The Night House

by Rachel Tafoya

  Ally scoffs at us. “Disgusting. Go have fun at your murder factory. I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”

  Shiloh helps me to my feet, and we leave Ally behind.

  I smile. “That was good.”

  “Let’s just get out of here.”

  Fresh air makes me feel slightly better, but Bianca isn’t doing so well. I can feel myself wilting.

  “What’s up?” Shiloh asks.

  “She’s going through withdrawal.”

  Shiloh sucks in air through his teeth. He looks horrified. “Withdrawal? From what?”

  “I don’t know.” I hate lying to him, but he’s not ready for the truth. I barely was. “She didn’t tell me.”

  “Jesus, Jay, you don’t need this.” He sighs, and I feel the pity in him. “There’s still time to back out.”

  “No, there isn’t. If I back out on her then I’m afraid she’s really going to lose all hope.” The edges of my vision turn black. I stumble. Then gravity flips upside down, and my stomach reels.

  Shiloh helps me down onto the ground, and a wave of chills crashes over me.

  “Jesus,” Shiloh whispers. “I need to get you home.”

  “Your house, not mine,” I say. “I don’t want Ally or my parents to see me like this.”

  I feel his arm support my back as he tries to lift me up. With some effort, I manage to get to my feet and we limp away. I cling to him and feel some of his own anxiety roiling inside me. It occurs to me that Bianca deals with this all the time. She deserves more credit than I’ve given her.

  Brakes squeal. The smell of exhaust makes me even sicker. Shiloh steps away, and I feel myself turn to rubber. My legs tremble under my own weight.

  “Is he okay?” an accented voice asks.

  “Don’t worry. He’s just had a long day,” Shiloh answers and pulls me toward the cab.

  Somehow, I get inside, but not without hitting my head twice. Each time, it sends me spinning around my own mind. I barely make it inside Shy’s house, and he helps me onto the couch. I don’t worry about anyone else finding us because Shiloh’s mom works long hours at a hospital.

  “This is only going to get worse, isn’t it?” Shiloh asks.

  “Not if I can help her.”

  Bianca

  I walk home from Micah’s place feeling better but not great. Then I remember James. Does he feel the same way? Oh, God. Did he feel it when Micah force-fed me his blood?

  At the Night House, I run into the available shower before someone else claims it. The water feels good, like it’s washing away a second skin. The needle marks are barely noticeable. But soon enough I’m rubbing my wrists in apprehension. Jeremiah’s coming. I’ve always hated the expression “butterflies in your stomach.” It’s too cute. I think there are moths in mine.

  Someone pounds on the door. “There are other people who live here, you know!”

  I walk back to my room with heavy feet. It’s time to become the other girl, the one who’s itching to get bitten, the one with a death sentence.

  I put on the dress, the shoes, and everything else that Jeremiah requires. Then I sit in front of my mirror, staring at myself through the mask of makeup. Which girl is going to win this? The one who’s dying or the one who wants to live? I touch my neck. It feels so good to stand on that cliff.

  Finn’s voice startles me back into the Night House. “He’s here. Fire Room again.”

  I don’t look at him. “I’ll be there.”

  ***

  It feels like weeks since I was last in here. I run my fingers along the mantelpiece, and let the fire warm me. I wish it would just catch the dress and burn me to the ground. But then James…

  “Bianca.”

  Jeremiah’s voice sends shivers up my spine. I turn to face him. It’s hard to keep my mouth shut, to keep myself from screaming out loud. My pulse quickens.

  His eyes shine with something that I can’t identify, but the rest of his face remains still, a perfect, emotionless painting. “Happy to see me?”

  Bastard. So easy to hate, but impossible to turn away. He glides over to the phonograph, and music surrounds us.

  “I have been awaiting this.”

  Jeremiah pins me to the spot with those beautiful glassy eyes. I try to stay calm and focused. This is no different from any other appointment. Jeremiah doesn’t mean anything.

