Night World 1

by L. J. Smith

  “Well, anyway, it’s resolved now,” she murmured—and at that moment she really believed it. She was too happy to think about anything dreadful.

  “Is it? Does that mean that we can finally go out? Like on a date?”

  He sounded so wistful that Thea laughed. She felt light and free and full of energy. “Yeah. We could go right now. Or…we could go in. Your house, I mean. I’d like to see your sister and Madame Curie again.”

  Eric made an “ouch” face. “Well, Madame Curie would probably like that. But Roz lost her case—the court ruled that the Boy Trekkers are a private organization. And she is not—pardon the pun—a happy camper.”

  “All the more reason we should go see her. Poor kid.”

  Eric looked at her quizzically. “You’re serious? You have a choice of anywhere in Las Vegas and you’d like to go to my house?”

  “Why not?” Thea didn’t mention that a human house was more exotic to her than anywhere else in Vegas.

  She was happy.

  It turned out to be a modest frame house, shaded by a couple of honest-to-goodness trees, not palms. Thea felt a twinge of shyness as they went inside.

  “Mom’s still at work. And”—Eric checked his watch—“Roz is supposed to be in her room until five. Home detention. This morning she microwaved her Barbie dolls.”

  “That doesn’t sound good for the microwave.”

  Rosamund’s door was plastered with homemade signs. DO NOT ENTER. KEEP OUT AND THIS MEANS ERIC. FEMINISM IS THE RADICAL NOTION THAT WOMEN ARE PEOPLE.

  When Eric opened the door a piggy bank shaped like a skunk came flying toward him. He ducked. It hit the wall and, amazingly, didn’t break.

  “Roz—”

  “I hate everybody! And everybody hates me!” A hardback book came soaring.

  Eric shut the door fast. Bang.

  “Everybody doesn’t hate you!” he yelled.

  “Well, I hate them! Go away!”

  Bang. Bang. Crash.

  “I think maybe we’d better leave her alone,” Eric said. “She gets a little moody sometimes. Want to see my room?”

  His room was nice, Thea decided. Lots of books, some smelling of mildew—“I get them at the used book stores.” Comparative Vertebrate Anatomy. Development and Structure of the Fetal Pig. The Red Pony. Most of them were about animals in some form or other.

  And lots of trophies. Baseball trophies, basketball trophies, a few tennis trophies. “I have to switch between baseball and tennis different years.” Sports equipment was scattered carelessly around, mixed with the books and some dirty socks.

  Not so different from a teenager’s room in the Night World. Just a person’s room.

  There was a picture of a man on the desk, a man with sandy hair and a glorious, lightning-bolt smile like Eric’s.

  “Who is it?”

  “My dad. He died when Roz was little—a plane crash. He was a pilot.” Eric said it simply, but his eyes went dark.

  Thea said softly, “My parents died when I was little, too. What’s sad is that I don’t really remember them.”

  Eric looked at the picture again. “You know, I never thought about it, but I’m glad I do remember. At least we had him that long.”

  They smiled at each other.

  By the bed was a tank that gave off a pleasant percolating sound. Thea sat next to it and watched iridescent blue fish dart around. She turned off the bedside lamp to see the lighted tank better.

  “You like it?”

  “I like everything,” Thea said. She looked at him. “Everything.”

  Eric blinked. He eyed the bed Thea was sitting on, then slowly sat at the desk. He stuck out a casual elbow to lean on and papers showered to the floor.

  “Oops.”

  Thea stifled a laugh. “Is that the U.C. Davis application?”

  He looked up hopefully from gathering them. “It sure is. Want to see it?”

  Thea almost said yes. She was in such a cheerful mood, ready to agree to anything, be open to anything. But a moment of thought changed her mind. Some things were just going too far.

  “Not right now, thanks.”

  “Well…” He put the papers back. “You know, you still might think about transferring to the zoology class at school. Ms. Gasparro is a great teacher. And you’d really like what we’re studying.”

