Love Bites vk-7

by Эллен Шрайбер

  “Scarlet? Onyx? Are you there?”

  The call was dropped. All I heard was my own voice shouting.

  “I guess we’ll have to try later,” Alexander said, resigned. He wiped off the damp bench with a tissue he had in his pocket and sat down.

  “If she can’t hear my invite, then maybe she can see it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I sat down next to Alexander and texted as fast as I could. He peered over my shoulder, curious.

  Onyx and Scarlet—

  Mansion Mayhem!

  Mansion on top of Benson Hill only a few towns away.

  Saturday Night @ Sunset

  Raven

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “We wait.”

  “How long?”

  “If she sees the message, it could be within a minute. If she doesn’t, it could take days.”

  “We don’t have days.”

  “I know….”

  We sat in silence, his arm around me, my cell phone in my lap. We both were zoned out when we heard a few beeps. I showed Alexander my phone.

  Can’t W8 2 party w/u!

  X, S & O

  Alexander gave me a huge squeeze, and we spent the rest of the evening pressed against each other’s black and pale red lips.

  10

  Interview with a Vampire

  The party at the Mansion was going to have to be top secret. I couldn’t even invite Becky and Matt. I hated having an intimate party and not inviting my best friend. However, I had to remind myself of the motivation for the party—to get Sebastian’s mind off Becky and onto a vampire girl.

  Becky and I sat at a side entrance to the school, she intently eating her lunch on a step while I was perched on a half wall, doodling a macabre party in my notebook.

  A figure stood next to me. “What’s that?” Trevor said, snatching my notebook.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “It looks like a sketch for a funeral.”

  “And if you’re lucky—or rather, I am—you could be the guest of honor.” I tried swiping it back, but he held it out of reach.

  “You and your friends are having some gathering where you try to bring back the dead—”

  “We call it a party,” I said back to him.

  “A party? And when should I be there?” he asked.

  “A party? Who’s having a party?” Becky asked, placing her trash into her brown lunch bag.

  “Uh, no one. Trevor’s just mouthing off.”

  “Well, your sketch looked exactly like a party to me.”

  “There isn’t a party—not now, not ever! C’mon, Becky, let’s go. This location is suddenly very unappetizing.”

  Trevor remained at the half wall, puzzled, as Becky and I escaped into school.

  Sebastian and Alexander were hanging out in the gazebo when I arrived.

  “We’re going to have a party,” I said to Sebastian.

  “I know, Alexander told me all about it. I do appreciate the lengths you guys are going to to repair my broken heart,” he said dramatically, his hand over his chest.

  “You never know where you might meet the perfect person,” I said.

  “Listen, I’ve been traveling all my life and I haven’t found her yet. Well, I thought I had, but I’ve resigned myself to my fate. Becky will marry Matt and I’ll be alone for eternity.”

  Alexander and I were chuckling at his histrionics when we heard the sound of a car coming up the Mansion’s long driveway.

  “Are the guests arriving already?” Sebastian asked sarcastically.

  No one drove up to the haunted-looking Mansion at night, and I didn’t recognize the car. The three of us headed back inside through the kitchen and waited in the dining room as Jameson answered the door.

  “I’m Giles Lunken with the Gazette,” we heard a voice say.

  Giles Lunken? He was a well-known writer throughout Dullsville who had a column showcasing local and international talent.

  “I was wondering if I could speak with Alexander Sterling,” he continued.

  “May I ask what this is regarding?” Jameson asked like a strict butler.

  “Is he the artist that painted the canvases sold in last month’s auction? We were thinking of doing an article about him for the Gazette. He’s so young—it’s amazing he’s so talented. Also, I’d love to come back with my photographer.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

  “Why?” His voice was accusatory. “He’s not the artist?”

  “Uh…You will have to come back at another time.”

  “Then it was another artist?” Mr. Lunken prompted.

  “I’m not saying that,” Jameson answered firmly.

  “Then what are you saying? Did he paint those paintings?”

  “Of course he did—”

  “Then does he have a personal phone or cell number?” Mr. Lunken pulled out a PDA.

  “I’m afraid he doesn’t.”

  “An e-mail?” Mr. Lunken questioned.

  “No.”

  “He doesn’t have e-mail?”

  Jameson shook his bald head.

  “Does he have a Web site? I couldn’t find any information on him.”

  “You can leave your card with me,” Jameson suggested.

  “Uh…I don’t have one.”

  “You don’t have a card?” Jameson asked. “Interesting…”

  I couldn’t help but snicker. Alexander put his hand gently over my mouth.

  “I’ll come back in a few days.”

  “That would be best.”

  Jameson passed us, and Alexander gave him the thumbs-up sign. The Creepy Man headed for the kitchen as we settled in the living room. Sebastian plopped down on the antique sofa.

  “Dude!” Sebastian said with an impressed tone. “You are famous. Soon we’ll have to invest in a security system to weed out the paparazzi.”

  “Funny,” Alexander said. “Shouldn’t we have heard his car take off by now?”

  Sebastian leaned back and peeked out the worn velvet curtain.

