Drink, Slay, Love

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Pearl returned to Bethany, who was humming to herself as she completed her math homework. Stopping, Bethany asked, “Is everything okay?” There was real concern in her voice, which was unsettling.

  “Just needed to look something up,” Pearl said as she sat. “Out of curiosity, are you a virgin?”

  “Isn’t that kind of a personal question?” Bethany asked.

  “Yep,” Pearl said. “Are you? Or are you and Evan . . .”

  “Me and Evan?” Bethany laughed. “He’s like a brother to me. Seriously, we grew up together. It’s not . . .” Her laugh faded. “Wait, are you interested in him?”

  “Me?” Pearl said.

  Bethany looked delighted. “You are! You like him!”

  Pearl had no idea what to say.

  Bethany patted Pearl’s hand. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” She mimed locking her lips with an imaginary key.

  “Uh, thanks,” Pearl said.

  Chapter

  FIFTEEN

  Over the next two weeks Pearl fell into a routine. In the mornings she had school. She spent lunch period outside in the brightest patch of sunlight she could find with Evan, Bethany, Zeke, and Matt, and she studiously avoided damaging any more cars. In the afternoons she ran track with Sana and the team and then she met Bethany in the library for tutoring. At night she attended Minerva’s etiquette classes, sparred with Jadrien, and assisted with cleanup of the mansion’s cellar. Once in a while she managed to steal a couple hours of sleep plus a few pints from the storage room to keep her upright as she juggled both lives. And every other minute she had to spare (which wasn’t many), she searched for the unicorn.

  She had zero luck.

  One evening she walked home from the library (rather than accepting a ride from Evan or Bethany) so that she could search for the elusive hoofed wonder. She didn’t see anything more mythical than an elderly lady shooting hoops with her young grandson (a feat so impressive, given the woman’s age, that Pearl had wondered if she were supernatural). She half-seriously considered asking the woman if she’d seen a unicorn—for all Pearl knew, humans had been spotting unicorns for decades, and no one had bothered to tell the vampires.

  It wasn’t as if her kind and their kind talked frequently. Until Evan and Bethany, Pearl had never had an intelligent conversation with a human. Brad didn’t count, given the adjective “intelligent.” She wondered if Brad had been capable of stringing sentences together before he’d met her fangs. She doubted it.

  Still thinking about the unicorn, Pearl let herself into the house. She dumped her backpack by the door and headed toward the hall.

  “Pearl.”

  She halted halfway across the living room.

  Daddy rose to his feet. He’d been sitting in a leather chair. She hadn’t noticed him. She mentally slapped herself. That sort of lack of awareness was the kind of thing that got you killed. Or, at the very least, surprised in an embarrassing way. “Daddy, you’re home.” She tried to muster up enthusiasm to fill her voice and failed. He didn’t look happy to see her. He was frowning in that perfect movie-star way of his, with one tiny crease between his eyebrows and with his mouth in the shape of a perfect circumflex.

  “I thought we could have a little chat about how everything is going,” he said.

  “It’s fine,” Pearl said.

  “You haven’t reported in lately.”

  “Not much to report,” she said. “I’ve been laying groundwork, developing plans, making connections. Generally integrating myself with the student body. Learning the rhythm of the hunt. This is a complex hunt, not the quick snatch and grab, so I am trying to be smart.”

  He seemed to like that response. Lowering himself back into the leather chair, he indicated the wood chair next to him. Pearl elected to pretend she hadn’t seen the gesture.

  “I would love to hear about your experiences,” Daddy said. “No vampire has ever seen what you see.”

  “It’s . . . loud,” she said. “Humans like to talk.”

  “They’re a surprisingly social animal,” Daddy said. “You could almost grow fond of them, like pets who perform interesting tricks.” He clasped his hands on his knees and leaned forward, the picture of intensity. “Pearl . . . there is a danger to what you are doing.”

  “I’m careful,” Pearl said. “No one knows what I am . . . what we are.”

