Sanguine Mountain

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  “Connie, what are you doing with all that?” I do not appreciate the humor in his voice. My death is not a laughing matter. But it confirms I’m not insane. Hallucinations don’t talk right?

  It occurs to me the garlic is useless. He’s just flown in my open window—damn you, Mom—past the confetti, garlic and silver. Fudge! I don’t like the fact that I’m cornered. Rocks is near the door and I’m stuck near my desk and bookshelves. He takes a step closer to my bed and my heart rate spikes. I panic and start throwing everything I’ve got at him. First, I aim the Bible. That just hits him and falls to the floor. No flames at all. I’m disappointed because that was my big gun. He picks it up and puts it on the bed. No evidence of burned fingers whatsoever.

  The flying cross zooms past his head as he ducks and laughs again. Stake one and two, at least hit the target, but he just flicked them aside with his arm. Let’s face facts; I’m no Buffy. I can’t risk getting within grabbing distance so I can ram those babies into his heart.

  His grin widens and his eyes are twinkling with joy. He’s enjoying this, the sick sucker.

  “That all you got?” He crosses his arms over his chest. He’s wearing another vest. This one is shiny, black silk over a dark grey, long-sleeved shirt, but I can’t let him distract me. “Connie, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Said the spider to the fly.”

  I hurl my last cross, which he grabs midair and starts inspecting. “Double fudge! They told me they were blessed.” Desperate, I open my desk drawer and then the next one. “It’s here somewhere.” I can feel my pulse pounding in my neck.

  I need to calm down because I’m sure the pumping blood is only making him enjoy this game even more. Movement in my peripheral vision makes me begin throwing anything I get my hands on. My new textbooks, two photo frames, hairdryer, stress ball—it’s all airborne and being dodged. Then I remember, it’s on my shelves.

  “God Bless you, Great Aunt May.” I swivel and grab the tiny bottle from the back of my bookshelf covered with knickknacks. “HA!” I yell. “ Prepare to burn, demon!”

  The stopper is wedged good and tight on the Virgin bottle, obviously for international travel. Rocks, at least, isn’t smiling now, and I’m sure I’ve got the upper hand. My fingers fumble as he leans closer to get a better look at what I’m clutching.

  I hold the blue bottle between us by the feet, brandishing it like a miniature sword. “No closer.”

  “What is that?”

  “Great Aunt May visited Lourdes before she died,” I state and pull my best ‘gotcha now, Vampire’ face.

  Rocks laughs so hard he needs to sit on my bed to stop from falling over. Hysterical doesn’t even come close to describing his rib-holding guffaws. How dare he.

  “Don’t you care about whether you live or die?” I never realized how much arrogance comes with being immortal.

  “Holy water?” He’s laughing hard again. “That’s a good one.” He wipes his eyes like he’s crying.

  “Get off my bed.”

  “Make me.” He’s stopped laughing, but is still highly amused and stretches back on my quilt with his hands behind his head. He owns my bed.

  “Oh, that’s it, buddy. You’re done for.” I wrestle some more with the tiny stopper until it pops free and rolls under the bed. The look on Rocks’ face tells me he knows I don’t want to get any closer. I only have one splash of this sacred, life saving water.

  Deep breath. Breathe. I lunge forward and upend the tiny Mary shaped bottle. It takes several shakes before maybe a tablespoon of water dribbles over his chest.

  “Owww, ohhh, argh,” he moans. Trust me to meet the only vampire with a sense of humor. That smile is really pissing me off.

  “Those bastards!” I shout, staring at the empty Mary bottle. Rocks looks at me confused. “They sold fake holy water to a senior citizen. How could they?”

  Mr. Sprawled-All-Over-My-Bed rolls his eyes at me. “Are you done?”

  I’ve exhausted all ammunition, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to admit defeat. I’ll be a goner for sure. I stand tall—which is ridiculously short compared to him. Animal Planet always tells you to look big when faced with a deadly predator, so I put my hands on my hips to reinforce my stance. I’m trying to spy another weapon from my desk or floor, but he’s watching my every move.

  He sits up, and I back up against my bookshelves.

