Drink, Slay, Love

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “My manly strength will not allow me to choose a less unyielding material,” Matt said. “I have rocks for muscles. You fear my strength.”

  “Whatever,” Zeke said. “You never choose scissors.”

  “Sometimes I choose paper,” Matt said. “You can’t predict me. I’m cagey.”

  “You always choose rock or paper,” Zeke said. “So long as I always choose paper, I can’t lose.”

  “See, I knew you gamed the system.”

  Pearl did not turn around.

  “On the count of three?” Zeke asked. Together, they said, “One. Two. Three.” There was a brief pause. “You should have chosen scissors.”

  “That would have been too obvious,” Matt said. “You just said I never choose scissors so you had to know I would choose scissors so I couldn’t choose scissors because you’d know it. Hence, the rock.”

  “Hence the paper, covering your rock. You ask her.”

  “Well played, my friend,” Matt said. “Well played.”

  Pearl lifted her head from her locker and looked at Matt and Zeke. Both boys shifted nervously as she studied them. Matt smelled like cheesesteak, and Zeke smelled like extrastrong mouthwash. Both needed to locate a comb for their hair, but they’d shaved meticulously. Every chin hair had been mowed down to a dot. She appreciated the improvement.

  “So . . . Pearl . . . hi,” Matt said.

  “Hello,” she said. She didn’t say anything further. She wasn’t in the mood for a conversation with Tweedledum and Tweedledee. All she wanted to do was find a bed, burrow under the covers, and sleep a dreamless and memoryless sleep until the safety of the next day’s sunrise. She didn’t know how humans handled the weight of their memories and losses.

  “Oh, fine, I’ll do it,” Zeke said. “You’re new here—new, in fact, to the whole high school experience—and you may not know that there’s this delightful soiree in the spring of junior year known as junior prom.”

  “Prom,” Pearl said. According to Antoinette and her beloved eighties movies, it was the crowning jewel of every teen’s life. “I may have heard of it.”

  The two boys missed the sarcasm. “It’s a dance,” Matt said. “Fancy dress. Guys do the tux-penguin thing. Girls do the”—he started to gesture toward his chest to indicate cleavage and then apparently thought better of it and pointed to his feet—“high heels thing.”

  “So?” Pearl said.

  Zeke patted Matt on the shoulder and said, “What my esteemed colleague is trying to say is: Will you be our date to the prom?”

  “Both of us,” Matt said.

  “We couldn’t decide which of us should have the honor, and it seemed cruel to make you choose,” Zeke said.

  “Let me think about it a minute. . . Um, no.”

  Their faces fell. “No expectations,” Matt said. “Totally platonic.”

  “We just thought . . .” For once, Zeke seemed out of words.

  “I’m not going,” Pearl said.

  “But it’s a rite of passage,” Zeke said. “One of those moments that you will talk about to your children and your children’s children. Everyone must have at least one mind-blowing prom memory.”

  “Or a totally embarrassing one,” Matt said. “Either will work so long as the story’s good.”

  “It’s at night,” Pearl said. “For the near future I’m strictly a daytime girl.” She tried to keep her voice light, but saying it made her throat constrict.

  They looked confused. “Grounded?” Matt asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Then why?”

  Glancing both ways down the hall, Pearl leaned closer to them and said in a fake whisper, “Vampires.”

  After messing with Zeke’s and Matt’s heads, Pearl felt better. She nearly whistled on her way to her next class. But by lunchtime she felt the familiar ugly whirlpool of her own thoughts tug at her. As she entered the cafetorium, she looked over the churning press of students, jostling in the lunch lines, and thought, Is this my existence now? If she didn’t find a way to return to the Family, she’d have to pretend to be one of them—gossiping about the teachers, hunkering down over homework, worrying about the prom—for eternity.

  She didn’t want this! She’d never wanted this.

  Pearl closed her eyes and wished she could close out all these humans with their blood flowing through their veins, so close to spilling out of their skin. The amount of blood between these four greenish walls was staggering. It helped if she remembered that’s what they all were: vessels for blood. While they obsessed over their minutiae, they were just prey, sheep obsessing about their grass, completely unaware that she was the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing. Daddy was right; she couldn’t forget who she was or why she’d come here.

