Vampire Crush

by A. M. Robinson

  “Where were they going?” I ask.

  “Um. To make out?”

  “Where?”

  Neal is starting to look nervous. He fiddles with the remote control, causing Simon to twirl in a confused circle. “I don’t know,” he says, uncomfortable. “Where do people usually make out?”

  “I don’t have time for sarcasm right now, Neal.”

  “But I really don’t know!”

  I turn to Violet, unable to hide my panic.

  “I will go find the others,” she says. “They should be at home now.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Neal says, but Violet waves him back into his seat.

  “Stay with Simon. This is a family matter.” When he protests, she stares into his eyes. Neal’s shoulders slump and he turns around to fiddle with a few loose screws.

  “Violet!” I scold. “I’ve never seen you do that.”

  She looks at me, innocent as a cartoon bunny. “What? We need him to stay! And the magazines said that we are allowed to use our feminine wiles. I do not understand your qualm.”

  I doubt Seventeen would include vampire mind-control under the “feminine wiles” umbrella, but now is not the time. When she flounces away, I try not to worry that the cavalry is skipping.

  I start to search for Caroline in earnest. Vlad disappeared with her in the early afternoon—too early for the direct sun not to drain him—so it would have to be somewhere in the building, somewhere removed and isolated. I check the auditorium, thinking that he could have her holed up backstage, but the heavy red curtain is open and a group of students is taking advantage of the unoccupied stage to practice choral parts for High School Musical. Next I scope out the band hallway, but it is brightly lit and filled with the sounds of tortured trombones and tubas. My search of the locker rooms—girls’ and boys’—turns up nothing other than a surprised and shirtless Danny Baumann who says, “Yo, South America. You’re kind of freaky, aren’t you?” and pats my dazzled head before he leaves.

  Think, Sophie. Think. If he disappeared with her before fourth period, he had to take her somewhere that would have been empty since approximately one o’clock. That nixes all the rooms of the front office and the teachers’ lounge, and the library would have at least had the librarian and a few indentured study hallers. All that’s left is the cafeteria, and when I think about it, it makes sense. Today was not a Student Council day, and so it would have been free of any desperate souls doing their best to pad their college application. The cafeteria ladies clear out mid-afternoon, and so it may be the one place in the school that would have been empty when Neal says they disappeared.

  Heart pounding, I start to run, taking the corners so fast that I’m lucky the halls are deserted. I burst through the doors and into the closed-down cafeteria, my footsteps echoing across the checkerboard tile. The fluorescent lights are off, and while the safety ones hanging near the front flicker dimly, the entire back half of the cafeteria is shrouded in darkness. To the front is the alcove that contains the lunch lines and, beyond that, the swinging doors that lead to the kitchens. Is it my imagination, or is there a light on behind those nautical peepholes?

  As if in answer to my question, a sound rumbles up from behind the doors. This is it, I think, and I take a deep breath. Then it occurs to me that if Vlad does have Caroline tied up next to the instant mashed potatoes, I have no intelligent plan of action.

  A weapon, I can at least find a weapon. But what? The cafeteria switched to plastic utensils long ago. And anyway, should I be looking for something wooden? More and more, my question-and-answer session with James is proving to be woefully inadequate. Next time I am in a room with any vampire—one that does not harbor violent and/or marital feelings toward me, of course—perhaps I should spend less time crushing on them and more time asking them to list their weaknesses.

  Ignoring the escalated bump-bumping of my heart, I spot a cart of washed dishes next to the back wall and rush to inspect it. After a moment of deliberation, I grab the wooden spoon and a knife and do my best to file it into a point. Two thousand years of folklore can’t be that wrong, right? And besides, at the luau showdown, Vlad chased after Neville with a shattered piece of door. He doesn’t seem much for meta jokes.

  I approach the swinging doors with as much stealth as I can manage. Pressing my ear against it, I listen for furious whispers or the struggle shuffle, but only hear a steady, persistent dripping and the low buzz of a running dishwasher. I nudge it open with my toe and peek inside—it is empty except for gleaming sinks, long metal counters, and a few large pots that must be the source of the school’s mystery chili. The light I saw comes from the two windows across the way. In a flash, I realize that there’s something else I should be noticing. The light is pale and gray. There is no sun.

