“Hey!” he cried.
I grabbed Bobby, grabbed the unspilled bag of clothes, and pulled them both in the direction of away, running hell-bent for leather. No bullets came zinging after us, though the pounding feet behind us indicated pursuit. We lost it after just a few blocks and three or four crazy zig-zags, and stopped in an alleyway between a deli and a thrift store to listen for absolute proof of our escape.
I felt like laughing maniacally. This whole vamp thing—it was crazy, but now that I’d had a taste, I felt drunk on power, jazzed with the rush of the ultimate high, more alive than I’d ever felt when I’d had a pulse.
I threw myself into Bobby’s arms and nuzzled his neck. His scent was overwhelming. I could smell the blood beneath his skin, practically feel its call. It was like … like … sexy, intoxicating, kinda like the punch at the after-prom party. My eye teeth tingled and grew.
“I’m glad you came,” I told him, half slicing my lip in the process. It stung, but only for a second. The hunger was stronger, and I licked away my own blood, totally in denial even as it happened.
“Well, sure,” Bobby said. “When I heard about the accident … You are my girl, right?”
I’d completely lost track of the conversation.
“Uh, Gina, you’re crushing me.”
My teeth brushed against the flesh of his neck, just barely scraping the surface and strengthening the heady scent of blood until it clouded my mind.
Bobby pulled away. “We’ve got to get you something to eat.”
I looked at him and jumped back, like half a body length. In his eyes, I could see the brick of the building directly behind me, the flaking mortar, even the melon-rind moon peeking over its roof … everything but me.
“Oh, God!” I wailed.
“What?” Bobby reached out to me. “Gina, what is it? Are you hurt?”
“I don’t have a reflection!”
His brows lowered in confusion. “Well, no, it kind of goes with the transformation.”
“But no image—don’t you get it? How am I supposed to do my hair? What about makeup? I’ll poke myself in the eye trying to put on liner.”
Bobby looked at me like maybe I had maggots in my hair after all. “Gina, you look fine. Better than fine. I don’t get—”
“You’re right,” I said, thinking feverishly. “I do need a bite to eat. And I know just the thing.”
Based on how quickly he stepped back, I’m pretty sure he thought I meant him, but that wasn’t it. Mom and Dad had been big with the child-rearing clichés. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade had been a favorite of theirs, and I guess it must have sunk in a little. All I needed was a place to shower and change, a stylist, a mani-pedi, and some skin cream and I’d be as good as new. I could even start my own entourage for touch-ups. Better than any mirror. I tried to believe it.
“Not you, dummy,” I told him. “Shirl.”
“Who?”
“My stylist. I can’t go through life looking like this!”
Bobby’s brow furrowed further. If he kept that up, vampire or not, he might be needing Botox treatments of his own in a decade or two. “But, um, three’s kind of a crowd, don’t you think?”
“Oh, so since you’re my, what, sire, you get me all to yourself?”
“No, Gina, it’s just—”
“Or maybe I should stay a walking disaster so no one else will want me?”
“No, I—”
“No? Good. Then let’s go.”
Bobby threw his hands into the air, which I caught out of the corner of my eye as I turned to lead the way.
I looked “fine”? I snorted to myself. That was, like, the kiss of death. With persuasive powers like that, it was a wonder Bobby had ever made the debate team, let alone been chosen captain.
3
I didn’t actually need to breathe, but I’d once heard that it was calming, so I gave it my best shot. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Nope, superpowers aside, I was still up a creek without a paddle—or, way scarier, in the wilds of Neiman Marcus without a credit card. Half the school had probably turned out for my funeral and now remembered me in memoriam as a complete fashion disaster. Tina, my arch-nemesis, was probably overjoyed. No doubt she’d instantly moved in to console Chaz, who’d probably lived through the whole accident without a scratch on him. I needed to stage a comeback. It had to be something big and bold—so fabulous that it mental-flossed away the horrific images of my death. Something like … graduation.
Before my death, I’d worked and slaved for an entire shopping day, hitting every store in a three-town radius to find the perfect dress and matching nail polish. Come hell or bad hair day, I was going to find a way to walk down that aisle. I’d blind my classmates with cosmetic science—no matter how much sunscreen it took. It was practically a public service. And to restore my former fabulosity, I needed Shirl.
Her place, Film Clips, was in the middle of a strip mall toward the center of town. Old movie posters, oversized mirrors ringed with bare bulbs, and film-reel wallpaper made you feel like a star there. Recent pictures of actors and actresses were taped here and there for inspiration. My haircut made me look like a dark Paris Hilton with really awesome volumizer (minus the pocket pup, which was just a distraction from the main attraction).
After being mistaken for body snatchers, Bobby and I were very careful to avoid any police patrols or even streetlights on the way to Clips. Trying not to be noticed was new for me. It felt so … so … Mission Impossible, the theme to which Bobby felt compelled to hum under his breath. We now crouched behind one of only three vehicles in the strip mall lot, the one closest to Clips. The other two were way down at the end—one a nondescript van backed up to the open doors of a sporting goods store, and the other a dark sedan sitting low to the ground. Of course, our hiding spot was a completely grody rustbucket of a car that looked like someone had driven it to hell and back and forgotten to hose off the ick. I couldn’t even steady myself on the door for fear of tetanus or something.
