Evil Returns

by Caroline B. Cooney

  “Get out of my mind!” said Devnee.

  The vampire shook his head. His neck did not rotate as human necks did, so that when he shook the head the entire trunk of his body shook with it, giving him a sickening Jell-O effect.

  “You let me in,” said the vampire. “You didn’t have to, you know. You had a choice. You could have been satisfied with what you were.”

  “I’m satisfied now,” said Devnee sharply. “So leave me alone.

  “Are you really satisfied?” said the vampire. “Odd. That’s not the wish path I see emanating from your heart. I see you wanting William now. Because you know the real Trey, and the real Trey is something of a disappointment. The skin-deep variety always is. And William really loves Victoria, whereas Trey loves only a beautiful escort. Victoria, you know, is brilliant. William is one of those rare young men attracted to brains.” The vampire smiled and it lit his eyes, incandescent lights inside his skull.

  “Aryssa’s going to be all right now,” said Devnee. “The dance voted her Sweetheart to make her feel better.”

  The vampire glowed. “It worked wonderfully, too, my dear. She felt much better.” He studied his fingernails. The flesh on his long thin fingers was pink. Not the darkened patches of fruit going bad. Not spongy as if swollen with rot beneath the skin. But nice, healthy—

  “I have just had another excellent meal,” said the vampire.

  Devnee’s heart almost stopped. “Another one?”

  “Once the path is open, it’s open,” he said. “Naturally I will use all of Aryssa that is available.” He giggled like a little kid who had just TP’d the teacher’s car. Not a vampire. He said, “Of course, there isn’t much left of Aryssa. Still …”

  Oh, Aryssa! Devnee was sick with the knowing of it. That he had gone back!

  Those fangs—did they?

  That cape—did it?

  That laugh—that smell—those glittering evil eyes?

  “Now, now, we can’t hide from what we’ve done,” said the vampire. “In part, we cannot hide because …”

  She forced herself to look at him.

  “… because … we’re going to do it again.”

  “What are you talking about? I wanted to be beautiful and I am!”

  “I thought you wanted it all,” said the vampire. His speech was slippery as silk and cruel as boredom.

  All.

  Oh, yes.

  Oh, how she wanted it all.

  She wanted riches, too. And brains. And fame. And talent.

  She was weak with all the things she wanted; they turned her knees to jelly and made her heart pound.

  She studied her own fingernails, so long and lovely and polished and perfect. I’m beautiful now, she said to herself; that’s enough.

  “Enough?” said the vampire. “Is it really enough, my dear?”

  She caught her breath.

  He said, “Envision, if you will, English class. Envision yourself, if you will, as the sort of person who simply gets A’s, without effort or design.”

  There were people like that. Victoria was one.

  When asked “Did you study?” Victoria would laughingly reply, “I never study.” It was true. Devnee would sit consumed with envy. Even if she studied for a month, she could not get the grade Victoria got without effort.

  “Ah, yes,” said the vampire, “just so.”

  She threw a pillow at him but he was not there by the time it passed through the air. In fact, when she turned to look, she could not quite find him. She could sense his darkness and smell his mold, but he was as out of focus as a bad photograph.

  Did Aryssa smell that? she thought. When he—when it—when—

  She said, “I’m beautiful. That’s enough. Go away.”

  “Enough,” whispered the vampire. “Enough. I doubt it, Devnee, my dear.”

  She was very still.

  “Perhaps …” said the vampire, his voice as level as a lily pad on still water. “Perhaps … you could have Victoria’s brains.”

  Victoria, who was nice. Victoria, who was generous. Victoria, who was thoughtful. Victoria, who was loved by William.

  She would like to have Victoria’s brains … but the vampire would then have Victoria. And would go to her again and again, as he was going to Aryssa. Victoria would be over.

  No, I won’t take Victoria’s brains.

  But wouldn’t it be glorious to be brilliant? And witty? And have people stop talking and lean forward to hear what I have to say?

  No, I’m beautiful. That was my wish. And that’s fine.