  Daddy shook his head. “Not the obvious danger. I am worried about a much more insidious danger. Pearl, you are undercover now, which means you run the risk all undercover operatives run: identifying too much with your targets. To fit in, you must make yourself like them on the outside, and too often that can spill over onto the inside. You must hold on to the core of who and what you are.”

  “Of course,” Pearl said. “I know who and what I am.”

  “Good,” Daddy said. “Keep hold of that. And, Pearl, I hate to pressure you, but your performance so far . . . You have gained us access to only one family, and while they have been delightful enough for multiple visits, one family is not enough to satisfy His Majesty at the ceremony.” So that’s why Ashlyn continues to worsen, Pearl thought. Lately the former queen of Greenbridge High resembled a hollow-eyed mannequin. Pearl opened her mouth to respond, but Daddy wasn’t finished: “Also, Uncle Felix tells me that the supply of stored blood has diminished. You haven’t even been feeding yourself.”

  She should have guessed that Uncle Felix would notice the empty pint bottles. She’d tried to stash them out of sight, but obviously that hadn’t worked. Humiliation squeezed her throat shut.

  “You must do better,” Daddy said. “I say this with only your own good in mind. You’ve never met His Majesty, have you?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’ve heard stories, though, haven’t you?”

  This time she nodded. Stories about the king of New England were whispered like ghost stories, just before the break of day. Before he became king and confined himself to his domain, he’d built an illustrious and global reputation. In Venice, he’d drowned his victims in the Grand Canal as he’d drained them. In Mexico, at the old Aztec temples, he’d sliced out his victims’ hearts. He’d feasted on plague survivors in the Middle Ages, and he’d dined on artist models in the Renaissance. Rumor had it that he’d wiped the smile from the real Mona Lisa’s face. He’d participated in the Spanish Inquisition, and he’d reveled in countless unspeakable atrocities that everyone loved to both count and speak about. He’d traveled from country to country, fostering conflict as if it were a plant to be nurtured, before he’d challenged (aka butchered) the prior king of New England and taken up residency in his stronghold.

  “The stories are not exaggerated,” Daddy said.

  “Really? Even the Mona Lisa one?”

  “His Majesty is an old-style vampire, and he is not fond of change. What happened to you . . . He will accept it if he sees the benefits. Everyone will accept you if they see the benefits. Do you understand what I’m saying?” She’d never seen Daddy this serious. “If he doesn’t see the benefits . . . You do not want him to consider you a problem.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Good.” Daddy smiled, and the warmth in his eyes washed over her. “You’re needed below. Your mother has begun to work on seating assignments.”

  “Oh,” Pearl said. Her eyes slid to the door. Perhaps she had come home too soon.

  He laughed. “I guarantee she already knows you’re here. Better go down.” Sighing, she headed for the hall with the concealed door. “And, Pearl . . . if you do not prove your worth to His Majesty, then he will blame us for allowing you to continue.” His voice was again low and serious. “Our fate is tied to yours. Don’t let us down.”

  Downstairs, in the basement dining room, Mother leaned across the table and said, “Mmm.” She then cocked her head to view it sideways and repeated, “Mmm.”

  Pearl waited silently in the doorway.

  The dining room had been converted into a command center
. All the antique sconces had been switched out for office desk lamps. The table was covered in charts and lists. Cousin Jocelyn was positioned at one end of the table, and Cousin Antoinette was stationed at the other. Cousin Jeremiah was curled up like a cat underneath the table. Pearl doubted he was helping much.

  “Switch Meli for Antony,” Mother said.

  Jocelyn scurried around the table, moving pieces of paper from one circle to another. Each circle represented a table. Each slip of paper was a vampire.

  “Aren’t they in a feud?” Antoinette asked, pointing to two slips of paper.

  Mother shook her head. “Resolved with a duel. But those two should not be seated with Lucien. Jocelyn, fetch Rocco’s name and add Juan to table number six.”

  Pearl watched them for a few more minutes, calculating how long she could stand here before it would be all right to quietly withdraw. She could claim she hadn’t been needed.

