In the science classroom, Mrs. Lester clacked buttons on her computer, taking attendance. “Abby?”
I hid the English report in my backpack. “Yes, ma’am?”
She handed me my notebook. “You and Marty guessed right on the observtainer.” Then she saw my face and her lips grimmed.
“Hard morning?”
I didn’t look at her.
“Sit down. Science will make you forget all your troubles. Trust me.”
Mrs. Lester began typing notes on the smart board. Behind me, I heard giggling. I turned around, expecting to have a kick me sign on my back or something. They were laughing at me all right, because when I turned around, the girls around Coral were smarmy at me.
“Jo,” said Mrs. Lester, “we have a final exam soon. If you don’t stop passing Coral notes, I’m going to send you to the office. Got it?”
Jo popped her notebook back in her purse. Coral contemplated me like a cat would eye a goldfish.
“Now, today, we review the transition metals of the periodic table. Open your book to page thirty-four.”
Page thirty-four. Transitional metals. Gold, silver, platinum, tungsten. From the center section of the periodic table. Tungsten’s letter symbol is W because it used to be called wolfram, which is just a cooler name.
We started with silver. Ag. Mrs. Lester circled to the front of her desk and leaned on the edge. “They used to use silver nitrate to make film. Does anyone know where else silver was used in the past?”
None of us did. We were the eager kids sitting at the fount of knowledge, hoping to drink.
“Bullets,” one of us said. The class laughed. I’d like to point out that wasn’t me. It doesn’t always have to be me.
Bev raised her hand. “My grandma gave me a compact. It has a silver-coated mirror.”
“Very good, Bev. Mirrors, film, and of course jewelry. Where else?”
A theory was nibbling on the back of my brain. The sensation must have been what a Ritz cracker felt like pre-cocktail party. I shot my hand up. “Mrs. Lester?”
“Abby?”
“They don’t use silver on mirrors anymore?”
“No, Abby. Most mirrors are now coated with a cheaper metal. Usually aluminum.”
“When did they stop using silver in film?”
Mrs. Lester chuckled. “You’re going to have to look that one up. I don’t claim to be a silver specialist. Let’s take a look at the atomic structure of silver.”
My hand copied the notations on the board while my mind mulled over silver. I didn’t need to look up when they’d stopped using silver nitrate in film. I could guess. I guessed that it would be about the time they stopped making black and white movies.
So, a vampire like Mr. Christopher couldn’t be in the original Dracula. They had to get an ordinary guy to do it. But when color film happened, it’d be easy for a vampire, for any number of vampires to have a film career. Silver. It had to be the key.
That was the work around. I had Mr. Christopher. Dead to rights. Undead to rights? Anyway, I had him. I wanted to see him, because if there was one vampire work around, there might be several. That would explain a lot.
I was caught in a bad drama, on the outs with just about everyone. A few teachers and students treated me like a normal person, but everyone else stared at me like I was a plague victim or a gross bug which deserved to be squished.
I couldn’t give my fellow students any points for originality. People at Wolcroft think my monster obsession is odd, but I’m funny, and that usually keeps them from treating me badly. I throw their issues with me back in their face. Not anymore.
My locker had “I see monsters” painted on the outside, and inside one of my shelves was coated with mashed bananas. My Frankenstein picture was ripped in half. Bev kept asking me if I’d seen any monsters. I did my best to ignore her, but I ended up telling her I was looking at one. That got me a ton of the smarmy treatment.
In every class but Mrs. Lester’s, I received an F, or if the teacher wasn’t handing back an assignment, a reprimand. My backpack went missing in English when I went to conjugate a verb on the front board. I had to threaten Jo with bodily harm to get it back, which earned me a trip to Mrs. Cheever, who called my parents to tell them I would be staying after school again. The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough. Even though I would be in trouble with my parents, I wanted to get away from Wolcroft.
