Fifty Percent Vampire, #1, page 15
I wondered what I could bring her from Vampville. She’d suggested something Romanian. The only thing Romanian in this house was a grouchy old vampire and I didn’t think presenting Rachel with George, gift-wrapped, or even leaping out of a cake, would be a good idea at all.
My thoughts wandered the many miles to Wicket Lane and to what Aunt Jean, Uncle James and Emma might be doing. I missed them. I wondered if they were missing me. Probably not. Aunt Jean would be busy in her kitchen preparing a fabulous meal and I imagined Emma cozy on the sofa in the nice warm den, with Hermione curled up fast asleep on her lap, watching It’s a Wonderful Life with her father. Later they would sit down at the big table to eat, laughing and smiling. Rachel would be on her knees underneath the big candlelit tree in her living room, passing out gifts to her family and friends.
And Mike? What would dearest Mike be doing? Where would he be celebrating this special day? Please, human God, I beg you, please don’t let him be cuddling up with Lydia Tafani.
CHAPTER 26
(Mike)
Ho Ho Ho!
“So, Mike, how’s life treating ya?” My cousin Desmond was on his annual visit home to us from New York, and after having yapped about his booming surgical practice and equally booming investments for more than enough hours he had finally turned his attention to someone other than himself.
I finished the last spoonful of my mom’s plum pudding and washed it down with a quick slurp of red wine. Boy, did that taste good. I looked across the candlelit table at my cousin. “You know how it is here, Des, quiet little town. Nothing much happens.”
“Are you kidding? Tell him about the Exmouth case,” urged Lydia from the seat to my right. I looked at her and sighed. I’d thought that today of all days we might have been able to put the town’s most baffling investigation in years out of our minds for an hour or two.
“What might that be?” asked Desmond, his eyebrows raised. “The Exmouth case?”
“We found a body in the forest on Halloween,” said Lydia. “Local bigwig’s teenage daughter. And the perp is still out there.”
Desmond laughed. “Oh boy,” he said. “High profile. But with you two hotshots on the case, I guess you’ll wrap it up soon enough. Big city cop like Mike, this ought to be a piece of cake.” His face turned serious. “Almost two months already though. Long time. Don’t you have any leads? How about the DNA?”
“That’s just it,” I growled. “Forensics didn’t find any DNA.”
“No DNA? Impossible.”
“So you say. But it’s the truth. They triple checked.”
“Bullshit. Everybody leaves a trace,” said Desmond as he deftly sliced another wedge from the pecan pie and dropped it on his plate.
Lydia and I glanced at each other. We knew everybody left a trace. But we didn’t really want to let Desmond know what kind of trace our killer had left. Or how he or she (or it) appeared to have vanished into thin air.
“Let’s change the subject,” I said. “It’s Christmas. The one day of the year we’re supposed to be thinking happy thoughts.”
“Sure,” said Desmond. “Um, how about this? Are you guys dating?”
Instinctively, I leaned away from Lydia. “No,” I said. “We’re not. Just friends.”
Lydia turned crimson and stared at her plate.
Desmond regarded us both quizzically. “Aw, what a shame,” he said. “You’d make a handsome couple. Hey, did I tell you about the time–”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said, and pushed back my chair. One more of my dear cousin’s painful anecdotes and I would be forced to punch him right on his big nose and turn it redder than Rudolf’s. I bet no one on the planet could be having a worse Christmas than I was. And if they were, God help them.
CHAPTER 27
(Astrid)
Snow Queen
I was having the worst Christmas ever. Deciding I might as well die of hypothermia outside as stay indoors and shiver to death, I put on my jacket and hat and scarf, and laced up my boots. In the yard it was even colder than in my attic and the frozen air burned my lungs. The wind that cut my exposed cheeks was as sharp as the blade of one of Aunt Jean’s kitchen knives.
I reached up and snapped off one of the yard-long icicles hanging from the eaves, and hurled it straight as a javelin at the nearest house, where it shattered into tiny fragments on the dark wooden wall. But there was no response to my attack. No sign of life, not from any of the neighbors’ houses.
