Beth_Fantaskey-Jessicas guide to dating the dark side.

by Jessica's Guide to Dating the Dark Side (lit)

  "You'll do great," Mom promised. She hugged me, too.

  The intercom blared, and it was time.

  "Let's go."

  Of course, Faith completed a flawless run on her thoroughbred, Moon Dance. She dominated the course, her horse's fleet, fine-boned legs launching them both over every fence, even the fifth, which loomed like a tower, impossibly high from where I was waiting on the sidelines.

  I really needed to pee, a nervous pee, but there was no time. I mounted up as Moon Dance's hooves pounded by, run completed.

  "Next up, Jessica Packwood, Woodrow Wilson High School, riding Belle, a five-year-old Appaloosa."

  They'd said my name.

  I took a deep breath, catching sight of Jake, who watched from the bleachers. He grinned, giving me an okay sign. I forced myself to smile back.

  Lucius was also in the arena, watching, leaning against the fence. Dammit. Like I needed his hypercritical eyes on me, judging me.

  I glanced over my shoulder, wondering what would happen if my horse and I just sort of backed out. . . . But it was too late. There was no turning back.

  Taking a deep breath, I dug in my heels. Belle's hooves thudded quietly in the thick dirt of the nearly silent arena. Feel­ing my horse's power, her familiar steps beneath me, I began to focus. The first obstacle approached. A hedge. We cantered, jumped, and cleared it. You're just jumping with Belle. Just like at home. We cleared the next low rails, and the nerves faded, re­placed by exultation. All of those people were watching us, and we were doing it.

  Belle cleared the next two fences, hooves not even nipping at the rails.

  The fifth, highest fence loomed, and my heart thudded. But Belle lifted, soared, and we were past.

  A perfect round. No faults. In the end, we'd completed a perfect round. A huge, victorious smile broke across my face. Take that, Romanian all-star.

  As I cantered toward the exit, I waved to my parents, who were cheering, and to Jake, who had both fingers jammed in his mouth, whistling. Seeking out Lucius, I saw that he was clap­ping heartily, hands raised, and he mouthed "Good show." Whatever had broken between us, it had just been fixed a little.

  I returned from cooling down Belle just in time to see Lu-cius's round.

  He sat easily, regally, on Hell's Belle, as if he'd been born there. The midnight black horse seemed strangely calm, too. Nudging her flanks, Lucius urged her to a canter, rising close to a full gallop. The pace was insane for the small course, but Lucius didn't seem to notice. There was a small smile on his lips as he approached the first fence. Hell's Belle flew over, land­ing smoothly, and I realized this was a horse born to jump. They seemed fused together, horse and rider, tearing up the course, Hell's Belle reaching twice as high as she needed to clear, and all at once the spectators were cheering. Gasping and cheering.

  It was reckless. Too reckless. I glanced at my parents in the stands. They looked terrified, and suddenly I was, too.

  As Lucius soared over the fifth fence, a hand clamped down on my wrist, causing me to jump. "Look at him go," Faith Crosse whispered to no one in particular. I was pretty sure she hadn't even realized who she touched, she was watching Lucius that intently. Faith tapped her riding crop absently against her calf, in time to the hoofbeats. I tugged my arm away.

  "Sorry," Faith murmured, without removing her gaze from Lucius.

  Hell's Belle cleared the last fence, and the announcer called a new 4-H record for time.

  Lucius and the horse pulled up in front of the gate, and Lucius slipped down, coolly peeling off his riding gloves like he'd just been on a trail ride through a park, seemingly oblivi­ous to the applause.

  Always the show-off.

  "I'm going to congratulate him," Faith said.

  I caught a peculiar look in the future prom queens eyes.

  Faith disappeared into the crowd, headed for the exit, fol­lowing Lucius out behind the ring. That's when I thought about the riding crop. Hell's Belle would not like the crop. Lu­cius had even posted a warning sign in the barn—a sign I saw almost every day. "Faith, wait," I called, following.

