Under a Blood Moon

by Zoë Fox

  “Yeah, that’s pleading the fifth,” she smiled. “You might as well have said ‘yes, I suck blood with a vengeance’.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I said nothing of the sort.”

  Alex ignored him. “So, what are the rules?”

  “Rules?”

  “You know, all vamp books have their own set of them. Can or can’t see your own reflection,” she began to count off on her fingers. “Do or don’t hate crucifixes. Avoids the sun or…Tell me you don’t sparkle in daylight!”

  “I do believe that I have declined to participate in this discussion.”

  “Oh, sure. That’s what your mouth said. But your eyes give you away.”

  “My eyes?”

  “Yeah, your eyes are lonely. They say you want to talk to someone.” She’d been closely watching his face. Despite the fact that his square jaw clenched several times in frustration, his deep brown eyes, although reserved, held something else. No matter how he appeared to be, she had the feeling he hadn’t had a conversation in a very long time.

  “I believe you may be seeing whatever it is that you hope to see,” he said, but in his head, he aimlessly wondered if there might be some merit in what she said. He had a tendency, before his long rest, to keep to himself. When among others he observed but usually declined to interact. He preferred to blend in, to mingle with a crowd silently until he went unnoticed.

  “If you say so.” She stood up. Walking around him, she went over to his desk. He kept his eyes on her the whole time. “So, what are you doing?” She ran her fingers across the stack of newspapers, moving them slightly so that the dates became visible. “I mean, this is a lot of current events to be looking over at once. Trying to catch up?”

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to touch other people’s personal belongings uninvited?” He reprimanded.

  “Of course,” she turned and smiled at him. “I just didn’t listen.”

  “You have a tendency to do that, do you not?” He asked, but the corner of his mouth lifted just a bit.

  “All the time.” She straightened the papers to their original state. “I like to do things my way.” Glancing over at the shelf of books, she moved toward where her attention had shifted.

  “And what exactly is your way?” He leaned back in his chair, placing his foot on the ground.

  “Depends on the mood I’m in.” Her back was to him as she examined the titles. All of the books were hardback and very old looking. The topics ran from history to science, with a few literary pieces mixed in. Pulling a volume of Lord George Gordon Byron’s poetry off the shelf, she turned to him. “Mind if I borrow this? My school’s library is kind of limited.”

  He considered telling her no. Lending her a book would require her to return. But on the other hand, she was rather…what? He searched his mind for the right word. Rather amusing? And she looked so hopeful, staring at him as she held the dusty tome to her chest. “Be my guest.”

  She beamed at him. “Cool, thanks! Well, I guess I better let you get back to catching up on what you’ve missed.” She paused on the staircase. “And don’t worry. I promise to take care of it. I won’t even spill anything on it like the last time I borrowed a book from someone.”

  He groaned.

  “I’m kidding.” She laughed as she closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Six

  “See, now isn’t this fun?” Kirk asked as he passed a bowl of mashed potatoes to Alex’s mother. He had decided that they’d all benefit from having family dinners together at least three times a week.

  It had taken everything Alex had not to say ‘But you’re not family.’ Her tongue still hurt from biting it, but the last thing she wanted to be was grounded to her room tonight.

  No one answered him. He didn’t seem to mind.

  “So, what did everyone do today?” He took a bite of his roast.

  “At work, today I had to deal with all those backed up invoices I was telling you about,” her mother offered. “I had to give up my lunch break, but I got them done.”

  Kirk smiled at her. “How about you Thomas?”

  Toad looked up from the rough snowman he’d been sculpting out of mashed potatoes with his fork. “People are dying.” He placed two peas on his creation’s head, giving it eyes.

  “What are you talking about, Toadie?” Alex asked, taking a sip of her Coke.

  “No head. No blood. Just dead.” Toad seemed relatively calm considering what he had just said.

  “I think he’s talking about something he saw on the news,” her mother explained. “The cops found the body of a young woman. Apparently, she’d been drained of blood and someone had taken her head. Horrible stuff, really. So tragic. I feel sorry for her parents.”

  Alex hated the way her mother said the last part, so detached. She didn’t get why people bothered to say they were ‘horrified’ and ‘felt sorry for’ someone when their voices showed they were fascinated. Human beings had always been intrigued by violence. They used to have public executions to satisfy them. Now it was the evening news.

  “Maybe Thomas shouldn’t be watching such things,” Kirk said as he helped himself to a second roll. “It’s only going to upset him.”

  Toad didn’t seem upset from what Alex could see.

  “I mean it. It’s going to make his nightmares worse.”

  Toad glared at him. “Toad likes news.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Kirk smiled at him. “But it’s scary.”

  Toad shook his head. “People give me nightmares, not news.”

  “Still, I think it’s best if you don’t see things like that, kiddo.”

  Alex shoved half her roll in her mouth so she couldn’t speak and stared at her mother, willing her to disagree with her boyfriend.

  “You might be right,” she said, avoiding Alex’s eyes.

  “But Toad likes news.” Her brother whispered to his potato snowman.