  “He didn’t leave.”

  Alexander and I jumped onto the sofa and the three of us peered out.

  Giles’s car was still in the driveway, but he was nowhere to be found. He soon emerged from the side of the

  Mansion with a notepad. He continued walking, staring up at the attic window. Finally, he examined the

  Mustang, jotting down a few notes. Several minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

  Sebastian fingered his dreadlocks, straightened his shirt, and opened the door.

  “Alexander?” we heard Mr. Lunken say.

  “No, I’m Mr. Sterling’s assistant.”

  “I was just here a moment ago—speaking with an older gentleman. And I noticed a light in the upstairs window and this car…I just thought…”

  “He has a very busy schedule,” Sebastian said.

  “I can do the story without your help.”

  Sebastian paused. “Fine. I think we can work you in. He’ll meet you at Javalicious—”

  “I’d like to meet here,” the reporter insisted.

  Sebastian turned to Alexander, who shook his head adamantly.

  “Please come back in two days after sunset.”

  “After sunset?” Giles asked.

  “I mean early evening. He’ll be waiting.” Sebastian closed the door.

  “What are you doing?” Alexander asked. “We already discussed that I need to remain private. It would be dire to have a reporter see the real Mansion and discover the real me.”

  “Then he won’t meet the real you—or the real Mansion. But we can’t put him off. He could write anything.”

  “So what is your big plan?”

  “He was snooping around anyway—who knows what he might say on his own. We have to show him you’re just like everyone else. Mortal.”

  “But you’ve invited him here. And why in two days? We might as well get it over with.”

 
“He doesn’t need to see the whole house. Just the first floor.”

  “Have you seen the first floor?” I said. “It would make a ghost scream.”

  Sebastian thought for a moment. “Not when it gets a Sebastian Camden makeover. It will look like everyone else’s home. And you won’t be bothered again.”

  Alexander’s stern mood quickly lightened up.

  “There’s a reason he’s my best friend,” he said, slapping his arm around Sebastian’s shoulder.

  11

  Creepy Man and Monster Girl

  Mom—I need you!” I declared when Alexander dropped me off at my house. “Where are you?”

  I found my parents sitting in the family room. My mom was finishing a scrapbook and my dad was channel surfing.

  “I need your help—” I continued.

  “I already gave you your allowance,” my mother said, gluing a border on a photograph.

  “I don’t need money.”

  “I’m not signing a note asking for you to be dismissed early because you want to watch Dark Shadows. I told you to DVR it.”

  “Mom. This is way important.”

  “Are you suspended?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Expelled?”

  I shook my head.

  “Arrested?”

  I folded my arms in disgust. “Are you finished?”

  “I’m all ears,” my mom said.

  “Alexander needs some new furniture for the Mansion.”

  “Hmm…I suppose you want something Victorian? You never know what you might find at a yard sale.”

  “We don’t have time to wait for the weekend.”

  “How about Annie’s Antiques?”

  “No, we’re doing a makeover. We need to make the Mansion look like our home. Or the neighbors’. Or the

  Mitchells’.”

  My dad came out of his TV coma. “What’s going on?”

  “Raven needs some tips on making the Mansion appear more…normal. She wants it to look more like our home.”

  My father was confused. “Our home? But we don’t have bats.”

  “Or spiderwebs,” my mom said.

  “Or creaking floors,” my dad added.

  “We do have those upstairs,” my mom corrected.

  “That’s true.”

  “Are you through?” I asked, disgusted with my parents’ teasing. “This has to be done immediately. Where are all your catalogs?”

  “Why all of a sudden do you want to do this makeover?” my mom asked.

  “Alexander is going to have an interview.”

  “How exciting,” she replied.

  But I wasn’t as thrilled. “Once the reporter sees what the Mansion looks like, Alexander will be the laughingstock of this town.”

  “I hardly think that will happen.”

  “You just did it yourself. You both were making fun of it. How will he feel…with some reporter’s comments published throughout town?”

  For once I had silenced my parents.

  “See our problem?” I asked.

  “Your father and I were just kidding. You’re right—we really shouldn’t have said those things.”

  “But the town—they won’t be fooling around. They’ll mean it. You see how I’ve been treated for years.”

  “That’s what I don’t understand,” my dad said. “I thought you were all about being yourself—no matter what.”

  “I am.”

  “Then I figured Alexander would be, too.”

  “Of course he is,” I said emphatically.

  “There is no reason, then,” my mom said, “that Alexander should change who he is—or where he lives.”

  She had a point.

  “So where is our nonconforming daughter?” my dad asked. “What has happened to you?”

  We don’t want the whole town to know my boyfriend’s a vampire. That he sleeps in a coffin and has a cellar filled with bottles of blood, okay? I wanted to say.

  I was on trial in front of my parents. They waited for the accused to speak—to declare if I was guilty of trading in my own belief system. I was asking them to understand why I was changing my whole character in order to impress the very town from which I’d been an outcast my entire life.

  They were correct. Under normal circumstances, I’d never go along with Alexander trying to change who he was. But if the town knew he was a vampire, he’d be the one in danger.