During the last period of the day in study hall, I avoided eye contact with the teachers and students, and I concentrated on my math assignment. Science is the best thing possible for a future monster hunter to learn, because you can do neat things with science. Dust for prints, test for the supernatural, useful things. I didn’t see much application for math. My mother liked math because it disciplined the mind. Today I needed some discipline so I didn’t start crying.
Math was super boring, but I wasn’t half bad at it. Marty, however, was super good at it. There were some things I couldn’t figure out, so I was glad I had Marty to shine the light of knowledge on those problems.
“You multiply the stuff in these parentheses first, and then you add it to this number.”
“I know that,” I said. I willed myself to concentrate. Enough with the stupid mistakes already.
Coral stopped by our table. Not a hair out of place, not a mark on her anywhere, not even a chip on her nail polish, which was school uniform blue.
“Let’s go Marty,” said Coral. “I need your help with math.”
Marty folded up her books pronto.
“Marty,” I said. I did not like the way this was looking. “You can stay here if you want to. You don’t have to do what Coral tells you.”
“Sorry, Abby,” said Marty. “I gotta go.”
All the girls in the room, except for me, were looking at Coral like groupies or zombies, or groupie zombies. Groubies? Zompies?
“Marty,” I said, “what gives?”
Marty glanced at Coral, back at me, and hesitated. “I just gotta go, Abby.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Not cool, Coral. Mind-controlling Marty is not cool.”
Coral shook her head. “You don’t get it. You aren’t it anymore.”
“It?”
“Best athlete, smartest student, class clown every wants to know. You’re out. I’m in.”
Marty wouldn’t look at me.
“You might not know this about me,” I said to Coral, “but I eat people like you for breakfast.”
“What?”
“Mind control.” I cocked my head for emphasis. “That’s what’s going on. That’s why Vince is googly for you. You’ve got the whole school thinking I’m untouchable. Why are you doing this?”
“You’re crazy. Seeing monsters everywhere? Of course you do! Maybe that explains why you are now the most unpopular girl at this school. I am the best field hockey player, the best student, the limbo queen. No one wants to be near you. Not even Marty. Who can blame her? You boss her around, make her feel like she doesn’t matter.”
Right. Limbo queen. “You’ve made a big mistake. You’ve taken me on. You’re going down.”
“I don’t think so. Look at you. If I say one more thing to you, you’re going to blubber like a baby.”
Now I was mad. “You’re a supernatural creature in my town dinking with my friends. Not on my watch.”
“I know your parents won’t let you out to monster hunt after nine o’clock. Don’t you have a date with detention?”
I gathered up my books and held my head high. Why was it that the idea of slaying Ned hadn’t phased me, but I hated this, being on the outs at school?
When Dad picked me up from detention at five p.m., I asked if I we could stop to see Mr. Christopher.
“No, Abigail. We are going right home.”
“Dad, it wasn’t my fault. It is diabolical mind control.”
Dad took his eyes off the road for a second. “I’m listening.”
“I’m not sure how Coral’s doing it. I’ll
ask Mr. Christopher a few questions, and I think I’ll figure it out.”
Dad punched the call button on the wheel of our car. Only hands free calling for my monster hunting parents. There’s dangerous and there’s stupid.
My mother’s voice sounded. “Polly,” said Dad.
“Reginald.”
“Normal girl training is postponed for a moment.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” I asked.
“Only when you’re not around to hear it,” said Mom’s voice.
“It is diabolical mind control,” said Dad, like he was discussing the grocery list. “Abby has told me about it, and not acted rashly. She wants a consultation with Lee.”
“I’ll meet you there. I need to tell you what I’ve found out today anyway. See you soon.”
Dad pressed the off button.
“Mom’s been investigating the mall vampire thing, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll bet Coral’s got something to do with it. Dad, she might be a vampire.”
“How do you know that?”
I enjoyed my sense of the dramatic, and raised a finger. “I learned something really cool at school today. I figured out a missing piece.”
There was an expectant pause.
“Nope,” I said. “Not a peep until everyone is together.”