  Maybe I could, Thea thought. What would it hurt?

  “And if you were ever interested, Dr. Salinger is always looking for extra help. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s good experience.”

  And…what would that hurt? It’s not as if I would be breaking any laws. I wouldn’t have to use any powers, either, I could just be close to the animals.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. She could hear the suppressed excitement in her own voice. She looked at Eric, who was sitting with his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, watching her earnestly. “And—thanks,” she said softly.

  “For what?”

  “For…wanting the best for me. For caring.”

  The light from the fish tank threw wavering blue patterns on the walls and ceiling. It made the bedroom seem like its own little underwater world. It danced over Thea’s skin.

  Eric stared at her. Then he swallowed and shut his eyes. With his eyes still shut, he said in a muted voice, “I don’t think you know how much I care.”

  Then he looked at her.

  That connection again. It seemed to be drawing them together—an almost physical feeling of attraction. It was exciting, but scary.

  Eric got up very slowly and crossed the room. He sat by Thea. Neither of them looked away.

  And then things just seemed to happen by themselves. Their fingers were intertwined. Thea was looking up and he was looking down. They were so close that their breath mingled. Thea shivered with the electricity.

  Everything seemed wrapped in a golden haze.

  Crash.

  Something hit the other side of the wall.

  “Ignore it; it’s poltergeists,” Eric murmured. His lips were an inch from hers.

  “It’s Rosamund,” Thea murmured back. “She feels bad—and it’s not really fair. We should try and make her feel better.” She was so happy that she wanted everyone else to be happy, too.

  Eric groaned. “Thea…”

  “Let me just go see if I can cheer her up. I’ll come back.”

  Eric shut his eyes, opened them, and turned on the lamp. He gave her a pained smile. “Okay. I have to water Mom’s outside plants and feed the rabbits and stuff, anyway. Let me know when she’s cheered up enough. I’ll be waiting.”

  Thea knocked and ducked as she entered Rosamund’s room. “Roz? Can I just talk to you for a minute?”

  “Don’t call me that. I want you to call me Fred.”

  “Uh, how come Fred?” Thea sat cautiously on the edge of the bed—or not the bed, actually, the box springs. The mattress was across the room, standing on its side in a corner. The entire room looked as if it had been hit simultaneously by a hurricane and an earthquake, and it smelted strongly of guinea pig.

  Slowly, part of a sandy head appeared above the mattress. One green eye regarded Thea directly.

  “Because,” Rosamund said with terrible maturity, “I’m not a girl anymore. Things have always been this way for girls and they will always be this way and they are never going to change. And don’t give me any of that B.S. about how females hear better and do better in submarines and have better fine motor skills, because I don’t care. I’m going to be a boy now.”

  “You’re a smart kid,” Thea said. She was surprised at how smart Roz was, and at how much she wanted to comfort her. “But you need to study your history. Things haven’t always been this way. There were times when women and men were equals.”

  Rosamund just said, “When?”

  “Well—in ancient Crete, for one thing. They were all children of Eileithyia, the Great Goddess, and boys and girls both did dangerous stuff, like acrobatics on wild bulls. Of course…” Thea paused,
struck by a thought. “The Greeks did come and conquer them.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But, um”—Thea wracked her brain for human history—“Well, the ancient Celts were okay—until the Romans came and conquered them. And…and…”

  Human history was a problem.

  “I told you,” Rosamund said bitterly. “It always turns out the same. Now go away.”

  “Well…” Thea hesitated.

  It was the excitement that did it. The giddy feeling of everything being right with the world. It made her overconfident, made her feel as if Night World law were a little thing that could be dispensed with if necessary.

  Don’t, a part of her mind whispered. Don’t or you’ll be sorry.

  But Rosamund was so miserable. And the golden glow was still around Thea, making her feel protected. Invulnerable.

  “Look,” she said. “This may not help much, but I’ll tell you a story, a story that always made me feel better when I was a little girl. Only you have to keep it a secret.”

