As I lay there hating them both, my teeth began to ache. At first, it was just a small, dull pain, but every time the sound of Faith and Lucius’s mock battle carried to my ears, the hurt grew sharper, until it was almost like my teeth were too tightly wedged in my mouth, straining against my gums, and I wanted to claw at them, to pull them out, to find some way, the key, that would release them to become what they so desperately wanted to become.
Rolling off my bed, I rooted in my dresser, searching for my vampire manual, running my finger down the table of contents. There it was: Chapter 9, “Finding Your Way to Fangs!”
I flipped to the proper page.
“Girls will begin to feel their incisors ache as they approach age eighteen, although some ‘early bloomers’ may notice changes as young as age sixteen! The sensation often, although not exclusively, occurs during times of emotional stress, not unlike your initial thirst for blood. Try to be patient and accept the ‘dental discomfort’ as part of vampiric maturation, just as you learn to accept menstrual cramps as part of your concurrent growth into womanhood. Remember, when you are first bitten, your fangs will be released to expand and blossom, and you will soon forget the temporary twinges that carried you into full vampiredom!”
My fangs could be released by a bite from a vampire. Of course. Lucius had told me about that during our shopping trip. Women couldn’t grow fangs until they were bitten. I stashed my guide away.
The good news was, I had a vampire handy in my backyard. The bad news was, I wanted to run a stake through his heart before he had any chance to come near me—not to mention the fact that he didn’t seem to give a damn about me anymore. What was a “blossoming” young vampire to do?
Chapter 38
“YOU ARE SO LUCKY that at least one of us reads Cosmo and Vogue,,” Mindy chided me, clomping into my room burdened by at least ten shoe boxes. The pile was so high she couldn’t even see around it. “Mindy and her shoe collection to the rescue!”
My best friend dropped the boxes to the floor in a tumbling pile, and her eyes grew wide when she saw me. “Holy shit, Jessica!”
“Is that . . . good?”
Mindy ran over, grabbed my bare arms, and spun me around, looking me up and down. “You look . . . you look gorgeous.”
“Okay,” I calmed her down, prying off her fingers one by one. “Take it easy, because this dress cost me practically every penny I earned at the diner over the course of the whole summer.”
“It was worth every cent,” Mindy said, nodding. “Every freakin’ cent.”
I glanced in the mirror that hung on the back of my bedroom door. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“You are beautiful,” Mindy corrected. “The dress just lets the rest of us know. Where did you get it? Because that is not some polyester job from the mall.”
“I went back to that snooty store where I got my dress for Halloween,” I said. This time, it had been up to me to boss Leigh Ann around. But I had learned a lot from Lucius. Who knew, just a few months ago, how much could be accomplished simply by holding your chin high and talking down your nose?
“This is, like, real velvet,” Mindy said, rubbing the fabric with awe in her voice.
“Yes, the top—the bodice, as Lucius would say—is velvet, and the skirt is hand-loomed Japanese silk.” I smoothed my hands over the pure black dress. It was as dark and soft as an August night sky just before a storm. Strapless, the dress was cut straight and hugged my size ten body like the world’s best, custom-fitted glove. Not too tight, but just close enough to show off every arc and hollow of my form. Looking in the mirror, I was glad I wasn’t too skinny. This wasn’t a dress made for a boyish figure.
“I have the perfect shoes,” Mindy squealed, digging amid her boxes. She held up a pair of strappy heels, very subdued for Mindy, but just right for the dress. “These will go great.”
“Are you sure it’s okay if I borrow them . . . ?”
“Yeah,” Mindy said, with only the slightest hint of regret or jealousy in her voice. “It’s not like I go anywhere. They might as well get some use.”
Taking the shoes, I hugged her. “Thanks, Min. You’re the best.”
“Oh, don’t get all sappy,” she said. “We still have to do your hair, and it’s almost seven o’clock.”
“Do you think you could help me with, like, an updo?” I requested. “I want it to be perfect. Even better than at Halloween.”
“Do I not read Cosmo, Vogue, and Celebrity Hairstyle?” Mindy pointed out, reaching for my hairbrush. “You’re in good hands, Jessica Packwood.”