  Sliding across the tile, I go to the window. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I can hear the tinny drops of rain hitting the aluminum sill. They could be anywhere. Caroline could be anywhere. I tell myself to calm down, but my chest is constricting so fast that it is difficult to think rationally. He is using her as bait, so he will not want to kill her. He still thinks I’m his ticket to the Danae, so he won’t want to kill me, either. This will be fine—I just have to keep moving.

  My next step should be to see if Vlad’s car is still here. Tucking the spoon down my shirt and into my waistband, I jog back to the swinging doors. In my rush, I hit them with an ungainly smack and wince. When I open my eyes, the twin forms of Devon and Ashley are standing in front of me, side by side like a double statue. The low light plays tricks with their features, giving me the eerie sensation that I am looking at one face, one body, split in two by a magic trick gone horribly wrong. They move forward in grotesque tandem.

  I stumble backward through the doors until my tailbone hits the hard edge of a metal counter. It vibrates beneath my fingers, setting off a high hum that competes with the rhythmic thumping of the dishwasher, which is sounding more and more like the rush of blood now pounding in my ears. “Where is my sister?” I ask as my hand searches for the reassuring hardness of the spoon’s handle.

  They step into the light. First I see their square chins, then their lips, leeched of color and drawn into a flat line, and finally, their eyes. They are just as dead as usual—four shiny black buttons.

  “I said, where is my sister?” I ask again.

  The one on the left lifts his arm, and for the first time I notice that he is clutching a crumpled piece of paper. When I make no move to grab it, they step forward again. Realizing that they will not move until the delivery is complete, I flatten the note against the counter. A line of flowers and hearts dances across the top. There is only one person I know who has the guts to turn in decorated assignments. The paper is Caroline’s. The handwriting is Vlad’s. Who the dark red smudge—blood?—at the corner belongs to is anyone’s guess. I feel like throwing up as I begin to read.

  Sophochka,

  I would be most delighted if you would join me at our special place in the forest—your sister is already here and very eager to speak with you. However, please make haste. I fear I am impatient for your company, and night is coming fast.

  With warm regards,

  Vlad

  I wad the note up into a ball and throw it toward the twin who carried the letter. He doesn’t even flinch. It bounces harmlessly off his chest, which does nothing to make me feel better or scare away the tears that are threatening. Leaning back, they beckon toward the exit in an eerie parody of an opening door. Inching forward, I start to move past them, only to feel two strong hands clamp around my arms and lift me up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Let go of me, you twin freaks! I’ll go with you,” I yell as they drag me across the hallway and through the darkened gym, empty now that thunderstorms have cancelled all the practices and meets. We are moving faster now; the bleachers flash past to one side as we head to the exit that leads to the athletic fields that lay in back of the school. One second we are in the
gym that smells of sweat and baby powder, and the next we are outside in the wind and stinging rain, trudging across the muddy soccer field as we approach the thick block of woods from the side. The ground squishes with each step, and a crack of thunder splits the dark sky overhead as drops soak my shoulders and back. The front of my shirt is still dry, and I pray that it will stay that way so as not to expose the spoon I’ve stashed. If we’re being entirely honest, a wooden spoon is a sucky secret weapon, but for the moment it is all that I have.

  We hit the line of trees, plunging us into even deeper shadow. Devon and Ashley cut through the brush as though it is nothing, but branches whip across my face. Every so often my feet scrape hard against the ground, jarring my ankles and making me feel so shaken and battered that I don’t register that we’ve reached the clearing until they throw me to the ground. I manage to catch myself two seconds before my nose hits the sopping layer of rotting leaves, but my hands sink beneath me. I tug them out of the mud and then scramble to my feet, whirling around just in time to see Devon and Ashley’s eyes focus on a spot behind me.