Bobby had parked his own rattletrap down the block, rather than in the strip mall’s parking lot, so that it wouldn’t be connected with Shirl’s upcoming disappearance. He still wasn’t thrilled about the idea of turning her, but had caved when I told him the alternative was putting him through cosmetology school to take Shirl’s place.
I peered over the rustbucket’s hood and into Clips to do some, like, visual recon. Next to me, Bobby did the same. Sure enough, Shirl was alone in there, singing along to some song on her radio and … Oh. My. God. With no rhythm whatsoever, she was popping hips, shimmying things that continued jigging once she’d jogged, and using the broom alternately as a dance partner and a microphone. She looked like someone had dumped fire ants down her pants.
“What is she doing?” Bobby asked.
My thoughts exactly. My upper lip curled. “I know. It’s totally embarrassing. Almost enough to make me abort the mission and find a new stylist.”
Bobby looked at me. “Over bad sweeping technique?”
I stared back in disbelief. “Over the really heinous shimmy-dance she’s doing with that broom. She looks like a spaz. God, you are such a geek.”
Bobby blinked. “But she’s just pushing the hair around.”
I rolled my eyes heavenward. “I rest my case.”
But my hunger didn’t give a damn about dignity or shimmy dances. The roar of bloodlust chased out all other thoughts, and made my stomach cramp and my knees weak. The thought of my teeth breaking through the surface of Shirl’s skin, spilling blood like hot nectar into my mouth, nearly knocked me over for the second time that night. I actually forgot myself enough that I put a steadying hand on the rustbucket.
“You all right?” Bobby asked.
What the hell. I had my geek—I’d add the spaz, and all I’d ne
ed was a dweeb to collect the whole set.
A door whipped open at the other end of the strip, followed by the sharp crack of something heavy smacking the pavement.
“Ow! Watch what you’re doing, lamebrain!” a voice called out. I would have looked anyway, but there was something familiar about that voice …
“You’ll heal,” answered a woman, not sounding particularly excited about the idea.
Bobby elbowed me in the ribs. “That can’t be … Larry Pearce?”
“Who?” I asked. I looked over, but I didn’t recognize the flame-haired guy with the envy-inspiring complexion totally made for exfoliant commercials. The guy next to him, though … him I knew. Rick Lopez. No wonder the voice had sounded so familiar. Between my new vamp senses and the strip mall security lights, there was no mistaking the steroid-enhanced build, blue and gold varsity jacket, and beady little eyes of Chaz’s wingman—and fullback or hatchback or something for the Mozulla High Lemurs. And there was some kind of she-hulk with them, helping to wrestle duffle bags worth of gear out the doors.
I didn’t know what to process first. “Why can’t it be Larry?” I whispered at Bobby.
“He’s dead,” he whispered back.
My lips twitched. “So are we.”
“Yeah, but—”
“What?”
“I don’t know, it’s just weird. And I don’t think they’re paying for that stuff,” he added, jutting his chin at the Closed sign.
Another poster boy for steroid abuse got out of the van and opened the back doors for their haul, but he wasn’t looking around for patrols or even at what he was doing. His eyes were totally stroking the curves of Chickzilla’s unitard. And what was with the unitard, anyhow? There was a reason those had gone the way of the dinosaurs—or should have, anyway. If you’re not clear on why, I have one word for you: access. Or two more: potty break. Think about it.
“Shouldn’t we stop them?” Bobby hissed.
It didn’t really seem like our job, but I was itching to try out my mod new bod. The problem was that we were outnumbered, and I didn’t know how many of them were vamps like us. Rick had a zit on his chin that made me think he wasn’t part of any fanged fraternity (not after seeing Larry’s porcelain perfection), but I didn’t know about the others. And I doubted the bulgy things in the bags were as harmless as fishing lures and night crawlers.
“Stop them how? Fight? Or, like, call the cops and wait to testify?” I asked. It was totally sweet that he wanted to go all hero, but someone had to be the voice of reason. “We’re not exactly—”
The lights went out in Film Clips. Shirl was on the move.
“Go, go, go!” I called, voice rising as I pushed Bobby into action.
Shirl had her back to us as she locked up, but she whirled at the sound of our footfalls (neither Bobby nor I had mastered the cat-like grace that movie vamps always seem to have). Her eyes widened as she spotted me.
“G-G-Gina!”
It was all I could do not to snort. The stuttering-in-fear thing was such a cliché, although the trembling, deer-in-headlights look was a nice touch.
“Shhh,” I soothed, not wanting Rick to overhear and word of my rising to get around school before I staged my comeback.
“The rumors of her death have been greatly exaggerated,” Bobby put in helpfully.
“But I went to the funeral,” Shirl said, her green eyes never leaving my golden-brown.
See, I just knew Shirl was a gem. I wondered if there was any chance my parents had gotten her to do my hair for the viewing. If not, all it must have done was lie there and be square. And the whole school would have seen me that way. I wondered if my reputation would ever recover.
