“He didn’t tell me—,” Billy Boy said.
“Duh—he obviously was too embarrassed. He wants to impress you, not look like a fool.”
“In elementary school,” my mother began, “I had a friend who frequently came over with her sleeping bag, but always left by ten-thirty.”
Billy Boy shrugged and said, “Maybe you’re right.” He grabbed a cup of juice and headed upstairs. I followed him to his room and stood outside the doorway.
“What were you doing on the computer last night?” I asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“Don’t be annoying. Hey, if it wasn’t for me, you’d be searching the crawl space for your friend.”
Billy Boy rolled his eyes, then sighed. “Okay. We were looking for tombstones.”
“That sounds like something I’d do.”
“Well, maybe we are more alike than you think.”
I checked out my brother, who was sporting a Chess Club T-shirt. “That’ll be the day. Why were you searching for tombstones?”
Billy pulled something out of his desk drawer. “Valentine had these,” he said, revealing a weathered piece of paper.
Billy Boy showed me a cryptic gravestone etching—just like the ones Jagger used as grim artwork to decorate his hideouts.
“Valentine said these were his ancestors,” Billy Boy continued. “These two are from Romania. We were searching for the last one when you burst in. Now I can’t find it.”
“Let me see them.”
“No, I need to return these to Valentine when I see him again.”
“When do you plan on meeting him?”
“None of your business.”
“It is my business unless you want to find someone else to protect you from bats hanging on your windowsill,” I threatened.
Billy Boy appeared aghast, recalling the wiry creature dangling just outside his bedroom.
“Monday at Oakley Park’s fountain. After dinner.”
“Let me see the etching!”
“No.”
“Pretty please, with bat wings on top?”
“We’re going to put it with our vampire project.”
Billy Boy slammed the door before I could wedge my foot in. Then he bolted the door. Not only was Valentine becoming more brazen, so was my nerdy brother.
I opened my eyes to eternal darkness in Alexander’s coffin. I’d been sound asleep for what seemed like centuries next to my vampire-mate. I could hear gentle breathing next to me. I stretched out my arms and hit the lid of the closed coffin. I wasn’t entwined in Alexander’s arms, but rather pressed against his back.
Unaware of the time, I gently nudged my sleeping vampire. I wanted to know how much longer we’d be entombed.
I heard my boyfriend stir.
“Alexander?”
I could feel his body turn over. His hand gently rested against my neck.
“Reading my thoughts?” I asked. “Hmm…I bet you can’t guess what I’m thinking,” I teased coyly.
Alexander didn’t remove his hand. Instead he pressed harder.
My heart rate quickened. I became dizzy. I felt claustrophobic, like the already close coffin walls were closing in on us.
“Alexander—”
His hand only gripped me harder.
Then I realized, it wasn’t Alexander’s hand holding my neck. “Valentine,” I cried. “Get off!”
I desperately reached for the coffin lid. I pushed and banged, but the lid must have been locked. I scrambled, clawing my nails into the wooden lid.
I called out again, “Alexander!” But there was no answer.
I tried breathing slowly, but that only made me gasp for air. I pounded on the coffin lid. I wedged my boots against the lid and pressed against it with all my might.
“Let me out!” I tried to say, but no words escaped me.
The lid flew open.
I squinted my eyes, trying to adjust to the light.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw—Valentine was standing above me next to the casket, a candelabra glowing behind him.
If Valentine was standing outside the coffin—who had been in the coffin with me?
Slowly, I turned back.
Billy Boy was resting on his arm. He grinned, flashing his newly formed fangs.
“No!” I cried. “Not my brother!”
I woke up with a scream to find myself crashed out on our family-room couch. House of Dracula was playing on the TV. The cable box flashed its green neon light. The clock read later than I thought—the moon was on the rise.
As the sun began to set, streaks of purples and pinks hung across the sky, forming a magical sunset. I arrived at the Mansion, ran up the winding driveway and the cracked, uneven Mansion steps, then rapped on the door with the heavy serpent-shaped door knocker.
No one responded. I rapped on the door again.
Finally the door slowly creaked open. Standing to one side, Jameson, in his black butler’s uniform, greeted me with a skinny-toothed smile.
“Hello, Miss Raven. I’m afraid Alexander is not ready for company.”
“I know, but I have to see him as soon as he’s ready. Can I wait inside?”
“Of course. Come in. You may wait in the drawing room,” the creepy man said, and pointed to the room where I had awaited Alexander for our first dinner together. The room appeared the same, with an antique European desk, dusty ancient scarlet velvet upholstered chairs, and a baby grand piano in the corner. “Did you know that originally parlor rooms were for the family to view the deceased?” he said as only a creepy man could.
“Interesting,” I said as I stepped into the room and imagined what corpses might have been hanging out in here.
“Can I get you something to drink while you wait?” the butler asked me.
“No, thank you. I didn’t mean to bust in here early.”
“Please, make yourself comfortable. I’d entertain you, but I have to get ready. Miss Ruby is picking me up for dinner tonight.”
With that, the creepy man’s bulging eyes twinkled and he disappeared from the room.
