The Second Life of Bree | Page 9

like this. Sure, it wasn‘t
going to be fun to sit in an underwater cavern all day—not
breathing started to irritate after a few hours—but it was better
than exploding into ashes. I should have been thinking like
Diego was. Thinking about something other than blood, that is. I
should have been prepared for the unexpected.
Diego kept going through a narrow crevice in the rocks. It
was black as ink in here. Safe. I couldn‘t swim anymore—the
space was too tight—so I scrambled through like Diego,
climbing through the twisting space. I kept waiting for him to
stop, but he didn‘t. Suddenly I realized that we really were going
up. And then I heard Diego hit the surface.
I was out a half second after he was.
The cave was no more than a small hole, a burrow about the
size of a Volkswagen Beetle, though not as tall as that. A
second crawl space led out the back, and I could taste the fresh
air coming from that direction. I could see the shape of Diego‘s
fingers repeated again and again in the texture of the limestone
walls.
―Nice place,‖ I said.
Diego smiled. ―Better than Freaky Fred‘s backside.‖
―I can‘t argue with that. Um. Thanks.‖
―You‘re welcome.‖
We looked at each other in the dark for a minute. His face
was smooth and calm. With anyone else, Kevin or Kristie or any
of the others, this would have been terrifying—the constricted
space, the forced closeness. The way I could smell his scent on
every side of me. That could have meant a quick and painful
death at any second. But Diego was so composed. Not like
anyone else.
―How old are you?‖ he asked abruptly.
―Three months. I told you that.‖
―That‘s not what I meant. Um, how old were you? I guess
that‘s the right way to ask.‖
I leaned away, uncomfortable, when I realized he was talking
about human stuff. Nobody talked about that. Nobody wanted
to think about it. But I didn‘t want to end the conversation, either.

Just having a conversation at all was something new and
different. I hesitated, and he waited with a curious expression.
―I was, um, I guess fifteen. Almost sixteen. I can‘t remember
the day… was I past my birthday?‖ I tried to think about it, but
those last hungry weeks were a big blur, and it hurt my head in a
weird way to try to clear them up. I shook my head, let it go.
―How about you?‖
―I was just past my eighteenth,‖ Diego said. ―So close.‖
―Close to what?‖
―Getting out,‖ he said, but he didn‘t continue. There was an
awkward silence for a minute, and then he changed the subject.
―You‘ve done really well since you got here,‖ he said, his
eyes sweeping across my crossed arms, my folded legs.
―You‘ve survived—avoided the wrong kind of attention, kept
intact.‖
I shrugged and then yanked my left t-shirt sleeve up to my
shoulder so he could see the thin, ragged line that circled my
arm.
―Got this ripped off once,‖ I admitted. ―Got it back before
Jen could toast it. Riley showed me how to put it back on.‖
Diego smiled wryly and touched his right knee with one
finger. His dark jeans covered the scar that must have been
there. ―It happens to everybody.‖
―Ouch,‖ I said.
He nodded. ―Seriously. But like I was saying before, you‘re
a pretty decent vampire.‖
―Am I supposed to say thanks?‖
―I‘m just thinking out loud, trying to make sense of things.‖
―What things?‖
He frowned a little. ―What‘s really going on. What Riley‘s up
to. Why he keeps bringing the most random kids to her. Why it
doesn‘t seem to matter to Riley if it‘s someone like you or if it‘s
someone like that idiot Kevin.‖
It sounded like he didn‘t know Riley any better than I did.
―What do you mean, someone like me?‖ I asked.
―You‘re the kind that Riley should be looking for—the smart
ones—not just these stupid gang-bangers that Raoul keeps

bringing in. I bet you weren‘t some junkie ho when you were
human.‖
I shifted uneasily at the last word. Diego kept waiting for my
answer, like he hadn‘t said anything weird. I took a deep breath
and thought back.
―I was close enough,‖ I admitted after a few seconds of his
patient watching. ―Not there yet, but in a few more weeks…‖ I
shrugged. ―You know, I don‘t remember much, but I do
remember thinking there was nothing more powerful on this
planet than just plain old hunger. Turns out, thirst is worst.‖
He laughed. ―Sing it, sister.‖
―What about you? You weren‘t a troubled teen runaway like
the rest of us?‖
―Oh, I was troubled, all right.‖ He stopped talking.
But