Midnight Girl

by Will Shetterly

  Zoraida shook her head.

  Cat said, “If people knew about us, the government couldn’t kidnap us to experiment on us. Could they?”

  Zoraida said, “Your father and I let you watch too much television.” Baldomero said, “Night folk avoid attention.” Cat said, “It’s a tradition thing?”

  “You could say that.”

  Zoraida asked, “What do you think you are, my darling?”

  “Thirsty.” Cat drained her water. It felt good on her throat, but it didn’t ease her need for something richer.

  Zoraida said, “And?”

  Cat shrugged. “We’re like witches? If people knew what we were, they’d try to burn us at the stake?”

  Zoraida nodded as Baldomero said, “Or worse.” Cat said, “Witch hunts were centuries ago!”

  “Humans never change, my fierce heart,” Zoraida said. “They hate us.”

  “The people upstairs don’t.” Baldomero said, “We can only make a few servants.”

  “You couldn’t go on TV and glamour everyone?” He smiled and shook his head. “Would that we could.”

  “But why do humans hate us?”

  “Because of our freedom. And our power.”

  Zoraida glanced at Baldomero, then told Cat, “And we drink their blood.”

  “Wait.” Cat stared at her. “We’re—” Zoraida nodded. Thinking she must have misunderstood, Cat said, “Vampires? Like, vampires?” Zoraida shrugged. “It’s one of the names humans use.” Baldomero added, “Werewolves. Ghouls. Wendigoes. There are many names, but what inferiors call you doesn’t matter, so long as they fear you.”

  Cat kept staring. Vampires and werewolves were made by the bite of another vampire or werewolf, right? They weren’t girls who had their fourteenth birthdays and turned into something that was perfect in every way, except for the drinking human blood part. “Tia Ysabel didn’t turn into dust.”

  “The only thing less accurate than folklore is Hollywood.”

  Baldomero said gently, “Choose any name for us you please, Catalina. We are what we are. Most of what they imagine is false. They’re children afraid of the dark.”

  “Truly,” Zoraida said. “It’s good to be of the folk, my fury.” Cat said, “When we drink their blood, do they die?” Baldomero said, “If we drink deeply.”

  “But we avoid killing,” Zoraida said. “Alarm them, and someone like your father will come. We don’t have to drink so much that we must kill. It’s quite civilized.”

  Cat nodded. It was good to be better than humans. It was smart not to alarm them. Why should drinking their blood bother her? She had tasted her blood whenever she cut her finger and licked the wound. It had never bothered her. She liked hamburgers and steak medium-rare. Her family was right. Why should she care what humans called the folk who were infinitely superior to them? She said, “Okay.”

  Baldomero smiled at her. “Any more questions?”

  “When you turn back into yourself, do you get different clothes?” He laughed. “Focus on new clothes before you change. As a bird or a beast, it’s best to plan on nothing more than your destination.” Zoraida said, “When I was a girl, I would wear something new before changing, then return to myself in my favorite old dress. It drove your grandmother mad.” Cat smiled. So her family were vampires? What family doesn’t have quirks? She said, “The real Granny Lupe?” Zoraida nodded. “I’m sorry you only know her through my charade.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She died as most of us do. Killed by the assassins of the Night Council.”

  “Who—”

  “Humans like your father, Olujimi Udofia, and Fong Shu.” Zoraida shook her head. “I’m exhausted. It’ll be nice to go to sleep early.”

  “True,” said Baldomero.

  If I’m supposed to drink blood, having a glass of it now would be nice. She said, “Don’t forget I’m thirsty.”

  He nodded. “Quenching thirst is the heart of every first night. Come.”

  The B&B’s stairway reminded her of Casa Medianoche. She told herself that stairs are only stairs. The upper floor was decorated—or over-decorated—like the one below. The hall had many doors. She suspected the B&B lost a lot of business when Baldomero stayed there.

  The smell of humans was stronger upstairs. The smells of perfume, deodorant, and air freshener grew stronger, too. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  Baldomero said, “We have beds in the basement. But if you’re up late, don’t worry. There are heavy curtains on every window, and the Changs know better than to draw them.”

