“Are you seeing someone?” I asked, pretty sure he wasn’t. “Not that I care.”
“You two are making my head hurt,” Anna observed. “I like Kit. He’s cute and he’s funny. We can’t all have living families.” She smiled to show she was joking.
“Aunt. Vampire,” Ty said, but he was smiling and clearly not offended. “I’m sure she’d love to meet Kit.”
“Cathy’s been a bit odd today,” I said to change the subject.
If Kit had been my boyfriend, or even potential boyfriend, which he’d made clear last night he wasn’t, it was a pretty short relationship. Not my shortest—at four days, Ryan was the winner and still champion on that front—but still pretty short.
“She’s reading every book in the library about vampires, zombies, and transitioning,” Anna said. “Preparing herself. She’s turned it into her Local History major assignment. A history of the transitioning process in New Whitby.”
I admit I was a little jealous. How did Anna know that and not me? It must have shown, because Anna shrugged and said, “I’ve been in the library a lot. So has Cathy.”
“Of course. Typical of her to turn the whole thing into an assignment. I bet Kaplan was thrilled.”
Anna smiled.
“I can’t believe she’s really going to do it,” I said. “Do you think they’ll give her a license?”
“Don’t know,” Anna said. “I’ve never known anyone who transitioned before. Who’s even tried to.”
“My aunt transitioned so long ago, it’s probably not how they do it anymore.” Technically Ty’s aunt was his great-great-aunt. “But I could ask her about it if you like.”
“Thanks. Can you imagine Cathy not laughing?” I asked.
“I kind of can, actually,” Ty said. “She’s not that much of a laugher. Not like you or me or—”
“Cathy laughs!” I protested, trying—and failing—not to think of Adam Wasserman’s words about the kind of person who made a good vampire. “She has a sense of humor!”
“She does,” Anna agreed. “But I don’t think of her as a laughing person. Not like you, Mel. She’s more of a wry smiler. With a very low-key sense of humor.”
“Right,” Ty said. “That’s exactly it. Kind of like Francis.”
I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying that she was nothing like Francis. But was that true? They did seem to be sharing several private jokes already.
I had a sinking feeling that Cathy could tick the three boxes Adam Wasserman said were essential for successful vampire transitioning: not much of a sense of humor—it was true that she wasn’t a big laugher; strong reason to become a vampire—true love (I didn’t think it was enough of a reason, but Cathy certainly did); being more in love with death than life—I wondered if thinking an early death was romantic counted as being more in love with death than life. Cathy had long been obsessed with Thomas Chatterton, John Keats, Wilfred Owen, Sylvia Plath, and Anne Sexton. All of them died young and wrote loads of death-obsessed poetry. But Cathy had never said that she wanted to die young. Was being obsessed with death the same thing as wanting to die young?
Not that I wanted to calculate Cathy’s chances of a successful transition.
I didn’t want her to attempt transition at all.
The bell for the end of lunch sounded, and I grabbed my bag, got up, and trailed off to class. I walked so slowly that by the time I got to within sight of the classroom, the corridors were deserted. At least they were until Francis turned the corner.
“Francis!” I called out, not as quietly as I should have.
He strode toward me, his ever-so-perfect and ever-so-expressionless face not displaying annoyance, even though I knew he must be annoyed. I’m sure real ladies didn’t raise their voices.
“Miss Duan?”
He was annoyed. Normally he called me Melanie.
“I need to talk to you,” I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the girls’ room. Now, no way was I stronger than Francis, but he was a gentleman who would never throw off a lady’s guiding hand, even a lady he didn’t entirely consider to be one.
When I let go of his arm, he smoothed out his sleeve as if attempting to erase all Mel contamination.
“This is the ladies’ powder room,” he said, eyebrows rising in the vampire equivalent of total horror.
“The girls’ bathroom, yes, where we go to—”
“I am quite aware of the personal business which ladies conduct here,” Francis said. “The question is, Why am I here?”
