Life as a Teenage Vampire

by Amanda Meuwissen

  Connor crossed his arms with a scowl. “That’s it? Can’t you just, like, sense them?”

  “I need a starting point, dear boy, I’m not psychic.” Alec turned back to him with a matching incredulous stare, and seemed to notice Connor’s prosthetic for the first time; teal plastic clashing against the light grey of his sweatshirt. He raised his eyebrows at it before looking Connor in the eyes. “We can be a bit like bloodhounds, admittedly, but I need something to track. Understand?”

  That seemed to satisfy Connor. I wasn’t sure I was satisfied by anything. I’d expected, I don’t know, someone more like Mr. Leonard. This guy was much more scatterbrained and—what was the polite way my mother put it?—eccentric.

  “You’ve already fed, it seems, though quite poorly.” Alec squinted at Connor, at the Band-Aid on his neck peeking out of the sweatshirt, and reached without warning to rip it from his skin.

  “Ow!” Connor’s teal hand flew up to the red and angry puncture wounds.

  “Don’t be a baby,” Alec chided him, “I’m just going to show our fledgling here—so sorry, dear boy,” his gaze snapped to me, “but I haven’t actually gotten your name yet.” He folded up Connor’s Band-Aid and tossed it at my waste basket. At least he didn’t miss.

  I had to tell him if only to stop him from calling either me or Connor ‘dear boy’ again. “Emery. And you’re going to show me what?”

  “How to heal your good work, of course.” Alec grinned at Connor in a somehow equally playful and predatory manner. “Now move that lovely contraption of yours aside and let me demonstrate.”

  Connor backed up a step. “What are you—”

  “Don’t be difficult,” Alec said and caught Connor in a fierce stare. A stare that moments later had Connor’s arm dropping back to his side while a blank look washed over his face.

  “Hey!” I hissed before Alec could take a single step closer to Connor. “You can’t just glamour him!”

  Alec frowned at me like I was the one being unreasonable. “I think I just did.”

  “I mean you don’t…have permission. I won’t let you.” It dawned on me as I said this that Connor and I had forgotten one of the major vampire tropes to test out—needing permission to enter someone’s home. Obviously, Alec hadn’t needed permission to sneak into my room. Or did it not count since I lived here and was also a vampire? But I didn’t own the house, it belonged to my parents; or did that not matter either?

  I pushed these questions aside for now and pointed to Connor, who stood there staring forward like a wax statue, which was really disturbing. “Let him go!”

  Alec rolled his eyes and, without any seeming effort, broke the spell. Connor blinked awareness and continued right on as if he hadn’t lost any time.

  “—planning to do, because you need to at least explain whatever it is before you do it.”

  “We could go over some glamouring basics as well,” Alec ignored him, “since you seem to be under the impression it’s dangerous or some rubbish. Clearly, he isn’t hurt. You merely need to get better at enthralling people and then releasing them when you’re done.”

  “Fine, but no more glamouring Connor without permission,” I said.

  “Wait, he did what?” Connor shot Alec a glare.

  “See, he doesn’t even realize anything happened. What’s it matter?”

  “Because it matters.”

  We engaged in maybe a ten second staring match before Alec yielded, his manic smile coming back in full force as he laughed.

  “My, you are fun,” he said. “Well done, Emery. I would have worried about William’s common sense after all if you were flippant about consent. Obviously, occasions might arise where it is unavoidable and you must glamour someone and feed from them to survive. A retainer is preferable, of course, but we aren’t all that lucky.” He glanced again at Connor.

  “Retainer?” Connor thrust a finger back at Alec. “Is that some fancy way of calling me a juice box, Fright Night, because I am not an open bar.” His frown gave a telling twitch that meant he was actually joking, but the whole thing just made me feel nauseous.

  Alec laughed again. “Come, let me demonstrate. If I may be allowed.” He looked at me first, then at Connor for permission.

  Connor’s shoulders tensed as his joking demeanor fell away, the tendons in his neck shifting in nervousness the way I remembered from when I bit him the other day. I didn’t want to watch Alec do that to him. I didn’t want anyone to do that to him.

  “Goodness me, I’m just going to heal the wound. No need to steal a taste.” Alec held up his hands in surrender, as if he’d read both our minds. “Retainers—much more personal than a juice box,” he said to Connor with a smirk, “are regular sources of blood, certainly, but it’s quite intimate, not something every vampire has. If you’re willing, however, Emery could feed from you about a pint a week and be satiated indefinitely. Well, for as long as you’re around, of course.” He lowered his arms and looked at Connor expectantly. “May I?”

  Connor sucked in a sharp breath but nodded, tugging on his sweatshirt to reveal the fullness of his wound. I wanted to intervene, but I was also insanely curious to see what Alec would do if he wasn’t going to bite Connor.

  “Just so you are both aware, I am going to glamour you, Connor, as a courtesy. Enthralling ensures that the person we’re feeding from feels no pain, and while I’m not going to feed from you now, it’s good practice.”