  There was a flicker of interest in Rosamund’s green eyes. “A true story?”

  “Well—I can’t really say it’s true.” And that’s true—I can’t. “But it’s a good story, and it’s about a time when women were leaders. About a girl called Hellewise.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Thea settled on the box springs, not the most comfortable seat. “Now, this all happened back in the days when there was still magic, okay? And Hellewise could do magic, and so could most of the people in her tribe. She was the daughter of Hecate Witch-Queen—”

  “She was a witch?” Roz sounded intrigued.

  “Well—they didn’t call it that then. They called her a Hearth-Woman. And she didn’t look like a Halloween witch. She was beautiful: tall, with long yellow hair—”

  “Like you.”

  “Huh? Oh.” Thea grinned. “Thanks, but, no. Hellewise was really beautiful—and she was smart and strong, too. And when Hecate died, Hellewise became co-leader of the tribe. The other leader was her sister, Maya.”

  Rosamund’s whole head was above the mattress now. She was listening with fierce, if skeptical, interest.

  “Now, Maya.” Thea chewed her lip. “Well, Maya was beautiful, too: tall, but with long black hair.”

  “Like that girl who came to the vet’s after you.”

  Thea was briefly startled. She’d forgotten Rosamund had seen Blaise. “Well—uh, maybe a little. Anyway, Maya was smart and strong, too—but she didn’t like having to share the leadership with Hellewise. She wanted to rule alone, and she wanted something else. To live forever.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Rosamund growled.

  “Well—yeah, there’s nothing wrong with being immortal, I agree. Except, see, that it all depends on how much you’re willing to pay to be it. Okay? Following me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well…” Thea floundered. Any Night Person would know immediately what she was talking about, even if by some outrageous chance they hadn’t already heard the story. But of course humans were different. “Well, you see, it was a matter of what she had to do. No ordinary spell would make her immortal. She tried all sorts of things, and Hellewise even helped her. And finally they figured out what kind of spell would do it—but then Hellewise refused.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was too awful. No, don’t ask me,” Thea added as Rosamund’s interest level immediately shot up. “I’m not going to tell you. It’s not a subject for kids.”

  “What, what? If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to imagine even worse things.”

  Thea sighed. “It had to do with babies, okay? And blood. But that’s not the point of this story—”

  “They killed babies?”

  “Not Hellewise. Maya did. And Hellewise tried to stop her, but—”

  “I bet she drank the blood.”

  Thea stopped and looked hard at Rosamund. Human kids were ignorant, but not dumb. “Okay, yes, she drank the blood. Satisfied?”

  Roz grinned, nodded, and sat back, listening avidly.

  “Okay, so then Maya became immortal. But the thing was, she didn’t know until afterward the price she’d have to pay. She would live forever—but only if she drank the blood of a mortal creature every day. Otherwise, she’d die.”

  “Like a vampire,” Rosamund said with relish.

  Thea was shocked for an instant, then she laughed at herself. Of course humans knew about vampires—the same way they knew about witches. Silly legends filled with misinformation.

  But that meant Thea could tell her own story without fear of being believed.

  “Just like a vampire, actually,” she said impressively, holding Rosamund’s eyes. “Maya was the first vampire of all. And all her children were cursed to be vampires, too.”

  Roz snorted. “Vampires can’t have children.” She looked doubtful. “Can they?”

  “The ones descended from Maya can,” Thea said. She wasn’t going to say the word “lamia” to a human. “It’s only the kind who get made into vampires by being bitten that can’t. Maya had a vampire son called Red Fern and she bit people. That’s the story, you see—Maya wanted to make everybody like her. So she started biting people in the tribe. And eventually Hellewise decided she had to stop it.”

  “How?”

  “Well, that was the problem. Hellewise’s tribe wanted to fight with Maya and the other vampires. But Hellewise knew if they did that, they’d probably all get killed. Both sides. So Hellewise challenged Maya alone to a duel. Single combat.”