I opened the small desk. Inside was a box of centuries-old stationery marked STERLINGS and a dried-out Montblanc pen. It would be a dream come true to someday live here with Alexander and Jameson. I surely wouldn’t change anything—maybe just add a slightly feminine touch. Vases of dead black roses, portraits of Alexander and me, scented lavender votives scattered throughout the Mansion.
It seemed like forever as I waited for my vampire to arise from his cozy casket. Impatience shot through me. I felt as if I were a groupie waiting backstage for a rock star.
I pulled back the heavy velvet drapes and rubbed my hand against the dusty window. I peered out as the sun slowly set over the horizon. Seconds seemed like a lifetime, minutes like eternity.
“Alexander will see you now,” Jameson finally said, now dressed in a gray evening suit.
My combat boots couldn’t carry me fast enough up the grand staircase. I raced past the million rooms and up Alexander’s creaky attic stairs, hoping they wouldn’t give out on me.
Alexander greeted me in a black ICP tour T-shirt, oversized black pants with a handcuff belt buckle, and black Converse sneakers.
“I saw Valentine,” I blurted out before my boyfriend had the chance to say hello.
Alexander stopped. His thick brown eyebrows tensed.
“He was in my house!” I said, half terrified, half excited.
“Did he hurt you—or your family?”
“No.”
Alexander seemed relieved, but then became worried. “How did he get in?”
“Billy Boy invited him for a sleepover. He ate dinner with us—pizza. He’s sneakier than Jagger.”
“While I was out searching the cemetery and cave for him, he was inside your home?”
I nodded.
“Why didn’t you get me?”
“I couldn’t. I didn’t know where you were—or how to find you. You don’t carry a cell phone
.”
Alexander turned away. I could tell he felt responsible.
“Ever since I arrived here…I’ve brought trouble for you and your family. I thought I was leaving the Maxwells behind when I came to live in the Mansion. Now I realize you would have been better off if I’d stayed in Romania.”
“Don’t say that!” I said, grasping his shirt and pulling him close. “I would never have met you and fallen in love. We wouldn’t be together.”
I leaned in to his chest, then looked up and kissed him.
His tense body relaxed and his arms melted around my waist.
“Billy Boy and Henry are meeting Valentine tomorrow night at Oakley Park. But tonight my brother is home studying. So for now we are all safe.”
Alexander began to smile. “Then let’s celebrate.”
My boyfriend took me by the hand and led me downstairs and through the unkempt grass of his backyard to the dilapidated gazebo.
“When I come here at night, I wonder what you are dreaming,” he said, lighting a half-melted candle resting on the ledge.
“I’m dreaming about you. Except last night, when I dreamed my brother was a vampire.”
Alexander leaned back against the decaying wooden structure and stared out into the moonlight. “The Maxwells are disturbing your days and nights.”
I cozied up to Alexander and gazed into his midnight-colored eyes. “You know that I want to be with you, no matter who or what you are. I always want you to know that—no matter what anyone might say to you.”
“Who would say differently?”
“You never know in this town, with vampires and nemeses running amok.”
“I know exactly how you feel, because it’s the same way I feel.”
His words warmed the blood that flowed through my veins.
“In the cave, it was Valentine who touched my neck. I found him doing the same to my brother. At first I thought he was planning to bite us.” I paused. “Instead, he was reading our thoughts,” I continued.
“How do you know?”
This time I didn’t answer.
“Valentine is gifted. He’s reading more than your thoughts; he is recording your soul. In the Underworld we call him a ‘blood reader,’” Alexander explained.
I took a deep breath. I was ready to confess my hesitation—before Alexander heard it from the menacing vampire—that though I’d always wanted to become a vampire, when I thought I was going to be turned, I became confused. “I think Valentine—”
“Enough of him,” Alexander said, brushing my hair off my shoulder. “I can read mortals, too,” he continued with a sexy smile. “Though I have my own way.”
Alexander pressed his lips against mine. I could feel my heart race more quickly than at the touch of any preteen vampire.
12
Blood Brothers
The next evening, Alexander refused to let me search for Valentine. Instead he elected to hang out with the Madison family in our home. Like a gothic guardian he kept a watchful eye, ensuring no bloodsucking visitors would skip through our front door.
Observing Alexander protect my unsuspecting family made him even dreamier in my eyes than he already was.
The following day, I spent study hall in the cafeteria. The lunch ladies were sorting trays and preparing meals for four hundred hungry students. The smell of schoolhouse chili filled our study hall. I was stretched out over a table, resting my head against my backpack, when I overheard a soccer snob talking to Jenny Warren at the table next to me.
“Did you hear about Trevor?” he asked her.
“No, tell me.”
“There was this freaky kid hanging at Hatsy’s Diner last night. He kept staring at Trevor and when Trevor confronted him, the kid tried to choke him.”
Two majorly thin brunette soccer snob groupies were sitting at a table behind me. “Well, I heard the coffin boy jumped him and held a knife to Trevor’s throat,” one said.
“I thought it was a lightsaber,” replied the other.
“Quiet down there,” Mr. Ferguson chided.