I hesitated, then reached for the photograph of my birth mother, which I had moved to a small silver frame that I kept on my desk. “Do you think you could make me look a little like . . . her?”
I handed Mindy the picture, and she gawked at it, jaw actually dropping. “Jess . . . this is . . . this has to be . . .” She glanced up at me, clearly astonished. “Was she like a princess or something?”
“It’s a long story,” I said, taking the photo back. I gazed at Mihaela Dragomir. “But she was special. Yes.”
“What the hell aren’t you telling me here?” Mindy demanded, curious and a little wary. “Something’s going on.”
“It’s just a memento I was given,” I explained vaguely, setting the photo on my desk. “Something I couldn’t face before . . .”
“Jess, she looks exactly like you. It’s almost eerie.”
I flushed with pleasure. Is she not beautiful . . . powerful . . . regal . . . like YOU? “Thanks, Mindy, but can we talk about it later? Right now, I’m just desperate for help with my hair.”
At the mention of hair, Mindy snapped back to the present and scooped up a big handful of my glossy curls. “I am all over it, Jessica. When I’m done with you, every girl at Woodrow Wilson is going to wish she was you.”
About fifteen minutes and a complete pump bottle of hairspray later, Mindy held up a mirror. My curls were artfully, but chaotically, arranged on my head, like a glorious, lustrous crown, and she’d taken a thick handful and twisted it around the updo, not unlike the silver coronet in the photo of my birth mother. Mindy had done very well. “I will never laugh about Celebrity Hairstyles again,” I promised.
Downstairs the doorbell rang.
“Jess?” Mindy asked, giving me one last spritz.
“What?” I was still admiring myself in the mirror.
“Is all this for Jake . . . or does this have something to do with the fact that Lucius is taking Faith? I know you always say you don’t like him. But it still sucks sometimes when somebody who’s been into you has a change of heart . . .”
“It’s all for me,” I interrupted her, squaring my shoulders. The dress, the hair, the shoes . . . they were all about me taking pride in myself. Believing that I was beautiful. Believing that I was worthwhile.
Forget Lucius and Faith Crosse. I intended to have a presence.
“Well, knock ’em dead,” Mindy said, giving me a careful hug, so as not to muss my hair. “You look amazing.”
I caught my reflection one last time as I went down to greet Jake. Amazing. That was one word for my transformation. I would have added, perhaps, royal, too.
In spite of being more than a little sad, and more than a little hurt, and completely confused by the state of my life, the young woman in the mirror managed a smile.
Chapter 39
“YOU LOOK REALLY pretty, Jess,” Jake said, handing me some punch.
“You look nice, too, Jake.” Nice.
“It’s too bad you’ve been so swamped lately,” he added. “I’ve kind of missed hanging out with you.”
“You know, senior year.” I shrugged, sipping my punch.
“I hear ya,” Jake agreed. “It’s totally busting my butt.”
I flinched a little at the crude expression. It seemed like something a . . . a . . . peasant might say.
“I mean, if I don’t get a wrestling scholarship, I’ll be stuck at community college for t
wo years,” he continued. “That’s gonna suck. I guess your applications are all out there already.”
“I have to go to Grantley,” I said. “You know, where my mom teaches. I go for free.”
“Cool. Free.”
I sipped my punch again, wishing Jake and I had more in common. Maybe it had been a mistake to come with him. Maybe I should have just stayed home. . . .
“Whoa.” Jake’s eyes widened, and he pointed over my shoulder. “Check that out.”
“What?” I turned, and my heart seized up for a second.
Lucius had arrived with Faith’s hand tucked in the crook of his arm. She was shimmering in a silver gown, with thin straps that slithered down her shoulders and gloves that snaked up to her elbows, her fair hair seized within a sparkling tiara, like some sort of ice princess. A harshly glittering snow queen.
And Lucius . . . Lucius was her dark counterpart in a perfectly fitting tuxedo. Even from across the gym it was easy to see that his suit was no rental like Jake’s. Lucius’s tuxedo was expertly custom-tailored for his tall, lean body, the pants cut perfectly to break at the top of shoes as impeccably polished as his manners.