  Rosamund pushed the mattress over with a thump. “I’d fight a duel with Mr. Hendries—he’s the boys’ trekleader.” She jumped on the mattress and attacked a pillow with hands and feet—and teeth. “I’d win, too. He’s out of shape.”

  “Well, Hellewise didn’t want to fight, but she had to. She was scared, because as a vampire Maya was a lot stronger now.”

  For a moment, Thea thought about it, visualizing the old story the way she had as a child. Seeing Hellewise in her white leather shift, standing in the dark forest and waiting for Maya to come. And knowing that even if she won the fight, she’d probably die—and being brave enough to keep standing there. Being willing to give up everything for the people she loved, and for peace.

  I don’t think I could ever be that brave. I mean, I’d certainly hope I would be, but I have a terrible feeling that I wouldn’t.

  And then a strange thing happened. At that instant, she seemed to hear a voice, not her usual mind-voice, but one that was urgent and almost accusatory. Asking a question as if Thea hadn’t just decided on the answer.

  Would you give up everything?

  Thea shifted. She didn’t usually hear voices.

  I suppose that’s what Hellewise must have been thinking, she told herself uneasily.

  “So what happened? Hey! Thea! What happened?” Rosamund was war-dancing on the mattress.

  “Oh. Well, it was a terrible fight, but Hellewise won. She drove Maya away. And the tribe was left in peace, and they all lived happily ever after…um, except Hellewise. She died of her wounds.”

  Rosamund stopped dancing and stared in disbelief. “And you’re telling me this to make me feel better? I never heard such a lousy story.” Her chin began to tremble.

  Thea forgot she was dealing with a human child. She held out her arms the way she had to Bud the puppy, the way she would have to any creature in pain—and Rosamund threw herself into them.

  “No, no,” Thea said, anxiously cuddling. “You see, the point is that Hellewise’s people lived on, and they were free. And that may seem like a little thing, because they were just a little tribe, but that little tribe got bigger and bigger, and they stayed free. And all the witches in the world are descended from them, and they all remember Hellewise and honor her. It’s a story every mother tells her daughters.”

  Rosamund breathed irregularly for a moment. “What about her sons?”

  “Well, her sons, too. When I say
‘daughters’ I mean ‘sons and daughters.’ It’s just shorter.”

  One green eye looked up from a mop of shaggy hair. “Like ‘he’ and ‘him’ are supposed to mean ‘she’ and ‘her,’ too?”

  “Yeah.” Thea thought. “I guess maybe neither is the best system.” She shrugged. “The important thing is that one woman’s courage kept us—them—all free.”

  “Look.” Rosamund straightened up, staring through the hair. “Are you just jerking my chain or is that a true story? Because frankly you seem like a witch to me.”

  “That’s what I was going to say,” an amused voice behind Thea said.

  Thea’s head snapped around. The door was open a few inches and a woman was standing there. She was tall and lanky, with little glasses and long silky brown hair. Her expression reminded Thea of a look Eric got sometimes, a look of very sweet puzzlement, as if he’d suddenly been struck by one of life’s overwhelming mysteries.

  But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was a stranger. An Outsider.

  A human.

  Thea had been blurting out the secrets of the Night World, the history of the witches, and a human adult had been listening.

  Suddenly her hands and feet went numb. The golden haze disappeared, leaving her in a cold, gray reality.

  “I’m sorry,” the human was saying, but to Thea the voice seemed to come from a distance. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just kidding. I really was enjoying the story—sort of a modern legend for kids, right?”

  Thea’s eyes focused on another human behind the adult. Eric. He’d been listening, too.

  “Mom’s such a kidder,” he said nervously. His green eyes were apologetic—and intense. As if he were trying to make a connection with Thea.

  But Thea didn’t want to be connected. Couldn’t be, to these people. She was surrounded by humans, trapped in one of their houses. She felt like the rattlesnake in a circle of big creatures with sticks.

  Sheer, raw panic overtook her.

  “You should be a writer, you know?” the human woman was saying. “All that creativity…” She took a step inside the room.