  “Give me your hands.”

  I walk to him and hold them out, palms down. It takes all of me to stop them from shaking. He turns them over and touches my scars.

  “I haven’t been careful with you,” he observes. “I will be better.”

  He runs the tips of his fingers over my forearms, and I shiver. Again, a smile that doesn’t show on his mouth, reaches his eyes. I hate that he can do this to me.

  “I have an…event coming up,” he says. “There will be many vampires attending. There are certain things that a being of status requires. In order to prove myself to the others, I need to bring a human with me.”

  My mouth hangs open and I want to step away, but I don’t.

  “I can give you so much more than this place,” Jeremiah continues. “If you leave here and come to work for me, you can have a life. Go ahead—you may speak.”

  “I already have a life,” I say. “I have friends.”

  “Girls who might die any night? You’re not safe here. Finn doesn’t understand your value. He doesn’t protect you as you should be protected.”

  “Protected from what?”

  “Ah, he still has not told you. Finn has continued to let you down.”

  “What should he have told me?” I feel cold, despite the flames at my back.

  “You are different, Bianca. Better than the other humans.”

  No, I think. I don’t want to hear this. I’ve had enough of being different. I just want to be normal.

  “You’re wrong,” I say. “I’m just a stupid teenager who ran away from foster care. I’m nothing!”

  He reaches out to my face, to stroke my cheek. I’m too sickened to move. “No, Bianca. That is a fantasy you occupy. But you could never be nothing. Despites your efforts. And Finn’s.”

  “Is it because I’m AB neg?”

  Jeremiah narrows his eyes. “Do you not think I can find a hundred other girls with AB negative blood?”

  I feel like a caged animal. My heart races. In a flash, I remember Finn telling me that Jeremiah wanted to impress his friends with my name. “It’s St. Germain, isn’t it?”

  He tilts his head back a little, and I know I’m right.

  “You think I have something to do with the old St. Germain.”

  He fixes the brass buttons on his sleeve. His habit, when he can’t meet my gaze. “There are other St. Germains out there not related to the one I knew. Regardless, there is something about your blood that reminds me of that time. No more talking now, Bianca.”

  Jeremiah’s eyes fixate on my wrists. He can dismiss this so easily because he thinks he’s going to win. I’m still in shock.

  “Perhaps I should take from somewhere harder to bleed from. That way you might not pass out so quickly.”

  Jeremiah smiles at me, teeth and all, and I watch his fangs slide into place. Chills wrack my body. I take a deep breath to calm myself.

  “Then again, I am very hungry.”

  He puts both of his cold hands on my neck, feeling my pulse. It races, struggling against his fingers. He’s skipping steps. We’re not dancing.

  “Your scent is so very unique,” he says. “I could find you anywhere.”

  For a brief moment, he takes my face in his hands and pulls me closer. I wonder, in terror, if he’s going to kiss me. Jeremiah is by far the most beautiful creature I have ever met, but I prefer his cruelty to his kindness.

  “Do not fear. I will take care of you.”

  When he smiles at me, his beauty is breathtaking. Something is different between us. I want so badly to believe tha
t he is capable of caring for me. Because if he is, then he might let me go. Then his hands slide over my shoulders to hold me in place, and I remember what I really am to him.

  Jeremiah opens his mouth and already nauth drips from his fangs. Usually, the longer vampires go without feeding, the more nauth they have, but sometimes it’s just a result of how much they like to feed. It can also be a result of how much they like the victim.

  Jeremiah presses his lips against my neck in a cold unyielding kiss. Nauth runs down my skin. I know it’s staining the dress. Slowly, he sinks his teeth into my skin. The pain is bearable, but only just. His arms wrap around my back. This is too personal. Too much contact. I’m nauseated with fear and disgust.

  Just as the nauth sets its course through my veins, Jeremiah makes a noise in his throat, like a growl, and shoves me away from him. I hit the ground and the room spins. My neck burns with pain.