  Connor’s eyes instantly unfocused, going blank again, while the rest of him held still. Alec moved into his body, close, and gently grasped the back of his neck. Then he looked over at me, and his silvery eyes were brighter, like they were glowing. When he talked, I saw the sharpness of his eyeteeth.

  “Our blood has healing properties, but don’t take that to mean you can cure bullet wounds or broken limbs. A small wound, a cut like this, can be healed without consequence. Something larger would require more blood, and that would likely make the person ill, possibly kill them. Drain them enough first, and then feed them from you…and you turn them. Don’t get those details confused.”

  He was serious now, all business as he deliberately bit down on his tongue with his fangs, drawing blood. I watched him bend his head toward Connor’s wound, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs as he licked the skin slowly to spread the small traces of his blood along the marks.

  Connor’s eyes fluttered within his daze, his right hand coming up to grip Alec’s arm. The sight made me swallow low in my throat, like it was something private I shouldn’t be watching. The way Connor trembled. And flushed. And almost imperceptibly whimpered.

  Had he been like that with me?

  “No,” I said aloud.

  Alec, thinking I was talking to him, pulled away from Connor. “Nearly done,” he said, and licked once more to clean the wound of any remaining traces of blood—only there was no wound, only smooth skin. “There. Then you simply release the person from glamour, and if you choose, they can forget what occurred—and you—entirely. Of course with a willing retainer, you needn’t use such subterfuge.”

  Connor blinked awake, and the way his cheeks reddened further told me he remembered every moment of what had just happened. He brought his right hand over to where the bite marks had been, and his eyes widened in amazement at the feel of healed skin. His prosthetic hung at his side, and while he was distracted, Alec reached for it, taking the teal plastic fingers in his own.

  “Marvelous,” he said. “Did you work out the mechanics for this yourself?”

  “Uhh…yeah.”

  “You’re a regular da Vinci.”

  “Nah,” Connor said, smiling in the humble way I was used to whenever someone praised his robotics. “I have a ton of ‘em. It’s an easier design than other working prosthetics since I have my elbow.”

  “Oh?” />
  “Sure. A lot of the control we have with arm movement comes from that joint. It would require extensive extra engineering for a prosthetic elbow to do all that work. I just need my fingers to move.” Connor wiggled them to prove his point, and Alec marveled at them, letting the hand go but keeping his own hovering like he wanted to snatch the prosthetic up again.

  People asked about Connor’s arm all the time. He had the layman’s terms explanation down pat.

  “So,” Alec said once he finally looked Connor in the eyes again, “do you think you can allow your sorry excuse for a vampire best friend to do what I just did to you once a week? Plus the feeding part, of course.”

  The smile dropped from Connor’s face as he was reminded of what had just happened, and probably of when I’d bitten him earlier. I could tell he purposely avoided looking at me while he considered Alec’s question, and I wondered if the answer was no, but that he was too good of a friend to say so. It was private, and intimate, and not something friends should have to do for each other.

  But instead of answering, Connor said, “I thought you needed eight weeks to replenish from donating blood.”

  “Four to six, really, eight is just a precaution, but he shouldn’t need to take a full pint each time, and getting a little of our blood in your system when he heals the wound should help you replenish faster.” Alec sounded like a doctor giving a diagnosis now. “If you feel like you’re becoming sluggish over time, best for him to feed from someone else for a bit.”

  Resolve settled over Connor’s features. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”

  “Good.”

  I opened my mouth to put an end to all this—they were making a serious life decision for me without me—but they turned to me at the same time again and I froze.

  “Glamouring effectively is all about will and intention, Emery, nothing else to it,” Alec said. “Shall we continue?”

  I looked to Connor, desperate to drudge up those fading feelings of dissent, because this was asking too much of him. But when our eyes met, I knew there was nothing I could say to change his mind.

  He wasn’t blushing anymore, or stammering, or nervous. That steady resolve had taken over his entire stance, and even though Alec was a couple inches taller than him, they stood like twin sentinels staring me down, daring me to rail against them—even while Alec gave me that frenzied grin again, and Connor quirked his mouth into a smirk.

  I sighed. Clearly, I had been outvoted. I did have a lot of questions for Alec and only so long before my parents came up to see Connor home.

  “Okay,” I relented, focusing my attention on Alec, “what’s next?”

  Chapter 10

  Connor

  Alec had been a pleasant if also bizarre surprise, considering Connor had initially feared for his life when they’d discovered the vampire on Emery’s bed. In hindsight, he knew it was silly to have worried—the Leonards had always been cool, and Connor had been the one to remind Emery of that fact. He was just thankful Alec hadn’t turned out to be one of the hunters.

  When Alec finally left, saying he could sense that Emery’s parents were shuffling around downstairs and would probably be up soon, he jotted his cell phone number down on a purple post-it and stuck it to the computer desk. If there was ever an emergency, Emery could call him, but in the meantime Alec was going to dive into investigating the murders. He hoped to find the hunters before they found Emery. Once that was taken care of, he promised he’d be at Emery’s beck and call for further training and advice.

  He also plucked the Cap Wolf comic from Emery’s bed on his way out.