  But I was too slow. By the time I caught up with her behind the barn, Faith had reached Lucius and Hell's Belle, and was waving the crop, calling for Lucius's attention. The crop nipped the horse's flank, and Hell's Belle spun around in a fury, back­ing away, nearly ripping the reins from Lucius's hands before he realized what was happening.

  I heard him order Faith to drop the crop, but it was too late.

  The mare reared, pawing the air, too close to Faith. I screamed, seeing what was about to happen, as Lucius pushed Faith away, putting himself in front of the flailing hooves, falling under them.

  There was a sickening, audible crack as the force of Hell's Belle's hooves, driven by a full ton of sinew and muscle, collided with Lucius's legs and ribs. It was all over in seconds, before I could even scream again, and Lucius was lying, his tall body folded, broken, on the grass. There was blood on his white shirt, blood seeping from his high leather boot and staining his fawn-colored riding breeches.

  "Lucius!" I finally found my voice, crying out, running over, dropping beside him. I was so scared for him that I com­pletely forgot about the dangerous beast looming over my shoulder, still loose.

  "Catch her," Lucius insisted through clenched teeth, trying to roll over, gesturing toward the horse, which stood, flanks heaving, scared but still wary. "You can do it. Before she—"

  Faith began crying, abruptly and loudly as reality sank in, but no one heard us out behind the barn. Everyone was inside now, watching the competition. Hell's Belle stood, head low, snorting like a furious sentinel over Lucius. I could feel her hot breath on my own neck, and then I got scared for me, too. No sudden moves. . .

  "She needs to be tied up, Jess," Lucius begged, wincing with the effort of the words.

  I nodded mutely, knowing he was right. Standing very slowly, as slowly as possible, I turned.

  "Easy, girl," I whispered, extending my hands, palms up.

  The horse flinched, and so did I. Just stay calm, Jess. . . .

  I edged closer. Hell's Belle's eyes spun more wildly, but she didn't run. Didn't lash out.

  She seemed to understand that something had gone horribly wrong. With shaking hands, I reached for her loose reins, dangling from her bridle. "Easy, girl." Keeping my eyes on the horse's, I located the reins with my fingertips. Her breath kept coming heavy and fast, but still she didn't move. Lucius groaned. I had to work more quickly. Moving with more as­surance, but trembling fingers, I fumbled to tie the reins to a post.

  Thank god. She was secure.

  I hurried back to Lucius, who was clutching his ribs through his bloody shirt. Kneeling, I grabbed his free hand. "It's okay," I promised. But I couldn't help glancing at his leg. The break had happened at midcalf, the leather boot actually bent. "Get help," I called to Faith, who seemed paralyzed, wail­ing over and over, "It was an accident."

  "Get someone!" I yelled at her again. "Now!"

  This woke her up, and Faith turned to run.

  "No," Lucius barked, louder than I would have thought possible, given the twisted state of his body. But something in his tone caught Faith up short, and she spun around. "Get Jes­sica's parents. No one else."

  Faith hesitated, panicked, puzzled, unsure. She looked to me.

  "Get the paramedics," I begged Faith. What was Lucius doing? He needed an ambulance.

  "Jessicas parents only," Lucius said, speaking right over me, in his most commanding tone. He clutched my hand so I couldn't go.

  "I . . . I. .." Faith started to say something.

  "Go," Lucius ordered.

  Faith ran. I prayed that she would get the paramedics.

  "Damn this hurts." Lucius groaned, face twisting as a wave of pain shot through him. He squeezed my hand. "Just stay here, would you?"

  "I'm not going anywhere," I said, willing my voice not to quiver. I was terrified and struggling not to let Lucius see my fear. A trickle of blood seepe
d from his mouth, and I stifled the urge to cry out. That couldn't be good. That could mean in­ternal bleeding. I wiped the crimson liquid away with shaky fingers, and a tear fell on his cheek. I hadn't even realized I was crying.

