by D. R. Perry
“Be good and take your nap.” The mouth doesn’t move. There can’t be vocal cords in its neck, but the words are clear as anyone else’s. Just inhuman sounding, like the hum.
I open my mouth, bare my fangs, hiss, and claw at the frilly green dress it’s wearing. No dice. The doll can’t make a real fist, exactly. Its fingers aren’t jointed that way, but that's enough for it to bop me on the head, like it’s the Good Fairy from that song and I’m Little Bunny Foo Foo. A Post-it sticks to my nose as green glitter fills my vision. I only just make out that the script on it is fat-fingered.
And just like that, I’m out.
I wake up in the back of Scott’s truck, which makes sense. My head’s in a lap, which doesn’t. I flare my nostrils, but all I smell is blood. Don’t freak out. It’s in the bag a set of cool, pale hands holds out toward me. I open my mouth, and the business end of the bag goes in it. As I drink, more becomes clear.
Stephanie peers down at me, her eyebrows closer together than usual. The moon is high, and about half-full. I wonder what’s got me so optimistic until another air-temperature hand wipes my face with a cold-cream-coated cloth. This one’s not so pale, though.
“Maya? Stephanie?” I start thinking in tropes.
“Yeah, it’s us.” The Vampish Pixie Dream Girl removes more greasepaint from my cheek. “We went by your dad’s house to keep some extra eyes on him for you.”
“And you left?”
“We did.” The Vampire Mom-Friend holds out another bag of blood. “Your mortal allies are there now, which is for the best since they’d only put you in hunger rage again.”
“Is that what happened to me back in Esther’s apartment?” I feel hungover.
“Yes.” Stephanie shakes her head and clicks her tongue. Mom Friends; everyone has one, right?
The rages are things that kick off a vampire’s instinct. There are three kinds; hunger, fire, and vengeful. Stephanie told me about all of that after she turned me, but understated it by a country light-year. Well, now I know from first-hand experience. Hunger rage feels like being a Power Ranger stuck inside a malfunctioning Zord. I have to hope the other two aren’t so bad that I need Esther to summon her creepy doll again.
I down a second bag of blood, wondering whether the dolly was some kind of blood-deprivation dream. The whole thing’s surreal, like a real-life version of some kid playing with a pile of random classic horror film action figures and their kid sister’s baby doll, with an action sequence straight out of a Kaiju movie. I shake my head.
Something crumples in my right hand. I look down to find the Post-it, dingy yellow now. It’s got alchemy script of the fat-fingered variety, like the note on my car. So, the doll exists, and it can do alchemy, too. I try contemplating how that's possible, but can’t even begin without learning a truck-ton more about magic. Well, maybe I’ve got time.
“Hold still, Tino.” Maya’s fingers tighten on my hair. “You can’t go in to see your dad looking like that.”
“Or without more of this.” Stephanie hands me another blood bag.
I want to talk to my dad now that we know who shot him and why. Maya and Stephanie are only here for moral support. I ask them to stay outside. I tell them it’s because Dad needs protecting from other attacks, since who knows what else the Caprices will try. But really, I don’t want to explain their presence to Ma. Or to Maury, whose car is in Dad’s driveway.
I take a few more minutes to get full and cleaned up, but I can’t walk in there looking like Percy Blakeney. Because Stephanie is right. That’s who I’m like, doing this night gig to hide elite supernatural people from the mundanes who'd just as soon see them dead. Yeah, werewolves, vamps, and magicians are powerful, but we’re the minority by a lot.
Anyway, I’ve got to look like Tino now, not some Count whose name rhymes with macula. Taking off the opera cloak and stashing the frilly cravat in one of its pockets helps me look normal enough except for one problem.
“These bullet holes, though.” I poke a finger through one in my shirt.
“Oh.” Maya shrugs, tucking greasepaint-streaked cloths into a trash bag Stephanie’s holding. “I don’t know.”
“I do.” Stephanie points at a duffel bag bungeed under the truck’s toolbox. “He'll have to change before meeting with the king this evening, but for now, what's in there will do. Werewolves always keep spare clothes handy.”
