Vampire Island

by Adele Griffin

  The von Kriks shuddered. Vegetarian cuisine wasn’t for everyone.

  “Which means I’m your neighbor,” said Maddy, “and since the door was open, I came over to introduce myself. I’m Madison Livingstone.”

  “Our door is never open,” said the woman at the same time the man said, “We are Nigel and Nicola von Krik. How exciting for us to meet a fresh new neighbor.”

  Maddy thought she saw Nicola frown at her husband.

  “And you are a…human being?” asked Nicola.

  “Of course. One hundred percent.” Untrue, but Maddy was surprised. Her human beingness had never been questioned before. Was she imagining things, or had Nigel just licked his lips?

  “Our servant, Snooks, is preparing a late-afternoon snack of steak tartar,” said Nicola. “Why don’t you join us—neighbor?”

  A stern voice in Maddy’s head reminded her that she had already had her beetly pinch of protein for the day. Luckily, the voice was too small to pay attention to. “Sure.”

  As peculiar as the von Kriks were, they were also charmingly polite. In the dining room, Snooks served up porcelain plates of raw, chopped meat. Maddy had never tried steak tartar before. On first taste, her stomach and memory rumbled like a waking volcano. This was the most delicious dish she’d ever sunk her fangs into. It reminded her of long, long ago, way back when she was pure human. And the von Kriks’ crystal water goblets made her feel as if she were a guest at a splendid dinner party. The von Kriks seemed to be enjoying their tartar, too. They cleaned their plates in no time.

  “The cuisine is the best part of being here, my dove,” murmured Nicola.

  “I couldn’t agree more, my darling,” said Nigel.

  It was a known fact that a reformed pureblood could eat anything the New World had to offer. With a reporter’s stealth, Maddy took out her notepad and pencil and hid them on her lap.

  “You have foreign accents. What country are you from?” Maddy asked.

  “We don’t have accents,” said Nigel at the same time that Nicola said, “London?”

  Liars, Maddy wrote. “What brings you to New York City?”

  “Business,” said Nicola as Nigel said, “Pleasure.”

  Maddy added an exclamation mark to Liars!

  “What are you writing?” asked Nicola.

  “I want the recipe for steak tartar,” Maddy said.

  “Raw steak,” said Nigel.

  “And a chopping knife,” added Nicola. “That’s it. Please put away your book.”

  After lunch, the von Kriks took Maddy on a tour of their grand home, which included a music salon and a portrait gallery.

  “Are you tired?” asked Nigel. “You can leave anytime. As in, now.”

  “Not yet, thanks.” Maddy could tell the von Kriks were uncomfortable in her presence, mostly by the way Nigel twitched while Nicola chewed on a bead of her exquisite jet bead necklace.

  Maddy smiled, attempting to look friendly.

  “As in, now,” repeated Nicola. “Snooks will show you out.”

  “In a minute.” Were they always so rude to guests? Or was it her? Maddy knew she had a tendency to be a bad guest. Like at sleepovers, when she couldn’t resist overscaring other girls with her moment-by-moment reenactment of Marie Antoinette’s gory death. But Maddy had been there—an eyewitness in the crowd.

  “Who are all these portraits?”

  “Beloved ancestors,” said Nigel at the same time that Nicola said, “Just some old dead people.” And now it was Nigel who frowned at his wife.

  “Where are the portraits of you?” Maddy quirked an eyebrow. The undead were not allowed to have their images reproduced or displayed. It was a rule that did not change, no matter which World you were in. No photographs, no portraits—now that would be a sure sign.

  “Snooks sent them out for cleaning,” said Nigel at the same time that Nicola said, “Oh, up in the attic.”

  Maddy’s fingernails pricked. Lying pureblood vampires!

  “Eeeeeee—Madison! Get home right this instant and set the table.” Maddy’s mother had suddenly echolocated her in a sonic blast that made Maddy jump.

  “Gotta dash, but I’ll be back,” Maddy promised. She grabbed her coat and prepared to flee.

  “Finally! And the door is always locked, neighbor,” said Nicola at the same time Nigel told her, twitchingly, “Next time, we will visit you.”

  Except that they didn’t. Over the next few days, Maddy trained her binoculars so often on the von Krik house that she thought her eyeballs would pop out. She even spied from bed, though her window view picked up just a shadowy triangle of the portrait gallery, where neither von Krik cared to tread.