  “Maybe Alexander doesn’t want the town to see his real image,” I began.

  “Why?” my mom asked.

  “It’s an invasion of his space.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “The Mansion is his studio, his home, his family. He’s already shared his soul in his paintings—does he have to share it in a newspaper, too?”

  My parents agreed. I was beginning to get through to them.

  “Besides, it’s not my decision,” I said. “It’s Alexander’s. And he wants the Mansion to appear like any other home in Dullsville.”

  My mother’s bewilderment turned to joy. “Then I guess I’m forced to help you shop.”

  “Jameson and I are going to pick up the furniture after school. I just don’t know where to begin, and I thought you’d be great in giving me some ideas.”

  “Come into my private stash.” I followed my mom into her bedroom.

  Where a man might have stashed Playboys, my mom had hidden her Pottery Barns. She reached underneath her bed and pulled out a large plastic container.

  “I have every issue from every home store.”

  We hunkered down on her bed like two girls at a sleepover. We spread out the catalogs and pored over the slick pages.

  “Rugs are a great accent. Framed pictures can make a statement. Clocks can really be striking.” She noted pages with Post-its, and with a thick black marker I circled items that reminded me of Trevor’s home.

  “I was hoping for a day like this since you were a little girl,” she said, “for decorating your room—but I’ll settle for decorating Alexander’s.”

  Jameson and I were armed with catalogs and a credit card. We had to go to the one place I’d never imagined the

  Creepy Man would ever escort me to—the mall.

  It was an understatement to say that we were an odd pair. Elderly mall walkers, tweens with cell phones and

  Vera Bradley backpacks, kissing couples, and families filled the food court. There was only one bald butler and morbidly dressed girl.

  We entered a home store I’d only been in when I was being dragged by my mother and the mall benches were already occupied.

  We were immediately confronted by a friendly woman with a rock star headset. “Do you need help?” she asked sincerely.

  “You could say that,” I said. “We’d like to purchase a few things for the home.”

  Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to assess the couple who stood before her. Uncle and niece? Father and daughter? Boyfriend and young girlfriend?

  By the expression on her face, I think she settled for Creepy Man and Monster Girl.

  “It’s not for my home,” I reassured her. “It’s for his home.”

  “All right, then.” The saleswoman did her best to hide her discomfort.

  “Miss…?” Jameson asked.

  “Lauren.”

  “Miss Lauren,” he began in a soft and velvety Romanian accent, “I am so delighted that you will be helping us. I can tell you have impeccable taste.”

  Lauren was immediately captured by the Creepy Man’s compliment. “Thank you,” she gushed.

  “And, Miss Lauren, we need to have these delivered quickly,” Jameson told her.

  “If it’s in stock, we can have it delivered the next day.”

  “Then lead me to those items,” he said.

  Lauren guided us around the store like a docent in a fine arts museum.

  We picked out a few rugs, a desk and hutch, and furniture covers. She showed us a dozen lamps and pushed one long hanging rug after another u
ntil Jameson found one he liked.

  I had a blast shopping with the Creepy Man. My mom usually took ages to decide between two varieties of the same item, then, after deciding on the most perfect one, went to another store, only to finally come back to the original and buy it, while Jameson instantaneously picked out furniture, rugs, and accessories.

  Lauren rang up our purchases and Jameson handed over his credit card and signed his name.

  We left the store with oversized shopping bags like any other normal Dullsvillian.

  Now all we needed was a cleaning company.

  Alexander wouldn’t let me inside until the Mansion’s makeover was complete. I heard bustling and tried to peek into the window, but the dirt blocked my view.

  I was seated on the stoop when I received a text.

  Hey Hottie, What are you doing?

  The sender was from an unavailable number. I dismissed the call, and as I waited on the stoop, the Mansion’s door finally creaked open.

  Alexander stood as I’d never seen him before. He was wearing pressed jeans and an oxford shirt, a brown leather belt and shiny loafers. He was unbearably handsome.

  “Where is Alexander?” I asked.

  “What do you think?” he asked, nervous about my response.

  “You are gorgeous! I’d never imagined you as an ‘insider,’” I said, checking him out. “You look like you belong in a prep school.”

  “Good, that’s the look we’re going for.”

  The Mansion had been transformed into a spread from Homes & Gardens. Everything seemed completely wrong. With the new slipcovers, the couches appeared brand new and the room clean, sweet-smelling, and free of any unwanted eight-legged insects. Hurricane lamps and framed flowers lined the mantel. Bright yellow and white pillows popped out against white linen-covered chairs.

  “It looks like someone else lives here,” I said.

  “You think so?” Sebastian asked, pleased with the results. “Alexander will be like any other person living in town—only he’ll have a butler instead of a few parents. That will accentuate his trust-fund status,” he said, thinking out loud.

  “You’ve covered all your bases,” I said, noticing that a floor-length candelabra had been replaced with a silver floor lamp. “Giles Lunken won’t have anything to say, except ‘He’s one of our own.’”

  “And,” Sebastian began, “it gets better. Now there’s no need for a photographer.”