I free it, unzip, and look inside. There are t-shirts, pants, socks, underwear. Two pairs of sneakers, too big for me, but that’s okay. I only need a shirt, and wearing an oversized tee is nothing I haven’t done in front of my parents or Maury. This truck belongs to a family of werewolves who probably splits more seams than Lou Ferrigno. Fishing out a shirt and putting it on is too easy and too convenient. I wonder what the catch is.
And that’s how I end up in my mother’s kitchen with Maury Weintraub for the second time that week, wearing a t-shirt that says I do grate things with a picture of a cheese grater on it. At least it doesn’t have any four-letter words on it. I don’t want to end up putting Dad back in the hospital with a heart attack.
“You boys need to eat something. You’re so skinny, you look like a couple of stakes for tomato vines.” Ma sets tea saucers loaded with homemade biscotti next to steaming mugs of Autocrat coffee. She put on the good stuff for us, and I can't eat it.
“Yeah, Ma.” I can’t look at her.
The stake comment makes me wonder whether she’s guessed what I am already. It’d be a whole lot safer for her to figure this thing out on her own than for me to tell her, just like when she found my condoms. I remember her face, redder than the Christmas tablecloth. Maybe I just don’t want her to know, okay?
“Thanks, Mrs. Crispo.” Maury’s manners always make Ma’s day. Or night, as the case may be.
He beams at her. Well, he tries, anyway, but doesn’t manage anything so bright. That’s because his teeth have a slight tint from too many coffees, cigarettes, and long nights. But it’s not just that. Whatever’s been wrong with my friend healthwise is getting worse. We wait until she’s out of the room before racing to steer the conversation. Maury wins.
“Tino, you’ve gotta give me that list.”
“Okay. I’ve got it right here.” I reach into my pocket and push the folded paper across the table. I don’t mention the other list Kayleigh hinted at. For now, that’s only a rumor I need to investigate later.
“Thanks.” Maury taps his fingers lightly on the crumpled-then-smoothed surface. “That was easy.”
“Yeah, I should wear a red button on my chest, maybe open an office supply store.” I grin.
“No, Tino.” Maury pockets the paper without looking at it, a sign of trust. “You’re going to do great as a PI. I’m not saying I’m jealous, but…” He lifts one shoulder.
“Thanks.” I set my face to undeadpan. I can’t afford to let Maury see my fangs, not now. Of course, he thinks I’m mocking him.
“Wow.” Maury shakes his head, then tilts it like a crow contemplating something shiny. Except the little glint that’s always been there the whole time I’ve known him is missing.
“Okay, my turn.” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “Go to a freaking doctor, Maury. I mean, Jesus Christ.”
“Nice Prophet, but you know my people are still waiting for the Messiah.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I flap one hand, dismissing our old Judeo-Christian banter. “I’m serious, Maur. You look like crap. Get checked out.”
He leans back in the old kitchen chair. It doesn’t even creak on account of all the weight he’s lost. “What if I don’t want to?”
“I’m not giving you any more tips.” I put my hands flat on the table to show him I mean business.
“Woah, you’re serious.” Maury blinks.
“Nah, I’m Valentino, not Harry Potter’s godfather.” I lean forward. “Doctor. Tomorrow. Go.”
“Tino—”
“No more excuses.” I push my saucer of biscotti ac
ross the table toward him, then pretend to drink some coffee. “You look like you need these more than I do.”
Maury’s eyes go wide. He’s staring at the twice-baked cookies like they’re the jackpot in a lottery. No, not like that. More like a plate full of french-fried spiders. He makes a run for the bathroom and my jaw drops. I feel like the shittiest friend in the universe, pushing food at him like that just because I can’t eat it.
I don’t need to get up. I can smell it from the kitchen, now that Maury’s emptying his stomach. Cancer. I wait for him to come back, thinking about Esther and the stuff she’s brewing for Kayleigh’s man. I’ve got to hope she can make more than one batch, and that it’ll work on whatever’s eating Maury Weintraub. But I know he’s not eating cookies after losing them, not any more than I am. So I pocket two handfuls of the biscotti, leaving crumbs on both our napkins so Ma will think we ate. I slosh some coffee from both our cups into the sink too, for good measure.