  “How’d your day go, Alex?” Kirk smiled at her.

  “Read a little. Homework. Dealt with the censoring of information,” she said, taking another bite.

  “Good. Reading improves the mind.”

  She didn’t know if he’d purposely ignored her last comment or didn’t catch it.

  The table fell silent, each individual concentrating on their own plates. Watching the seconds tick by slowly on the clock above the refrigerator, Alex wondered how Kirk thought asking a few superficial questions was going to make them more of a family. Maybe he just wanted a captive audience. She certainly felt detained against her will. She considered asking to be excused, but knew he wasn’t going to let her go anywhere until he was done eating.

  Another wasted twenty minutes passed before Kirk pushed his chair away from the table.

  “Well that was nice. Meredith, while you do the dishes, I’m going to watch a little bit of television.” He left the kitchen, not giving their mother a chance to reply.

  “So, let me get this straight, mom,” Alex said, bringing both her and Toad’s plates to the sink. “You cook the meal, you clean up after, and all he helps with is the eating of said meal? In what universe is that fair?”

  “Be quiet,” her mother hissed. “He’s a great guy. This is the way things are done between men and women.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “I hope not,” she mumbled, walking over to where Toad sat.

  “Want me to take you to your room?”

  He nodded as she picked him up.

  She walked past the living room, refusing to look at Kirk.

  “But Toad likes news.” He said as she sat him down in the middle of his room.

  “I know, buddy. With any luck, they’ll break up soon and you’ll be back to gluing yourself to the TV in no time.” She ruffled his hair. “Till then, you’re just going to have to make do with watching it only when they’re not home, because I’m certainly not going to stop you.”
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  He smiled. “Okay.” He paused for a moment. “Alex, the spiders are gone.” He looked concerned.

  “What do you mean?” She took a seat on the edge of his bed.

  “The spiders, they’re gone.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” She had no clue what he was talking about.

  He shook his head. “No. Spiders don’t leave by themselves. And when they come back, they’re always bigger and meaner.”

  She sat for a moment, trying to think of a way to comfort him. “Well, I’ll tell you what. If they come back, I’ll get a huge bottle of Raid and put the unholy toxic smackdown on those eight-legged freaks. Sound good?”

  He nodded, smiling once more.

  “Now, do your best to stay out of Kirk’s way while I’m out tonight. I don’t want to come home and find out he’s made a rule against you thinking for yourself or anything like that,” she said as she walked to her room. She grabbed the newspaper she’d picked up earlier in the day. She doubted Lucas would have had time to get it yet.

  Slamming the front door behind her, she looked up at the sky. With any luck, he’d still be asleep when she got to the mausoleum, giving her a chance to get the answer she so badly wanted. She was pretty sure she was right about him being a vampire, even if the very fact defied logic, but she needed proof or he was never going to admit it. She wondered if there was a twelve-step program for vampires in denial. There seemed to be one for every other possible issue under the sun.

  Once at the cemetery, she started jogging till she reached the mausoleum. The door gave easily and she made her way down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The crypt was dark with no sigh of Lucas, however, the coffin’s lid was securely in place this time. She paused to catch her breath. All she had to do now was wait until he woke up and he’d no longer be able to deny it. Pulling a small tea candle out of her pocket, she lit it and placed it on the floor so that she’d have light to see by. In case he decided to sleep in, she’d brought along the book he’d lent her. Opening it up to where she’d left off, she sat on the stone floor and began to read.

  Ten minutes, perhaps, had passed when the lid of the coffin began to rise.

  “Good evening...er...morning. Sleep well?” Alex asked, remaining sitting.

  Lucas’ face showed first his surprise, but then quickly shifted to frustration. “Madam, this is most inappropriate.”

  “Possibly. But I got my answer, didn’t I?” She smiled smugly at him as he stepped out of the casket.

  Straightening the cuffs of his shirt, he stared at her for a few seconds before the corner of his mouth finally rose. “I guess you did.”

  “Here.” She pulled the newspaper out from inside her jacket. “I brought this for you.” She held it up to him. “I figured it’s the least I could do.”

  “Thank you,” he said, taking it from her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going.”

  “To where?”

  Giving her a pointed look, he sardonically raised one eyebrow.

  There was a moment of awkward silence before it dawned on her what he meant. Her eyes widened. “Oh. Guess you’ve got to find something, um, someone to eat, huh?”

  “That is, unless you would rather volunteer.”

  She stood. “No way, buddy! I’m nobody’s breakfast!”

  “But you are so very convenient.” His mouth twitched again, giving away the fact that he was teasing her.

  “Wow, was that a joke?” She feigned surprise.

  “A small one, perhaps.” He placed the paper on the lid of the coffin. “But I do have to acquire myself a meal.”

  “You don’t kill them, do you?” She asked, her head slightly tilted.

  “Would it bother you if I did?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “I really think it would.”

  “But the monsters of your, I believe you called them ‘vamp books’ do, do they not?”

