"Okay, I'll do it. When do we go?"
"As soon as you're ready,” Alexandria replied.
Uncle Vince nodded. “Good. I need to see Tamara as soon as possible."
* * * *
"Hey man, great moves out there today."
Thomas gave the boy a smile and mumbled some thanks, then re-buried his gaze in the punch bowl. The red liquid carried the telltale kick of one of Corwyn's spikings, but he filled up his glass anyway.
He took a swig of the bitter brew. His eyes met Brendan's in the crowd of students dancing in Jane Ferrick's living room, and his friend grinned at him. Brendan yelled something, but Thomas couldn't hear over the thumping music. He raised his glass in salute anyway. Brendan nodded and turned back into the strobe light.
"The girl's a vampire,” Thomas mumbled into the music. “But she's fighting it, and I'm somehow curing her. Maybe because I'm really an angel in a human body. Don't tell anyone, okay?"
He took a long pull from his drink. The more fun the party gets, the more irrelevant it feels.
He made his way around the punch table to find the bathroom again. But as he shouldered his way through the partiers he saw Mariah dancing in the next room.
She moved easily, happily, but with a reserved smile that reminded Thomas of someone crawling into a comfortable bed after a long day of work. A white dress hugged her curves, but not immodestly. What about Mariah?
Her eyes found his. She smiled broadly and moved to him, her golden curls bouncing with each step.
She touched his shoulder and shouted over the music, “You should be happier!"
Thomas tacked on a smile. “Yeah, I know."
Mariah put a finger in the air, then took a step into the kitchen. After a moment, she emerged with a confused, shirtless Owes.
"Brian,” she yelled, “what are you doing after high school?"
"Dude,” Owes replied, “I got no idea. I guess I'll get a job or something."
"Yeah? Does not knowing bother you?"
"Nah. I just know I won't have to go to school anymore."
Mariah smiled again. “Thanks, Brian. You can go now!"
"Whatever, crazy Chiquita!” He disappeared back into the kitchen.
Thomas shook his head. He appreciated what Mariah was trying, but he couldn't pretend that Owes's oblivion made him feel any better. “I wish it was that simple."
She frowned at him, then grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the kitchen, out a sliding glass door and onto the vacant back porch. Low floodlights shone onto the swimming pool, giving the water an eerie blue glow.
Mariah closed the door behind them, cutting the music's volume in half, and rubbed her bare arms to keep warm. “C'mon, Tom. You probably haven't noticed, but the best party in history is happening in there. Enjoy this moment while it's here."
"I know, I'm sorry. But it all feels, you know, irrelevant.” Thomas stopped himself. The jungle juice was loosening his tongue, but he had to make sure Warrenna's secret didn't slip.
Mariah looked at her feet for a moment. Her voice was quiet. “I think I know what this is about. Can you do something for me?"
He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure."
"Follow me inside. It's too cold out here to talk."
She grasped his sweaty hand and led him through the door. They snaked their way through the poker game in the kitchen, through the dark den's kung-fu movie, and up some hardwood stairs.
Mariah opened a door and flipped a light switch. “This is Jane's sister's room,” she whispered. “She moved out a long time ago."
The room was decorated sparsely. A bed with a burgundy comforter, a dark wood chest of drawers, and a wooden rocking chair were the only furniture Thomas saw. Mariah sat on the bed and gestured for Thomas to do the same. The music thumped through his feet, but otherwise the room was still.
"Listen,” Mariah said, “you know what my earliest memory of you is? It's on the playground in elementary school. I can still see you yelling at Matt McDougal to get off the swing because ‘Muh-wiah didn't get a tuhn.’ And you know what? That's the way it's always been with you. I didn't realize it until recently, but you have always thought of everyone else first."
"Not always."
"Name once."
"Well, I've been kind of self-absorbed all night."
"That may be. But do you know why?"
I've got a pretty good idea. Before he could respond, Mariah continued.
"It's because all this talk about the future, and college, and what we're going to do with ourselves has forced you to think about yourself. And you hesitate, because it doesn't feel right. But I think you're going to keep feeling overwhelmed and swept away by life until you take a good hard look at yourself and find out what it is you really want."
Thomas sighed. There's also the angel question running through my head. That might make me feel a bit overwhelmed. But I can't tell you that, can I?
"I'll make it a little easier for you,” Mariah continued. “Let me tell you what I want. I want to go to SAU and experience life out on my own, get an education, and have some fun without going totally nuts. I want to take on this new stage of life, and I want to do that with you."
She took his hand in hers. “I want you to be by my side as we do all these new things in that new place,” she said. “And do you know why?"
Thomas shook his head.
Her smile returned, and suddenly her eyes softened and began to shine. “Because I love you, Thomas. And there's nobody I'd rather plunge into the unknown with than you."
Thomas's heart slowly thudded as he stared, disbelieving, at the tear slipping down Mariah's perfect cheek. Did she really just say that she loved him?
"Okay, Thomas,” she said. “Now you have to tell me what you want. I have to know, right now."
Thomas basked in Mariah's easy smile. Have I ever wanted anyone else to say those words to me?
And then he moved his hand behind her neck and drew her into a long, deep kiss. She pulled him closer, and his blood ignited as he filled his lungs with her sweet scent.
