Root beer. As bad as cola. She threw it after a sip. Ginger ale. Just as bad. Thrown. A bottle of wine. Could she drink that? If she got drunk, would she stop trying to stay away from the far bedroom? She pulled out the stopper and sipped. It burned her throat and made her cough. Thrown.
She snatched the carton next to the wine, ripped off its cap, and drank. It was not what she wanted, but something in it steadied her. Something in it fed her. Desperately, gratefully, she tipped the carton back, draining it, then finally licking its top.
She dropped the carton, reached for a bottle of mineral water, then stopped.
The thirst was weaker. Was she lying to herself? If she went upstairs, would she feed? She snatched up the carton and read the label. Nine grams of protein per serving. It had been nearly full when she started drinking. She must have drunk at least three and a half servings. Low fat. Did that mean she would’ve liked milk better if it had been skim instead of whole? Organic. Did that mean she couldn’t drink things grown with chemicals?
She turned the front of the carton toward her. Soy milk. Unsweetened. She looked in the fridge. Wasn’t tofu made from soy beans? It didn’t matter. There was no tofu in the fridge.
She needed protein. A block of cheddar cheese. She tore open the plastic, shoved the cheese in her mouth, and almost gagged at the taste and smell of rotten milk. She started to throw it, saw the mess she had made, and set it on the counter.
She opened a zip-top of pork chops. The stench of long-dead flesh was worse than the stink of cheese.
Blood is life, she thought. Can anything substitute for blood from a living person?
She looked again at the crumpled carton. Protein. What else had protein?
She wrenched open a jar of peanut butter. It was salted. She hesitated before moving her nose close, then smiled. Blood is salty. Salt, good.She scooped out a blob with her fingers and licked it. Peanut butter tasted creamy. If she couldn’t eat things made from milk, peanut butter might be her new dessert.
She ate half the jar. It made her feel too full, too groggy. She needed something to clear the taste. She burrowed through the vegetable crisper and found a stalk of broccoli. As she ate, she thought, Dracula and the Wolfman never ate their veggies.
That almost made her laugh. Then she remembered talking with the Sanchezes about pets. Dogs and cats get sick if they only eat meat. Why should nighters be different?
Looking around the kitchen, she felt sorry for the Changs, but she had more important things to do than tidy up. Was she free of Baldomero’s glamour?
She thought about leaving the house and knew she couldn’t. She had won time, not freedom.
She thought about Tarika and knew she had not won much time. Her thirst was weaker, but it was waiting. As she thought about it, she felt it growing again.
Three possibilities remained. They all terrified her.
Telling herself to act, not think, she grabbed a steak knife in both hands and plunged it toward her heart. But she remembered, You will do nothing to harm yourself. As the tip of the knife pricked the skin beneath her sternum, her arms locked up.
She thought, I hate you, Baldomero. I hate you, Mama. You’re cruel and evil, and you should die.
But she could not carry the knife toward the basement. She could only remember his words: Or any of our kind.
And she knew that even if she killed the monsters she loved, she would still be trapped in this house with her thirst and her best friend.
It was hard to think as her mind filled with, Only this girl is permitted to you.
Chapter Eight:
What Lies Below
Tarika was lying quietly on the bed, her arms and legs still folded behind her, her eyes closed, her breathing easy. Her neck was scratched, but the skin was not broken. The pulse in her throat beat steadily and strongly. Cat wanted to drink without waking her. For a stranger, that might be a kindness. But her best friend deserved to choose how she died.
Cat ordered, “Tee? Wake up!”
Tarika’s eyes flickered. “Cat?” Then her mouth snapped shut, her eyes opened wide, and she jerked back on the bed.
Cat said, “It’s okay! I’m safe for now. I can make you feel calm if you want. But I don’t want to make you do anything.”
“You’re sure?”
“I pigged out in the kitchen. It took the edge off.”