  Her eyes flew open as a sudden glorious idea came to her.

  “Pearl, are you all right?” Bethany asked. She stood next to her with a tray of congealed food in her hands. Of all the items on her tray, the plastic fork and knife looked the most edible.

  “Tell me about prom,” Pearl said.

  “Sorry?”

  “I need to get my mind off my . . . situation,” Pearl said.

  “Right.” Bethany began to walk toward a table, and Pearl joined her. “Prom is this arcane ritualistic celebration. . . Okay, really, it’s just a dance with food and a DJ. But we rent out this fancy hall and everyone wears uncomfortable shoes. Also, guys give the girls corsages.”

  “Interesting,” Pearl said. “What fancy hall?”

  “Actually, it’s even more pathetic than usual this year,” Bethany said. “Prom committee was late reserving a space so all the good places were gone. Our junior prom is in the school gym.”

  “Prom committee?” Pearl asked.

  “Student volunteers who plan the event,” Bethany said. “Ashlyn’s the head of it.”

  Without another word, Pearl left Bethany. She crossed the cafetorium directly to where Ashlyn and her friends were. She stopped beside Ashlyn, who looked up at her with shadow-rimmed eyes. Pearl felt a jolt as she looked into those eyes—they held the same vagueness that she’d seen time and time again in Brad’s eyes. All of a sudden she was seeing his vacant eyes again. She rocked backward, unable to speak for an instant.

  Tara spoke first. “Come to stomp on our table instead of cars?”

  Pearl switched her attention from Ashlyn to Tara—she’d been right the other day; the power in the group had changed. “I heard you were on the prom committee.”

  “We are the prom committee,” Tara said. “I’m the new head.”

  Ashlyn displayed zero reaction to this pronouncement. She swirled her lettuce with a fork but didn’t eat. With her sunken cheeks, she didn’t look as if she’d eaten much lately. Addressing Tara, Pearl said, “I’d like to join.”

  Tara laughed, and a half second later, the girls around the table joined in. “No offense, but you’re homeschooled. What would you know about planning a prom?”

  “I know a little about event management,” Pearl said. She allowed a small smile to creep onto her face. “I know how important location is.”

  The laughter died. “The gym will be fine,” one of the girls said. “We have great plans to decorate it. You’ll see—it will be transformed!”

  Pearl sat down at the table, forcing one of the other girls to scoot over. “I have an alternative,” she said. “Do you know the mansion on the east side of Greenbridge, between the apple orchard and the nature preserve?”

  Tara’s eyes widened. “That place is expensive. And booked years in advance.”

  Pearl smiled. “My daddy owns it. It’s possible that I could convince him to make a deal. All we’d have to do is shift the date of the prom.”

  “If you could do that, you’d have our undying gratitude.”

  “Just gratitude would be fine,” Pearl said. Undying was already taken care of.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-TWO

  Pearl let herself into the house before sunset. She spr
ead the prom posters on the coffee table. She brewed a pot of blood tea and laid out the china teacups. And then she sat down on Uncle Felix’s leather couch to wait for her Family to wake.

  She tried to keep her mind blank. Concentrating on her breathing, she focused her eyes on the “Nighthawks” print over the mantel. Uncle Felix always talked about the isolation in the print, but it seemed to her as if the figures weren’t lonely at all. The woman in the red dress sat beside the man. Their hands lay on the counter next to each other, nearly touching, so they were clearly aware of each other. Both of them focused on the waiter, who bent to fetch a drink or a napkin or whatever they’d requested. The man around the corner of the counter looked lost in his thoughts, surrounded by memories. All of them were cocooned in the light of the diner, safe from the night outside.

  It was, she decided, the most antivampire painting she’d ever seen.

  Still contemplating the print, she was discovered first by Cousin Charlaine. Charlaine froze in the doorway and stared. Pearl stared right back. The burns on Charlaine’s face had healed into tight knots of pale flesh. Charlaine reached up a hand and touched the scars with her fingertips. Pearl saw her begin to tremble and knew it wasn’t with fear. That was anger.

  “You’d better head downstairs, Charlaine,” Pearl said. “I’m waiting for Daddy and Mother. I’ll open the shades until they arrive if I have to.”