“Shirl, that was, uh, mistaken identity,” I improvised. I couldn’t turn her right there with potential witnesses looking on; I needed to come up with a story, but quick. “You have to come with me. Help … help me change my look! It was all a conspiracy, and I’m still in danger.”
I could feel the fear rolling off her in waves and could tell she wasn’t buying it. Probably the lisp brought on by my pointy new teeth made me sound sinister. But her fear felt good. Eerily good. I felt like a kitten with a catnip ball.
“Hey!” Rick yelled, loud enough to spin me around. His gaze met mine, even down the length of the mall, and I wondered whether he had really good eyes or if my voice had carried. “You!”
Shirl was there one second, gone the next, taking advantage of my distraction to bolt toward the rustbucket.
“Damn! After her!” I hollered at Bobby.
Shirl was in her car, with the door slammed and the motor running, before we could do a thing. I stood in front of it, but she just backed up and peeled out.
“What about me?” I asked, rounding on Rick, ready to accept him as a substitute blood donor. But all I caught were the tail lights of the van. Rick and his compatriots had fled, the dark sedan leading the way. The shop doors thumped shut behind them.
“Uh, Bobby, what did you give me—cooties?”
4
I stumbled twice on my way to Bobby’s POS rattletrap, feeling like I did during that grapefruit diet I’d tried for prom season—cranky and faint.
“You couldn’t have knocked over a butcher shop on the way to pick me up?” I snapped at him.
“Knocked over?”
“You know, broke and entered, held up, robbed.” He looked like I’d stunned him with a clue-by-four. “Wait, you really do have a receipt for those clothes, don’t you?” I asked.
“Well, yeah,” he said, like it was obvious. And of course it was. Bobby, chess champ and debate team captain, was white-knight material. This living-outside-the-system thing was probably going to kill him all over again.
My voice softened. “Bobby, you’re dead.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know that. My credit’s still good.”
“How? No, I’ll get to that in a minute. What I mean is, we’re, like, beyond the law. Renegades, right? No reflection, so probably no image left behind on pesky security cameras.”
“Yeah, I guess, but stealing is wrong.”
Bobby opened the car door for me, every bit like his red-orange Crown Vic was some kind of chariot. I could practically taste the blood beneath his skin as I passed him. It would be warm and moist and … I licked my lips in anticipation.
“Focus,” Bobby said, eying me like I might spring on him at any moment.
I was focused—on the smooth curve of his neck, the pulse point—which, now that I looked closely, wasn’t actually pulsing. Totally weird. What were we talking about?
“Stealing, wrong,” Bobby prompted.
That brought my attention up to his eyes. “Do you have a job?” I asked.
Bobby paused in the act of tucking me into the car and closing my door. “Not any more. The comic shop doesn’t have too many evening hours.”
My eyes rolled. “Well then, didn’t you just transfer your credit card debts from the store to your parents?”
He was totally dumbstruck. I air-scored a point to me.
“And what do you mean, ‘they don’t know’ you’re dead?” I asked.
Bobby finally closed my door and got himself settled into the driver’s seat. He waited for the car to choke and catch before answering. “Um, well, I kinda just passed out somewhere and woke up a couple days later. No one ever found me.”
“You dog.” I punched his arm. “Passed out as in partied too hard?”
“Yeah, sorta. So where to?” Bobby put the car into gear, but left his foot firmly on the brake. It seemed a little late for follow that car, though I did worry about what Rick and his buddies had been up to. Did Rick know he was hanging out with a dead guy? What was in the sacks? Were they just removing all of our town’s potential wooden-stake launchers, like crossbows a
nd such? I couldn’t imagine we had many. Or were they stocking up? Were they planning on going a-huntin’? And for who? Not that it was any of my business.
“How’d you die?” I asked Bobby, looking for something to distract me from the gnawing in my belly and all the questions I had no way to answer. “And—wait—when did you get all vamped out?”
Bobby made an inarticulate sound of frustration and hit the gas with more force than necessary, jerking us forward. “What do you think Larry was up to with those guys?” he countered, echoing my thoughts.
“Stop trying to change the subject. How and when?”
He shot me a look. “Fine,” he huffed. “It happened when the debate team was celebrating our win over Baldaiga. One of the guys scored some fake IDs … ”
“Uh-huh,” I encouraged.
“So we kinda got a little, um, toasted, and there was this woman—”
“Yes,” I prompted, intrigued.
“And she was all, you know … and we got kind of, um, friendly. Then, I guess anemia and alcohol or whatever kinda finished me. I wandered off somewhere, found a nice quiet spot where the light didn’t hurt my eyes, and sorta passed on.”
With my super vamp senses, I could see him flush red, the color starting at the tips of his ears and running over his face to creep down his neck. It was cute, in a completely geeky sort of way. Bobby seemed like such a rule guy that it couldn’t have been easy for his friends to convince him to cut loose for a night. It was going to be even harder now to convince him to take risks, since the last one led to his unlife, but I’d always liked a challenge.
“So you scored a victory and a vamp,” I encouraged. “Go you.”
Bobby cut a glance my way. “You say it like she was some kind of prize.”
I shrugged. “Most guys would think so.”
Vamped Page 2