“I MUST SAY, I’M SURPRISED YOU WANTED A TOUR,” Victor says with a smile.

Hunter shrugs. “I’m getting a little stir-crazy.”

“Logan said something to that same effect—I do apologize for the close quarters. I considered rooming you each separately but I thought that, given the sudden unique set of circumstances, you’d want some company. And it’s easier to keep a single pack on patrol in this sector than it would be to spread out their security detail to include multiple living quarters,” he offers.

“Why are you explaining this to me?” Hunter challenges. “Logan said the doctor told him lots of stuff, too.”

Victor chuckles. “As I’ve said, you’re guests here. We don’t intend to hide the work we’re doing here, we’re just not ready to go public quite yet.” He pauses. “And, if I’m quite honest, you’re four kids surrounded by dozens of vampires. Forgive my confidence in saying that it would take more than your combined talents to bring down a facility that the Keepers haven’t even figured out exists.”

“Fair,” Hunter reflects.

Victor leads him back through the facility much the same way they were brought through that first night, Hunter’s mental inventory of gleaming and seamless stainless steel doors reinforced. The halls smell sterile, the white of the walls and the tile nearly blinding. Victor prattles on about the cost of the facility and the benefits package for the salaried mortal staff as though he’s giving a tour to investors rather than a captive.

“We are still in the beta phase for the more interesting parts of the facility, I’m afraid, so I can’t give tours of that yet. I suppose I could show you the stables and grounds—the parts of the ranch we’ve kept mostly as a ranch, if you’re interested.”

“Which parts are still in the beta phase?” Hunter probes, finding little use in a tour of the outdoors and more in a tour that might give him a way outdoors.

“Like the Research and Development Sector.”

“What’s this facility for, exactly?”

“Officially it’s a medical research facility.”

“And unofficially?”

“Unofficially it’s . . . a lot like a blood bank. We subsist on blood and not all of us relish hunting, which requires us to hide our existence from the mortal world. This facility exists to process and store blood provided by donors—the goal is a symbiotic relationship between us and you,” he explains with the rehearsed pride of a parent watching a T-ball game. “No more hiding, officially or unofficially.”

Hunter’s mouth opens and closes a couple times as words fail him. Donors—is that what they’re calling us?

“Not quite what you expected from a bunch of vampires, huh?” Victor beams. “Of course, we aren’t without our limitations—as the beta phase has proven. Nor is any large-scale project like this without its political or moral battles.”

“Are these the living quarters you mentioned?” Hunter asks, still at a loss for useful follow-up questions that won’t betray snark. He gestures to a set of doors Victor hasn’t mentioned.

“Some, though mostly unfinished in this sector. We’ve had to move up our project timeline, so some comforts have fallen to the wayside—like decorating. Others are refrigerated storage for blood. That one’s a laundry room.” He gestures to a door on the right. “That reminds me, just use the tablet to request laundry services—or anything else you need. Don’t be shy.”

As if on cue a rather burly-built man pushing a large metal-framed ivory-and-crimson mottled laundry cart, much like the ones hotels use, rounds the corner coming towards them, trailed by a shorter, plumper woman who takes short, quick steps to keep up. She wears bright white Keds that squeak with each step; both wear hospital scrubs. In the cart, sheets, by the looks of it—though the way the man pushes it, his biceps tensed, Hunter suspects there’s more than just linens taking up room. Though he barely has time to survey its contents when they shuffle quickly by, both avoiding eye contact, he swears he sees toes poking up from between folds of white before the woman reaches in to adjust the heaping linens.

“Shouldn’t they be heading to the laundry room?” Hunter whispers after the two have passed by them a few yards, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“It’s burning day; I think they’re heading to the incinerator. The thing’s a beast, so we don’t run it daily. Come on, I’ll show you the infirmary—it really is state-of-the-art—then the kitchen, other finished visitor’s quarters, and the visitor’s parlor, which are in the original ranch house. We dubbed this part the Home Sector,” Victor says with a smile, placing a hand firmly on Hunter’s shoulder to guide him.