“Because what I want to ask you is, um, confidential and everyone’s in class.” I waved at the row of empty stalls. Francis did not follow the direction of my arm. Apparently gentlemen did not look at the empty stalls in the girls’ bathroom. “No one will hear us in here.”
Francis’s posture was even more ramrod stiff than normal. He was clearly torn between being scandalized and being forced to accept a sort-of lady’s confidence.
“Please proceed with haste,” he said, and forgot himself to such an extent that he added another “Please.”
“Are you here to investigate Principal Saunders?”
For a moment Francis looked almost uncertain. “But you know I am,” he said at last.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then pray tell, Miss Duan, why you claimed you had such knowledge? You threatened to reveal the undercover nature of my endeavors here!”
“I didn’t!” What was Francis talking about?
“You informed me that you were aware of the true reason for my sojourn at this fine establishment.”
Fine establishment? Did he mean this school? Apparently he did. “Yes,” I said. “To write your book. You thought that I … Oh.” But of course his secret hadn’t been the book. Cathy knew about it. The school knew about it.
“This is most perplexing,” Francis said at length, which I thought was Francis-speak for “What the hell is going on?” Typical Francis, not even making it a question.
Since it wasn’t a question, I didn’t have to answer.
“Isn’t it?” I said sweetly, and cut to the chase. “What’s going on with Principal Saunders? Her husband didn’t really run away, did he?”
Francis was still for a moment, sky-blue eyes scanning my face. I tried to keep my face as expressionless as his.
Stupid vampires. There’s a reason it’s illegal for them to play poker.
“Miss Duan,” Francis said carefully, “I am not about to reveal the true nature of my investigation here.”
“Are you working for Camille?”
“I can only repeat: I am not about to reveal the true nature of my investigation here,” Francis said firmly. “It is unfortunate that you’re aware that there is such an investigation. I shall ask you—and this is for your own good—to put it from your mind and cease to interfere.”
For my own good, like Francis’s leaving had been for Cathy’s own good. Look how that had turned out!
I resisted the impulse to kick Francis in the shin and instead tried for an ingratiating smile.
“C’mon, Francis. You can tell me.”
Francis looked—well, to use his own words, I believe he looked most perplexed. (It was possible that I had never smiled at Francis before.) Then he looked cold and decided.
“I most assuredly cannot. And now, if you don’t mind, I am late for my class. As I believe you are also. Good-bye.”
Francis left so quickly, there was no time to beg him again to change his mind. A breeze in my face was all that remained of Francis’s unspeakable presence in the ladies’ powder room.
I’d been all set to tell him of Anna’s suffering and how he could help her.
I leaned back against the sink. At least now I knew for certain that there was an investigation.
Oh, poor Dr. Saunders and Principal Saunders. Could my kidnapping theory really be true? How was I going to tell Anna?
Francis’s being involved in the investigation meant Camille must have been the one who
sent Francis. Camille must know, or at least suspect, something. I had to find out what. Anna had a right to know. Which meant I had to talk to Camille. She was a mother. She would understand that Anna needed help.
She was also the mother of the boy who’d just dumped me. And a scary vampire cop who moved so fast she became a blur.
Piece of cake.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Interrogation with the Vampire
Obviously it would have been bad manners to visit Camille when she was still asleep. So I waited until it was almost dark before heading to the Shade on my bike. The sun set as I rode through the empty streets; it colored the ornate buildings orange, red, and purple before fading to a dull pink and then darkness. As I got closer to Camille’s house, one or two vampires began to appear. It was almost more eerie than when the vampires were all out promenading. Almost.
When I reached the house, I carefully left my bike against the low fence. (I did not want to destroy any more flower beds.) I took a breath, reminded myself that Camille was a tea-making mom, and knocked on the door.
Strangely, I’d decided to go with the front door rather than continuing the tradition of breaking in through the wine cellar.
It was immediately flung wide open.