  She shrugged. “Some do. Some don’t. Besides, I don’t think you’re a monster. You’re just hemoglobinly challenged.”

  The half-smile on his face widened a little. “You have an interesting way of looking at things. But no. I do not kill. I find it unnecessary and, to be honest, distasteful.”

  She sighed. “That’s good.”

  “So, will you be going?” He asked, gesturing toward the door.

  “Eh, I was thinking I would wait here. I like your couch, even if it is a bit dusty. It’s comfier than the one at my place.” She paused. “And it doesn’t have my mother’s obnoxious control freak boyfriend sitting on it, which is definitely a point in its favor.”

  He watched her for a moment, trying to decide what to say. She’s lonely, he realized.

  “Don’t you have any friends more…more your age?”

  “Yeah, grandpa,” she rolled her eyes. “But I’m kind of avoiding him at the moment. It’s not his fault, really. He’s scared of his own shadow, but after he let me fall head-first down those stairs without even coming to check on me, well, I’m a bit pissed off at him at the moment.”

  “Fine,” he said, giving in. “You may wait here. But do not touch anything, if you would be so kind. I’m sure you can show yourself downstairs. After all, you have demonstrated repeatedly that you have a knack for such things.” He said, walking up the stairs to the front door of the stone structure.

  Once alone, she made her way to the second room. Extracting two more candles from his desk drawer, she lit them to give herself more light to read by.

  A few minutes passed before she finally put the book down. Looking around the room, she felt her curiosity begin to rise. Had he not said anything about leaving his stuff alone, she probably would have been content to read on the couch. Glancing toward the stairs, she walked over to his desk once more. Pausing for a moment, she tried to resist the urge to snoop.

  A few seconds later, she reached inside one of the drawers and pulled out a leather-bound book. Inside, in a small, precise handwriting, it was filled with dated entries. Flipping to a random page towards the end, she began to read:

  I grow tired of the endless process of gathering information for the Council. My own natural desire for understanding lays dormant. The reactions of people no longer spark my interest. It is as if I have already witnessed the complete spectrum of emotions they are capable of. The majority are unaware of the trivialness of their concerns. They remain ignorant, the scopes of their lives narrowed to their own experiences, completely without thought to anything beyond. Once they fix their minds upon something, few consider it again. A small concept becomes the foundation of their identity, so that to question it is to unmake their own individual realities. Are they even people really? Or simply a composite of constant characteristics making up the basis of a particular personality. A preference for silk over satin combined with an enjoyment of outdoor sports and a certain hair color and you have the depth of an individual to their own level of understanding. Add to this their relationship to others; father, brother, son, employer, and full comprehension of how they fit into the world is possible. One dimensional characters forced to enact the same scene over and over on a stage as flat as they themselves are. And they resent, in varying degrees, the constraints they have inflicted on themselves and each other by abstaining from fluidity in an outward fashion. Would that—

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Lucas asked, the annoyance in his voice obvious. “I believe I requested that you keep your hands to yourself.”

  Engrossed in what she had been reading, Alex hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps. “Um, sorry. Sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me.”

  “I’ve noticed.” He stuck his hand out, expecting her to give him her ill-gotten reading material.

  She placed it in his outstretched hand. “If you hadn’t told me not to touch anything, I probably would’ve been fine.” She shrugged.

  “My own personal Pandora,” He said dryly. “How ever did I survive until my privacy and personal items became victim to your inquisitive nature
?”

  “According to that,” Alex gestured to the book in his hand, “not very well. Sounded a little whiny to me, nicely written and maybe even true, but whiny.”

  He glanced down at the book in his hand. “You read my personal journal?”

  “Um,” Alex snicked. “That may be the girliest thing I’ve ever heard a man say.”

  He just stared at her.

  “Oh, come on. You know what I mean! ‘Mom’,” she imitated, purposely making her voice higher pitched. “‘Little Timmy read my diary!’”

  “I believe I begin to understand your friend’s reluctance to look in on you after you sustained your head injury,” he said, returning the journal to its appropriate drawer.

  “Ok, I’m sorry.” Alex said, taking a deep breath.

  “You most assuredly are not. You lack an understanding of proper boundaries.” He took a seat at the desk.

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do. But if you ask me, it’s things like all your stupid rules that causes exactly what you were complaining about in your writing.”

  He looked at her in confusion.

  She walked around him, extracting the journal once more. She flipped it to the page she’d been reading and handed it to him.

  Lucas glanced over the open page and then looked back at her, waiting for an explanation.

  “See what I mean? People are always worried about rules, both the written and the ‘goes without saying’ kind. They get all caught up in what they should and shouldn’t be doing that they forget about just being.” She took a seat across from him on the couch. “And it traps them. You’re just as guilty of it as the people you were complaining about. I’ve only know you for three days and I don’t know how many times you’ve said something was ‘improper’ or commented on my not following some stupid script. You don’t want people to be so narrow minded but you’re complaining about someone stepping out of that box. Make up your mind. You’d think eternal life would make that easier, or whatever, but apparently not for you.”