I glanced at Jake. His tux was appropriate. Conservative black. Nothing obnoxious or embarrassing. But it strained across his bulging shoulders, and his bow tie was just the slightest bit askew.
It was completely unfair to compare the two—I mean, Jake couldn’t afford a custom tux—but compare them I did. My blood-pact partner had never looked so good. And Faith glistened like a tall, cool icicle dripping from his arm. She leaned close, pulling Lucius down, whispering in his ear. He laughed, flashing teeth as pure white as his crisp shirt.
“Ethan is not going to like this,” Jake muttered, grinning.
Glancing around the dark gym, I easily located Ethan Strausser, with his pudgy goon partner Frank Dormand at his side. Ethan was shooting daggers at Lucius and Faith, his chest actually heaving with rage. He clenched his paper cup, and punch shot out onto his shirt, which only angered him more. He brushed at the stain, and I could see his lips forming a stream of curses.
“Oh yeah, he’s pissed,” Jake noted. “Luc better watch himself in the parking lot. I heard Ethan wants to annihilate him. Go nuclear on his ass for going after Faith.”
I looked back to Lucius. He was leading Faith onto the dance floor, and she sort of tumbled into his arms, her gloved hands creeping up his chest, circling his neck. He slipped his hand onto the small of her back, resting it in the curve of her spine.
I’d seen enough. “Come on,” I said, grabbing Jake’s hand. “Let’s dance.”
“Sure, if you’re not afraid of me stepping on your shoes,” Jake joked. “I’m not too good.”
“It’s okay, Jake,” I assured him, suddenly feeling a tender spot in my heart for the guy who led me across the gym, my hand clutched in his stubby, work-calloused fingers. Of course Jake couldn’t dance, and he didn’t own a tux, or know how to pay a suave compliment. He was a farm kid, not Romanian royalty. I slipped into his arms, and we made slow circles under the twinkle lights.
“This feels nice,” Jake said, holding me close.
“Yes,” I agreed, trying to focus on that feeling of tenderness. He’s nice, Jess. Try to feel something. Try to just enjoy being with a nice, normal guy. . . . Try to forget Lucius and vampires and pacts. . . .
Jake leaned his forehead against mine. We were nearly the same height. “Jess . . .” He pulled me closer. “It’s been a while since I’ve kissed you.”
“Yes, it has been,” I agreed, not sure what else I could say. Just try, Jess. . . .
Jake nuzzled closer. His lips were just about to meet mine, when he was yanked away. “Hey, what the . . . ?”
“May I cut in?”
Lucius was looming over us, smiling, but not in a happy way.
Jake twined his arm back around my waist. “Luc, we’re kind of dancing here.”
“And I’m cutting in. That’s how dancing works where I come from.”
“We’re not in . . . wherever you come from,” Jake said.
“Lucius!” I hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at him. No. He had no right.
Lucius put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “My apologies, if I misunderstood your customs. But please, indulge me. I will not keep her from you long.”
Jake looked to me, uncertain.
“Just give us a second, Jake,” I said, looking daggers at Lucius. “I’ll handle it.”
Jake shot Lucius a dark look, too. “Just one dance.” Then he stomped off through the crowd, clearly not pleased.
“What do you want?” I demanded. “We were just about—”
“Yes, I saw what you were ‘just about.’”
“That’s none of your business.”
The song ended, and I crossed my arms over my chest, as though shielding myself against him. Because even when I hated Lucius, I felt vulnerable to him. “The song is over, Lucius. Go back to Faith.”
“There will be a new song,” he said. “That is how these events work, yes?”
And, of course, another song started.
“Shall we?” Lucius asked, slipping his arm around my waist, drawing me to himself.
“You won’t stop until you get your way, will you?”
“No.”
“Just one song, then,” I grumbled, allowing myself to be pulled into his arms, hating the traitorous flutter in my stomach.
“Do you dance, Jessica?” he asked, smiling down at me. “Waltz? Quadrille?”
“You know I don’t.”