“Totally?” Cat swallowed, then said, “A little. I still need to drink.” Tarika gasped. “I can’t kill myself. I can’t kill Baldomero or Mama.” Something warm and wet was sliding down Cat’s cheeks, telling her she was crying. “I don’t want to hurt you! But I can’t disobey him, and I can’t get rid of the thirst, and sooner or later, I’ll have to— Tee. If you can think of a way to kill me—”
“Don’t say that!”
“To save yourself!” Tarika began crying, too. “I can’t kill my best friend!”
“One of us has to!”
“I don’t care! If you have to and I don’t, then I won’t! No way never!”
“Not just for you, Tee. To save others.”
“They said you’ll be able to control yourself!”
“But after how many? Four? Five? One is too many, Tee.” Tarika closed her eyes. Her breathing calmed, telling Cat that she had thought of something. “Cat? I can’t—” Tarika gulped air, then said, “I can’t do anything in these handcuffs.”
Cat shook her head. “I can’t help you escape.”
“Can you carry me to the front door?”
Cat stepped forward, then felt herself freeze, and shook her head. “That’d be helping. I want to, but—”
“Okay. What time is it?”
Cat pulled her cell from the pocket of her hoodie. “Five fifty-one. Why?”
“We should know what time it is. When the sun comes up, we might have to adjust the curtains. Put the cell by the bed where you can see it.” Cat shook her head again. “Nice try, Tee.” The cell went back into the pocket of her hoodie. “You can’t even leave it out?”
“If you call Evil Dad, he’ll come with the rest of them. Which might be best, but Baldomero said I can’t do anything to harm any of us.”
“What about the police?”
“They couldn’t stop Baldomero. Or Mama. Or, if I’m all mad-hungry by then, me.”
“What about my folks?”
“What would you say? Either they’d send the police because you’re kidnapped, or they’d come because you’re crazy. And Mama knows I love your folks. She might make them my next— You know.”
Tarika bit her lower lip, then glanced back at the cuffs. “Where do you think the keys are?”
“On Baldomero, I bet.”
“Could you get them?” Cat shook her head. “Helping.”
“Oh. Carry me downstairs for some water?”
“Why not bring a glass up here?”
“Did he say you can’t carry me downstairs?” It would be easier for Tarika to escape if she was downstairs. But she was right. Baldomero didn’t say Cat couldn’t make it easier for Tarika— he only said she couldn’t help her. Was there a difference between helping her escape and letting her escape? The question stung like killer bees attacking her brain, but she focused on, Not helping, just carrying.
She picked Tarika up easily, then said casually, “Getting water now.” She felt hopeful for an instant, then told herself, Water for Tee. It’s fine. Water doesn’t break any of Baldomero’s orders.
She carried Tarika through the hall and down the stairs. Each step was a little harder, but she kept pushing, trying not to think, trusting her forward motion to keep her going. Not helping Tee escape. Just getting water.
At the front door, Tarika said, “Set me down.” Cat couldn’t even slow as she kept walking. “Sorry, Tee.”
Tarika said softly, “It’s okay, Cat.”
Failing her friend was bad enough. Knowing that Tarika forgave her made it worse. But knowing Tarika was being brave for her meant she had to be brave for Tarika, no mat
ter how little hope she saw.
But in the kitchen, seeing the mess she had made, she saw hope. Tarika, with her arms and legs bound behind her, couldn’t sit on a stool. If Cat put her on the floor, Tarika would be uncomfortable and wet. So Cat said as if it was no big deal, “I’ll set you in the hall, and then I’ll get you some water.”
“Not really thirsty.”
The bees began stinging Cat’s brain again. “You wanted water! Right?”
“Oh, right! Yes. Please. Water would be great.”
Cat carried Tarika into the hall and set her in a kneeling position on a Persian rug. “How’s that?”
Tarika waddled forward on her knees. “Good.”
Cat went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. When she returned, she saw Tarika had walked on her knees to the front door and was staring helplessly at the handle. She said, “Cat? Got a reason to look outside?”
“To see if the sun is up so I can die screaming, ‘Aargh, the sun!’?” Tarika gave her a small smile. “A better reason.” Cat stared at her, then grinned. “He said I couldn’t go out! He didn’t say I couldn’t look!”
