8
Volturi Consultants is the largest building in the city; even though I've never visited, it's hard to miss. I give my keys to a human valet driver and enter the lobby, a little lost. There are two people running the reception desk, and they greet me with big smiles and ask me how my day is going before getting to the point.
Why am I here?
I explain that I'm hoping to hire a vamp, and they hand me a clipboard with a thick paper application and send to a room filled with tables and other people here with the same goal in mind.
Who knew finding the solution to my problem would be so intense? I know people who have enlisted the help of V.A.M.P. in the past, but they never warned me that I'd be run through the gauntlet.
Before I can even meet with the proverbial man upstairs, literally, I have to fill out the paperwork that's twenty pages long, double-sided—I counted. The questions are extensive, and by the time I'm finished, my hand is cramping.
I feel naked, having bared my soul to give this company of strangers the random answers they seek.
What does my sexual history and preference and how often I masturbate have to do with my blood?
After I submit my paperwork, I'm led to a room where a sample is taken.
It's merely protocol because vampires can detect illness or abnormalities with their heightened senses, but humans require scientific proof. In President Swan's promise for equality, everything must be run by both sides in order to keep things honest.
The vampire holding the lance stares at me, nostrils flared.
"Do you know how good you smell?"
If I didn't know any better, I would think this man was hitting on me.
I've been told by a parasite or two that my blood is very appealing.
"Uh, thanks?"