  “I am so pleased that you could join us, Sophochka,” Vlad says. He is perched on the rotting picnic table, his black shirt molded to his chest. As I watch, he crosses his legs and brings his hands to rest on the bump of his knees.

  “Where is Caroline?” I rasp, searching the clearing frantically. Nothing. I stand up and turn in a circle, peering through the gaps in the trees. The rain has turned everything misty, creating a wall of fog that prevents me from seeing beyond this tiny bubble of space. Vlad waits for me to stop twirling before casually leaning to the side to reveal Caroline’s slumped figure tied to a tree with a bright pink neon cord. Her head hangs forward, her curly blond hair veiling her face.

  “Is she . . . ,” I start, the dawning horror feeling like ants crawling up my skin.

  “Oh, she is not dead. I just did not want to listen to her for one more second—she knows quite a few curse words. What is a ‘lametard’?”

  “Let her go,” I say. “She has nothing to do with this.”

  “She has everything to do with this,” he snaps. “If you would have but given me a second chance to court you, I would not have needed to resort to such drastic measures. But you have made it clear that you have no intention of doing this the civil way, and I do not have time to overcome your stubbornness or endure your public insults. I have tired of this place,” he says, springing off the picnic table with an agile hop. “Here is what I offer. You agree to become a vampire and marry me now, and I release her. She might wonder why she has a sore neck for a few days, but otherwise, she will remember nothing.”

  My eyes fly to Caroline. “You didn’t . . . ,” I start, but I see how his gray eyes are sparkling; I see how there is color in his cheeks.

  “Oh, I did not make her a vampire. Just a beverage. After all, it has been such a very long time since I indulged in fresh human blood,” he says. Reaching out, he runs one cold finger down my cheek and then traces the crescent of skin exposed above the collar of my T-shirt. “Usually I have difficulty pulling back. But then I remembered that I needed her to get to you.”

  I slap his hand away without thinking. How about we not antagonize the crazy vampire who holds your sister hostage, okay, Sophie? Swallowing, I try to keep my voice calm. “I thought that you needed witnesses.”

  “We have them,” he insists.

  “Who? Squirrels?”

  “No, of course not,” Vlad says. “Sometimes your humor is inappropriate. I was speaking of Devon and Ashley.”

  “They hardly talk!”

  “I admit that they are not ideal, but you have left me with little option. Still, just to allay your worries . . .” Walking over, he pats one of them on the cheek. “Come, Ashley, say hello to Sophochka.”

  Ashley opens his mouth and emits a dusty grunt.

  “A word,” Vlad insists, but I don’t hear whether or not Ashley speaks because Caroline is stirring. I need to distract him.

  “Okay,” I say, and then repeat it loudly to cover up her groan.

  Vlad turns to face me. “‘Okay’ what?”

  “Tell me more about what will happen when we are Danae,” I say, moving to the side so that his back is completely toward Caroline, who is now blinking as though trying to focus.

  He smiles. “I suspected that you were not nearly as indifferent as you claimed. I am sure that they will reward me handsomely. A real house, for a start—they are said to have thousands across the world. And then perhaps a position of some import.”

  Caroline is now fully awake and staring at us with wide, horrified eyes. Holding her gaze, I telepath a plea for her to stay still. It fails. She begins to wiggle, and while she may be tied to the tree with a jump rope, Vlad did not count on cheerleader flexibility. However, there is no such thing as cheerleader stealth. In order to mask the rasping sound of her movements, I step closer to Vlad, checking to see if Devon and Ashley have noticed her. Nope. Their expressions are still Grade-A vacant. Still . . .

  “Vlad,” I say sweetly. “I do not like them watching us. It’s creepy.”

  He looks over me to bark at the twins. “Turn away,” he orders and they dutifully turn to face the trees. When he turns back to face me with a smug smile that says, “Look what I can do,” I ask him what kind of position he could have.

  “I do not know,” he says. “I have always wanted to be a judge. High Examiner Vlad Mervaux. Yes, that has a nice ring to it.”

  “You would make a wonderful judge,” I lie, noticing that Caroline is almost free. His face moves even closer, so close that I can see the darker ring of gray in his eyes.

