The Donation Center was still open, even though it was getting dark. As Richard pulled his police cruiser to the curb, two people I vaguely recognized came out, waved to each other, and set off in separate directions. "Does everybody come here?" I asked.
"Everybody who doesn't use the Bloodmobile," Richard answered. "Every human who's Protected has to donate a certain number of pints per year. Donations go to their Patron first. The rest goes to whoever needs it. Vampires who don't have anyone to donate for them."
"Like Michael," I said.
"Yeah, he's our most recent charity project." Richard got out and opened the back door for me and Justin. I slid out. Justin, after a hesitation long enough to make me worry, followed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and stared up at the glowing red cross sign above the door. The Donation Center didn't look exactly inviting, but it was far less terrifying than the Bloodmobile. For one thing, there were bright windows that offered a clear view of a clean, big room. Framed posters on the wall - the same kind you could find in any town, I thought - listed the virtues of giving blood.
"Does any of it get to other humans?" I asked as Richard held the door open for Justin. He shrugged.
"Ask your boyfriend," he said. "They used quite a few units on him after his stabbing, as I remember. Of course it gets used for humans. It's our town, too."
"You're dreaming if you really think that," Justin said, and stepped inside. As I followed, I felt a definite change of atmosphere - not just the air, which was cool and dry, but something else. A feeling, barely contained, of desperation. It reminded me of the way hospital waiting areas felt - industrial, impersonal, soaked with large and small fears. But it was still clean, well lit, and full of comfortable chairs.
Nothing at all scary about the place. Not even the motherly-looking older lady sitting behind the wooden desk at the front, who gave us all the same bright, welcoming smile.
"Well, Officer Morrell, it's nice to see you!"
He nodded to the lady. "Rose. Got a truant for you here."
"So I see. Justin Bieber, isn't it? Oh, dear, I'm so sorry to hear about your mother. Tragedy has come to your door too often." She was still smiling, but it was muted. Respectful. "Can I put you down for two pints today? To make up some of what you're behind?"
Justin nodded. His jaw was clenched, his eyes brilliant and narrowed. He was fighting for control, I thought. I slipped my fingers in his where they were handcuffed behind his back.
"You remember me, don't you?" Rose continued. "I knew your mother. We used to play bridge together."
"I remember," Justin choked out. Nothing else. Richard raised his eyebrows, got a mirrored look from Rose, and tugged on Justin's elbow to lead him away to one of the empty chairs. They were all empty, I noticed. I'd seen a couple of people leaving the building, but nobody coming inside.
One thing about the Donation Center, they were better than most medical places about keeping their magazines up-to-date. I found a brand-new edition of Seventeen and began reading. Justin sat stiffly, in silence, and watched the single wooden door at the end of the room. Richard Morrell chatted with Rose at the desk, looking relaxed and friendly. I wondered if he came here to donate his blood, or if he used the Bloodmobile. I supposed that whatever he chose, the vampires wouldn't be crazy enough to hurt him - son of the mayor, respected police officer. No, Richard Morrell was probably safer than just about anybody in Morganville, Protected or not.
Easy for him to be relaxed.
The door at the end of the room opened, and a nurse stepped through it. She was dressed in bright floral surgical scrubs, complete to the cap over her hair, and like Rose, she had a nice, unthreatening smile. "Justin Bieber?"
Justin took in a deep breath and struggled up out of his chair. Richard turned him around and unfastened the handcuffs. "Good behavior, Justin," he said. "Trust me, you don't want to start trouble here."
Justin nodded stiffly. He glanced at me, then fixed his attention on the nurse who was waiting. He walked toward her with slow, deliberate calm.
"Can I go with him?" I asked, and Richard looked at me in surprise.
"Ana, they're not going to hurt him. It's just like blood donation anywhere else. They stick a needle in your arm and give you a squeezy ball. Orange juice and cookies at the end."
"So I can donate?"
He looked to Rose for help.
"How old are you, child?"
"I'm not a child. I'm almost eighteen."
"There's no legal requirement for anyone under the age of eighteen to donate blood," Rose said.
"But is there a law against it?"
She blinked, started to answer, and stopped herself. She pulled open a drawer and retrieved a small book that was titled Morganville Blood Donations: Regulations and Requirements. After flipping a few pages, she shrugged and looked at Richard. "I don't think there is," she said. "I've just never had anyone donate voluntarily at the Donation Center. Oh, we take the Bloodmobile to the university from time to time, but - "
"Great," I interrupted. "I'd like to donate a pint, please."
Rose immediately became all business.
"Forms," she said, and thumped down a clipboard and pen.
To say that Justin was surprised to see me was an understatement.
To say he was pleased would have been a lie.
As I took the couch next to his, Justin hissed, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Are you crazy?"
"I'm donating blood," I said. "I don't have to, but I don't mind." At least, I didn't think I minded. I'd never actually done it before, and the sight of the red tube snaking out of Justin's arm and down to the collection bag was a little bit terrifying. "It doesn't hurt, right?"
"Dude, they're sticking a big-ass needle in your vein - of course it hurts." He looked pale, and I didn't think it was all from the fact that he was on his second pint. "You can still say no. Just get up and tell them you changed your mind."
The same friendly-looking nurse who'd called Justin to the back rolled up a wheeled stool and a cart. "He's right," she said. "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I saw your paperwork. You're a little young." The nurse's bright brown eyes focused beyond me, to Justin, and then back again. "Doing it for moral support?"
"Kind of," I admitted. My fingers felt ice-cold, and I shivered as the nurse took my hand. "I've never done this before."