  “You shared a secret with me the other night, and I shared mine with you, although I hadn’t exactly planned on it. So now you know, I’m a vampire b—”

  I scream again. I can’t help it. Hearing the words from his mouth sends a shot of liquid nitrogen down my spine. I might actually be going to die for real this time.

  He holds out both hands. “Shhh, Connie. You’ll wake your baby sister.”

  “What? How do you know about my sister?” My heart can’t possibly beat any faster.

  “I’ve been watching you for two days.” His honesty is freaking me out. “To make sure you hadn’t told anyone.”

  I clutch at my head and then my stomach. My body has gone into full-blown overload, and I don’t know whether I’m going to be sick, pass out, or spontaneously combust. “You leave her alone. She’s just a baby.” I stare at him. “How could you eat a baby?”

  Rocks shoots off the bed. “You think I would hurt her?” He stares at me, and there is no sign of his earlier amusement. “What have I done to make you think I would be capable of that?”

  He walks toward the window. His back is tense. I’ve pissed off the vampire. Fantastic. When he turns around and looks at me, I wish he hadn’t. Wounded. I can see it in his eyes. How is it possible for me to wound him? He shakes his head and his hair saves me from his dark stare.

  Turning toward the window, he adds in flat tone, “The confetti was a nice touch. You clearly did your research.”

  WHOOSH!

  He becomes a bat so fast that my eyes can’t track the change. It’s instantaneous. One second he’s human, the next a flapping bat, and vanishes out my window.

  I walk over to lock it and see that Parents V2.0 have pulled into the driveway.

  3. Garlic

  “Connie. Tiff. Wait up,” Brandy calls out above the chaos in the hall. Since middle school, the three of us have been soul mates and inseparable. In junior year, Mary Lou Whitfield and her gorgeous flame-red hair turned our threesome into a foursome, and anyone would swear she has known us for just as long.

  “Oh my God, did you see Paige?” Brandy asks, her Afro curls bouncing on her shoulders as she steps in line beside me. Just like I hate my boobs, Brandy hates her curls. If only teenage girls could swap and choose body parts until we were all happy. We’re on our way to Mary Lou’s locker to see if she’s arrived. “According to Chrissy, Paige spent the summer in Cancun or The Bahamas or Puerto Rico or whatever, and let me say, orange is so not her color!” She grins.

  “And that outfit,” Tiff adds. “Didn’t anyone tell her to hang her bikini up at the end of summer?”

  My brain is not processing enough of these details to make sense. It’s short-circuiting and making me yawn. The vampire plan is so not compatible with school. Thank God, the first week back is short, and I only have to survive two more days till the weekend.

  “You okay, Con?” Brandy asks. The new lip-gloss she’s sporting is the perfect shade against her skin.

  “First day nerves, you know,” I lie. Since when did my friends join the ranks of my parents?

  “We’re seniors, girl,” Tiff says, her massive blue eyes sparkling. She’s always reminded me of one of those anime girls with her perfect outfits, expressive face, and overabundance of confidence. “No room for nerves. We own these halls.”

  I spy Mary Lou’s red hair through the crowds in the hallway. She’s already stuck a giant red and black falcon on the outside of her locker. For such a dainty little wisp, she swears like a trucker, but only when absorbed in a football game. The last time we went together, my face was redder than her hai
r by half time.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you found me. Have the guys suddenly gotten hotter this year? Taller? Broader? Just more?” she says, fanning herself. I bet she’s imagining how well the school football team has filled out over the summer.

  The first bell clangs, and Tiff and I head to English. We take our usual seats closer to the front of class. Most kids think the back is where to head to be further away from the teacher, but Tiff and I worked out long ago that spot is where the teacher assumes trouble is parked. If you sit closer, you’re right under their nose. The perfect blind spot for gossiping and avoiding too many surprise questions.

  “Hey, Connie, looking good.” A student has just walked past my desk, headed for the back.

  Tiff elbows me. Her anime eyes are showing a full circle of white around her stunning blue irises. It almost makes me laugh, but my curiosity wins. Looking over my shoulder, Parker Reed salutes me with two fingers. Parker Reed just spoke to me. I know I can’t be at home dreaming because my room still smells of garlic, but my nose is full of the stench of the musty carpet that covers our English classroom.