  "Please, don't do that." Lucius gasped, meeting my eyes. "Don't fall apart on me. Remember: You're royalty."

  I squeezed his hand tighter. "I'm not crying. Just hang in there."

  He shifted a little, winced. "You know. . . this can't kill a. . .

  God, was he still going to do that vampire shtick now? I didn't believe for a second that he couldn't die. "Lie still." And hope that Faith ignores your commands.

  "This leg .. . Dammit." His chest heaved, and he coughed. More blood. A lot of blood. Too much blood. It was coming from his lungs. Probably a puncture. I had taken enough first aid training at school to know a little bit about accidents. I swiped his lips with my sleeve, but that only smeared more blood on both of us. "Help's coming," I promised. But will it be too little, too late?

  On instinct I smoothed Lucius's dark hair with my free hand. His face relaxed just a shade; his breathing calmed slightly. So I kept my hand there, resting on his forehead.

  "Jess?" He searched my face with his eyes.

  "Don't talk."

  "I ... I think you deserve ... a ribbon."

  In spite of myself, I laughed, a ragged, clenching laugh, and bent to kiss his forehead. It just happened. It just felt like the right thing to do. "So do you."

  His eyes closed. I sensed his consciousness was slipping away. "And Jess?"

  “Be quiet.”

  "Don't let them do anything ... to my horse," he man­aged, through difficult breaths. "She didn't mean . . . any harm. It was just the crop, you know . . ."

  "I'll try, Lucius," I promised. But I knew I wouldn't suc­ceed. Hell's Belle's reprieve was over.

  "Thank you, Antanasia . .." His voice was almost inaudible.

  From around the side of the barn I heard car tires on grass. I exhaled with a small measure of relief. Faith had gone for the ambulance.

  But no. When the vehicle spun around the corner, it was a beat-up VW van with Ned Packwood at the wheel. My par­ents jumped out, fear on their faces, and pushed me out of the way. "Take me to your home," Lucius begged, coming around a little. "You understand ..."

  Mom spun around to face me. "Open the back of the van," she ordered.

  "Mom—he needs an ambulance!"

  "Do it, Jessica."

  I started to cry again then, because I didn't understand what was happening, and I didn't want to take part in killing Lu­cius. But I did as I was told.

  My parents lifted Lucius into the van as gently as they could, but he still moaned, even though he was now fully un­conscious, the pain so bad that it must have ripped through even his insensate brain. I started to crawl in after him, but Dad stopped me with a firm hand on my shoulder. Mom climbed in instead, crouching next to Lucius.

  "You stay here and explain what happened," Dad said. "Tell them . . . tell them we took Lucius to the hospital."

  I saw the lie in my father's face, and my eyes widened. "You are taking him there, aren't you?"

  "Just tell everyone he's okay," Dad said, not quite answer­ing my question. "Then take care of the horse."

  It was too much, what they were asking. What if they really didn't take him to the hospital and Lucius died? They would be responsible. Maybe accused of negligence, or some sort of murder. Faith had seen that Lucius wasn't okay. She knew he needed a doctor. And 4-H would check to see that he'd been hospitalized. Liability issues and all that. What the hell were my parents doing? They could go to jail. And for what? It made no sense to keep Lucius away from a hospital.

  But there was no time to protest, no time to ask for guid­ance. Lucius needed to get somewhere warm, at least. Hope­fully someplace where people knew how to handle broken bones and bleeding lungs. As long as it wasn't our kitchen, where Dad might attempt some herbal cure . . .

  My chest seized again with dread. If my parents were going to try some sort of "natural healing" on Lucius—they were so far out of their league. All of these things spun through my mind as I followed on foot behind the old van, staring helplessly as it bumped out of the grassy area and bounced through the gravel parking lot, as fast as Dad could drive without, pre­sumably, arousing suspicion or jostling Lucius too much.