  “Why would I be up late?”

  “That depends on how quickly you choose to drink.” Cat laughed. “I’m dying of thirst. I bet I’m in bed before you.” Zoraida gripped her shoulder. “Don’t be so sure, my fierce one. You didn’t ask two important questions.”

  “Which ones?” Zoraida smiled fondly. “Why do we call you our miracle?” Cat said, “Because that’s what my middle name means?” Baldomero said, “Your mother scoffs, but there is a prophecy. One born between the worlds will lead the folk to glory.” Cat stopped to stare at him. “Me? That’s silly.”

  “There’s never been another like you, a child of the folk and the humans.” Zoraida said, “Your uncle isn’t the only one who believes it. True or not, it’ll help you rise to greatness with us. Believe me, timing your birth so precisely was not easy, my fury, not even for one of us.”

  Cat smiled. When she was small, she had wanted to be a fairy princess. Being a princess of the night folk had to be as good. It might be better. “What’s the other question?”

  Zoraida stroked Cat’s hair, then said, “How do we learn to control our thirst?”

  “We don’t just do it?”

  Baldomero shook his head. “No one has mastered it without killing the first humans they drank from. They say one of the folk in China learned after his second. I think that’s a myth. I know of no one who killed fewer than four.”

  He stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall, then opened it. “Here’s your first.”

  On the bed, eyes wide in terror, mouth gagged with a white scarf, body writhing in a desperate attempt to escape, ankles and wrists bound behind her back with steel cuffs, the source of the familiar scent Cat had noticed when she approached the house—

  Tarika.

  Chapter Seven:

  Thirst

  Drink! Cat thought, and took two steps into the room. Something inside her screamed, No! and she fell hard onto the floor. What screamed inside was screaming outside, too. She could hear it echo in the room. Zoraida seized Cat’s wrists and said, “My fury! Think!”

  How could she? What she craved lay before her, but its source was her best friend.

  Old Cat’s best friend.

  Old Cat who loved cheeseburgers, hot dogs, fried chicken, and tuna salad. Food is food. Who cares what it comes from? Take it!

  But this food had a name. Cat said, “It’s Tee.” Zoraida nodded. “Someone else. Anyone. Please. Someone I don’t know.” Baldomero said, “You must learn control.”

  “Not Tee!” Was Old Cat in tears, or New Cat, or both? “It’s the only way.”

  “No! Baldomero, please, please, no!”

  “Each night, someone you love will be given to you. Tomorrow, your father. Then Olujimi Udofia, then Fong Shu, then a favorite teacher or a school friend. Until you learn control.”

  All people whose lives had made hers happier. “Give me strangers. Baldomero, please!”

  He shook his head sadly. “If strangers mattered, humans would never make war. I can’t count the strangers I killed before I learned control.”

  “Please, if you love me—”

  “With all my heart, Catalina. That’s why you must learn quickly. Nighters who can’t control themselves are hunted and killed. Or they hate themselves so much they go out to greet the dawn.”

  “Not Tee. Don’t give me Tee.”

  “Who then? Your father?”

 
“No!”

  “Someone from school?”

  “No, please!”

  “Then I’m sorry, Catalina. You’ll learn. And afterward, you’ll honor your friend’s memory for what she taught you.”

  “No! You can’t make me do this!”

  Zoraida said, “My brave one? That’s true. So we’ll leave you now. Come to the basement when you’re done.”

  “Catalina?” Baldomero said. She glanced at him, and he added firmly. “You will not drink from any other human.” His voice was quiet as something cut through her panic, a command she could not ignore. “Only this girl is permitted to you. You will not break her bonds or help her escape. You will not leave this house. You will not do anything to harm yourself or any of our kind.”

  Each word was a padlock closing.

  Cat looked from Baldomero to Tarika, who lay still, listening intently. “Please, Baldomero—”

  “I’m sorry, Catalina. You’ll understand in time.” He turned, then looked back with such sadness that she thought he would say she didn’t have to do this after all. He said, “Be quick. If you wait for the feeding madness, you’ll learn nothing. Then your friend’s death will only be an incentive to act sooner next time.” He went out.