I thought about jogging up to the old graveyard behind the church—I used to play there when I was small, before I knew any better. Mom said it was safe, probably the safest place in the village while she and George and Angus were asleep. No vampire would dare to venture onto consecrated ground. I had nobody to play with of course, so I would invent scary stories and act them out by myself. I spent many hours dodging between the crumbling tombstones and crosses, fleeing evil spirits who rose from the graves, running screaming from lumbering zombies who groaned and moaned, leaping walls to escape foul-breathed werewolves whose vicious canines dripped with blood.
But this Christmas afternoon the whole village lay dead. I shuddered, recalling the relish with which George would recount how bold he’d been all those years ago to venture as far as the churchyard gate itself and strike down the last of the humans, the poor pastor with a crucifix raised in his trembling hand.
Since that night the church bell had tolled no more, and the vampires had slowly stolen into the decaying village to appropriate the silent houses of their slaughtered prey.
I jogged briskly into the forest, kicking up snow as I ran. In a feeble attempt to have fun I jumped through the thick crust of a snowdrift, sinking to my knees. I lay down and carved out a snow angel nobody else would ever see.
Reaching the frozen creek I followed its winding course to the equally frozen pond, where I gazed out across the ice, over which a low layer of mist drifted like smoke. The ice had formed weeks ago. It creaked and cracked when I put my foot on it, but it was thick enough that I had no fear of falling through to the dark water below. In Emma’s happy world such a natural ice rink would be crowded with laughing and chattering skaters, but on this one there was only me.
No distractions here, as Mom had said. So maybe it was time I made my decision. Should I give up my dream, stay here in this cold depressing horror of a place, have George transform me and ‘enjoy’ eternal life with him and Mom? Or should I return to Wicket Lane, struggle through my education and contend with dirty looks and furtive whispers the rest of my days? And when my days were over there would be death, and after death, who knows?
I scooped up a fistful of snow, compressed it into a hard little ball and launched it high over the frozen pond. It hurtled down like a meteorite and splattered itself in all directions on the ice.
Walking on, the only sound my feet crunching on the snow, I came to a paper birch tree infested with mistletoe. None of the pretty green globes were within reach so I hauled myself up to the lowest branch and climbed until I could grab a decent-sized specimen of the life-blood sucking parasite that humans so revered. Back in town they would pay handsomely for even this small bunch. On the morning of my departure, Uncle James had dangled a sprig he’d bought at the Christmas market and kissed me underneath it, much to Aunt Jean’s chagrin. An ancient pagan fertility rite, he’d joked. Beloved by Celtic druids. Aunt Jean had stormed off to her kitchen in disgust.
I examined the paired leaves and the waxy white berries and squeezed one of them stickily between my finger and thumb. Then I held the sprig above my head, closed my eyes and imagined warm lips gently brushing mine. Mike’s warm lips. At that moment I wanted so much to feel his mouth, his strong arms pulling me to him, his fingers sliding slowly through my hair. “Oh, Astrid,” he breathed into my ear. “I love you.”
I moaned and woke up. Alone. The forest was silent except for the voice in my head. “Oh, Astrid,” it muttered. “Get a life.”
I shivered, pulled my jacket closer around me, and peered up at the darkening sky. What weak sun had feebly shone during that short day had already dropped behind the far ridge. The only remaining evidence that the world was still turning on its axis was a growl of red outlining the jagged black cliffs. Jupiter shone bright above me. The angry howl of the earliest wolf echoed from the mountainside and I instinctively quickened my pace. It wouldn’t do to be caught outside under the full moon I knew was soon to rise.
Back in the relative safety of my attic I stood at the window, wrapped and shivering in a blanket, and watched as dark figures began to leave the houses and flit away between the moonlit trees. A bat larger than an eagle zipped past. The night’s hunt had begun. I reached up and closed the drapes to block out what was out there, and not for the first time wished my window still had its sturdy wooden shutters.