  “What is this?” He wipes my blood from his mouth.

  I instinctively press my hand into my neck. Luckily, the wound is already starting to scab over, thanks to the nauth. It’s not all bad. Then I’m lifted off the ground by the front of my dress. It happens so fast that I can’t keep up. His good looks have rusted with anger.

  “Who have you been drinking from?”

  He tastes Micah’s blood in me.

  “I…I don’t know what—”

  “Do not lie to me, Bianca. I am centuries older than you. I know when there is vampire blood running through a human.”

  “I was hurt,” I say. “I needed to get better for you.”

  He sets me down but doesn’t release me. “Finn, your owner, could have healed you.”

  “Finn doesn’t always have blood to spare.”

  Jeremiah eyes me, then finally releases my dress. “I could find him, the one you drank from. I know his taste now. I would recognize his scent.”

  “Please, no.” I reach my hands out to him and touch his chest, where his heart is supposed to be. “I’ll go to your event. Don’t punish someone else for my stupidity. Please, it was nothing.”

  He stands utterly still, staring down at me. He’s waiting for something.

  I do my best to erase the hatred and fear from my stare. “I want to go with you.”

  He takes my hands and pulls them off his chest.

  “Perhaps you will not be so mindless in the future.” Jeremiah raises the back of his hand up to my face. “You are young. You have time to learn all that you should know.” Then he touches my neck gently. “That will definitely scar.”

  “Do you still—”

  “I did not tell you to speak,” he hisses. “Go. Sit on the couch. I am not done with you.”

  The fear returns like a frigid breeze against my skin. I do as he says. He takes his jacket off, which is now stained with my blood, and drapes it over a chair. Then he comes back and stoops in front of me.

  “Do not be afraid. I won’t kill you.”

  He sits next to me and takes my shoulders again. Then, he bites me, hard. I gasp. The pain is so unexpected and intense that my visions blurs. Without thinking, I grasp his arms, just to hold something. He tightens his grip on my shoulders. Tears well in my eyes.

  “You are forgiven.”

  Finally, the nauth reaches me.

  I go limp.

  Then, nothing.

  James

  I wake to a throbbing neck and the feeling like someone strung up broken Christmas lights under my skin. Sparks of electricity hit my nerves every so often. It’s a mixture of pleasure and pain. I actually see blotches of color under my skin every time it happens.

  “Jay? You awake this time?”

  “What do you mean, this time?”

  Shiloh’s blue eyes seem to be turning neon—just keep getting brighter and brighter—and I push myself against the couch, away from him.

  “You’ve been sleep talking to me for the past hour.”

  I sit upright, but the electricity gets worse, and I stop myself to take a breath. My lungs feel different, like they will just keep expanding if I keep sucking in air. I take a huge deep breath.

  “James,” Shiloh barks at me. “What the hell is happening to your girl?”

  “My girl?” I hold my head. “Bianca. This is her, not me.”

  I close my eyes and try to remember what’s happening. She got her blood drained. So this must be the drugs that come after. I hope she’s okay.

  “Nauth,” I say and sink back into the couch. “Vampires.”

  “What is in your head?”

  “The drugs…”

  “Holy sweet heavens, you’re high,” Shiloh stares at me, almost amused. “What’s my middle name?”

  “Miles,” I say. “Why, did you forget?” Then I laugh at my own joke.

  “You know the drill,” Shiloh says. “I ask you stupid questions until you find your own head. We do this every time you get lost in someone else’s brain. I’ve just never dealt with you when you were high. What’s your middle name?”

  “I know my middle name,” I say.

  “Remind me.”

  “Denzel. I’m James Denzel Fields.”

  At the sound of my own name, my head clears up a little. I’m reminded why we’re playing this game. Asking me questions I know the answer to helps me focus on myself. But this is different. My mind is running parallel to my body, not quite matching up.

  “Where did we meet?”

