The Vault (A Farm Novel) by Emily McKay

down to pick up the towels and the stake—anything with blood on it—and I carry the items over to the fireplace and toss them all in. There are matches on the mantel and the towel catches quickly.
    “I don’t want the blood to attract the Ticks. I don’t even know if they’ll drink our blood, but we can’t take any chances.”
    “I doubt we need to worry about them. Not just yet anyway.”
    “I made sure the doors and windows were locked,” I tell him. “But I don’t think that will keep them out for long.”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he says. “This house may look like a Victorian clapboard, but I’m guessing that’s a veneer covering the bones of a concrete bunker. Don’t forget, Roberto’s been preparing for the fall of humanity for a long time. He wouldn’t live in a house that wasn’t strong enough to withstand a direct hit from a bomb.”
    I look around the room at the oak paneling and the large windows. Then I notice that the windows are set deep in the walls, like in a castle. “What about the glass?”
    “Probably bulletproof. Or something even newer that hasn’t been released to the public yet. Roberto was heavily invested in the military-industrial complex.”
    The stench of burning blood is heavy so close to the fire, so I walk to the window and tap on the glass, trying to gauge just how safe we really are here. Up close, I realize there are multiple panes, and when I tap, it doesn’t ring quite like glass does. In the Before, when I was autistic, I could determine the strength of glass by the way it sounded. Like the flaws in the glass actually vibrated in my ears. What would this glass sound like? Surely not high-pitched and fragile. Maybe low and resonant. Strong.
    Then I look beyond the glass, expecting to see the Ticks. Expecting to feel their anger and hunger.
    I don’t hear any of that. I don’t feel or even see them.
    “Where did they go?” I ask, the hair rising on the back of my neck. If I can’t see them, they could be anywhere.
    “Don’t worry,” Sebastian says. “They won’t attack tonight.”
    I turn to see him leaning back against the sofa, his head resting against the dip in the camelback, his eyes closed.
    “Why? How can you be so sure?”
    “I can’t. But this is the very heart of Roberto’s territory. Even though he’s dead, it still reeks of him. Can’t you sense it?” He opens his eyes just long enough to see me nod. I do sense it. It’s why I’m so jittery. “Their instincts will keep them away.”
    “If that’s true, then why did Ticks attack the academy? Wasn’t that the heart of your territory?”
    “Doubting I’m as strong as Roberto, are you?”
    “No. Just trying to understand.”
    “The academy was in my territory, but never the heart of it. That was Genexome. The Ticks that attacked the academy were newly made and starving. These are sated and lazy. They’ll attack us if they feel threatened or when they get hungry. Probably not until then.”
    “Probably?”
    “Just a theory.”
    I nod. It might be just a theory, but I hope it is true.
    “How does this whole territory thing work? Now that you’ve killed Roberto, does that mean this territory is yours?”
    “I didn’t kill Roberto,” he points out, a stab of anger in his voice. “Carter did.”
    “So then this is Carter’s territory?”
    “No. Even as an
abductura
he can’t claim territory. He’s not a vampire, he doesn’t get to play.”
    “So then this could be
your
territory, if you claimed it?”
    “According to the Meso-Americana Accords of 1409, yes. I could claim it.”
    “What would you need to do? To claim it, I mean?” Because he’s still looking weak, and despite his faith in Roberto’s house, I am not sure how much longer we can keep the Ticks at bay. He’d told me long ago that a vampire was strongest in his or her own territory. Maybe making this his territory would solve both those problems. “What do you need to do? Do you go