“You are your mother’s daughter,” he said.
Nope. I was my father’s daughter. He’d used the dramatic pause in countless movie reveals. Dad used his key to let us in Mr. Christopher’s front door. The sun wouldn’t be down for an hour, but Mr. Christopher would be having breakfast. We won’t talk about what he was having for breakfast. Let’s just say he was a frequent flier at one of the local blood banks.
Mom was sitting in one of Mr. Christopher’s wingback chairs. The room was decorated with leather furniture and antiques that had taken a lifetime to acquire. Not too much in the way of clutter, but the room was defined by expense and taste at the same time. Except for the movie posters, which were well-framed, but were still B-movie posters.
“He’s still waking up,” Mom said. She motioned me over. I stood close to the chair, checking out a poster for The Entanglement of the Mummy, in which Mr. Christopher surprisingly didn’t play the mummy, but the archaeologist. “Detention again?”
“Hear me out, Mom. Coral has mind-controlled the entire school, except for Mrs. Lester and a couple of other girls who might be resistant. I don’t know how she’s done it yet, but I’ll figure it out.” I pulled my notebook out of my backpack. “I’ve been running a few tests, and plan to run a few more.”
“Well.” Mom adjusted her glasses. “If your father hadn’t already been suspicious of Vince’s recent behavior, I might think you were trying to wriggle out of trouble. But we just had a vampire at the mall, didn’t we?”
I hugged my mom. I hadn’t realized until that moment I was worried I would be in trouble with her again. I really didn’t want that.
“We’re still waiting for the reveal,” said Dad. “There’s something dramatic Abby wants to share with all of us.”
Mr. Christopher came up the stairs from the basement, dabbing at his lips with a dark towel. Wouldn’t want to gross out the guests, with, you know, a blood mustache.
“Good evening,” I said. I exaggerated the syllables so I sounded like Bela Lugosi from the first Dracula film. Nosferatu does not count. Vampire does not equal Count Dracula.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice was deep, like a bass bell at a church. “I thought there were no more aspirations toward monster hunting?”
“You don’t go looking for it,” I said. “’Certainly not at thirteen!’” Mom did not seem to appreciate my imitation of her voice. I moved on. “Today, I am the perfect daughter. I have detected supernatural activity, and have not gone off to kill it.” I wouldn’t tell Mom or Dad about the not-so-veiled threats I had made. Coral had torqued me off. No one likes to see her best friend mind-controlled.
Mr. Christopher pulled out the cookie jar. There were spice cookies, just for me. I grabbed one. “I should have realized Mom and Dad knew you were a vampire. They would have noticed how you don’t age much.”
“Since I was converted in my early forties, you’d be surprised at how much you can get away with in aging. A little stage makeup can work wonders too.”
“For other reasons, besides aging,” said Mom.
I nodded. “Being dead isn’t easy to hide.”
“Undead,” Dad corrected.
I munched on the cookie. Holding half a cookie in my mouth, I hiked my backpack up on a chair. “So, today, we learned something in science. Do you remember our conversation from when I was a kid, Mr. Christopher? How I couldn’t figure out your reflection, and the pictures?”
“I don’t follow.”
“Impossible vampire tricks,” I said. “Like taking pictures, not showing up in mirrors, starring in films. You’re still not going to tell me how you do that?”
“No,” he said. “Some things a savvy monster hunter has to figure out for herself.”
“That’s why I’m here. It’s silver, isn’t it? Old-fashioned mirrors are backed in silver. Newer ones are backed in aluminum. Old film used silver nitrate. New film doesn’t. That’s it. It’s not the mirrors or the film exactly. It’s what they were made of.”
Dad’s jaw dropped. “Well done.” Mom puffed up like a pigeon with parental pride. Her little girl, making inductions about vampires, in a logical scientific way.
