My eyes fluttered open. The late morning sunshine spilled through the half-sized basement windows. I yawned and stretched, more out of habit than anything. Even though I’d slept on the basement floor, I felt nothing unusual, aside from the stiffness of my clothes due to the dried blood. I could have been sleeping on the best mattress in the world and I’d feel the same way. Well-rested. And hungry. I sat up and peeked at Drake. He still looked sound asleep, but was deathly still.
Monty stirred in the chair across from me. His ponytail had gotten messy while he slept and his hair stuck out in different directions.
“So, what’s the verdict? Is a vampire born?”
“Um, not from the look of it.” I lifted the blanket. Still a giant gaping wound in his stomach. I dropped the blanket and looked away. His blood no longer smelled of chocolate so intoxicating that I could think of nothing else. He smelled strange, off, but not quite like the vampires. But his scent hadn’t disappeared like it had with Harold and Mrs. Harold. The sun beat down on his arm, which I draped over the blanket. I took his hand and lifted it, inspecting for anything to show he was affected by the sun, but there was nothing, no blisters, no burns.
“But look, right there!” Monty said, pointing at Drake’s arm. “Pick it up again.”
I picked it up and shook it a little. It flopped loosely and I set it back down.
“See, nothing.”
“No, that’s just it Vicky. When people die they get all stiff. It’s called rigor mortis. I saw it on one of those detective shows. They were saying on the one show I saw that after three hours a dead person should be pretty stiff. When you shook his arm just then, it wasn’t stiff at all. And don’t you remember in Dracula, when they would dig up the bodies days later, they still looked fresh and healthy? So that means Drake is definitely going to wake up.”
“Okay, you definitely may have something with the rigor mortis thing, but I think we should quit using Bram Stoker as our all-knowing vampire wonder of the universe. Remember, his book is fiction. Not real. He could have made some of these details up.”
“But you’re real. I win. You can’t argue with that,” he said with a grin and leaned back in the chair triumphantly.
I caught a whiff of his scent—oranges, crushed red-pepper hummus, pancakes. Weird, but it kinda fit him. Trying to keep my fangs in check, I grabbed the car keys off the floor.
“I need to run home really quick and change.” I gestured to my shirt. “And eat some breakfast.”
“Wait a minute, you’re just going to leave me here with him? Alone? But, but what if he wakes up? Won’t he be hungry too?” His eyes darted nervously between Drake and me.
“Here’s his first snack. If he wakes up, don’t let him move until he drinks both of those. And call me right away. I’ll be back within the hour. If he’s anything like me, it’s still going to be awhile.” I shoved the cooler in his direction and he jumped out of the chair and grabbed it.
I was up the stairs before he could say anything. I caught a whiff of coffee in the air, fresh coffee, meaning someone had to be up. I dashed to the garage and slipped out through a side door before anyone caught me. I wasn’t paying attention as I stepped outside and found myself knee-deep in snow. Ugh, I had forgotten about the little blizzard last night. Getting home was going to take a little longer than I thought.