  “Antoinette, swap table five for table eleven minus the three cousins from Bridgeport.” Mother looked like a general. Dressed in a black suit, she defined “severe.” Pearl inched backward. Without raising her head, Mother asked, “Did your father speak to you?”

  Pearl halted. “Yes.”

  “Excellent,” Mother said. “Report to dojo number three. You need another training session. Your focus must improve. We have received word that His Majesty is bringing two dozen guards to the ceremony. Each will need to be served with a blood donor.”

  “Two dozen?” Pearl said. She tried to keep her voice lower than a squeak and failed. Both Jocelyn and Antoinette raised their heads at the note of panic in her voice and regarded her with interest. Pearl modulated her tone to sound confident. “Of course, two dozen. You’ll have them.”

  “Good,” Mother said. “We are all counting on you.”

  Bowing, Pearl retreated from the dining room before Mother could change her mind about the training and assign her a mind-numbing, nonvampiric task like folding napkins instead.

  She headed for the training rooms. Before entering the dojo, she changed into a flexible cotton outfit, and she tried to force the number twenty-four out of her mind. She just needed to try twice as hard.

  Pearl didn’t bother to knock. Sliding the rice-paper door open, she stepped inside. Jadrien was midpractice. She watched as he swung a staff in a fanlike circle so fast that it blurred in the air. Continuing to spin the staff with one hand, he executed a series of hands-free cartwheels. He landed in a crouch and struck the floor with the staff.

  “Nice view?” he asked.

  “You know it is.”

  “I prefer to see through your eyes,” Jadrien said. “You’re my mirror.”

  Pearl wondered if he knew about her reflection and then decided there was no double meaning. She examined him. His skin glistened with the sheen of sweat. “You’re pretty and shiny,” she told him.

  “Dance with me, Pearl,” he said.

  She should have stopped for a pint from the storage room, but Daddy’s knowledge had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. She’d expected that to stay her dirty little secret. She wondered if Jadrien knew. She wondered how she was going to find twenty-four victims (twenty-five, counting one for His Majesty) when she couldn’t even manage to feed herself. “Let me warm up first.”

  Slowly at first and then faster, Pearl worked through her warm-up routine. She stretched. She kicked. She punched. She ran up a wall and flipped over.

  “Sloppy kicks,” Jadrien observed. “You should retract faster.”

  “Stand back,” Pearl said. He dutifully retreated, and she sprang forward into a series of handsprings across the dojo. She closed the tumbling pass with a midair somersault. She landed solidly on two feet and straightened to face Jadrien. “First to pin wins.”

  “Let’s up the stakes,” he said. “First blood.”

  Pearl hesitated. She didn’t have so much extra to spare. But refusing would signal she was weak, and she refused to show weakness in front of Jadrien. He’d proven that he’d talk even if it endangered her. For a moment she felt a strange pang near her breastbone. Just a couple weeks ago she wouldn’t have cared what Jadrien said or did. He was hers, and that was enough. Now his games were tiring. “Agreed,” she said, and she charged at him.

  He reacted by springing into the air and flipping over her, which, while impressive, was a stupid move because it gave her ample time to switch directions and be there with a kick to his stomach as he landed from his fancy aerial. He let out an oof as he flew backward. Crossing the dojo in two strides, she followed up with a flurry of kicks and punches. He warded them off with his arms and countered with his own kicks and punches. She dodged his feet and fists as he drove her backward.

  “You lack the fire tonight, sunshine girl,” Jadrien said. “Are those humans making you soft and slow?”

  Just sleep-deprived and stressed, she thought. Also, thirsty. A thought occurred to her: If she drew first blood, she could snack. She’d never drunk from Jadrien before, but there was no reason (other than etiquette) why she couldn’t—vampire venom didn’t affect other vampires. He’d said first blood but hadn’t specified what to do with that blood. With new energy, she slapped his fist away and then clipped him hard on the chin.

  “That’s my girl,” he said as he rubbed his jaw.

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she advanced on him. She aimed each strike at a new area, confounding his defenses. She gained ground on him.