  During their practice session, Alec had confirmed everything they’d already discovered about Emery’s abilities and weaknesses, and also added a few more. No, vampires did not need permission to enter someone’s home; that was just old folklore to make people feel safer. And if Emery noticed animals acting weird around him, that was normal. They’d be drawn to him, and once he honed the skill, he might even be able to control and summon animals at will.

  Connor’s first question had been, “Do you think it would work on any animal?”

  “Please don’t make me mojo a squirrel,” Emery groaned.

  Alec just laughed.

  Connor had gone straight upstairs to bed once he was home safe. He’d considered bugging Emery on their walkies for a while, but he was more flustered than he’d let on. Alec whammying him like that had felt nearly identical to when Emery did it—he’d gone limp and heavy, cozy, like everything was right with the world. He couldn’t fight what was happening, he didn’t want to, and when he felt Alec’s tongue swiping languidly over his skin, all he could think about was how it would be Emery doing it next time. Once a week.

  How Connor was supposed to survive letting Emery do that to him once a week, he had no idea. He’d been so obvious the first time Emery bit him, even more of a blubbering mess with Alec, which probably had Emery thinking he had a thing for the guy or something and…ew. Alec was cool, and charmingly weird, and had this angular look about him that really worked, even with the sometimes psycho smile, but Connor wasn’t into older guys. Usually, he was only into Emery.

  At least Emery was adjusting better now to being a vampire. Having finally met his mentor and getting a little actual mentoring seemed to have rejuvenated him. He got into Connor’s car the next morning with his sunglasses already in place and a bright smile he hadn’t greeted Connor with for days.

  The smile promptly vanished when they arrived at school and didn’t realize they were walking parallel with Liz until both she and Emery reached for the doors at the same time and their hands nearly touched.

  “Oh!”

  “Sorry, I—”

  “No, you go ahead.”

  Connor tried not to glare. Liz was captain of the volleyball team—which had won State more times than their championship football team—an Honor Roll student, popular. The perfect girl-next-door full package. The worst part was that she was actually really nice, too, to everyone, not only those in her clique. When she and Emery had still been dating, Connor had been certain he could never compete with the girl destined to be Prom Queen.

  She wasn’t a blond bombshell like Jules, or a gorgeous dark spitfire like Aurora, but she had this presence of sweet and caring that made her mousy brown hair and eyes glow with attractiveness someone else might have been without. Plus, with her volleyball arms, she could probably beat the crap out of Connor if she wanted; he was pretty sure she’d out-benched several guys during weight lifting class.

  Even now she didn’t narrow her eyes at Emery, or flaunt that she had dumped him. She smiled genuinely apologetic, and said “Sorry” once again before hurrying inside.

  Emery let his forehead rest on the glass after she’d gone, rather than follow her. “That could have gone worse, right?” His breath made a little cloud in its wake. When he pulled away, Connor drew a smiley face in the aftermath before the glass cleared.

  “If you’d been dating someone else, probably. But for Miss Perfect? That was as bad as it gets. Good thing you’re not missing her or anything…” Connor didn’t mean to sound as leading with that statement as it came out.

  But Emery grinned, looked for a moment like all he needed was to be reminded of that fact, and nodded back at him. “The awkwardness will pass, the rest is golden. You’re right. Thanks, man.” He grabbed the handle unabashedly and headed into the school.

  Connor followed, feeling a little of the tightness in his stomach alleviate—

  “Hey, gimp!”

  —then stuttered mid-step and nearly tripped. “Urg, god, not today. What?” he snarled as he whipped around to see Michael Fergus, quarterback and captain of the football team, almost upon him.

  Michael stopped short when he reached Connor, every perfect Ken doll part of him. If Liz was the ste
reotypical Prom Queen then Michael was the male version on crack. His dimpled smile fell. “What’s your deal? I just wondered if you had time for a tune-up today.”

  “Why, what did you do to it?” Connor got right in Michael’s face. They were nearly the same height, so it wasn’t difficult.

  “Nothing!” Michael said, but the guilty look on his face begged to differ.

  “Go on without me,” Connor called over his shoulder at Emery, who had paused in the hallway, smirking at them. “Guess I’m skipping Jazz Band today.”

  With that, Connor grabbed Michael roughly be the shoulder and manhandled him toward the gym. Once inside the locker room, he pushed Michael toward a bench and crouched in front of him on his knees.

  “Jeans off,” he ordered.

  Michael was used to this treatment by now and kicked off his shoes, socks, and shimmied out of his jeans before sitting on the bench and extending his left leg closer to Connor. Michael was missing the leg from just above his knee, which had prompted a sense of camaraderie between them ever since Michael lost the leg three years prior. He was lucky the tractor accident on his family farm hadn’t taken more of his leg—or his life.

  Connor had offered to make him a prosthetic as soon as he’d discovered that Michael’s family couldn’t afford one. Everything had snowballed from there as Michael never seemed to upkeep the leg or its replacements to Connor’s satisfaction, but it had helped him expand his knowledge base. A prosthetic leg was completely different from his arm models.