  Parker Reed is on the wrestling team and has never once looked my way. Paige and her flying monkeys usually surround him, puffing up his wrestler’s ego, so it’s hard to get within talking range. I want to pinch myself, but I kind of like the tingle that finger salute released. Even I have to admit that the number of weird things happening is climbing dangerously high.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Tiff whispers. “Parker said hello!”

  “I’m glad you were here to witness that. I thought I was hallucinating for a second there.”

  “I knew senior year was going to be our year.” Tiff opens her notebook. “Do you think you could get him to introduce me to Tom? Wrestler Tom, I mean. Not chess geek Tom.” I look at Tiff. She’s imagining our wedding; I can tell. Tiff is a planner, schemer, and fixer. She has a knack of making things happen.

  “You are aware of the fact that I don’t actually know Parker, right? He just spoke to me, and I’m confused as to why.” I look at my outfit. I wonder if my ponytail is crooked or weird. “Is there anything on my face?”

  Tiff rolls her eyes. “Like I wouldn’t tell you? He likes you. Just deal.”

  “It’s my boobs.”

  Tiff bangs her head on the desk. My chest hate drives her nuts. Tiff would kill for cleavage—any cleavage at all. The boob fairy obviously was tired and gave me Tiff’s helping instead. We all joke that her flat chest is a sign that Mother Nature does screw up occasionally—otherwise she’d be perfect.

  “Who cares? The point is he said hello, and he got your name right. If it was meant for ‘the girls,’ that’s not the end of the world. Teenage boys aren’t interested in brains.”

  I open my book and refuse to look at her.

  “So where were you all weekend? I left three messages.”

  Sugarplums! Secrets suck. “Oh, sorry. I was, uh, around and stuff. You know … on Mini duty. I didn’t want you to feel compelled to join me or anything and ruin your last weekend of freedom.” I swallow the acid in my throat. I’m a fudged up liar. Maybe living with Parents V2.0 is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  Not telling Tiff, Brandy, and Mary Lou about the letter was nearly impossible. They’d all come over to help me celebrate hitting eighteen, and thankfully had buffered my dealings with my parents. That day wasn’t my best where they were concerned. The day had started out perfectly—presents, hugs and kisses, and a massive slice of birthday cake for breakfast—and not just any birthday cake, but her triple-layered, death by chocolate. Mom and I celebrated with a trip to the nail salon where we got matching balloon themed nails. Then I got home, cleared the mailbox and lost my identity in half a page of type. Even I’m not proud of how I’ve treated them since, but I have to find the truth, and I have to do it on my own.

  Tiff knows my Gmail password, how much money I have to my name, and the ugly details of both boys I’ve kissed. Secrets are deal-breakers, and all of a sudden I’m collecting them. The mystery letter is one thing, but the Rocks fiasco is a whole other level.

  “Pfft, I love that kid.” She looks at me. I face the board. Mrs. Yamaguchi—who is actually only a Yamaguchi after finding love in Japan—enters the room.

  * * * * *

  In bed, while I’m trying to stay awake, I think about Parker Reed. Everyone knows Parker. The way he dominates the wrestling ring has acquired him a legion of fans. He’s not going to be Prom King, but he would romp in a vote in the top five without even trying. I imagine being levelheaded enough to have answered him in class.

  ‘Hi, Connie, looking good.’

  ‘Thanks, Parker, back at ya!’

  I think I’ve had too much caffeine.

  Take two. ‘Hey, Handsome, how was your summer?’

  Now I’m channeling Paige.

  Take three. ‘Hi Parker, do you need a pen or something?’

  Guys to me are one of the mysteries of the modern world. I never know what to do or say and mostly end up a staring mute—like today. I just gape, freeze up and generally freak out inside my head. The brave voice commands I do one thing, while the super chicken says another, and the two voices end up arguing. By the time they have agreed on a response, the boy in question has usually walked off, thinking I fit the stereotype of my hair color. I wish my friends had brothers so at least I could practice not being an idiot. But there is a boy I can talk to like a normal person. If only he was just a boy.

  Sitting up, I re-arrange my pillows. Sleep is whispering my name, so I cannot afford to be horizontal. School is a good topic to occupy my brain. Tiffany has always been my go-to girl. She’s honest.