“No dying screaming?”
“Not if I stay behind the door.”
“Ex.” Cat opened the door a crack. The sky was lighter, but the sun was still below the mountains. Which way did the B&B face? Downtown was east, and it was on her left. Which meant the house faced north, so sunlight couldn’t come in the front door. Cat opened it wide, saying, “If you try to go out, I’ll have to shut it to stop you.”
“Just give it a little push to close it.”
Cat pushed the door gently. Tarika blocked it with her shoulder. Cat winced as the bees came back, angrier than before. Tarika said, “No helping here, Cat. I caught the door myself.”
“Hurts my head.”
“Sorry. But you’re not helping.”
“Not helping, good. But if I see you leaving, I’ll have to—”
“More water would be nice.” The bees swarmed so furiously that Cat could barely see. She thought, I can get her water! Water is just water! As the swarm grew quiet, Cat said, “How about tea? If you’re not in a hurry, I could look for a pot, and then wait until it boils, and then I could hunt for some tea—”
Tarika nodded. “I love tea.”
“Good. I’ll get you some tea.” Cat nodded to Tarika and started for the kitchen, thinking, Don’t cry. This is not goodbye forever. This is just getting tea.
“Cat?” she heard. “You’re the best friend ever.”
Cat looked back. “No way. I couldn’t, you know, get tea for you if, you know, you weren’t the best friend ever.”
Tarika opened her mouth as if to answer, then closed her eyes. Cat saw a tear as Tarika looked away.
And the thirst began rising in her.
Cat turned away, saying, “Got to make tea now. See you, um, soon.” She walked quickly into the kitchen, thinking, First, I will make a very thorough search for a tea pot. Rule out the least likely places right away. Don’t think about being thirsty. Don’t think about how quickly anyone could walk on her knees or how hard it’ll be to go down the front steps. I can’t go outside. Baldomero didn’t say I should do anything if Tee escapes. I don’t care how bad my thirst gets. I don’t care about anything except making tea, then going into the hall with a cup for Tee. And if I don’t find her, I’ll see if Baldomero’s command will let me go to sleep without telling anyone what happened.
Cat opened the cupboard nearest the door. It was full of spices, a terrible place to put a tea pot. She should move everything out of it just to be sure there wasn’t a pot at the back, so she began rummaging.
Tarika called softly, “Cat?” She ran back to the hall. Tarika held the door ajar with her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” Cat asked, then saw the answer. An orange van was parking down the street. On its side was painted “Arkan Exterminators.”
Was this a weird coincidence? How many people were in the van? Was her father with them? What did they want? Cat doubted they would do anything immediately. If they were hunting nighters, wouldn’t they wait for full daylight?
She said, “Doesn’t matter. I’ll get you some tea now.”
“Cat—”
“It doesn’t matter!”
“They’ll kill you!”
Cat clapped her hands to her head as the bees struck. “La-la-la, so what? Problem solved! Getting tea now!”
“I won’t leave you to die!”
“Tee, what part of ‘There’s no choice’ don’t you get?”
“All of it! Look at you! You were going to kill me, and now—”
“I still will, if I don’t get you some tea!”
“You don’t know that! There has to be a solution!” Cat made herself be calm. “Sure. The Arkans know what it is. That’s why they’re here.”
“They tried to kill you! Won’t they try again?” Cat shrugged. Tarika glared at her. “You are the worst liar ever.”
“Tee. Nothing’s changed.”
“I’m not leaving you to die.”
“If you stay, I’ll drink—” Tarika jerked her head sideways, exposing her neck. “Then drink.” Cat stared at the pulse of her best friend’s life. The strange tingling grew high in the front of her mouth. She flicked her tongue forward. Her canines were longer and sharper. She hid her teeth with her hand and shook her head. “I won’t kill you!”
“Then don’t.”
“Tee—”
“You want me to live. I want you to live. You can’t leave until you drink, right? Then we can both escape, right?”
“If I don’t—” Tarika nodded. “You can’t kick me out.” Cat stared at her, then whispered, “No. No way.” Tarika nodded. “It’s on me. Whatever happens.” Cat looked into Tarika’s dark eyes and saw herself pleading there.