"You're in luck. I have. Now, I'm going to stick your finger and run a quick test, and then we'll get started. Okay?"
I nodded. Lying on the couch seemed to have effectively sapped away my will to move. The finger stick came as a sharp, bright flash, there and gone, and I lifted my head from the pillow to see the nurse using a tiny glass pipette to gather blood from my fingertip. It was about five seconds, and then the stick was bandaged up. The nurse did some things with items on her cart, nodded in satisfaction, and smiled at me. "O negative," she said. "Excellent."
I gave her a weak thumbs-up. The nurse took my arm and fastened the rubber tourniquet above the elbow. "Talk to your boyfriend," she advised. "Don't watch."
I turned my head. Justin was staring at me with dark, intense eyes. He smiled slightly, just enough, and I returned it.
"So," I asked, "come here often?"
He laughed quietly. I felt something hot slip into my arm, a jolt that faded to discomfort, and then tape being applied. A ball was pressed into my hand, and the tight pressure of the tourniquet snapped loose. "Squeeze," the nurse said. "You're good to go."
Surprised, I glanced down. I had a thing in my arm, and a tube, and there was red running through it. . . .
My head fell back against the pillow, and I couldn't hear for the dark buzzing inside my skull. I thought someone was calling my name, but for the moment that didn't seem very important. I tried to breathe, slowly and steadily, and after what seemed like hours, the buzzing faded, and the world took on edges and bright colors again. There was a poster on the ceiling overhead, one of a kitten sitting in a tea-cup, looking adorable. I fixed on it and tried not to think about the blood that was draining out of me. This is what it's like, I couldn't help but realize. This must be what Michael felt when Oliver was draining his blood. This is what all those people feel when the vampires kill them.
It was only a little piece of death, hardly enough to matter.
The nurse slipped a warm blanket over me, smiled down, and said, "It's okay. You're not the first to pass out. That's why the seats recline, honey."
I hadn't passed out, not really, but I wasn't feeling my best, either. The nurse rolled her cart and stool around to Justin.
"Done," she announced, and I tried to turn my head that way, but I didn't want to see the needle coming out any more than I'd wanted to see it go in. Squeamish. I was squeamish about needles, and I'd never realized that before. Funny.
A warm hand covered mine, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that Justin was standing next to me, pale and hollow-eyed but upright.
"Justin," the nurse said. "Go get some juice."
"When she's done," he said.
The nurse must have realized there was no arguing about it, because she kicked her wheeled stool over to him. "Then at least sit down. I really don't want to be picking you up off the floor."
It probably took less time than it felt, but I was desperately glad when the nurse came back to remove the needle and apply bandages. I didn't look at the blood bag. The nurse said something nice, and I tried to respond in kind but wasn't absolutely sure what came out of my mouth. Justin led her to the next room, which was a sitting area with a plasma television tuned to a news channel, juice and sodas and water, and trays of crackers and cookies and fruit. I took an orange and a bottle of water. Justin went straight for the sugar shock - Coke and cookies.
I rubbed my fingers over the purple stretch bandage around my elbow. "Is it always like that?"
"Like what?" Justin mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate chips. "Scary? Guess so. They try to make it nice, but I never forget whose mouth that blood ends up in."
I felt a surge of nausea, and stopped peeling my orange. Suddenly, the thick pulpy smell was overwhelming. I chugged some water instead, which went down cool and heavy as mercury.
"They use it for the hospitals, though," I said. "For accident victims and things like that."
"Sure. Reusing the leftovers." Justin crammed another cookie into his mouth. "I hate this shit. I swore I'd never do it, but here I am anyway. Tell me again why I stay in this town?"
"They'll hunt you down if you leave?"
"Good reason." He dusted crumbs from his fingers. I peeled the rest of my orange, broke loose a slice, and ate it with methodical determination - not hungry, no sir, but well aware I was still shaky. I ate three more slices, then passed Justin the rest.
"Wait," I said. He paused in the act of biting into the orange. "You've never done this before, have you? I mean, you left town before you were eighteen, so you didn't have to. And then you've ducked it since coming back. Right?"
"Damn straight." He finished the orange and chugged the rest of his Coke.
"So you've never been inside the Bloodmobile."
"I didn't say that." Justin got that grim look again. "I went with my mother once - didn't have to donate, but she wanted me to get used to the idea. I was fifteen. They dragged in this guy - he was crazy, out of his head. Strapped him down and started draining him. They hustled the rest of us out of there, but when we left, he was still there. I watched. They drove away with him. Nobody ever saw him again."
I swallowed more water. I felt weak, but I wanted out of here. The comfortable room felt like a trap, a windowless, airless box. I tossed the rest of my water and the orange peel in the trash. Justin three-pointed his Coke can and took my hand.
"Is Eve going to stay at the hospital?" I asked.
"Not all night. It's pretty uncomfortable; her dad's sobered up, and he's doing the amends thing." Justin's mouth twisted. He clearly didn't think much of that. "Her mom just sits there and cries. She always was practically a bag of wet tissues."
"You don't like them much."
"You wouldn't, either."
"Any sign of Jason?"
Justin shook his head. "If he's showing up to do his family duty, he's sneaking around in the dead of night. Which, come to think of it, would probably work for him. Anyway, Michael said he'd bring Eve home. They're probably already there."
"I hope so. Did Michael say where he was, you know, before?"
"When he was missing? Something about this damn ball," Justin said.
I should ask him about the invitation. I almost did - I opened my mouth to do it - but then I remembered how Justin had looked last night, how deeply Ysandre had shaken him.
I didn't want to see him look like that again.
Maybe I ought to just leave it. He'd talk about it when he wanted to talk.