  But, oh! To have it all!

  The vampire sank, as if he were snorkeling. He slid, and he slithered. He was underwater in some other world. Devnee hung on to the wall, lest he pull her along and drown her.

  He said, “You and I, Devnee …”

  The air was thick and swampy where he stood.

  “We do what is necessary, do we not, Devnee?”

  William was an honor student and did things like Model United Nations, and High School Bowl, and French Club, and Chess. He was not an athlete but loved sports, and was the announcer for the basketball season, the manager for the baseball season. In music he was the saxophone player who led the Jazz Band and Pit Band.

  Devnee struggled to breathe in the mossy air, the wet drowning air.

  Her wish glittered in her head, brilliant and bright and full of knowledge. She tried to grab the wish and break it on the floor, like a piece of glass, but instead it shone like a mirror, and she saw herself reflected in it: brilliant and bright and full of knowledge.

  And the wish came out of her mouth, and trembled in the room, and became the possession of the vampire.

  “I wish I were smart,” said Devnee.

  But the room was empty.

  The vampire had left.

  To fulfill the wish.

  Chapter 13

  DEVNEE NEVER DID PAINT the tower room. She never did put a carpet on the floor, nor bright curtains over the shutters. Her mother stayed in the kitchen, happily designing shelves into which the coffeepot and the blender would fit perfectly; her father stayed in the workshop, busily making the little nooks and crannies for the kitchen; her brother stayed at school, playing every conceivable ball game and proving that it does not matter how many state lines you cross—the star athlete can still skip homework.

  As for Devnee, she, too, could skip homework.

  And get an A-plus doing it.

  How delightful it was to sit in class, always having the answer, always getting the point, always catching the teacher’s eye and sharing a rueful smile when the other kids were too thick to get the joke.

  How strange it was to fill in the blanks without thinking. To write an essay without pondering. To know that your spelling and punctuation were correct. To glance down at the multiple choices and be amused; to spot a little joke on the teacher’s part, a joke observed only by the really bright members of the class. To finish the one-hour test in eighteen minutes and spend the rest of the time looking around.

  At first Devnee was careful not to look at Victoria.

  Victoria had walked in with long demanding strides, daring you to keep up, and despising you if you fell behind. Victoria no longer had the walk. She was just a female thing who slouched from one desk to another, confused and mumbling.

  During quizzes Victoria bent over her desk in that hunched desperate way of people who can’t think of any solution except to get closer to the paper. Victoria clung to her pencil as if the lead itself might know the answers. She had the tense, frightened look of a little kid on a strange doorstep, wondering if a boogeyman will answer the door.

  Well, one had.

  Devnee was asked to substitute for Victoria on the High School Bowl team.

  This was a group she had heard about, but certainly had never seen in action. Devnee had had difficulty following the strategy of a volleyball game, never mind a sort of young person’s Jeopardy!

  Trey and William were on High Schoo
l Bowl.

  She knew William was brilliant, but had never assessed Trey that way. His rough, hard looks and his swaggering possession of the ground almost hid his brains.

  Devnee, Trey, and William sat behind one long table while the opposition sat behind another. A nasal-voiced vice principal from a third school—for objectivity—read aloud questions taken moments before from a sealed envelope.

  “What are the basic structural units of proteins?” said the vice principal sternly, as if interrogating enemy troops.

  “Amino acids,” said Devnee, pushing her buzzer first, and answering instantly.

  “Name two types of arthropods.”

  Easy, thought Devnee. “Arachnids and crustaceans,” she said, laughing. She poised her finger over the buzzer for the next question.

  Of course they slaughtered the other team.

  Devnee scored more than twice as high as anybody else, answering things she had no idea that she knew. It was eerie, not to be acquainted with the interior of her own mind.

  Because it’s not my mind, thought Devnee. It doesn’t even belong to me. I stole it.

  Quickly she thought of it in another light. It’s Victoria’s own fault. I deserved to be Sweetheart at the dance, and if she’d let me be elected, instead of campaigning for Aryssa, who hardly even exists anymore, let alone deserves to be a dance queen, well, I would have let Victoria keep her brains.