  Picking up my hand, he runs the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. “You know, you are not entirely without hope. We will work on the clothing.”

  Be still my beating heart. Now that Vlad is so close, I can no longer see Caroline. I hope that when she is free, she runs. Just runs. Then when I am sure she is safe, I will make my move with the spoon.

  All this talk of social-climbing has made Vlad amorous. He moves forward, trying to press up against me, and I instinctively back up until I hit the hard trunk of a tree. His features have relaxed, and now he sizes me up with a gaze that lingers like a lazy drawl. The sound of the rain dribbling its way down through the canopy of leaves drowns out almost everything else. So many things are rustling that it’s difficult to figure out if one of them is an escape rustle. I brace myself against the tree, digging my fingernails into the bark as I lift my heels to sneak a surreptitious look behind him.

  But I am not stealthy enough. His eyebrows quirk downward, signaling suspicion, and his head begins to turn. I have to stop him. But how?

  Darting forward, I grab his cheeks and pull him toward me. Before I can give him the kind of sexy, diverting, cheek kiss that will go down in the annals of seductress history, he turns his head, forcing his mouth against mine. His lips are cool, wet, and slightly . . . tangy. Oh. Oh. Gross. My fingers clutch his shirt, not because I’m in danger of melting into a puddle of goo, but because it helps keep me from slapping him away when his lips begin to move sluggishly. Caroline better be running like the wind right now, the wind.

  Suddenly our teeth bump and scrape. He bites my lip, sharp as a bee sting, and I gasp. Rearing back, I dart to the side without thinking—not being familiar with the ins and outs of demonic make-out sessions, I am determined to evade whatever “move” this heralds. I turn, ready to defend myself or make excuses. For a few seconds my brain refuses to process the evidence in front of me. When it finally sinks in, I only wish that it were a hallucination.

  Caroline has wrapped herself around his back, her tan legs clamping around his waist as she hits him over the head with a branch. Her hair sticks to her shoulders and back in long, wet strands, and I can see a raw, bloody gash on the left side of her neck. The rain has exposed patches of skin beneath her white T-shirt.

  “Stay away from my sister,” she shouts after a series of zinging swaps to
his neck. “And never bite me again. Gross.”

  Vlad could toss her off him with very little effort—of that I’m sure—but right now he seems too stunned. The crook of Caroline’s elbow is a surprisingly effective blindfold. He stumbles forward with his arms extended, Lurch-like, before hitting a tree. Growling, he reaches behind him, grabbing Caroline by the neck so hard that she actually squeaks.

  “Hey! Let go of me. And cut your nails every once in a while, freak. You really are a—,” she begins, but then starts to choke. Vlad is squeezing.

  Stealth and seduction have failed. Time to move on to plan B: a full-frontal, last-ditch, completely insane attack. As Vlad holds Caroline up like a chastised kitten, I grab the handle of the spoon and pull it out. He is not looking at me, just smiling as she squirms. With painful slowness, he begins to turn in a circle, showing off his catch. A crack of thunder splits the sky overhead as I rush forward, holding the spoon aloft with both hands and yelling nonsensical obscenities at a Braveheart decibel.

  His eyes widen when he sees me pounding toward him, and he drops Caroline, who hits the ground rolling. I touch his arm for one whole second before he captures my wrists and rips the spoon from my grasp. I hear a snap and the vibrating zing of something lodging itself in a far tree.

  Grabbing my neck with one hand, he pins me to the ground, my head twisted to the side at an odd and painful angle. I watch as his other hand darts out and captures Caroline’s ankle. He drags her across the wet ground, turning her so he is holding us side by side so we are facing each other. For a few seconds she coughs and splutters, her eyes closed. When she opens them, they are a bright, feverish blue.

  Vlad pinches our chins and jerks them upward so we are forced to stare into his enraged face. My legs are trapped beneath his body, and my hip begins to throb. When I struggle, he presses down until I cry out in pain.

  “You thought that you could trick me?” he asks.