  “Nice,” he said.

  He sprang into the air in a flawless spinning kick. She didn’t duck. Instead, when his leg sliced toward her, she dived forward and bit into his thigh, hard. He collapsed to the ground, and she fell on top of him. She took a deep long pull of blood from his femoral artery before she released him.

  “Ow,” he said. Blood trickled down his thigh and spread across the sheen of sweat. “I fail to understand how you continue to win. You’re smaller. You’re weaker. I’m faster, and my technique is flawless.” She tossed him a towel to mop the sweaty blood.

  “I want it more,” she said.

  “That’s kind of profound,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, can we make out now?”

  She looked at him, still splayed on the floor with blood drying on his leg. He was shirtless, and his muscles were still flexed from the tension of the fight. Except for the blood, he could have been on the cover of a supermarket romance novel.

  But her stomach spasmed, awakened again by the drops of blood.

  “You’re lovely,” she told him, “but it’s a school night.”

  Chapter

  SIXTEEN

  Ms. Delancey, the school counselor, was overly fond of her mechanical pencil, in Pearl’s opinion. If she clicked it one more time . . . She clicked, and Pearl reached over, whipped it out of her hands, and snapped it in half. She handed back the pieces.

  “So . . . ,” Ms. Delancey said as she studied the two halves of her pencil,“I see we still have a few items to work through.”

  “I think my boyfriend is going to break up with me,” Pearl said.

  Ms. Delancey tucked the pencil into her drawer and pulled out a fresh one. Glancing at Pearl, she appeared to reconsider. She returned the new pencil to her drawer and selected a pen instead. She clicked the top so that the pen popped out. “Why?” she asked.

  That was one of the things that Pearl liked about Ms. Delancey. She didn’t express sympathy or disapproval, and she was required to listen to whatever answer Pearl gave. Every vampire should have a counselor, Pearl thought, and not for dinner.

  “He doesn’t understand my choices,” Pearl said. Jadrien would have already snacked on the counselor, on Bethany, on Evan, on Sana. . . It wasn’t that they didn’t look tasty, but there always seemed to be a reason not to bite. She needed Bethany to tutor her, and Sana entertained her during track practice. As for Evan . . . the time just never seemed right. “I have a lot of pressure on me right now, and he . . . well, he’s the same.”

>   “And how does that make you feel?” Ms. Delancey clicked the pen top twice.

  “Irritated,” Pearl said. She focused on the pen.

  Ms. Delancey quit clicking.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” Pearl said. The ceremony feast shouldn’t be her responsibility. She was supposed to be an honored attendee, concerned only with swearing allegiance for the first time without humiliating herself in any way. The older vampires were supposed to worry about the details of the event. None of them understood how different the hunt was in daylight. She kept having to exclude people as victims. It was a lot easier when the concerns were merely logistics. “I liked the way it was.”

  “Do you want to return to that?” Ms. Delancey asked.

  Pearl considered it. She studied the photos on Ms. Delancey’s desk: two children in sundresses at a park, a bride in a garden with Ms. Delancey in a drab-olive bridesmaid dress, a man on a sailboat with a two-foot-long fish in a net. She saw a hint of her own reflection in the glass of the photo frames. “Yes,” she said.

  “What makes you feel . . .”

  “I don’t belong here,” Pearl said. She felt as if a cartoon lightbulb had snapped on over her head. Suddenly, everything was clear: the reason she felt so much stress, the reason things felt off with Jadrien. . . She shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be her hunt.

  “You’ve been here more than two weeks,” Ms. Delancey said. “Is this feeling better or worse now than it was when you started? Are you more comfortable here after two weeks?”

  Pearl stood. “Yes, I am!” And that defined the whole problem. She wasn’t supposed to be comfortable here. She was supposed to be in the catacombs, either asleep or with Jadrien. She thought of how she’d turned him down last night. That wasn’t right. He was supposed to be her future consort, yet she’d drunk from him and then blown him off. Two weeks ago she’d never have done that. She’d never have resorted to stored blood or refrained from snacking on a human.