My ties with my family have never been strong. Except with my brother.”
“Tell me about Zack.”
“Why?”
“I wish to know.”
Was he finally going to help her? She tried to quell the flutter of hope and couldn’t quite manage it. “He’s actually my half brother, born to my stepmother three years after my mother died. He’s twenty-two and looks kind of like me except he has curly red hair.”
“A half brother,” he murmured. As if that mattered.
They lapsed into silence as the vampire finished his meal. Ernesta cleared their plates, then poured them each a cup of coffee. So . . . civilized. As if she were his guest and not his captive.
“What are you going to do with me?” she blurted.
He watched her as he took a sip of the steaming liquid, then looked away. “I will keep you.”
“As your slave.”
“Yes.”
Still he didn’t meet her gaze, and her instincts began to ring a low warning. He wasn’t being honest, and she wasn’t sure
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