  ‘Con, that shirt’s all wrong.’

  ‘Don’t ever get corn rows.’

  ‘You have sauce on your chin.’

  ‘I always knew you were adopted.’

  I feel sick. I wonder how she’d cope with the truth. Has anyone else noticed I don’t belong to the people downstairs who have broken my heart?

  ‘Tiff, I’m adopted and have a vampire stalking me.’

  ‘Oh, I love this game. Let’s start with the vamps. The adoption one sounds like a tearjerker, and you know that’s not my thing. Sexy or killing machine vamp?’

  Everything in Tiff’s world relates to a book.

  ‘Pretty sure both,’ I would say.

  ‘Um, lone vamp or a coven?’

  ‘Ah, loner with an alarmingly large coven waiting in the wings.’

  ‘Can’t say I’ve read that one. I give up. Sounds juicy though.’

  ‘The Secret Life Of Your BFF.’

  Fudge! That conversation is never gonna happen.

  * * * * *

  “I prefer the ones with poppy seeds in ‘em,” Tiff says, smearing vanilla cream cheese icing over her muffin. “God, your mom can cook.”

  I pour three lemonades and slide one over to Lou. The mention of poppy seeds makes my breath catch. The woman formerly known as my perfect Mom enters with a freshly changed Mini on her hip.

  “What’s with the garlic?” Mary Lou asks, looking at the back door that leads from our kitchen to a paved patio.

  “I’ve been asking my daughter that for the last five days.”

  “You going all European on us?” Eyes are all on me.

  “It’s good for you. Kills cold and flu bugs.” But apparently has zero effect on flying vampires.

  “Ok-ay, Dr. Con,” Tiff says. I’m not sure if it’s just my guilty conscious or whether my friend is watching me closer than usual. She’s commented on the amount I’m yawning, the bags under my eyes, and the fact that I jump every time someone comes up behind me. “Mrs. Phillips, can Connie come and work with me at the hotdog stand?”

  I’ve been trying to convince my Parents V2.0 to let me get a part-time job since I was fifteen. The last two days at school, I’ve told Tiff to drop it. There’s an opening at her work—which is weekends only—and she’s decided the job is mine.

  K
elly gives me the look. “Connie, we’ve discussed this, sweetheart.” Her tone implies that they’re doing this for my own good—keeping me safe and secure. Is that why they never told me? Them not knowing I know the truth sucks. I judge their every move and word now, searching for hidden meanings and clues. It’s utterly exhausting. I miss the days when the words out of my mother’s mouth made me smile instead of frown with suspicion.

  “Mrs. Phillips, Connie needs to spread her wings,” Tiff argues. She’s never been afraid of authority. She’s the only person I know who can get away with correcting teachers and still have them like her.

  The last thing I need are wings. Sugarplums! He can’t actually give me wings, if he bites me, can he? A rhythm starts to pound inside my head. I take a seat at the kitchen island and rest my cheek on the cool marble. There is no way I’m sleeping later.

  “Hello, ladies,” Chad greets, joining our party at the kitchen island. He places a kiss on Kelly’s cheek and one on Mini’s head. He pauses and eyes me, but apparently, he’s all out of kisses after that. I’m just the stand-in kid.

  “Mr. Phillips, nice tie.” Tiffany starts her attack. For a split second, I almost feel sorry for him. I would wish him luck except I’m on Tiff’s team—I want that job. “Let’s talk about Connie coming for two trial shifts next Friday and Saturday night.” She amps up her megawatt smile. “You know my parents are very safety conscious, and they never allow me to do anything remotely risky.”

  “Ah, well, yes, I do know your parents’ values, Tiff.” He looks at her and then at me. I’m still cooling my heated skin on the bench top, but I meet his eye. “Senior year is important. Connie—”

  “Connie needs to learn some street smarts before she’s shipped off to college and all alone in the big bad world. Trust me, I know her better than anyone. The hotdog stand is a perfectly safe environment for her to learn to deal with drunk idiots who lurk in every corner of college campuses these days. Seriously, she’s got to learn to say no and mean it, Mr. Phillips.”