  “And they do everything by candlelight, and they don’t have television,” Maddy mentioned a few nights later during a family supper when the subject of the von Kriks came up—which it often did, since this was her favorite subject, by far.

  “The whole point of moving to the New World is that you no longer want to hunt or be hunted,” said Hudson. “You’ve really got to leave those poor Kriks alone so they can get on with their noneternal lives.”

  “If they’re here in peace, they should want to be friends,” argued Maddy. “We could talk about the Old World days.”

  “Even if you get nostalgic for those times, others might not feel the same way,” Hudson argued back. “I, for one, hate to be reminded about how we stayed immortal. Especially now that I’ve gone vegan. No wonder they’re hiding from you, Maddy.”

  “‘You say you love; but with a smile / Cold as sunrise in September,’” piped up Lexie.

  Maddy frowned. Were Nigel and Nicola hiding from her? How would she slay them if they didn’t even want to be friends?

  “We’re hearing a lot of glum quotes from you these days, Lex.” Their father stood at his end of the table, carving up the watermelon. “Let’s try to liven things up here. How about we play our new demo, and you kids tell us what you think?” He and their mother had just returned from band practice, which always put them in a cheerful mood.

  Their mom cranked up the new Dead Ringers tune on the sound system as the others eagerly passed their plates around, but the mushy pink fruit soured Maddy’s appetite. Now that she knew the pleasure of raw steak, raw steak was all she wanted.

  Grainy watermelon could not compete. She pushed her plate away.

  Lexie was only licking at her fruit, too.

  Their mother was a wise old bat who missed little. Her nose ring glinted as she turned to appraise each daughter. “Here’s one girl with feverish eyes and another with feverish cheeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re both in love.”

  “Ah, love.” Their father smiled. “Children, mark the last day of February on your calendar. That’s your mother’s and my three hundred ninety-fifth wedding anniversary. We’re planning a big party.”

  “1612. Such a romantic year.” Their mother batted her spiky eyelashes.

  “Ick.” Hudson spat a seed into his napkin. “Parents in love.”

  “Ick,” Maddy agreed. Though Maddy didn’t know anyone else’s folks who were in such perfect harmony as hers. Then again, nobody else had parents who wore matching black nail polish and could charge such huge fees at Wander Wag, their dog-walking service, because all dogs were so obedient under their instinctive care.

  Lexie was quiet. After kitchen cleanup, she excused herself to bed. Maddy swooped to every window, spying on each angle of the von Krik house. She attempted echolocating them—if they were bats, especially vampire bats, surely they’d lob over an answer, it was only good manners. But her messages diluted like mist into the void.

  Defeated, Maddy performed her nightly chore, filling all twenty-two of the apartment’s humidifiers that cooled the air and kept the family’s thin skin from drying out while they slept. Then she dropped off her daily store of seeds with Hudson before joining Lexie in their shared bedroom, where she found her sister winding her hair into sponge rollers.

  “What are you
doing?”

  “Mina Pringle has beautiful curly hair. She’s my opposite, which probably means she’s irresistible.” Lexie sighed. “Tell me what I look like, Maddy. Be honest, but lyrical.”

  “Let’s see. Your eyes are dreamy, brown as bittersweet chocolate. Your hair is black as wet tar. Your ears poing out like Mom’s. Your nose squinks up like Dad’s.”

  “That’s how you look, too,” said Lexie. “Except that you’re really short, with a chin like a spade, and your eyes are too wide-awake for dreams.”

  “Hudson’s the hottie,” Maddy conceded. “You’re a fraction cuter than I am, maybe, but most people have to get to know us to like us. And I personally think that Hudson’s too handsome. People’s knees shake when he walks by.”

  Lexie bolted another sponge onto the top of her head. “I only want one pair of knees to shake when I walk by.”

  “Oh, yeah? Whose?”

  Her sister wilted against the headboard and made a woeful clickity sound in her throat. Maddy hadn’t heard Lexie make that noise since their last visit to Père-Lachaise cemetery in Paris, when she visited the grave of doomed rock poet Jim Morrison.

  Now Lexie gave Maddy a whole earful of Dylan Easterby, including the peso story and Mina’s threat. “So I hatched a secret scheme,” Lexie ended.

