“Or sell feet pics!” Sophie contributes. “Or… more than feet pics…”
“None of these are reliable sources of income,” I say, rubbing my temples. “Nobody’s going to let us sign a lease withfeet picsas our main way to pay rent.” Not to mention that I don’t even want to touch that idea. Not because of prudishness or pride, but because it could ruin my career. Not that I’m going to have a career if I can’t figure out how to pay for college…
“Ugh, this is so stupid,” Sophie complains. “Why can’t we go back to the good old days when artists and writers had rich patrons to pay for everything?” She sinks down on the couch, throwing a dramatic arm over her forehead. “Like, come on, rich people. Do something useful for once.”
Elaine rolls her eyes from the other end of the couch, her fingers clicking away on her laptop keyboard.
But I sit up, my thoughts catching on that word:patron. “Wait a second.”
Elaine’s fingers go still. So do Sophie’s kicking feet. They both look at me.
“I know that face,” Sophie says, expression brightening. “You’ve thought of something.”
“Maybe.” I stand up and start to pace the length of the room, nibbling on my thumbnail as I think. “It’s a long shot, but…”
My roommates’ eyes follow me back and forth, back and forth.
“Spill!” Sophie says.
“Well, I’m just thinking, therearemodern-day patrons. But not for artists. Or… not exclusively for artists, but there’s no reason why they can’t be…”
“Ah,” Elaine says, her eyes widening.
Sophie’s gaze whips back and forth between us, still confused. “Somebody better explain or I’m gonna lose it.”
I pause by the window. “Valentines,” I say. “Valentines have patrons. And the gig pays well… or so I hear, anyway.” I hurry onward, not wanting to be questioned on exactly how much I know about the vampire scene. My roommates would never let me live it down.
The truth is, I’ve always been enamored by vampires and their glamorous human companions, also known as valentines. It’s a practical exchange: valentines donate fresh blood to their fanged patrons, and in return, vampires compensate them generously.
Yet even I can see the romantic side of the lifestyle, too. To live alongside the nocturnal nobility, to attend their lavish, exclusive parties echoing Regency-era decadence…
“Nora, you magnificent bitch,” Sophie says. “You’re so right. That’d be an assload of money.” Her gaze turns dreamy. “Not to mention the perks. The ballgowns, the dancing, the high society life…”
“Getting bitten every day,” Elaine adds, wrinkling her nose.
“Hey, some people are into that,” Sophie says.
I remember a picture from my magazine—a close-up of a vampire lovingly sinking his teeth into a woman’s neck, her face slack with bliss—and flush. “Yeah, I’ve… I’ve heard that too.” I clear my throat. “I’m sure it’s not as glamorous as they make it look. Especially with the social stigma.”
No more needs to be said. We’re all aware of the downsides to such arrangements. Valentines are alternatively seen as idols and gold diggers, glamorous and debauched. It’s often a short-lived arrangement, and I’ve heard a lot of sad stories about retired valentines struggling to find work and acceptance in society after getting pushed aside. Plus there are the horror stories of vampire-blood addiction and the like.
“I’m sure David won’t mind me getting dicked down by the undead as long as I’m getting a valentine salary,” Sophie says, derailing my train of thought.
“Sophie!” My face heats further. “I don’t think they like being called that. And I-I mean… I’m sure notallvalentines are hooking up with their patrons, right? That’s probably just a stereotype.”
Sophie lets out an undignified snort of laughter. “Oh, Nora,” she says. “You sweet, innocent baby.”
“Debates about the nature of the career aside…” Elaine says. “What are the chances that one of us would be accepted?” Elaine asks, her brow furrowed. “It’d practically be like winning the lottery.”
I shrug. Nobody knows what vampires look for in their valentines, but I do know that most people are turned away before even getting a chance to attend one of their famous Valentine’s Day balls. “Like I said, it’s a long shot. But unless somebody has any better ideas…?” I glance at each of my roommates, who both shake their heads. “It couldn’t hurt to try out, if one of you wants to.”
Sophie sits up, a grin slowly spreading across her face. “I’m so in.”
Elaine, after a moment’s consideration, closes her laptop. “Like you said, it can’t hurt.”
I blow out a breath. “Well, let’s figure out how we do this, and I can drive—”
“Oh, hell no,” Sophie says with a wicked grin. “This was your idea. You’re not getting out of joining us.”