  Charlaine fled downstairs. Pearl wondered if her cousin realized it was nighttime. Open shades wouldn’t hurt her. But Charlaine had a nice little phobia developing, as well as most likely a murderous rage toward Pearl. Pearl added Charlaine to her “deal later” list.

  Next to enter were Aunt Lianne and Aunt Rose. Neither of them paused at the threshold like Charlaine had. Seeing Pearl, they raised arched eyebrows in unison, but they didn’t say a word. They glided across the floor, their footsteps so silent they could have been hovering an inch off the ground. It was impossible to see their feet under their voluminous skirts. Both of them assumed their customary seats. Aunt Rose picked up her embroidery. Aunt Lianne selected a crossword puzzle in a yellowed newspaper.

  Cousin Jeremiah crawled into the living room on all fours and then curled up in front of the hearth. He watched Pearl with half-lowered eyes.

  Uncle Felix halted in the doorway, looked at Pearl on his couch, took in the teacups with the cooling blood tea, and said nothing. He chose a chair, folded his hands in his lap, and waited. Entering after him, Uncle Stefan scowled at her and stood with arms crossed, leaning against a bookshelf. Uncle Pascha resumed his chess game.

  Finally, Mother and Daddy joined them.

  Crossing the room, they chose to sit on either side of Pearl. She felt the hairs on her skin stand up straight as they sat, but she didn’t let herself shake as she poured first Mother and then Daddy a cup of tea. They accepted the tea but didn’t drink.

  “There are formalities we must follow for your punishment,” Mother said.

  “She returned of her own accord,” Daddy said.

  Mother nodded. “You understand that it is too late for excuses.”

  “I don’t have excuses,” Pearl said. “I have a proposal.” She pointed to the posters in front of her on the coffee table. “Junior prom.”

  Mother took a sip of tea.

  “It’s a spring ritual that involves fancy dress and—”

  “We’re aware of the event,” Daddy said mildly.

  “She should be staked,” Uncle Stefan said. He didn’t move from the bookcase, but she saw his muscles were tense, ready to spring at her. “She’s a wild card at a time we can’t afford it. She’s disobedient, and she’s reckless.”

  “I have a plan,” Pearl said. She didn’t meet Uncle Stefan’s eyes. She didn’t want to see her own death in them. Uncle Stefan didn’t bluff. “I’ve joined the prom committee.”

  Uncle Stefan wasn’t finished. “It would be doing her a kindness. The king is not kind.”

  “You asked for a drink for the king and his retinue, but you’re thinking too small,” Pearl said. She tapped the poster with her fingernail. “Four hundred kids equals four hundred pints.”

  Mother held up a hand to stop whatever Uncle Stefan planned to say next. Pearl risked a peek at him. He still hadn’t budged, but she could feel the waves of power rolling off him. Uncle Stefan was the oldest vampire she’d ever met. If he had had the temperament for it, he could have challenged His Majesty. But Uncle Stefan didn’t like to be tied to a place. He’d been known to disappear for months on end. Pearl thought it was a pity that now wasn’t one of those times. “Continue, Pearl,” Mother said.

  “All we need to do is allow the prom to occur in the mansion’s ballroom on the night of the ceremony,” Pearl said. “Close the exits, and it’s done. If we drink a pint or two from everyone, then no one will remember anything. We’ll have our feast with no one the wiser.”

  Mother and Daddy stared at her. Aunt Rose laid down her embroidery. Uncle Felix chuckled softly. Jeremiah crawled closer.

  “Simple, elegant, and brilliant,” Daddy said.

  “Forget last night happened, and it’s done,” Pearl said.

  Mother fixed her eyes on Uncle Stefan. “It’s done.”

  “Oh, my little girl,” Daddy said. “I’m so very proud of you.”

  Standing on a pedestal and wearing a swath of black lace and satin, Pearl wasn’t entirely convinced that this was better than punishment. Aunt Lianne and Aunt Rose flanked her. Aunt Lianne held a pair of scissors so oversize that they resembled hedge trimmers. Aunt Rose had the pins. They cut and pinned the fabric while Pearl felt like a reluctant mummy.

  “Remember it has to pass for human fashion,” Pearl said, “not Queen of the Dead.”

  “Undead,” Aunt Lianne corrected.