I blew on my knuckles and buffed them on my shirt. “Piece of cake. We Wolcroft girls, we know things like that. But it must make it hard to be a monster hunter in the modern age, right? Because vampires could figure out cheats, or work arounds?” I opened my notebook, cocked my pencil and sat down at the table.
“That’s right,” said Mr. Christopher.
“Like,” I floundered about thinking for a good possibility. “Sunscreen?”
Dad snorted. “Do you really think so?”
“No, wait Reginald.” Mom leaned in closer. “Is that what you think is going on with Coral?”
“We’ll find out. I’m going to ask for an expert opinion.” I returned my attention to Mr. Christopher. “Sunscreen?”
“Younger vampires are closer to life and don’t have as much trouble with it as we vampires of a certain age. If a vampire is relatively new, yes, sunscreen. The SPF must be very high.”
“Wouldn’t it come off when the vampire sweats?” I asked.
“Abby,” said Dad. “Vampires don’t sweat.”
“Right. Duh.” I tapped my teeth with a pencil. “What about eating?”
“I’ve got that one,” said Dad. “You can eat all sorts of things you can’t use or digest. Why not a vampire?”
“Eat a vampire?” Mom smiled.
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
“Could you eat something like food?” I asked Mr. Christopher.
“Again, it’s easier for the more recently dead. Of course, they would probably throw it up, or get rid of it some other way. We metabolize blood. All vampires react to blood. The younger ones have a harder time resisting it,” said
Mr. Christopher.
I scribbled. “Fangs? What if you didn’t want to have fangs?”
“Tooth caps,” said Dad. “Makeup.”
“Interesting. There are some things that would be harder to fake,” I said. “The grains of rice thing.”
“Your kind do get obsessive compulsive about that,” said Mom to Mr. Christopher.
“The running water thing,” I continued.
“We all have a serious allergy to rowan,” said Mr. Christopher.
“Religious symbols?” asked Mom. “Can a vampire not react to a religious symbol?” That was an important question for Mom. Dad had told me it was one of her go to responses in the case of vampire attack.
“Modern film would have you believe so,” Dad said. “That’s more complicated. For truly religious people, unquest
ionably it has effect.”
“Like Vince at the mall.” My illustrating example. “If you attach deep spiritual significance to any object, it can be used as a religious foil against vampires.” I glanced down the pages of my notebook. “A lot of my questions about how Coral was doing what she was doing now make sense. Dad’s right. She’s a vampire.”
I tapped the page of my notebook as I made each point.
“Body temperature is cold. Unusual speed. Beautiful and charismatic. Flashing eyes.”
“She could have been the vampire at the mall,” Mom said.
“Her or William. I haven’t tested William out.”
“We can get a look at William this weekend,” said Dad.
“Reginald, is that safe?”
“We have no idea about William or his intentions yet,” said Dad. “I’ll be there, Lee will be there. No one will be in danger. If William and Coral are vampires, perhaps all they will require is a reminder from the head vampire about what is appropriate and inappropriate behavior here.”
“We pay a lot of tuition to have you go to Wolcroft,” said Mom. “The least they could do is let us know our daughter is going to school with a vampire.”
“Well done, Abigail,” said Mr. Christopher. “I hope that the two of you are still not considering letting Abigail’s talents in the field go to waste?”
Mom and Dad communicated by eyebrow semaphore and kept their opinions close to the vest. But they had taken me seriously, and I had proven to them that I could be a rational hunter. That felt good.
We had some cookies and talked about the feasibility of a lost race of fish people. My parents were acting more like themselves.
CHAPTER NINE
Creatures of the Night
Shut Up
Before the bell rang on Thursday, I dodged the eyes of a couple of teachers that were scanning for me like Martian death machines from War of the Worlds, and I ducked into the girls restroom. Actually, I followed Coral in there. Coral was in front of the mirrors holding court. The older girls weren’t exactly kowtowing, but they were being much nicer to her than they would usually be. Underclasswomen didn’t exist until they were about sixteen.
Abigail Rath Versus Bloodsucking Fiends Page 11