“Darling Raoul!” exclaimed a vampire with a cloud of scarlet hair and an even bigger cloud of perfume.
“Uh,” I said. “No?”
“He can always be relied on,” the redhead continued mysteriously. “Well, come in, child, come in! We’re starving.”
As invitations went, it was up there with “I hope you can attend the party at our place! Much love, the Manson family” or “Drop in anytime, our chainsaws are always buzzing.” I almost fell backward off the porch.
“I think you’ve made a mistake,” I said.
“I don’t have all night, gel,” said the lady vampire.
I didn’t think she was actually English, like Francis. I’d heard a lot of vamposeurs pretending to be foreign, as if it made them more vampiric. I hadn’t expected an actual vampire to do the same.
Great. Pretentious vampires: That was all I needed tonight.
“No, really, you’ve got it wrong.”
“Children today are so indecisive,” the woman said. “‘Oh, bite me, oh no, wait, do, oh no, no, I’ve changed my mind, don’t take so much, I feel all faint, call my mommy.’ Every human who wants to experience the dark delirium of a vampire’s bite is so whiny! I wish we attracted the taciturn, I truly do.”
Something about the way she said “children today” made me pause and take a gamble.
“Minty?” I asked cautiously.
“Oh,” Minty said. “Oh, just fine. ‘Minty,’ indeed. My name is Araminta. I presume you’re Kitten’s little girlfriend, then, and I expect you don’t want to be bitten at all.”
She gave me an accusing look. I shook my head apologetically but firmly.
“Splendid!” Minty exclaimed. “We’ll all starve to death while entertaining a constant parade of humans, and the neighbors will think that we have set up a little human zoo. Absolutely splendid! I suppose you had better come in.”
I edged in past her, my neck feeling horribly exposed. I was afraid she’d snap at it.
She didn’t. Of course she didn’t: She might be having donors make house calls, but no vampire that hadn’t gone completely rogue would dream of biting someone without permission.
“Is breakfast here?” asked a vampire guy in a waistcoat.
If you ever wondered how fangs and a droopy mustache look on someone, I am here to tell you the answer: Very weird.
“No,” Minty said, throwing me a bitter look. “This is Kitten’s girlfriend.”
“Kit. Honestly, Araminta, you must try to remember,” said the man, and offered me his hand. I took it and he shook, hurting my fingers a little bit. A vampire’s firm handshake is very firm. “My name’s Albert.”
“Mel,” I said.
“You’ll be wanting the lad, I expect. Let me see if I can fetch him for you.”
“Uh—no, no, that’s okay,” I told him quickly. The last thing I needed was for Kit to think I was stalking him. “I was wondering if I could possibly speak to Camille?”
Minty and Albert both paused. They had poker faces as good as Francis’s, but I’d had experience of the vampire version of “very perplexed” today already.
We all stood staring at each other in extreme perplexitude, and who knew how long that would have continued if not for the interruption of yet another strange vampire.
“Hi,” I said, before someone else could introduce me as Kit’s girlfriend. “I’m— friends with Cathy?” At the last moment, I couldn’t bring myself to utter such a total lie as saying I was friends with Francis.
Minty sniffed. “We are positively besieged by humans.”
The new vampire, a small woman with a sweet heart-shaped face, zoomed over with vampire speed that made me jump, and before I knew it, she had her finger on the pulse in my neck.
Calm down! I ordered myself. Calm down, it’s probably a vampire thing, it’s like the vampire version of Eskimo kisses, it’s probably totally normal.
“You’re so unkind, Araminta,” she murmured. “I think she seems very nice.”
“Ulp,” I said. “Thank you?”
“My name’s Marie-Therese,” she continued dreamily. “I am so fond of Kit. I hope we can be friends.”
“Friends, awesome, yes,” I said. “Do … friends always stroke other friends’ veins?”
“Sorry about her,” Albert told me. “Spanish, you see. Very volatile people. Best to indulge her.”
