"Christopher Pike - The Last Vampire 01 - The Last Vampire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pike Christopher)

will sleep deep, maybe wake up with a slight headache:
"Forget," I whisper in his ear.

He won't remember me. They seldom do.

The next morning I sit in Mr. Castro's history class. My cream-colored dress is fashionable, on the rich
side; the embroidered hem swings four inches above my knees. I have very nice legs and do not mind
showing them off. My long wavy blond hair hangs loose on my shoulders. I wear no makeup or jewelry.
- Ray Riley sits off to my right, and I study him with interest. Class will begin in three minutes.

His face has a depth his father's never imagined. He is cut in the mode of many handsome modern
youths, with curly brown hair and a chiseled profile. Yet his inner character pushes through his natural
beauty and almost makes a mockery of it. The boy is already more man than boy. It shows in his brown
eyes, soft but quick, in his silent pauses, as he takes in what his classmates say. He reflects on it, and
either accepts or rejects it, not caring what the others think. He is his own person, Ray Riley, and I like
that about him.

He talks to a girl on his right. Her name is Pat, and she is clearly his girlfriend. She is a scrawny thing, but
with a smile that lights up whenever she looks at Ray. Her manner is assertive but not pushy, simply full of
life. Her hands are always busy, often touching him. I like her as well and wonder if she is going to be an
obstacle. For her sake, I hope not. I honestly prefer not to kill young people. Pat's clothes are simple, a
blouse and jeans. I suspect her family has little money. But Ray is dressed sharp. It makes me think of the
million I offered his father.

Ray does not appear upset. Probably his father often disappears for days at a time.

I clear my throat and he looks over at me.

"Hello," he says. "Are you new?"

"Hi," I say. "Yes. I just checked in this morning." I offer my dainty hand. "My name's Lara Adams."

"Ray Riley." He shakes my hand. His touch is warm, his blood healthy. I can smell blood through
people's skin and tell if they have any serious ailments --even years before the disease manifests. Ray
con-tinues to stare at me, and I bat my long lashes. Behind him Pat has stopped talking to another
classmate and looks over. "Where are you from?" he asks.

"Colorado."

"Really? You have a slight accent."

His comment startles me because I am a master at accents. "What accent do you hear?" I ask, genuinely
curious.

"I don't know. English, French--it sounds like a combination."

I have lived in both England and France for ex-tended periods of time. "I have traveled a lot," I say.
"Maybe that's what you hear."

"Must be." He gestures to his side. "Lara, this is my girlfriend, Pat McQueen. Pat, meet Lara Adams."