Generation V Read Online Free PDF Page B

that sharp fear that I always experience when I’m around my family: would I still find this horrible when I’d fully transitioned? Or would my fully vampire brain look at this and decide that I’d spent years overreacting?
    My face must’ve given me away. Chivalry glared at me and Bhumika made a show of flipping through her book to find her place.
    “Dinner is in twenty minutes.” Chivalry’s voice was tightly controlled. “Perhaps it would be felicitous to pay your respects to Grace and Henry before we dine.”
    Despite the two centuries that Chivalry waited to become an older brother, his instincts are unmistakably well honed. There were few things I hated doing more than sitting and making pleasant chitchat with Bhumika when she was looking this fragile, but making a visit to my host parents was definitely high up on that list.
    “Gosh, Chiv, what a great idea,” I said, making sure that my voice was as chirpy as possible.
    “Hurry back,” Bhumika said. “I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to.” Her honest interest and the unappealing prospect of trying to find upbeat anecdotes to tell about my current living situation were even worse than anything Chivalry could’ve thought up to punish me, and I hurried out of the room with a mumbled reply.
    Grace and Henry are the nasty secrets of the house, and they are very fittingly kept down in the basement. Madeline might keep kindly Wilson in the driveway to divert the curious, and visitors are encouraged to roam around the house to their hearts’ content, since she knows that there’s nothing on the main two floors that is going to scream
vampire
to them, given the modern person’s willingness to rationalize anything before reverting to superstition, but the door to the basement is kept secure. Madeline had a butler’s pantry built around it, where a member of her staff is located at all times, day and night, ostensibly polishing up the silver. In reality, they are there to unlock the door for anyone who needs to go down there. Well, the first door. After that there’s a short staircase, then a very high-tech door that requires an authorized thumbprint to open, then an even longer staircase.
    It isn’t a dank basement with drips and weird rock outcroppings. It used to be, but Madeline brought in contractors about ten years ago, and now it just looks like you’re in Area 51. Discreetly placed surveillance cameras lend it that homey feel as you head down.
    I reached Mr. Albert’s room. He’s the caretaker. Iprobably should be comfortable just calling him Albert, but I’ve never been able to get that out of my mouth. At six and a half feet tall, he’s a former wrestler, with his graying hair trimmed ruthlessly into a jarhead’s buzz, a nose that has been broken on more than one occasion, three long, curving scars that rake down his forehead, and the precise manner of the butler in a British period film. Simply put—he’s intimidating. I knocked, heard his “come in,” and went inside.
    It’s a small sitting area, just some tables and chairs, with stuffed bookshelves from floor to ceiling along every wall except the one between his room and the holding area, which is made of one-way glass so that he can keep an eye on Henry and Grace at all times. Mr. Albert’s Taser hangs next to the door, easy to grab if he has to run into the enclosures suddenly.
    Mr. Albert stood up when I walked in. I wished he wouldn’t do that. Having him tower over me makes me feel like a child again. “Good morning, Mr. Scott,” he said.
    “Hi, Mr. Albert. How are they doing today?”
    “Just fine. They’ve been looking forward to your visit.”
    Guilt trip. What a bliss.
    Mr. Albert unlocked the door for me and took a seat in front of the glass. He has observed every interaction I’ve ever had with my host parents.
    I walked slowly into the room, closing the door behind me. The walls and floor are laboratory white, and the overhead fluorescent lights never