“So you believe the rumors.”
She stared back out at the dodgeball game. “I don’t know what to believe. And you won’t tell me.”
“It’s complicated,” I said. “But if you can just trust me for a while until I sort it out—”
Mindy turned to me again, and this time there was fear in her eyes. “It’s not just about you, Jess.”
“Then what?”
“It’s . . . him. He’s the one who changed you. He did something to you. And he did something to Faith. She showed people the scratches . . .”
Mindy didn’t have to clarify who “him” was: Lucius.
“Everything was normal until he came here, and he changed you,” Mindy said, misery in her voice, as if Lucius had actually stolen something from her. And I suppose, in her view, he had.
“It’s not Lucius’s fault,” I said. “I mean, it’s nobody’s fault, because everything’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, Jess.” Mindy’s composure was cracking. “You know I like Lukey—I liked Lukey. But people are saying he’s not right. People are scared.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of.”
Mindy tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “If you say so, Jess.”
“You’re still coming over for my birthday, right?” I asked. “For dinner?”
My eighteenth birthday was a few weeks away. Mindy and I had always celebrated our birthdays together. We had exchanged presents and eaten cake and made wishes, side-by-side since we’d been four years old. I gave her hand a shake. “You’ll be there, right?”
But the force with which Mindy pulled away and the way she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed me touching her told me that the tradition was over.
“I’m sorry, Jess,” she said. It sounded like her throat was tight. “I just can’t. Not if he’s there.”
“Please, Mindy . . .”
But I didn’t get a chance to finish convincing her, because an errant dodgeball smacked the wall right above my head. My inadvertent yelp alerted Coach Larson to the fact that Mindy and I were just sitting around, and she blew her whistle. “Get your butts back in here or do some laps,” she hollered, clapping fiercely. “Don’t just sit there getting fat and lazy!”
I slid slowly up the wall with my usual goal of wasting as much gym time as possible, but Mindy was on her feet like a shot, tearing into the fray, grabbing up a ball and hurling it at our classmates with a vengeance that astonished me. I’d never seen Mindy Stankowicz actually participate in gym class. She always did her best either to be the first person retired from any game or to fake an injury. And she was the most believable actress I’d ever known when it came to cramps. One month she’d managed to have her period for three straight weeks. But now . . . now Mindy was rocketing around the gym floor, scooping up every stray ball she could get her hands on, firing like a Gatling gun in a gangster movie. Maybe she was imagining me out there, cowering against the wall.
“Get in here, too, Packwood.” Coach Larson blew her whistle again. “Now!”
But I ignored her. I just watched Mindy for a few moments, then walked to the locker room, excusing myself with a resolute dignity that my gym teacher seemed powerless to counter, because she didn’t even attempt to order me again.
Chapter 53
“MRS. WILHELM?”
I glanced up from an elaborate doodle I’d been sketching in my notebook to see Frank Dormand waving his fat hand around, trying to get our teacher’s attention. I’d never seen Frank raise his hand for anything, so I figured he either had diarrhea and needed a hall pass or . . . actually, I couldn’t think of any other reason a moron like Frank would call attention to himself in an academic setting. Therefore, what he said next greatly surprised me.
“Yes, Frank?” Mrs. Wilhelm seemed puzzled, too.
“I did a book report.”
What?
“Oh. Dear.” Mrs. Wilhelm clearly didn’t know whether to be delighted, terrified, or both. “You did? Because you weren’t assigned . . .”
“I know,” Frank said. “But I was so interested in the books that I read ahead . . .”
I could see Mrs. Wilhelm getting a little intrigued in spite of her obvious misgivings. To hear that a student—especially a dismal scholar like Frank—had read ahead . . . well, it must have seemed like she’d won the lottery and found true love all on the same day. “You did?” she repeated, eyes getting a little starry.
Something about the whole situation struck me as very, very wrong. I glanced back at Lucius, slightly alarmed, but he was merely watching, eyes neutral with that new strange calm he’d cultivated.
“And what did you read?” Mrs. Wilhelm inquired.