  “Which is?”

  “I texted Dylan a poem inviting him to the Midwinter Social.”

  “Wow. Great secret scheme.” Untrue. Most kids did not like poems. In fact, Maddy knew only one kid who did, and her name was Lexington.

  “Do you want to read it? It’s an original sonnet.”

  “Maybe later. Did Dylan text you back?”

  Her sister squirmed. “Not yet.”

  Maddy thought. “Idea. When you’re around Dylan, do more peso-catching. I think it’s the bat stunts that spark him up more than the sonnets.”

  “Bat stunts? No way. Mina’s way too watchful. I’ll have to rely on my regular human-y charms. Besides, acting batty goes against everything Mom and Dad always say. Remember, the Argos could be anywhere, watching to make sure we don’t show off.”

  Maddy flicked her bladed fingers. She’d heard it all a hundred times before. In her opinion, the Argos sounded like another one of her parents’ scare tactics, like the one they told the kids about how watching too much TV would make them go blind.

  Once Lexie had settled into her Dylany dreams, Maddy stole out to the family room, where she found her Magic Markers and her parents’ shirt cardboards that they saved from the dry cleaner’s. Maddy’s parents liked to wear their T-shirts starch-pressed so that people could easily read the advertisements silk-screened onto them. The ads were either for Wander Wag, the Dead Ringers, or the Candlewick, depending on their mood.

  All night, Maddy worked, right until she heard Hudson get up.

  The next day was perfect with a cloudless, chilly sunshine. As soon as school let out, Maddy headed to the von Krik house. She gave a courtesy knock before using the skeleton key to let herself in.

  The von Kriks were slumped together in their darkened den playing backgammon. As soon as she saw Maddy, Nicola started to suck on her necklace beads.

  “Ahoy, neighbors,” Maddy chirped. “Miss me?”

  “Of course not. We’ve been terribly busy,” said Nicola at the same time that Nigel said, “Little Madison, how did you get into our house?”

  “The door was open. Look, I brought gifts.” Maddy held up her shirt-cardboard portraits—one for each Krik. She was very happy to see that the cardboards truly captured the Kriks’ likeness. So she was hurt by Nicola’s next question.

  “Who are these people?” Nicola’s voice was thin with mistrust.

  “Surprise! They are you.” Maddy waved the cardboards closer. “I drew you each a portrait.”

  At that, both von Kriks hissed. Their spindly hands covered their faces. “You made us so ugly,” whimpered Nigel. “So old. Worse than our portraits in the attic!”

  “Old and ugly? Not at all. Look again, in the natural light.” Maddy knew that purebloods were a hundred times more sensitive to light than hybrids. She ran to a window and yanked open the dusty drapes. Sunlight flooded in. She held up the portraits again.

  The von Kriks writhed. Nigel dropped to the ground. Nicola hid her face with a pillow. “Close the drapes!”

  “What’s the matter?” As if she didn’t know.

  “We’re allergic to sunshine!” Nigel kicked his brittle legs.

  “We have polymorphic light eruption disorder!” Nicola wrung her bony hands.

  “Sunshine is loaded with vitamin D. It’ll make you feel so good.” Maddy cackled. “Should I bring you some water? You’re both looking a touch dehydrated.” She allowed herself another tiny cackle. A light-headedness was beginning to fill her head, a wonderful feeling that she had experienced as a hybrid in the Old World the first time she’d too enthusiastically bitten and slayed a wild duck. That had been a splendid night, a feast for all. For most fruit hybrids, slaying was extremely distasteful work, even for the tiny amount of blood they needed to stay eternal. But not for Maddy. After that duck, Maddy had taken over the family hunting—of mice, rats, birds, and once even a deer. Maddy never imagined that she could possibly feel quite so untamed again as that breathless night in the Old World.

  Until now.

  Now Maddy watched as Nigel rolled under the sofa. Nicola was coughing up phlegm. Both von Kriks were moaning and wheezing and looked to be extremely uncomfortable. She knew she should stop holding up the portraits, but the von Kriks seemed to bring out her most deadly, secret slayer’s instinct.

  “Ahem!”

  Maddy whipped around. Uh-oh. Snooks. And by the grim look in his lizard eye, Maddy knew he’d figured out she meant the von Kriks nothing but real harm.