“Tee—”
“Tell me afterward.”
“But—”
“The longer you wait, the thirstier you get, right?” Cat knelt and hugged her. “I love—”
“After!” Tarika ordered. Please, God, don’t let me drink a drop more than I need! she thought, putting her head next to Tarika’s, then her mouth to Tarika’s smooth, warm throat. She parted her lips, tasting dried sweat on Tarika’s skin, feeling her teeth slide into Tarika’s flesh. Warmth and salt washed her tongue. With the odd tingle, her teeth drew back like claws retracting. Tarika’s blood flowed freely, and Cat drank.
She didn’t think. She knew that blood is iron and power and life, that the world is rich with blood, that she should drink it all, that the body feeding her was young and strong and healthy. If its blood was like veal, would an adult’s be like steak? She would find out.
The body of the blood tried to push her away. An annoying murmur came from far away. She wanted to ignore it, but she knew the words. “Cat? Stop. Cat! Stop. Time to stop, Cat. Stop it!”
She thought, Quiet! and the struggling ceased. Controlling the creature that fed her was easy. Controlling everything but her own desire was easy. Why should she want to control herself? Needs should be satisfied. Why should she care if a human—
A human called Tarika. Who thought it was wrong to kill animals for food. The human was wrong. The weak live to serve the strong. Cat was strongest of all. Who could strop her from drinking? Not a weak creature—
Not a human girl— Not her best friend— Not Tarika— Not—
Cat jerked her mouth from Tarika’s neck and cried, “Tee? Tee! Please, Tee!”
Tarika’s eyes were closed. Hollywood had part of vampirism right: two dark dots marked her throat. But Hollywood never showed the bruised flesh around the marks, or how the trickling blood stopped flowing from them.
Tarika’s chest wasn’t moving. Had the bites stopped bleeding because her heart had stopped? Cat shook her. “Tee! Please! Come on, God, please—”
Tarika’s eyes flickered. Cat said, “Tee?” Tarika smiled weakly. “I knew you could.” Cat hugged her tight. “Oh, thank God, Tee!”
&n
bsp; “Vampires can say that?”
“Guessing yes. How do you feel?”
“Guessing weak. You?”
“Strong. No guessing.” Cat grabbed Tarika’s handcuffs and pulled as hard as she could. But her fingers went limp, and her hands slipped free. Tarika said, “Not strong enough?” Cat grabbed the front door handle, thinking she would step out into the shade of the house, even if the Arkans saw her. And her hand slid off the door knob. “Cat? What?”
“I can’t help. The rest of what he said still applies.”
“But you’re not thirsty!”
She considered that. “No. I had enough.” She knew why that didn’t make her feel better. Tarika was safe from her now, but not from her mother, Baldomero, or the Arkans.
Tarika nodded. “Plan B.”
“Which is?”
“The handcuff keys. You have to get them.”
“That’s the helping I can’t do.”
“The Arkans are outside, right? If they find me like this, what’ll they think? No matter what I say, they’ll search the house. But if I’m free, I can tell them you all left, and they’ll believe me.”
“You’d lie for us?”
“Does it matter? Aren’t I right? To save your family, you have to take the chance, right?”
Cat heard the bees returning, but she whirled and ran through the house.
She didn’t want to open the basement door. She was sure her mother and Baldomero would be standing there, waiting for her. She told herself that Granny Lupe had always slept soundly, so she shouldn’t worry about waking them.
But she worried. As Granny Lupe, her mother had slept in a place where she felt safe. Would she sleep lightly in a strange place? How soundly did Baldomero sleep?
The door opened silently, revealing her next worry: The windows were covered with cardboard and duct tape. She might have great night vision as a nighter, but in perfect darkness, she was still blind.
A flashlight hung from a nail by the light switch. She took it, then saw a dust rag on another nail. She wrapped it around the flashlight lens, pointed the lens at her feet, and turned it on. The dim light was enough to show her where she was about to step.
Midnight Girl Page 9