  Cousin Antoinette waved her hand in the air as if she were Cinderella’s fairy godmother. “You will be magnificent! Fashion-forward, a vision in black.”

  “Everyone will be wearing black,” Cousin Jocelyn said. On her own pedestal, she was also mummified in a stretch of black fabric, pinned up to her neck. “The entire event is designed to eliminate individuality and erase artistic expression.”

  Pearl gestured at the black lace. “You didn’t model this after one of Antoinette’s Molly Ringwald movies, did you?” She told herself that she didn’t care what the humans thought of her clothes, but it was important not to set off alarm bells, such as being out of touch with today’s fashion due to the immortality of the dress designers.

  Aunt Rose jabbed a pin into her thigh, and Pearl swallowed a yelp. “Do not move,” she said. “You will be the jewel of both balls.”

  Cousin Antoinette sighed happily. “Teenagers! So angsty and so tasty! Do you think we’ll be allowed to drink? After all, we planned everything, which means in essence it’s our party.”

  “Of course we will. Honestly, it’s not difficult math,” Jocelyn said. She attempted to squirm her arms into a more comfortable position. Pivoting, Aunt Rose stabbed her in the arm with a pin. Jocelyn flinched but didn’t bleed—clearly, she hadn’t eaten in a while. “Four hundred or so juniors in the class, minus whoever chooses not to attend the capitalist antifeminist peacock display of adolescent humanity. One hundred or so vampires, minus those who choose not to attend due to death, dismemberment, or insanity. We will have a true feast.”

  “Unless the king wants them all for himself,” Aunt Rose said. “He is known for his penchant for mass feedings.”

  Jocelyn picked at the ruffles on her dress, and Aunt Rose smacked her knuckles. “I heard he once drained every monk in a monastery in a single night,” Jocelyn said in a dreamy tone. “And I heard he bought a brothel in New Orleans in the eighteen hundreds that he emptied out once a month with his appetite.”

  “Oh, Pearl, this is going to be the most magnificent ceremony ever!” Antoinette said. “And you will be its crown jewel. I am so proud of you I could burst into flames right now.” She giggled. “Sorry, Charlaine.”

  Cousi
n Charlaine growled deep in her throat.

  “How very animalistic, Charlaine!” Antoinette said. “I’m shivering in my boots. Simply shivering. I may faint from all the excitement. Wouldn’t that be dramatic?”

  Aunt Lianne patted Pearl’s hand. “We’re all proud of you, my dear.”

  “I think as the hostesses of the ball we should be allowed to drain a few dry,” Antoinette said.

  Pearl felt her insides flop as she thought of Brad’s eyes imposed on Evan’s. “No.” All the vampires in the room looked at her. “Everyone in town will know where they are. All the parents. All the teachers. If any wind up dead, it will draw too much attention. Eventually, someone will blame us. But if everyone simply loses an hour of memory and a pint or two . . . all they’ll blame is the spiked punch.”

  Cousin Antoinette sighed dramatically. “So sensible. So boring.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson,” Pearl said. “I won’t endanger the clan again.” Saying it out loud, she believed it. Her caution had zero to do with Evan or Bethany or any of the other sheep. Allowing them to live was a practical choice that benefited the Family, nothing more.

  All the aunts nodded approval.

  “Still . . . ,” Antoinette said, “a girl can hope.”

  For the first time, a tendril of doubt crept into Pearl. What if this was a mistake? She firmly pushed the doubt aside. She was going to be the jewel of the ball and deliver a fealty feast (and prom) the likes of which no one had ever seen before.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-THREE

  Armed with a stapler, Pearl prowled the high school halls in search of bulletin boards. She had a stack of flyers under her arm with the new junior prom location and date. She felt as if she were succeeding in the greatest jewel heist of all time, or more accurately, blood heist. She grinned as she passed classrooms and lockers.

  Pausing at a bulletin board, she stapled three flyers across random ads and on top of sign-up sheets. She added a fourth one for good measure over a set of fire-safety regulations. The theme of the prom was “A Night to Remember,” which Pearl loved for its delicious irony. If everything went as planned, none of the students would remember a thing, but she would be remembered in her Family’s history for centuries to come: the daywalker who delivered the feast.