Where did I belong? Not in this wretched haunted place. If I stayed here in Vampville, I would soon have to learn to hunt and kill like the others. I couldn’t expect to rely on Mom and George to provide my nourishment for much longer. My stomach began to rumble with hunger pangs. I hadn’t ingested anything all day. To tell the truth, the thought of having to drink any more fresh warm blood was beginning to disgust me.
I wanted Mom to be the first to learn of my decision, so I trotted downstairs to see if she’d risen yet. Her door was ajar, and the ‘Do not disturb’ sign was gone, so I knocked. No response.
“Mom?” I called, peering through the crack. “Are you awake?”
Still no response. It was dark in the room and I’d been told often enough to keep out so I closed the door. I hoped she hadn’t left the house already. I continued on downstairs and when I reached the hall I caught the murmur of indistinct voices emanating from the nightroom. Deep voices. Uh-oh, we had company. If it was Angus come home two weeks early I was catching the next bus.
Hesitantly, I opened the nightroom door and caught sight of Mom sitting stiffly on the sofa, knitting, nervous, white faced. She saw me and shot me a frown warning me to stay quiet. George was standing tall in the center of the room, remonstrating with a group of our neighbors, all of them huddled together, as haggard and twitchy as a bunch of morose ravens that hasn’t found carrion in a week. I sensed immediately that my presence was unwelcome and began to back out of the room, but one of the visitors had spotted me and lunged with malicious intent.
George thrust out an arm and held him back. “You would dare this under my own roof?” he roared.
Never in my life had I witnessed a more baleful glare than the one with which my stepfather now confronted the man who had attacked me. I say man, but it wasn’t a man anymore, maybe it had been a man once, but now my enemy was just one among the swarm of vile fiends that infested our godforsaken village. I stood rooted, as helpless as a rabbit, trapped by all the red eyes locked on mine.
With a clatter Mom’s knitting needles dropped to the floor and she rushed to my side. “Don’t say a word,” she whispered in my ear. “Out.” She grabbed my hand and hustled me out to the hall.
“What’s going on? What do they want?” I asked after Mom had slammed the door behind us.
“What do you think they want?” replied Mom, her body shaking with rage. “Your fate was being discussed. I’m glad to say, for once, I managed to persuade your stepfather to argue in your defense. Those monsters in there want you transformed right now or killed.”
“Mom,” I said, calmly I thought, given the circumstances. “Don’t let them hurt me. I’ve made my decision. I want you to take me back to Aunt Jean’s.”
But of course it was never going to be as simple as that.
“So let me get this straight,” said George after we’d informed him. “You want to go back to live in a town where everybody suspects you of murder.”
Mom had called a crisis meeting immediately after the ‘delegation’ had left and I sat nervously on the nightroom sofa as my stepfather paced up and down. The expression on his face could have launched a thousand nuclear missiles.
“It’s better than staying here,” I protested.
“You’re crazy,” he replied.
“George, you will not say such things to my daughter,” hissed Mom.
“Ophelia, she wants to go back.” George raised his voice. “To do who knows what? How do we even know what really happened over there?”
“Hey!” I felt as though George had punched me in the stomach. My own stepfather thought I might have killed Zoe Exmouth.
“How dare you!” Mom sprang to her feet. “You allow that foul Angus to walk around our home as if he owns the place and you have the temerity to criticize the only normal child we have?”
“Normal?” George shouted. “She wants to live among humans and pretend she’s one of them. How the hell can you call that normal? At least Angus is one of us. Someone I can trust to do whatever’s necessary to safeguard our kind.”
At that point it hit me. George wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about my welfare, about what might be best for me. He was afraid. Afraid because I’d decided to turn my back on him and Vampville, afraid I might send the humans to burn the village to the ground and wipe out its inhabitants. So much for his ‘defense’ of me against our neighbors.
“Drop dead,” I snarled.
Two shocked faces turned toward me.