  She felt almost generous because, after all, Victoria had had a chance to stay brilliant and blown it.

  “In what year and in what city was the second Continental Congress?” said the vice principal.

  Devnee had to laugh out loud. Baby questions. “1775, Philadelphia,” she said.

  How impressed Trey was. “What a dark horse you are, Devnee. I never realized you had such a great background.”

  A week ago she would not have known what “dark horse” meant; she would have had to ask or else never known, or even—in her dull moments—never wondered. But tonight she knew, of course, that a dark horse was an unexpected, unknown winner in a race.

  How right Trey is, thought Devnee. I am a dark horse.

  Following a dark path.

  They went out afterward to celebrate, of course. The teacher who supervised High School Bowl was Mrs. Cort. “Oh, Devnee, I’m so excited that you moved to town,” she said. “We need minds like yours.”

  Devnee cringed. There was no mind on earth like hers. A stolen mind. What was Victoria’s mind now? Dim? Unlit? Confused? Did Devnee have the entire contents of Victoria’s mind? Or just the academic facts? Would she one day slide into Victoria’s life as well, with Victoria’s family and history?

  Trey smooched Devnee. The kiss she would have given her soul to get a month ago was nothing. Damp lips bunched up and tapping her cheek. Trey had no idea what he was kissing and didn’t care. He wanted only looks.

  But so did I, thought Devnee. I wanted only looks. So this is fair.

  “And what does your brilliant mind want on its ice-cream sundae?” asked Trey.

  Victoria’s brains, thought Devnee.

  She bit her lip to keep from saying that out loud, covered her mouth with her hand, wondering if the fangs in her mouth …

  No.

  I don’t have the fangs. The vampire has the fangs. I must keep my story straight.

  “Chocolate, of course, like you,” said Devnee. And then, because she could not help herself, “How’s Victoria?”

  William looked confused, as if when Victoria’s mind was emptied, the minds and memories of her friends were also sapped. “She’s fine,” he said dubiously. “She just … I don’t know … I guess … I guess I don’t know.” He stirred his chocolate sauce into his melting vanilla ice cream. He shrugged. “I’m not really sure what’s going on,” he said.

  “Women,” said Trey, dismissing half the race. “They can really be a pain.” He grinned at Devnee. “I go by looks, and that spares me the trouble of ever worrying about their problems.”

  Lovely, thought Devnee. Just the kind of boyfriend we all want.

  “I guess Victoria’s just in kind of a slump,” said William.

  “We miss her on the team, of course,” said Mrs. Cort briskly. “But life goes on. Now, tomorrow we’ll have practice.”

  The boys moaned.

  “You practice for High School Bowl just the way you practice for any other team,” said Mrs. Cort firmly.

  “Dev doesn’t need to practice,” said Trey. “She knows it all already.”

  In the English class where once Mrs. Cort had only had Victoria to call on, Devnee had all the answers, while Victoria was simply dense.

  Mrs. Cort loved test questions in which you must know the facts in order to answer, but you don’t write the facts down. You write down an independent conclusion. Devnee had always failed these questions.

  It was Victoria who did not have to think; Victoria’s questing mind would have already probed at the difficulty this aspect of literature presented.

  Whereas Devnee would certainly never have thought of it before and would be completely flummoxed having to think of it now.

  But things were different.

  Now it was Victoria whose mind didn’t lead anywhere. Just sat at the desk, thick and uncertain. It was Victoria who nervously bit a lock of hair and nervously drummed a pencil eraser, and nervously stared at the wall clock and then her wristwatch.

  Is that how I used to look? thought Devnee. Pathetic? Hopeless?

  She could not bear the sight of Victoria. You could actually see Victoria’s mind scrabbling for facts, like a falling mountain climber scrabbling for a crack in the rock.

  A dreadful taste coated Devnee’s mouth.

  A queer moldy glaze coated her eyes.