“Dracula,” Frank announced. “And I’m ready to talk about it.”
Oh, no. Oh, please, no. I swung back around in my seat. We were on some sort of dangerous ground now. Frank and Faith had cooked up something. Please, Mrs. Wilhelm. Tell him just to shut up.
“Well, Frank, we are still weeks away from reading Bram Stoker,” Mrs. Wilhelm mused.
“I know, but I really got excited about this great book,” Frank said. “It gave me lots to think about. I really want to tell the class about it.”
Mrs. Wilhelm wavered for one more second, but the idea that a lackluster student was actually excited about a book—had found things to think about . . . it was just too much for her. “Please, then, Franklin. Do share your report.” She took a seat as Frank squeezed out from behind his desk and lumbered to the front of the class.
My heart was racing. I glanced at Mindy, but she kept her gaze locked straight forward. I knew she was aware of me looking at her, but she would not meet my eyes. What the hell was about to happen? Did my former best friend know?
Frank rattled a sheet of notebook paper and cleared his throat. Then he read, in his awkward, flat way, “The thing about Bram Stoker’s Dracula that is very surprising is that it is based on a real story of a vampire that actually lived in Romania. That vampire’s name was Vlad the Impaler, which is sort of like the name Vladescu.”
Shut up, Frank. . . .
Behind me, Faith laughed softly and whispered, “Uh-oh!” Just loud enough to make sure Lucius and I heard.
“Some people say that vampires still exist,” Frank continued. “If you look on the Internet, there is a lot of information about people who drink blood—human blood—and call themselves vampires. Many of these freaks live in Romania, where they are often killed because normal people shouldn’t have to live with them.”
He paused and stared pointedly past me. At Lucius. No, no, no.
“Franklin, I’m not sure this is appropriate,” Mrs. Wilhelm sputtered, standing up.
But Frank returned to reading, more quickly, before anyone could stop him. “There are even names of blood-drinking people on the Internet. Lots of people who say they are vampires have the last name Vladescu, just like Lucius. That is a weird coincidence.”
“Frank, sit down now!” Mrs. Wilhelm ordered.
But it was too late. The murmurs had started, and everyone turned to gawk at Lucius. Everyone but me. I just kept staring straight ahead, maybe because my heart had stopped and I was technically dead. My fingers, clutching my desk, felt cold and stiff.
“You can check it out online,” Frank concluded, ignoring our teacher. “Vampires. Just like in the book.” He paused. “And that is my report.”
Frank folded his paper and jammed it in his back pocket, a smug smile on his face. A smile that faded about the same time a shadow was cast across my desk.
Lucius, don’t go up there.
But of course a vampire prince would not sit still and be toyed with. Lucius stalked to the front of the class, and the smile on Frank’s face disappeared completely.
“Did you wish to make a point with your awkward and ill-conceived ‘report,’ Mr. Dormand?” Lucius demanded, squaring off in front of Frank. His back was to the class, but you could see the tension in his broad shoulders. Like
a muscular cat about to pounce on a fat rat.
“Lucius.” Mrs. Wilhelm rushed forward.
Lucius ignored her. He leaned over Frank, jabbing his index finger into the bully’s chest, pushing him against the whiteboard. “Because if you have something to say, you should be less oblique. You are not clever enough to be subtle.”
“Get security,” Mrs. Wilhelm ordered Dirk Bryce, who sat closest to the door. “Run!”
Dirk hesitated for a second, like he was afraid to miss the action that was clearly brewing, then took off like a shot down the hall.
Edging out from under Lucius’s finger, Frank swallowed hard, glancing at his classmates. He seemed to draw some courage from their presence. “What I’m saying is, your parents were killed because they were bloodsucking vampires. Is that clear enough?”
“Franklin Dormand, stop this now!” Mrs. Wilhelm shrieked, tugging at Frank’s shoulders, pulling him farther away from Lucius.
“Are you accusing me of being a vampire?” Lucius demanded, matching Frank’s retreat step for step. “Because I am indeed—”
“No!” I yelled, bolting from my seat and rushing at Lucius. I grabbed his arm and yanked as hard as I could. “Don’t let Frank bait you.”
