indignant sound. “Even my mom doesn’t know who my father is.”
“Oh…uh…” Marcus could not find words, feeling overwhelmed with compassion for this child working the streets and going to extreme measures to get herself a good education. He shifted to put his arm around her shoulder and encouraged her to lean into him. “What about your teachers or your guidance counselor? Can’t somebody at school help you apply?”
“That’s the other complication. I don’t actually live in Manhattan.” With his arm around her and as he gently massaged her upper arm, Michele found it easier to confess all. “The high school in my neighborhood doesn’t offer the kind of college prep courses I need. So I faked an address. I have a cousin who works in Manhattan and she lets me use her work address because she’s the one who sorts the mail. I can’t ask anyone at school to help me because I’ve lied about my address and shouldn’t even be attending Beacon.”
“I see, so…”
“So, I work the streets, but just long enough to get me through school. I already have fifteen thousand dollars saved up. I mean, this work can be profitable.”
“It’s hard work though.”
She snorted in derision. “Not exactly hard, more like disgusting and sometimes humiliating.”
“Michele, I want to help you,” Marcus said impulsively.
She turned to meet his deep, dark eyes gazing at her with a look of genuine interest and sympathy. “Why?”
“I don’t know, but I do.”
She smiled, a sweet smile from slightly parted lips. “Thank you. How can you help me? Do vamp…excuse me, do you have some kind of power you can use?”
“We have some skills but nothing I can think of that…maybe…let me think.” He would talk to his parents. After all, his family was quite wealthy and he knew they contributed to charities from time to time. Maybe they would consider sponsoring Michele, or at least give her a loan.
“It’s okay,” Michele reassured him, noting the troubled look on his face. It was enough of a shock to know vampires, or whatever they called themselves, actually existed. She really didn’t expect they might also have some kind of magical powers that could intercede on her behalf.
“It’s not okay. You shouldn’t have to…well, you’re just a kid!” Marcus shook his head sadly.
The sincere compassion Michele sensed emanating from Marcus touched her deeply. She did not like to see him sad, especially on her account. To lighten the mood, she laughed and reached for his hand, squeezing it affectionately. “It’s okay. Tell me,” she asked to change the subject, “what’s it like to be a…Sangranista?”
“If I tell you then I’ll have to kill you…Michele, it’s a joke,” Marcus quickly added when her pupils dilated in fright and her shoulders stiffened defensively.
“Sorry, you just...,” she laughed, slightly embarrassed. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry; it was a stupid attempt to be funny. Because I don’t know how to tell you what it’s like to be me, any more than if I were to ask you what’s it like to be human. How would you answer?”
“I see what you mean. Can I ask you a question, though?”
“You can ask.”
“Are you immortal?”
Marcus laughed. “Of course not; that’s just myth. We live and die just like humans. We just live a lot longer.”
“Like how much longer?”
“My father is over three hundred years old, and my mother is two-hundred-and-ninety. But they’re still young. The oldest recorded age of our kind is two-thousand, nine-hundred-ninety-nine.”
Michele’s expression reflected her astonishment. “How old are you?”
“Fifty-two. I’m still a baby, just a fledgling.”
“Fifty-two,” she breathed out, incredulous, as she studied the finely sculpted features of his smooth, un-lined face. “You don’t age.”
“Well, yes, but not like humans. Our skin never seems to lose its elasticity and our bodies don’t sag; but our features do mature.”
“But you don’t really live like humans, I mean…”
“Okay, we do and we don’t. My family lives in an apartment. My father works as the procurator of a fine arts gallery on Fifth Avenue. Well, he owns the gallery. I go to school. My mother shops and decorates the apartment. But we have to move about every ten years.”
“Does she cook?” she asked half-teasing.
“No, Michele,” he quipped back. “We don’t eat.”
“Only…?” she could not quite say the word out loud.
“Yes, we only consume blood…human blood.”
A look of fear washed over Michele’s serene features until Marcus took her hand, squeezed it reassuringly, and then held it gently.
“Not any other animal?”
“No, it would make us ill. That’s another myth. Our kind cannot survive on non-human sources.”