Maury notices what I’ve done, of course. He doesn’t miss a thing, which is why he’s the one who made detective. Except now I’ll never know how much of that was vampire fuckery and how much was honest talent and achievement. I swallow that bitterness, and it almost makes up for the fact that I can’t drink coffee anymore.
“Listen, Maur. I was way out of line, and I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses so it almost looks like they’re perching on his nose like a vulture. That image is too morbid for even me, so I set the coffees back on the table. “Anyway, I’m already seeing a doctor, Tino. We’re doing what we can.”
“I’m not going to push anymore.” I pat his shoulder, which feels bony under the padding in his jacket. “But I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“Tino, your father’s awake!” Ma doesn’t even come down the stairs to tell me this. In true Cranston-Italian-mother fashion, she hollers it from upstairs.
“Listen, Tino. We still gotta talk about the list and some other things.” Maury heads for the kitchen door. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
“That’s fine, Maury.” I gesture at the doorway leading to the stairs. “Look, thanks for being here. For Dad. And me.”
“Just protecting and serving, Tino, like we always said we would growing up.” He opens the door and steps out. Before it closes, I hear him mumble, “You’re welcome.”
I’m pressing my lips together as I head up the stairs, not sure what to make of that entire conversation with Maury. Even though I know the skeleton of our friendship exists, it’s shifted shape as surely as Scott and his family. I’m not sure what its final form will look like. I shake off my misgivings. Dad’s home from the hospital. The doctors think he’ll be okay.
I focus on that for now.
Chapter Seventeen
Ma passes me on the stairs, no mean feat since they’re narrower and steeper than the Italian Alps. Or at least, that’s what Ma always says. I’ve never been there. I nod a silent thanks and head down the upstairs hall to my parents’ bedroom.
“Dad, hi.”
“Get over here, Tino.”
I do. We hug.
“Sit.”
Dad holds out his left arm. The right one’s still in a sling. He’s sitting up, television and the radio on, with the Providence Journal open on his lap as usual.
It’s exactly the same, but completely different. If it weren’t for him being in bed and the sling and the nostril-stinging tartness of antiseptic, it’d be any other night at home since as long as I can recall. Just before making the mistake of smiling at him, I remember the other difference. I’m a vampire.
Almost a week ago, I thought that was the worst thing in the world. Looking at Dad, I know it’s not. Losing him would have been worse. If I wasn’t a vampire, I couldn’t protect him. I wouldn’t have friends who could help with that, either. There’s only so much a human cop can do, even one as talented as Maury. They’re frail and uninformed. I’m still a little bit guilty of the latter, but getting better.
The voice in my head says Dad wouldn’t have been shot by accident if I hadn’t been turned. I give it my best Esther impression and tell it to shut the fuck up. The Caprices have another list, and I’ll bet bitcoins to blood bags that Maury’s on it. I would be too if I wasn’t a vamp. Bad guys come in all states of being.
And so do the good guys. I sit with Dad and Ma, chatting like we would have over Sunday dinner if Kayleigh’s misguided assassination attempt hadn’t interrupted us. It feels good to be with my family. Because finally, I’m not focusing on how I’m going to live forever and they’re not. My head’s in their game, on the thousands they’re batting at hobbies and jobs. I’ve never been so contented to listen to Dad talk music and Ma babble about book club. Even the workaday gripes I listen to sound like pearls from heaven.
Perspective is important for everyone. That night I realize it’s exactly what I need to cope with becoming a vampire. But I’m not out of the tunnel yet even though I see the light at the end of it. It’s going to take work and time. I’ll screw up, backslide. But that's all right. Everyone does.
This is the first time in years I can feel okay with that, though. For now, I bask in that feeling as much as parental love and company. People care. What’s more important is, I do too. Maybe too much but nobody’s perfect.
After an hour, Dad’s nodding off. I go downstairs to be with Ma, where she’s clearing all the coffee things Maury and I left behind. I work beside her, tidying in tandem. After the dishes are all in and the washer’s running, I just know she’s going to address the elephant in the room.