By the time I gathered my belongings, I had overheard the same story five different ways.
I rose and walked over to Mr. Ferguson, who was grading English papers. “I need to be excused,” I said.
“Why are you taking your backpack?” he asked skeptically. “Are you planning on not returning to study hall?”
“Listen, if I leave it here, students will fill it with garbage.”
“That was you?” Mr. Ferguson asked, surprised. “I heard about that the other day in the teachers’ lounge.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You’ll need a hall pass,” he said, opening his briefcase.
“That’s okay, I already have one,” I said, pulling a blank one out of my back pocket.
I hurried down the hall, passing Mr. Wernick, our intimidating security guard, who was sitting on a chair reading Sports Illustrated. It was rumored Mr. Wernick used to be a prison guard.
“Raven—,” he said, rising.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
“I’ll need to see your hall pass.” He slowly rose from his chair as if his legs were not used to carrying his weight.
I unfolded the pass and presented it to him.
“It doesn’t have a date on it,” he said, glaring down on me.
I was ready for him to read me my rights.
“Really?” I asked, faking shock. “Mr. Ferguson must have forgotten.”
Mr. Wernick grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket and signed the pass. “Good for today only.”
I took my pass back, annoyed that he had ruined my golden ticket.
I continued down the hallway and turned the corner. I peered into Mr. Hayden’s algebra class and noticed Trevor sitting in the fifth row, flirting with a cheerleader.
I hung out in the restroom for what seemed like an eternity and returned to Trevor’s class just as the bell rang.
Mr. Hayden’s classroom door opened and students burst into the hall.
Trevor, still fixated on the pom-pom girl, whizzed right past me.
“Trevor,” I called to my nemesis. But he didn’t hear me.
I caught up to him and pulled his backpack strap until it fell off of the soccer snob.
“Hey, jerk!” Trevor spun around and stopped in his tracks. “Oh, it’s you.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I need to speak with you.”
“Take a number,” Trevor said, and walked on.
“What did you do to Valentine?” I asked, catching up to him.
“Who’s Valentine?”
“You know who—the Goth kid at Hatsy’s.”
“Oh, that punk?”
“People are saying he tried to choke you. But I know that’s not what happened. Is it?”
“How do you know what he did or didn’t do? You weren’t even there.”
“I just do. Now tell me.”
Trevor paused. “It’ll cost you.” He gazed down at me, his blond eyelashes accentuating his sexy green eyes.
My stomach turned. “Forget it.”
“Forgotten.” Trevor adjusted his backpack and joined the crowd of walking students.
“No, wait,” I said, catching up to him. “Fine. I’ll carry your backpack to class,” I offered.
Trevor didn’t hand over his North Face pack. Instead he turned to me. “Prom. That’s what it will cost.”
I almost gagged. “I’m not going with you. I’m going with Alexander.”
“One slow dance,” he said with a grin.
The thought of slow dancing with Trevor in front of all of Dullsville High made me feel like a contestant on Fear Factor. However, I needed the info. I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Fine. I’ll do it. Now tell me.”
Trevor seemed pleased. He leaned against a locker and began to tell me his story. “I was sitting in Hatsy’s Diner with my team when this freaky ghost boy walked in. We looked at him as if he’d just crawled out of a grave. The kid
didn’t make eye contact with anyone as he walked through the diner. When he reached my booth, he suddenly stopped and stared straight at me—like he knew who I was. I’d never seen him before, but then I realized he looked familiar—just like Luna’s brother Jagger, only smaller.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No, he went to the counter and ordered fries. The kid was a major freak, so I had to check him out.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing, he was busy counting his change. He only had sixty-five cents.”
“So…”
“He looked emaciated enough as it was, like he barely had enough blood running through his veins. I took out a five and ordered him a Hatsy’s meal.”
I almost melted. I had no idea Trevor had a nice side. “I’m impressed,” I said truthfully. “Then what happened?”
“I said, ‘Are you Jagger’s brother?’ Then he gave me a death stare and asked, ‘Are you Trevor?’”
I felt chills run down my spine.
“So I asked him how he knew me, but he didn’t answer. Then I asked, ‘How’s Luna?’”
A twinge of jealousy ran through me. “You still like her?” I asked.
Trevor didn’t respond and continued on. “Instead of answering me, the kid looked at me like he’d just seen a ghost.”
“Go on…”
“He seemed confused, like he didn’t know. Then, all of a sudden, he reached out and he put his hand on my neck.”
I was surprised by Valentine’s actions. Instead of hiding like he had at the tree house, Valentine was becoming increasingly daring—this time with Trevor.
“Did you hurt him?”
“No, I called him a freak and pushed him away. He grabbed his Hatsy’s meal, jumped on his graveyard-themed skateboard, and sped out of the diner. Now let’s talk about prom.”
“I need to know…when he grabbed your neck—what were you thinking about?”
Trevor paused and smiled a sexy grin. “I was thinking that I should have been at the Graveyard Gala with you instead of his sister.”
“Really?” I asked, half flattered, half horrified.
“Are you insane? No one puts their hand on me, unless they’re a girl.”