“Can you eat food?”
“No, not really,” Marcus said, as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, played with her fingers, and massaged the inside of her palm to keep Michele calm and at ease. “I can put food in my mouth, chew it and swallow if I can manage to gag it down. But I will vomit it back up within a few minutes.”
“Oh, that’s awful. So, have you ever tasted food…like chocolate?”
He wrinkled his nose at a memory. “I think every fledgling has tried to eat something out of curiosity. I have never tasted chocolate but I did try to eat a banana once. I thought it smelled pretty good, so I was shocked at how horrible it tasted. But I was determined to try it, so I managed to choke down a bite. I know by experience what happens. I only ate one bite, but I vomited and then I retched for hours.”
“So, when you eat…drink…”
“It’s best not to go into details, okay, sweet one?”
“Okay,” she agreed, and sat still, enjoying the warm feel of her hand in his, and thinking over all that Marcus had revealed to her. She smiled to herself as a thought occurred to her. “Marcus, if you don’t eat food, do you like, have to go to the bathroom?”
“What?” he raised his brow and laughed. “Why do you ask that?”
“I’m curious. Really, I want to know.”
“That’s too embarrassing for me to answer.”
“You do then.” She grinned, looking sideways at him again in a way he thought quite cute. “Come on, tell me, please? I want to know,” she pleaded.
Marcus noted the bright look of curiosity in her eyes, the look of someone with an avid hunger to know things. He laughed, trying to cover up the embarrassment he truly felt, but then explained, “We don’t make waste, not like humans, except for carbon dioxide which we exhale just like you. I don’t have a bladder or kidneys. Our livers are very important in detoxifying the blood we drink. I do have a small stomach, and a very short intestine. About once a month I go to the bathroom, to excrete dead blood cells. It would look to you sort of like deer droppings.”
“No way!” Michele looked at him, wrinkling her brow and then burst into laughter.
Smiling, he declared, “It’s the truth.”
They both laughed again, and then Michele, trying to keep her face composed, asked, “Tell me one more thing, do you pass gas?”
“Never have in my life,” he stated. Laughter overwhelmed them both.
“I don’t believe that. All boys fart.”
“I swear, I’m telling you the truth,” he answered through his laughter. “What about you? Do girls fart?”
“I’m not telling.”
“That means you do.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does,” he said teasingly.
They bantered back and forth amid laughing fits, until at last they could look at each other and only smile.
“It’s not that funny,” he said.
“No,” she agreed and that sent them into another fit of laughter.
“One more question, can you drink water?” Michele asked.
“Yes, but I don’t need to unless I
haven’t fed for a long time. Then water can prevent dehydration but not starvation.”
“Oh, interesting.” Michele chuckled, got it under control and asked another question. “You don’t have a bladder or…but do you have..?”
“Yes, I do,” he answered, anticipating the question.
“So, can you have sex?”
“Yep, just like humans.”
“Can you have sex with a human?” she asked and Marcus thought (hoped) she asked the question in a tone of more than just casual curiosity.
“We can, but we can’t get a human pregnant. Our DNAs are too incompatible.”
“Interesting,” she repeated, watching his hand holding hers while she mulled over in her mind all he was telling her. “How often do you need to…you know… eat?”
“Only about two to three times a week if I get a half-pint to a pint per meal. But I’m a growing boy. A fully mature adult Sangranista can survive on the same amount for a month.” He didn’t feel like telling her right now about his first kill.
Michele looked up sideways at Marcus, marveling at the beauty of the boy sitting next to her and holding her hand. I must be dreaming! Did the last john slip me something to mess with my mind? It was inconceivable enough that the most sought-after boy at school was sitting here holding her hand and confiding in her. How many times had she sat in class staring at the back of his head admiring his luxuriously thick, black hair; or eyeing his classic profile from across the cafeteria? She, who had no interest in sports, had attended every single home basketball game, just to watch his perfect body moving with dance-like agility about the court. And then, what he had just told her! No way, there’s no such thing as a vamp…Sangranista. But she had seen his
The Fledgling Page 6