Lucius spun around, furious, as though he was about to shake me off physically, but our eyes met, and he regained control of himself. The new calm resignation glazed his eyes again. He peeled my fingers gently off his arm. I started to grab him again, as if I could silence him with my hands, but at the last second, I let my hand drop to my side. There was nothing I could do at that point.
The whole classroom grew eerily quiet as Lucius and I stared at each other. Me, silently begging him not to say anything more to damn himself. Not to provoke a real fight. Lucius challenging me with an unspoken, “Why the hell not at this point? Why not let the end begin?”
You could hear Frank, Lucius, and Mrs. Wilhelm breathing hard as we all waited for what might happen next. It was the flash point. We teetered on the edge of chaos—or of calm.
Lucius found it in himself, somehow, to choose calm.
He turned slowly back to Frank. “The next time you have something to say to me, say it directly. And be prepared for a response that will leave you wishing you’d had the good sense to stay silent.”
“Is that a threat?” Frank spun around to Mrs. Wilhelm. “He can’t make threats! That’s grounds for getting kicked out of school!”
“Stop, Frank,” Mrs. Wilhelm said. “Stop now.”
Security arrived then, storming into the room only to find us all standing, tense but in control. “What’s happening here?” the school cop demanded, clearly eager to abuse some authority.
I waited for the hammer to drop, but to my surprise, Mrs. Wilhelm didn’t blurt the whole story. Her voice was a little shaky, but she was steady on her feet as she said, “Nothing’s happening. It was just a small misunderstanding. Everything’s fine now.”
Frank’s eyes widened, and he pointed at Lucius. “But he just threatened—”
“SILENCE,” Mrs. Wilhelm thundered, with more force than I’d ever heard her use before. “SILENCE, FRANK.”
It took me a few seconds to figure out what she was doing. Protecting Lucius. Her pet student. The one pupil who actually loved literature as much as she did. He might be a bloodsucker, but to Mrs. Wilhelm, Lucius Vladescu would always be the guy in the back row who understood hidden metaphors, obscure symbolism, and the shadowy passions that consumed a fictional character named Heathcliff. Good old Mrs. Wilhelm: She would protect Lucius from the wuthering gusts as long as he was in her classroom. I thanked her silently in my heart.
Unfortunately, Lucius couldn’t live his whole life in English lit.
As the class filed out of the room, I glanced at Faith Crosse. The faintest trace of a smug, bemused, satisfied smile shimmered—or slithered?—across her cotton-candy pink, highgloss lips.
Chapter 54
“JESS, BLOW OUT the candles.”
My eighteenth birthday. It should have been one of the highlights of my life, but it was just awful. Depressing. I had no friends and so no party. My only guest was, of course, Uncle Dorin, whose continued presence we had finally revealed to Lucius and my parents.
My uncle sat at the table, watching everything with his bright little eyes. “This is just lovely,” he kept saying. “Top notch.”
“The wax is dripping,” Mom said, prodding me. She had concocted a vegan cake out of rice syrup, soy milk, and unsweetened applesauce. A real crowd-pleaser. Still, I blew, to make her happy. The candles sputtered, died. I didn’t bother to make a wish.
“Hooray,” Mom said, trying to rally the little party.
Lucius stared at me from across the table as Mom cut the faux cake. If there is one thing worse than an angry vampire, it is the inscrutable version. Nobody can do blank eyes like a vampire. I stared back, trying not to miss the person who was right there in front of me. It didn’t work. I missed him, anyway. If only he would just talk to me. . . . He had to be lonely. Everyone was sidestepping him at school, whispering behind his back, as the story of Frank’s book report spread through the halls, adding more force to the rumors already circulating. The fact that Lucius had pretty much admitted he was undead, right in front of Mrs. Wilhelm’s class, hadn’t helped to calm things down.
Suddenly it wasn’t uncommon to hear the word “vampire” whispered in the halls of Woodrow Wilson High School.
“Hey, this is great,” Dad said, digging into his slice of cake.