“Ah, but with your grace, you should. I could have . . .” Lucius seemed to catch himself, and trailed off. “For now, like this,” he instructed, guiding my left hand to his shoulder and taking my right hand into his own, holding it close to his chest. His palm felt cool against the small of my back. That familiar coolness. Part of who he was. No, Jess . . . don’t buy into it. . . . He’s with Faith. . . . You’re just a potential “mistake.”
“Just follow my lead,” Lucius advised. “I shall guide you. Just trust me.”
Yeah. Trust you. . . . Yet I allowed myself to be led, my body echoing his.
“Yes, Jessica,” Lucius said, looking down at me with admiration in his eyes. “You are a natural, as I would expect.”
As soon as he said that, I stumbled against him, stepping on those impeccable shoes.
“Sorry,” I apologized as he steadied me, drawing me even closer.
“It’s all right,” Lucius said. I realized that we had slowed, almost imperceptibly, but enough to put us out of synch with the music, moving to our own quieter rhythm. “Everyone stumbles now and then,” he added. “As you well know.” He guided my hand to his cheek, placing my fingertips against the place I’d smacked. “I still sting here when I shave. But it was deserved.”
“If you’re trying to apologize . . .”
“I’m trying to compliment you,” he said. “It is the rare individual who can strike me and walk away unscathed.”
The song was a long one, and we swayed together, still slightly out of time, but my heart had begun beating its own quick rhythm, the longer we held each other. God, I didn’t want to feel this way. I wanted to hate Lucius with even greater fervor for thrusting himself into my date, interrupting my attempt at a nice evening. I tried to keep Faith in mind. Faith, Faith, Faith. Jake, Jake, Jake. Mistake, mistake, mistake.
Lucius placed his fingers under my chin, tilting my head so he could see my eyes again. “I had no right to barge in like that . . . but I suppose old habits die hard.”
For some reason, when he said that, I wanted to cry. I wanted the song to end right then, or maybe go on forever. And I wanted to cry.
“You just look so beautiful tonight,” he continued. “When I saw you in that gown . . . God, Jessica. I thought you were gorgeous before—and yet you outdo yourself this evening.” His fingertips stroked the back of my gown, feeling the rich fabric. “Black velvet and silk are perfect upon you. You are
like a living Chopin nocturne. A soft, yet stirring harmony meant to be enjoyed at night . . .”
“Don’t, Lucius . . .”
“I just couldn’t allow that boy—”
“You’re with Faith,” I reminded him, a bit sharply. “Not me.”
A fleeting pain flashed in his eyes, almost as if I’d slapped him again. “Yes, of course. Of course you are right. I won’t interfere again, Antanasia. I promise.”
My fingers tightened on his shoulder at the sound of my old name. The name I’d noticed he’d stopped using. “You called me by my name. My old name.”
Lucius squeezed my hand, pressing his thumb against my palm. “Old habits. Old names. Old souls.”
“Is that what we are?” I searched his dark eyes. We had a connection. . . . Dark mountains, blood pacts . . . He couldn’t deny it. . . .
But he did. “These are new times.”
Still, Lucius let go of my hand in order to embrace me more completely, draw me even closer, until I almost felt like I was a part of him, hardly dancing anymore, just standing together in the middle of the room.
“How you do vex me,” he finally whispered, bending close to my ear. “How you do test my resolve.”
And before I could even question what he meant—me, the vexing one?—he rested his forehead against mine, as Jake had just done. Only Lucius didn’t move his mouth toward mine. He simply drew his lips gently across my cheek, down along my jaw . . . down to my throat.
A ferociously wonderful and terrifying sensation shuddered through me, and in the split second his lips crossed my jugular the whole gym disappeared. We were alone, I swore, in a candlelit stone room, our bare feet on a thick Persian rug, a fireplace blazing at my back. I’d been there; I knew it.
Lucius opened his mouth slightly, and I felt the faintest touch of his fangs caressing my skin, just above the spot where my blood pulsed strongest.
His fangs . . .
I didn’t care if it was irrational. I didn’t care if it was impossible. I just wanted to feel them. I needed them, like I’d never needed anything in my life. In my own mouth, my own teeth began to ache. That delicious, delirious agony of something struggling so hard to be born.