  I was still standing there watching a cloud of receding, drifting dust, when Faith reappeared at my side, more com­posed. Her eyes were rimmed red, but her shoulders were stiffly at attention again. Still, her voice caught, just a hitch, when she asked, "Do you think he's going to ... to be ... ?"

  "He'll be fine," I promised, lying more smoothly than I'd thought possible. But I had to sound convincing. My whole family's survival, not just Lucius's, was at stake. "I don't think his injuries were as bad as we thought at first," I added.

  "No?" Faith shot me a skeptical look. But it was a hopeful look, too. I realized she wanted to believe the lie. After all, she didn't want to be responsible for Lucius's injury—or death.

  "He sat up a little," I told her, forcing myself to meet Faith's ocean blue eyes. "And made a joke."

  The tension in Faith's face eased, and I knew she had willed herself to believe me. She was so desperate to be absolved. "It must have just looked bad at first because it happened so fast..."

  "Yeah, probably," I agreed. "It was definitely scary, at first."

  Faith's gaze drifted off toward the parking lot, as if she ex­pected to still see the van driving away. I noticed then that she continued to hold the crop, and tapped it idly against her boot. I would have tossed that thing in the trash, ground it into dust. How could she have not seen the sign in our barn?

  The answer was so easy it was almost laughable. Because Faith Crosse didn't see anything beyond her own small sphere of concern. That's why.

  "Even if he wasn't as bad off as we thought, why didn't he want the paramedics?" she wondered aloud.

  I wasn't quite sure myself, but I had a feeling it had some­thing to do with Lucius's delusions about being a vampire. That definitely wasn't a suitable answer for Faith, though, so I ven­tured, "I think he's too proud. Too brave to be carried off with a bunch of sirens and people watching." Actually, knowing Lu­cius, that might have been true, too.

  Faith smiled a little at that, still gazing off in the distance. The crop beat a steady rhythm on her boot. She was completely calm now, almost at ease. "Yes," she said, more to herself than to me. "Lucius Vladescu does not seem like he's afraid of any­thing. And he does know what he wants, doesn't he?"

  You have no idea, I wanted to tell her. But by then, a whole crowd of 4-H officials was marching in our direction, and I turned to face them, ready to tell more lies.

  Chapter 23

  IT WAS DARK by the time I got home, riding Belle the back way, cutting through empty cornfields and avoiding the roads as much as possible, almost like I was afraid I was being fol­lowed. I certainly hadn't wanted to catch a ride home with any of the people who'd offered: Faith or the 4-H leaders. Especially the 4-H leaders, whose questions I'd already answered at least fifty times. They'd just keep harping on why none of the local hospitals seemed to know anything about a boy who'd been in­jured by a horse. And then they'd want to talk to my parents, at which point they might just walk into our farmhouse to find Lucius Vladescu near dead—or dead, even—on our couch, my father trying to resuscitate him with herbs and infusions.

  I spurred Belle a little more quickly at the thought.

  Could Lucius really be dead? How would I feel if he was? Would I mourn him? Grieve? Guilt tugged at me. Would I be relieved on some level?

  And was I worried more for Lucius or for my parents' role in this disaster?

  All of these questions roiled around in my mind like a stinking stew made from spoiled odds and ends as Belle and I picked our way home, stuck at a horse's pace when I longed for a jet. Our progress seemed ridiculously slow. Einstein had ex­plained that feel
ing, hadn't he? Relativity. One's perception of time was relative to one's desire for its passage. Right?

  Time. Relativity. Science.

  I tried to focus on those concepts instead of pointless wor­rying, but my mind kept wandering back to the blood on Lu-cius's shirt. The blood spurting from his mouth. The red, red blood. By the time I reached the end of our lane, I had Belle at a recklessly full gallop, and I dropped the reins, sliding from her back, as I caught sight of my parents' van parked in front of the house. There was another car, too. An unfamiliar but equally decrepit sedan. The house was mainly dark, but a few muted lights glowed from deep inside.