Does he really believe that?
“We got you a gift.” Mom smiled, handing me a box wrapped in the cheerful, crinkled pink-and-yellow paper we’d been recycling since I was about ten years old.
“Oh, gifts,” Dorin cried, clapping his hands together. “I do love presents.”
I carefully removed the wrapping so Mom could put it away for yet another year. Inside the box were a new, high-tech calculator and a card announcing that I had a renewed subscription to Math Whiz magazine. I gave my parents a puzzled glance. They knew I’d quit the math team.
“You might regain your interest someday,” Mom said.
I knew what she really meant: You might become yourself again. You will get over Lucius and your life will go on.
“Thanks, Mom and Dad. It’s a great gift.”
“Lucius, don’t you have a gift for Antanasia, too?” Dorin nudged.
Lucius snapped back from some private reverie. “Yes, yes. Of course.”
“Really, Lucius?” He’d been so detached, so drawn into himself, that I certainly hadn’t expected him to go shopping on my behalf.
I watched with anticipation as he reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a box. A tiny case. Red velvet. Like the kind of box rings come in. Engagement rings.
Both my parents sucked in their breaths. You could hear the sound of air whistling past their lips. With the exhale, a few crumbs of the hideous cake dripped out of Dad’s open mouth.
Suddenly my own heart was racing, too.
Lucius slid the box across the table. “Here. Happy birthday. Many happy returns.”
“Oh, goodness,” Mom was saying. “I’m not sure . . .”
I willed my fingers not to shake as I reached for the box and flipped open the lid. Is this going to be it? Did Lucius change his mind? Are we going through with the pact?
But no.
Inside, lying on a small square of pure white velvet, was not a ring, but a necklace, with a stone so deeply crimson as to be almost black.
It was beautiful.
I loathed it.
I nearly reeled from the disappointment that squeezed my chest, making it difficult to breathe. At the sight of the ring-sized container, I’d really believed that Lucius had changed his mind about fulfilling the pact. For the briefest moment, I’d pictured us together. Our whole future had flashed before me. Me. Lucius. Peace among vampires. Safety in each other’s arms, no matter what the Elders or our fellow students threa
tened. For the briefest moment, I’d believed the small box had held the promise of all that.
But of course, looking across the table at Lucius, I realized that my hopes had been absurd. His was not the posture of a man proposing marriage. He sat upright, eyes neutral, self-contained in his new, serenely disinterested state. Lucius Vladescu wasn’t a suitor about to marry. He was a vampire about to be destroyed. Waiting for what would converge upon him.
I wanted to scream and hurl the necklace across the room, like a petulant child who didn’t get the toy she desired. But I wasn’t a petulant child. I was a devastated young woman, and I had to at least exhibit a grace I didn’t feel.
“Thank you,” I managed to say. “It’s lovely.” Then I snapped the lid shut and set the box aside. “I’m rather tired. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go upstairs.”
My parents both looked sad and drained, and I realized that they were also being dragged down by my too-apparent suffering and their concerns for me and Lucius. Pushing back my chair, I went over to Mom and hugged her tightly. “Thank you so much for a wonderful birthday. You’re the best mother ever.” I moved to my dad. “And you’re the best dad. Of all time.”
“You’re a beautiful young woman, Jessica,” Dad said, voice catching in his throat. “We’re both proud of you.”
Pulling free of Dad’s embrace, I nodded to Dorin and Lucius. “Good night, and thank you,” I said.
“Good night, Antanasia,” Dorin chirped. “Many happy returns!”
Lucius didn’t say a word. He just sat there, staring at the rejected gift.
I maintained my composure all the way up to my bedroom, even after I was out of earshot of my family. Even as I undressed and pulled on my nightgown, I didn’t yield to my tears. I saved my sobs until I’d climbed into bed, buried my face in my pillow, and smothered them, so no one would hear. I would not make my parents worry even more than they already did.
“Jessica.”
His voice came from my door.
I rolled over to see, through my tears, the wavering shape of Lucius standing in my doorway. I swiped at my eyes, embarrassed to have been caught weeping.