  I massage my temples, trying to will the fogginess away. “School…you found me in the locker room.” He’s forcing me to relive my own memories so I remember how I feel. How do I feel?

  “Okay, how old were you when you broke your arm?”

  My arm tightens at the memory. “Ten.”

  “Where did you wind up after you tried to find your biological parents that one time?”

  “Thirtieth Street Station. I called you because I didn’t want my foster parents to know what I did.”

  My vision settles around Shiloh. The lights have gone away, but I still feel weird shocks in my nerves. Not to mention my neck is killing me, like I’ve been bitten. Bianca must have had a rough night. I just hope she’s taking care of herself.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “But not perfect,” I say. “Did anyone call for me?”

  Shiloh pulls my phone out of his pocket. “I told your mom you were taking a nap.”

  I take my phone back, and Shiloh shifts his weight. I know he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know how.

  “Do you have to keep this up?” He looks like he wants to take that back. “You know I’m with you no matter what you do but…this isn’t normal. Even for you. You’re going to get hurt, Jay. She’s a junkie.”

  I let out my breath and slowly take it back in. Shy’s right, of course. But how do I tell him that I don’t care? Even worse, how do I tell him that I think there’s a part of me that is depending on that pain? Pain means reality. It means I’m alive.

  “I keep putting myself in her shoes. If I walk away now, I’ll just be another person who gained her trust and then walked away. She’s not just a junkie; she’s a person. And I think I can help her. But I’m going to need your help, Shy. You know this part of me better than anyone else.”

  “Just making sure you’d made up your mind,” Shiloh says with a slight smile. “I’ll be here when you need me, Jay. But on one condition.” He smirks. “You have to let me meet the only girl in Philadelphia that you’re into.”

  Bianca

  This is the first day in a long time that I’ve wanted to wake up.

  I take a hot shower and sit there until my skin feels only slightly used instead of ancient. Then I assess the damage to my neck in the mirror. I’ll be in scarves for a month.

  I press a finger to the ripped skin and a pulse of pain ripples through me. It wakes me up. My mind focuses. Then I think of James. Did he feel it? Did he feel everything? The fear—the pain—the nauth?

 
I sink down to the floor and hold my head. Everything I do to myself, I do to him. My throat stings, and my breath catches. I haven’t felt this since I came to the Night House. Haven’t felt this since I had someone to betray. The guilt swells around me, and it is much worse than the pain.

  Everything I do, I do to him.

  James

  My neck is still sore when I wake up—back at home this time—and I have to take a shower. I hope the warm water distracts me, but it doesn’t. There’s a constant throb of pain in my neck, like a second pulse. Maybe if I give Bianca some aspirin, it will get better.

  I wake Ally around eleven and tell her the plan.

  “Just tell Mom and Dad that I’m with Shiloh if they ask, okay?”

  She nods, sleep clinging to her eyes as she tries to open them wider. “Fine. You have to tell me everything when I get back from Shell’s tonight.”

  “Only if you brush your teeth,” I say and stand back up again.

  She covers her mouth. “I hate you.”

  Downstairs, I find my parents sitting at the kitchen table.

  “How are you doing?” Mom props her head on her hand. “Neil told me you were out by yourself yesterday?”

  I search around the place for some food, so I can avoid their stares as I lie. “It was good for me, even if I got a little shaky.” I’ve never been too good at lying, so I change the subject. “What are you guys up to?”

  “I’m almost finished with my collection on the homeless population,” Dad explains. “I’ll be submitting it later this week, when I print everything. It turns out the homeless photograph nicely.”

  If there’s anything that consistently distracts my parents, it’s art.

  “And you?” I ask Mom.

  “I’ve been working on a portrait. I think it will be good.” She smiles—which means I’m not allowed to see it until it’s done.

  I snatch a muffin off the table. “I’ll be with Shiloh for a while, so just call me if you need me, okay?”

  There is just a tiny spark of distrust in them, which makes me feel terrible. Then I’m out the door.