I stayed very still as Marie-Therese’s cold fingers traced up and down my neck. I’d never been outnumbered by vampires before. I felt fragile, crushable in a way I’d never felt before. I wondered if this was how Kit felt all the time.
Then, unexpectedly, Marie-Therese stepped back and called out “Camille!” in a piercing tone. She stopped and gave me a sweet smile. “Camille is lucky to have such a charming visitor,” she said. “Come back and have tea with me anytime.”
Marie-Therese drifted out of the room. There was a glimpse of a chandelier in the next room before the door swung shut.
“She gives herself all these unearthly vampire airs around humans,” Minty said in her fake English accent.
“The Spanish are a dramatic people,” Albert said stoutly.
“If she’s Spanish,” I asked, “how come she’s got a French name?”
“Nobody knows,” Albert said.
“Nobody cares, more like,” Minty said with a sneer.
I was grateful to see Camille coming down the stairs, hardly what I’d felt the last time I saw Camille coming down some stairs.
It was still eerie. I’d been thinking of her as more human than she was, more Kit’s mom. I’d aged her, softened the cold lines of her face and the icy glitter of her eyes. But here she was, all vampire, in her uniform with her black hair hanging in a braid down her back.
“Mel?” she inquired. “Shall I fetch Kit for you?”
Did all these vampires have to keep harping on Kit?
“I was wondering if I could have a word with you, actually.”
Camille nodded, with not even the faintest sign of confusion. She led me silently into the kitchen.
Behind us, I heard Minty and Albert conferring on whether I might have come to ask Camille for Kit’s hand in marriage.
“What can I do for you?” Camille asked in her remote voice, sitting with perfect posture in the chair across from me.
She’d already insisted on making me a cup of tea. I sloshed the cup around in my hands as I tried to think of a way to put this.
“The thing is,” I said, “I have this friend called Anna Saunders.”
Camille folded her hands on the table. “You seem blessed with many friends.”
“And—I may have sort of guessed that you sent Francis to our school so he could keep his eye on Anna’s mom. Our principal. Princ
ipal Saunders.”
Because I was so sure that if Camille suspected Principal Saunders of lying to the police, she’d forgotten her name.
Camille actually made a slight expression. Sadly, it was not an expression that said, “Mel, you clever girl, you’ve guessed so much, you might as well know it all.”
It looked more like frustration.
“Francis,” she muttered, in a tone that let me know I’d gotten Francis in trouble.
Which was excellent, but not really the point.
“Anna’s really worried about her mom and her dad,” I said in a rush. “I mean, she has no idea that something might have happened to her dad. That he might not have run away.” I studied Camille for a reaction. “But Principal Saunders has been acting strange for a while. I saw, the day of the Ratastrophe—uh, the day all the rats got loose at school—that she was terrified of Francis.”
Camille’s whole posture changed so swiftly that I spilled tea on my jeans.
She was hunched over slightly. The way she sat made me think a word I didn’t want to be thinking—predatory.
“You observed Principal Saunders’s behavior on that day?” Camille asked, and fished out a notepad with a pen clipped to it. “Can you describe it to me?”
I immediately felt like a complete fool. Of course Camille looked intent. She was a cop. She wanted me to give an eyewitness account.
But an eyewitness account of the Ratastrophe? She wasn’t a vampire health inspector.
“Why do you want to know about the rats? What could that possibly have to do with anything?”
“Mel,” Camille said, “can I make myself perfectly clear? I am a police officer. You are a seventeen-year-old girl. That means I ask you questions, and if you respect the law, you answer them. It does not mean that I tell you confidential information about any of my cases.”
“Of course,” I said. I glared into my half-full cup of tea.
“Can you tell me about the rat incident?” Camille said.
I told her.
“Thank you for your help,” Camille said when I was done, serene as if we’d both gotten what we wanted when all I’d gotten was a lapful of tea. “Shall I call Kit down?” she asked. “I am certain he would be pleased to see you.”
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