  Cat spun to face Zoraida. “Mama! Don’t do this!”

  “I’m sorry, little—” Zoraida reached to touch Cat’s arm. As Cat jerked back, Zoraida said, “It’s for the best.”

  “Who did you kill?”

  “My first? A boy. Fernando. I thought I would marry him someday.”

  “And then?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes! How many will I kill?” Zoraida glanced at Tarika, then at the window’s heavy drapes. “My nanny was next. I loved her more than my mother. But when I had to drink—” She shook her head. “Two after that. Then I could control it.” Zoraida looked at Tarika. “Baldomero’s right. Don’t drag this out.”

  “She’s my best friend!”

  “I know. So don’t make her suffer more than she must.” Cat stared at her. “You chose her.”

  “Do you think that was easy? I always liked Tarika.”

  “How could you?”

  “If ever you’re a mother, you’ll understand hard choices.”

  “If you loved me—” Cat halted, remembering her midnight birth as one of the folk. “Baldomero put something in the wine.”

  “Blood. To trigger the change.”

  “You could’ve stopped him.”

  “Something would’ve triggered it eventually. Better you change now, with your family here to help you.”

  “You should’ve killed me.”

  “I told my parents that, too.” Zoraida looked at Tarika. “It’s sad for them, but they are what they are, and we are what we are. Enjoy what you’ve been given.”

  “No way! I swear—” Zoraida stood. “I’m helping you put off the inevitable. I’ll go.”

  “Mama!” Cat shouted, but Zoraida stepped out and closed the door. Cat gasped, trying to breathe, trying to stop crying. Old Cat was not dead, but if Tarika died, the old Cat would die with her. She ran into the hall. Her mother was going downstairs. Cat shouted, “Dad should’ve killed you! You’re a monster, and you want me to be just like you, but I’m not! I’ll never be!” Zoraida looked back. Her face was as as much a mask as Professor

  M’s. She said softly, “I love you, daughter.” Then she turned and continued downstairs.

  Cat whirled, raced back into the room, slammed the door, and ran to the bed where Tarika lay. “Tee, I can’t—”

  She wanted to say she could never hurt her. But she saw the pulse in Tarika’s throat and wrist. Her veins were delicate and strong, simple and beautiful. They carried all that Cat needed. They carried life.

  She shook her head to clear it, then reached for the cuffs binding Tarika’s wrists and ankles behind her. The cuffs were closed over each other, keeping her arms and legs folded back so she could not straighten out.

  Could nighters break steel? Cat gripped the cuffs, but she couldn’t pull on them. She tried, straining fiercely, feeling the effort across her chest, yet her arms stayed limp. At last, she dropped her hands and whispered, “Tee. I can’t break them.”

  Tarika’s face contorted as she tried to speak around the scarf. Cat said, “He didn’t mention the gag!” She grabbed the cloth and snapped it as if it were tissue.

  Tarika whispered, “We gotta get out of here!” Cat shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Because you’re afraid?”

  “Because he ordered me. It’s glamour. Like hypnotism.” Tarika nodded. “Not worrying now. Do you know where the keys are?”

  “If I did, I still couldn’t help.”

  “Not what I asked.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry. No. I don’t know.”

  “Okay. That’s good. You can help me as long as you’re not helping me.”

  “Which means?”

  “We’ll figure this out. We just have to think it through.”

  “I’m thinking, Tee. It’s not good.”

  “Maybe they hypnotized you into thinking you’re something you’re not. You’re my best friend, and we’re getting out of here. That’s all you have to think about.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “Stop it, Cat! You’re freaking me worse, which I totally didn’t think was possible. Are they really your family?”

  “Yes. And they’re really vampires. Or werewolves. Or something that’s not—”

  “Stop it! Focus on the getting out.”

  “I’m one, too.”

  “What part of ‘stop it’ is too hard? We’re getting out. Got it?”

  “I want you out, Tee. More than anything. But I can’t go unless

  Baldomero says so.”

  “For sure?”