  Lexie

  5

  MASK OF NIGHT

  Dylan finally answered Lexie’s text sonnet with one line. It was not yes. It was not no.

  It was: LEX U R XLNT.

  By then, everyone knew that Dylan Easterby and Mina Pringle were going to the Midwinter Social. Together.

  Whenever Lexie thought about her dumb sonnet, she wanted to drop and roll and roll until she’d rolled herself under a rock, where she would then live out the rest of her human life as a love-spurned hermit.

  Dylan’s kindness only added to her misery. Like the way he always called out “Hey, L.L.,” in homeroom. Or, when he was standing beside her in chemistry lab, “Look, I’m nexty Lexty.” Or when, after lunch, he’d offered her a section of his tangerine. “And all my tangerine seeds, too. I know you collect ’em.” The crowning humiliation was when Dylan downloaded Lexie’s phone number with her own personal ring tone from a Dead Ringers tune.

  “He just did that because he pities me,” Lexie confided to her best friend, Pete Stubbe. “He thinks I’m an oversized octopus.”

  “More like you’re overreacting. No doubt Mina asked Dylan to the Social first, and Dylan said yes because he’s a gentleman, not a cad.” Pete’s deep yellow eyes and thick thatch of silvery blond hair gave him an unusual look. This, plus his shyness, caused most kids to keep their distance from him. To Lexie, though, Pete was good old Pete, who always saved her a seat, and who loved famous duels as much as Lexie loved doomed poets. They’d been best friends for years, even though Pete’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Stubbe, didn’t like Lexie, no matter how polite she was to them.

  “‘I look at the hand you held, and the ache is hard to bear,’” Lexie quoted, even though Dylan had never held her hand.

  “You and I could go to the social together,” Pete said, his voice cracking. These days, Pete’s voice tended to pitch like a ship in the high seas, rolling low one moment and squeaky high the next. Right now it was squeaking, and he didn’t seem too happy about it. “If nothing better comes up for you, that is.”

  “Thanks.” Lexie hoped her smile didn’t look as dreary as she felt. Maddy’s advice niggled at her. If she’d acted battier, would she have
won Dylan’s heart? Would she have shaken his knees? Was it too late for tricks?

  Wednesdays after school, karate class was in the gym. Lexie had a passion for karate, and not just because Dylan and his friends took it. In the Old World, self-defense meant either a well-placed bite or a speedy takeoff. But karate called for real New World–y skills, as taught by their very cool music teacher, Ms. Katz—Sensei Katz during class—who was a black belt.

  On Wednesday, Lexie walked into the gym (or dojo, as it was called during karate hours) to find Mina and her friend Lucy encamped in the stands. Lexie frowned. These days Mina seemed to follow Dylan everywhere, clinging like a staticky sock to his smallest activity.

  Centuries change, mused Lexie, but drippy girls never do.

  Lexie waved to Pete, who was also in the bleachers and reading his favorite book, The Three Musketeers. Then she took her place on the mat. She ignored Mina, though she bet her lemonheaded enemy was laughing over Lexie’s long feet.

  Sensei Katz stood in front and led the class creed. “I seek to adjust to every situation, good or bad, which I may meet in my daily life!” Lexie usually shouted this motto to get her energy up. Except this afternoon, with Mina watching from above, her voice sounded whispery-crickety in her own ears—which she imagined poinging out like teacup handles through her knife-flat black hair.

  “Let’s start with side thrust kicks,” instructed Sensei.

  “Eee-ah!” Dylan kicked one out right then. Not good, but a bunch of kids clapped anyway.

  From somewhere in the city, Maddy had located Lexie and was bouncing a message: “Do it, Wimpus Leximus. Don’t worry about the Argos—I’m sure they have better things to do than hang out at beginner karate class. How about trying the ol’ knee trick?”

  The knee trick was an easy one because all the Livingstones’ knees bent both backward and forward. Nothing special, unless you were a pureblood human. Then it might be considered a feat.

  Lexie caught Dylan’s eye. Though he was far away and surrounded by his usual posse, he saw her and smiled. Oh, those teeth. Not a snaggly one in the bunch. Yes, she’d do it! A knee trick was essentially harmless. And on the remote chance an Arg was creeping around the dojo, looking for a hybrid crime, Lexie would simply explain that her knee had popped by accident.