  Victoria ran out of energy. She lay down her pencil, turned her test over, and put her head on the desk, eyes not closed, but soul not looking out, either. Just dim staring.

  What have I done? thought Devnee Fountain.

  Her mind skipped on without her: Victoria’s mind, actually; a mind redolent of intriguing observation and complete knowledge. Thoughts so amusing they begged to be shared with the class. Intelligence so excellent it demanded a pencil, so she could write down her conclusions.

  Inside the new body, isolated from the new mind, Devnee herself sat very still. I never knew the real Devnee, she thought, and now I’m not going to. I’m going to be pieces of other girls instead.

  Sunlight poured in the side windows and the shadows, as clear as drawings, of the students were outlined against the walls: silhouettes of pencils poised and heads bowed in thought.

  Only Devnee cast no shadow.

  She stared at the blank wall.

  My shadow hates me, thought Devnee. The vampire lied. It isn’t that my shadow doesn’t like to be around when the event occurs. It’s that my shadow doesn’t want to be around somebody like me.

  Somebody whose wishes destroy other people.

  Devnee had a hideously clear view of herself, as if she had turned to ice, and all the inessentials were chipped away.

  She was bad.

  Event. What a ridiculous word. Those were not “events”—those moments that destroyed Aryssa and Victoria. Those were betrayals: the selling of friends to evil.

  But it is not possible to look at oneself for long. The sight is too dreadful. So Devnee quickly looked away.

  At the end of class, to remind herself of why she had done it, she stopped in at the girls’ room, where a row of six mirrors awaited the desperate reflections of desperate girls.

  It was delightful to stand at a distance. Smiling. Knowing her hair was perfect, knowing she was perfect. Pitying the stubby, faded girls who leaned up close to the mirrors, repairing or changing faces and hair, in a futile effort to have what Devnee had.

  One of the girls was Aryssa.

  What happened to Aryssa is not my fault, Devnee reminded herself. How was I to know he was a vampire? It was just a wish. A plain old wish. Lots of girls wish to be b
eautiful. How could I know it would really come true?

  Stolen beauty is not like stolen jewelry. There’s no prison sentence, no time in jail. The police can’t catch me.

  Aryssa was looking at Devnee. Her lusterless eyes were seeking answers. Large eyes, those of a waif in the gutter, hoping for handouts. The eyes of Aryssa came to rest on Devnee.

  She knows I did it, Devnee thought. Her heart went into spasms.

  But Aryssa said, “Hi, Devnee. Are we still buddies? I kind of forget. I’ve been having a bad time lately. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch.”

  Devnee flinched and drew away. Bumped into Victoria. Not a leader now, but merely somebody in the line.

  It was remarkable how her personality had been sapped. She was even more of a husk than Aryssa; when Victoria’s demanding presence collapsed, there was not much left.

  “I love how you do your hair,” said an unknown girl to Devnee. “I mean, you look so perfect all the time. I wish I looked like you.”

  Two other girls turned away from the mirror, also, and smiled at Devnee. “You should go into modeling,” said one of them. “My sister is a model. But you’d be even better.”

  “You have the bones for it,” agreed the first girl.

  Devnee turned her back on the remains of Aryssa and Victoria.

  Chapter 14

  DEVNEE WAS NOT A particular fan of television, being too attached to her radio to turn on the TV. Devnee had three stations from which she continually switched. One was soft old-fashioned rock, beginner rock, so to speak. The next station was current rock, but not the kind that got parents up in arms. The final station was country, where the lyrics told sad stories and the rhymes were like greeting cards.

  She loved them equally. She could not bear talk shows, or advertising, or news.

  Her mother, however, loved a local station full of friendly local weather idiots, and giggling local celebrities, and dim local thinkers.

  Devnee came home from another day of triumph and beauty to find her mother swaying in the kitchen to the beat of a local department store jingle. Really, how pathetic, thought Devnee. This is the best I can do for a mother? A mother whose radio station plays bingo and describes spaghetti suppers at the firehouse? Please.