  “Like I’m sure I can’t get your cuffs off.”

  “Okay, thinking. He didn’t say you should stop me from trying to escape. You just can’t help me.”

  Hope surged in Cat. “That’s right!”

  “So if I escape, he’ll have to change his mind about what you can do.” Tarika hesitated. “Really vampire-werewolves?”

  Cat opened her mouth to answer.

  Tarika shook her head. “No. Keep thinking they’re hypnotists who messed us up.”

  Cat nodded. “Could be.”

  Tarika pursed her lips, then said softly, “No. I’d remember if your teeth were that long.”

  Cat touched her tongue to her canines. They were sharp, perfect for biting through— She thought, Not Tee! She made herself say calmly, “What’ll we do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Really thirsty.”

  “Ignore it.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Cat. I love you. Remember—”

  “I know! I love you, Tee.” Cat gasped, then said, “But it hurts, and it’s hard to think, and it’s not that I don’t love you, really, but—”

  “Cat!” She had stepped closer to Tarika without realizing it. She jumped back. “What?” Tarika looked over her shoulder at her cuffs. “Make me more comfortable?”

  “Huh?”

  “Being folded up like this. It’s really uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He didn’t say you couldn’t make me comfortable!” Tarika’s eyes were moist and red. Cat had never seen her terrified.

  Baldomero’s right. I shouldn’t torment her. But I can’t just kill her!

  Cat said, “Sure. I can do something. To make this easier for you.” She reached for the cuffs and thought, I only want to make Tee more comfortable.

  But her hands weren’t fooled. Tee’s wrists are so warm. Her skin is such a beautiful brown. How much of its color comes from her blood?

  As Cat bent over her, Tarika said, “Cat? You don’t have to do this. Cat! You’re freaking me, please—”

  It would be so easy to end Tee’s suffering and her own. Leaning into Tarika’s throat, Cat whispered, “Don’t be afraid.
I love you, Tee.”

  She heard Tarika’s sigh. She felt her relax, as all Tarika’s fear was drawn from her. This was glamour, Cat realized. It was useful. It was merciful. She had learned something.

  Now she only needed to learn what it was like to drink until she could drink no more. Then they would both be free.

  Her lips brushed Tarika’s neck. Must drink. It’s best for everyone. Drink. Blood is life. Choose life. Drink. Now!

  As her teeth grazed Tarika’s skin, a thought surfaced in Cat’s mind:

  You will not drink from any other human.

  She threw herself back from Tarika. She didn’t know if she tasted blood or sweat. She didn’t dare look at Tarika to see. She spat on the floor and ran into the hall.

  She felt as if she was fighting her way through quicksand. Every step said, Turn back! Drink!

  But if she went back, she would drink without stopping. If she slowed at all, the call from the bedroom would force her to answer. She ran harder than she had ever run, forcing her way to the head of the stairs and plunging down them, stumbling on the steps, catching the railing to keep from falling, then flinging herself over the rail and onto the lower floor.

  Through the living room. Down the main hall. Into the kitchen, a gleaming place of green marble and burnished brass. To the bright steel refrigerator, large enough to serve a restaurant.

  She yanked the doors open. A pitcher of water. Drink!

  She gulped water from its spout, spilling twice as much as she drank, pouring it down her throat until it was empty.

  But she wasn’t full. A gallon of milk. Drink! She tore off the cap, put the jug to her mouth, tipped it back, and chugged. Milk tasted like a slurry of grease with globs of fat. She forced herself to drink until she knew one more swallow would make her vomit.

  She threw the jug aside, grabbed a cola bottle, and swigged. It was like drinking sugar melted in ammonia. She puked everything she had drunk onto the floor, then stood there, leaning against the refrigerator, trembling and weak, soaked in cold sweat.

  But the thirst still burned.

  Only the thought of saving Tee made her grab the next bottle and drink. Orange juice. Better, but its sweetness threatened to rise in her throat. She threw it, too.

  A carton of tomato juice. She drank deeply. It almost tasted good, but she needed something it could not give. She threw the empty carton aside and reached for what was next.