“So, your vote goes to Angus,” I said, my voice shaking. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you and your creepy anti-human fan club. Drop dead.”
George was in my face before I had time to close my mouth. “Listen, you ungrateful little wretch. After I lost my brother I took care of you as my own. As was my duty. And now, all these years later, I find out my duty’s not enough for you. How dare you act this way, you brat, after all the risks I’ve taken to bring you this far. As for Angus getting my vote, well, Angus is different. He might be a psycho but at least he shows gratitude for the gift we gave him. Whereas you ...” He shoved a finger at my trembling chest. “... you should be down on your knees begging to become one of us instead of insisting on trying to live with those ... animals. Your father was a vampire, and all you do is spit on his memory.”
I hung my head. In a way George’s stinging words were true. So many sacrifices had been made on my behalf. Mom had accepted the change because of me. Aunt Jean was running a huge risk keeping me around. I was just a useless freak of nature, and as George so kindly put it, a brat.
A hand touched my shoulder and I looked up into my mother’s eyes. “You’re not a brat, darling,” she said calmly. “If you want to return to Jean’s to continue your education, that’s perfectly fine with me. And your stepfather and his cronies will just have to be big about it.” She turned to George, daring him with her suddenly intense gaze to contradict her.
“Thanks, Mom.” My mind was made up and I rose to my feet to make my intention clear. “George, I’m going back to Rosenberg High to study and pass my exams, not to make trouble. You have to believe me. You and your friends will be safe.”
To my complete surprise George’s ferocious stare softened. Mom’s support of me had worked again. “I won’t pretend to be happy with your decision,” he growled. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. Humans have a bad track record of dealing with things they don’t understand.”
I thanked them both and ran upstairs to get busy with my homework. The second semester was starting in just over a week’s time and I had a million tons of stuff to do.
CHAPTER 28
(Astrid)
New Year
Aunt Jean stroked my face. “It’s nice to have my niece home,” she smiled. “Like Christmas all over again.”
All the way upstairs to my room I was beaming. I’d never expected my return to be such a cause for celebration. Ever since Mom and I had crossed the bridge and my cell beeped back to life Rachel had texted me nonstop. Brady had even called me to say hi and to pass on greetings from the other girls (including Rocio).
When we arrived in town the sidewalks were crowded, the mall parking lot was full, holiday lights flashed us a warm welcome, crimson-coated Santas still clung to snowy rooftops. I closed my bedroom door, fell back on my mattress and burst out laughing. Mr. Spock looked down at me quizzically so I stuck out my tongue at him. Ecstatic was probably the best word to describe how I felt. I might not be one hundred percent human but it was oh so clear Wicket Lane was the place I belonged.
Emma burst through the door. “I’m so glad you’re back!” she squealed. “I was afraid you might not come.” We hugged and kissed. “I was so dead damn bored without you! Tell me everything you did in Romania!”
“You were bored?” I was incredulous. “Here with all your friends? I had no one to hang out with at all, except my mom. We didn’t even have a Christmas dinner.”
Emma gaped in horror. “So what did you do for two weeks?”
“Sat in the attic, shivered my ass off, read that awful poem.”
“Ewww, maybe I shouldn’t have asked.”
”How about you?” I inquired. “Any cool gifts? How many fun parties did I miss?”
My cousin’s giggle was pure evil. “Well …”
Back to School
My happy mood lasted through the night and continued next morning at school. Rachel met me as I jumped down from the bus, and we ran together shrieking through a hail of snowballs.
“Those were the longest two weeks of my life,” I panted as we reached the shelter of the main entrance. “I’m soooo glad they’re over.” Especially the grumpy old George part. For most of winter break I’d been walking on eggshells.
Rachel brushed melting snow from her hair. “Man, I just washed it this morning. Jerks.” She shook her fist at the boys still pelting one another outside. “Did you like my gift?”
I smiled. “Rachel, you know I did. The dolls are lovely. I have all five of them lined up next to my bed.”