“Tino, you know I love you.”
“Yeah, Ma. I love you, too.”
“So why aren’t you telling me what’s up with you?”
“It’s hard, Ma.” I shake my head. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."
“If you’re worried I won’t love you anymore once you come out and say it, you’re wrong.”
“Um.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. Here’s the woman who birthed me, standing in her dressing-gown in the kitchen, declaring love I think she can’t possibly maintain. Vampirism is a pretty heavy and unexpected circumstance. I’m about to explain it, too, but she interrupts.
“Listen, kiddo. I’m gonna love you forever, no matter what. And I’m sorry about all the times I’ve harped on you about giving me grandbabies. I’m an auntie, and that’s enough for now. And these days, anyone can start a family. They come in all shapes and sizes.”
If I’m this obvious, then every human I know is going on King DeCampo’s hit list, and he’s scarier than the Caprices. How did she find out? Did I screw up and get fangy in front of her? My heart crashes and burns like a downed jet. Were my hopes, dreams, and ideas really that lofty upstairs? I’ve all but signed death warrants for my parents.
“Wow, Ma.” I blink, shaking my head. How will we recover from this?
“Wow, yourself.” She puts her arms around me. “Have I ever done anything to make you think I’d disown you because you’re gay?”
“I’m—” My denial and apology die on my lips. It doesn’t matter what my sexuality is because I’m a vampire now. I’ll never have kids, even if I do fall in love and settle down. There’s only one way to respond to a person who just said they’ll accept you no matter what. “I love you, Mama.”
“Oh, Tino.” Ma pulls back and looks up at me. Her eyes shimmer at the name I haven’t called her since I was a tiny tot. “My little boy’s grown into such a good man.”
“If you think so, Ma, I can believe it, too.” I pull out the blush trick Maya taught me. It’s the least I can do at this point. Apparently, honest to God tears are part of that package. And here I thought I’d never be able to cry anything but blood again.
We stand there hugging, with the tears running down our faces. It’s not pretty, but that’s life. It’s more than worth the mess.
And then the alarm on my phone goes off.
“I gotta go, Ma
.”
“Work?”
“Yeah.” I’d feel bad for lying, but I’m not. The shindig Stephanie wants me to attend is work, in a vampiric manner of speaking.
“If you’re investigating this shooter at all, there’s something you need to know.” She pulls a Kleenex out of her sleeve and dabs her face with it.
“Okay, Ma.”
“The doctors said that the bullet in your dad had wood on it. They gave it to the CSI guy.”
“Which one?”
“Raphael Paolucci.”
“Oh.” That’s a mixed bag for me. What sucks is, Raph Paolucci is the sharpest forensic pencil in Cranston’s box. The bright side is that he’s clean as a whistle and won’t be working for the Caprices or Whitby. “Thanks, Ma. I’ll call him if I need to.”
I give Ma one last hug and a kiss on the cheek, then I’m out the door and squeezed in the cab of Scott’s truck with him, Stephanie, and Maya. Up in the window next door, I see Old Man Fitzpatrick, keeping watch over my parents. An unmarked car’s across the street, too. My parents won’t be alone.
Scott drives Maya to her car, and me and Steph back to the Belfry. After that, he’s got to go home. Curfew. I tell him he’d better get that extended, which makes Stephanie laugh for some reason. Upstairs, I change into my suit. I can’t wear a t-shirt to see the king, no matter how great a pun it is.
Downstairs, I get into my car with Stephanie. She’s quiet, so I break the ice.
“How come I never see you drive?”
“I never learned how.”
“Seriously?” I take the on-ramp for I-95 North. “Then how do you get around?”
“Since vampires take pride in age, a lady must maintain other secrets. This is one of mine.”
“Okay.”
We drive along in silence until I take the downtown exit. Circling to find parking gives me time to wonder what this meeting with vampire royalty is all about, anyhow. But maybe that’s less secret than Stephanie’s favored mode of transportation. I put on my blinker and wait while a bald and hunched little man with a limp and a walking stick gets into a sedan. He smells like the ocean.