They fell onto the bed and she climbed on top of him, holding the kiss as her body rested on his.
And then, through the haze of hormone and heat, Thomas saw a pair of sad gray eyes. The sorrow tumbled down on him like an avalanche, heavy and inevitable. The scent of ground black pepper stung his nose and eyes.
Mariah can't love me. She doesn't know who I really am.
"No."
Mariah cocked her head. “No?"
"It's not right."
"Sure it is.” Her breath was warm on his neck. “I haven't had that much to drink. This is all me here. This is what I want. This is who I want. Or whom. Whatever.” She giggled.
"No.” Thomas's hands knuckled his burning eyes. “You don't understand. You're beautiful, and the only one I've ever really wanted, but it's not right."
She finally slid off him, chin quivering. “Why not? What's wrong?"
The air was thick with pepper. When his hands moved from his eyes, tears spilled down his cheeks.
"I can't. I don't think I'm human."
Mariah called his name as he fled the room, but Thomas didn't look back. He stumbled down the stairs, turned his ankle, banged his knee into something. He ran, but the sadness stayed with him, like a film covering every sticky inch of skin, or a poisoned gas polluting every breath he took. He felt like he'd robbed a hundred struggling families or broken a hundred promises to his mother.
It was when he fell into the driver's seat of his car that the strangeness of his behavior finally dawned on him. A dream scenario with Mariah just played out for him, but he ran from her like she was the creature of the night!
Shivers ran up his sides. Why did I run away? Why did I think it was so wrong?
He couldn't remember. Or maybe he never knew.
He pressed his forehead into the icy steering wheel.
"What's happening to me?"
Chapter 12
Thoma
s held his breath as he crossed the threshold into St. Stephen's, and then blew it out when he realized he felt no different.
He slowly dipped his finger into the font of holy water on the wall. Exactly the same slickness he remembered. He let the water touch his forehead as he made the sign of the cross. Nothing special happened.
The oaken bas-reliefs depicting the Stations of the Cross hung quietly on the walls. The statue of the Virgin Mary gazed emptily from beneath her midnight-blue habit.
Thomas frowned and followed his parents down an aisle. St. Stephen's had no pews. Instead, rows of padded chairs were carefully arranged in two sections, one left, one right. He couldn't remember ever missing a Sunday service.
Thomas massaged his aching temple and took a seat beside his father. He had half-expected the holy water to glow, or the crucifix to radiate a cool breeze that only he could feel. But everything about the church felt exactly the same as last week.
If I were an angel, wouldn't all this holy stuff feel different? Like it was better?
The left side of Thomas's face thumped painfully as the familiar ceremony moved along. He tried saying the prayers and responses more earnestly then ever before, but nothing happened. Eventually he concluded that if he were going to feel anything different, the time would come at communion. He supposed the body and blood of Christ might react to the divinity inside him now that he was aware of it.
Thinking about blood made him wonder how Warrenna would feel in a place like St. Stephen's. Would she be frightened, angry or impassive? Would the holy water burn her skin like in the movies? Would she cower from the crucifix like it was a loaded gun?
Would those weary gray eyes flash red?
Thomas winced as he recalled the party, how he ran away from Mariah after seeing those same eyes. But what were Warrenna's eyes doing in his head? Why did they come up at the worst possible time?
Replaying last night's events passed the time, but Thomas focused on the present when he noticed the man walking to the podium to deliver the homily. He wore the same white suit Thomas had seen in the art hallway at Chiricahua High. He glanced at the song list: “Today's homily given by guest speaker Derek O'Neal."
The man cleared his throat, nodded at the priest, then looked across the congregation with small blue eyes. “Good morning. I come to you today, brothers and sisters, to talk about our young people. As you know, too many turn away from the Church when they reach their volatile years. Their rudderless souls make our young people lonely, and they become easy prey for the wolves that feed on stray lambs."
Just for an instant, so fast that Thomas didn't think anyone else saw, the man looked at him, then back to the congregation before continuing.
"I can think of no better example of this than a poor soul I encountered a few years ago in Maldecido. His name was Jimmy, and he came to Southern Arizona University from a tiny town in Indiana. He was drawn by the sunny climate, the pretty girls, and the promise of something bright and different.
"Now, Jimmy was a little naïve. And he was lonely, being so far away from home. But he found some people that seemed friendly. They also seemed to share his devout Christian beliefs, and that was comforting to him. But Jimmy didn't know that he'd fallen in with a cult.
"This particular cult laced their refreshments with powerful hallucinogens, and from his journals I know that Jimmy had false, miraculous-seeming visions. He thought he could heal the wounded simply by thinking about them. He claimed he could visit other worlds, speak to humans on other planets in the form of an angel, spreading the Lord's word to millions and millions of what he called ‘other souls.’”
Thomas's eyeballs turned to ice. Angel?
"Jimmy became obsessed with this mission of his. He dropped out of school and cut off all contact with his family back in Indiana. Three months later, some hikers found his emaciated body in the desert. Jimmy was dead. He was only eighteen."
O'Neal pounded the podium with his fist. “We must work harder to keep our youth in the Christian community! Our young people are so desperate to feel special, to feel part of something, that they buy fully into the deceptions handed them by frauds. Too many young people have been programmed to fulfill the desires of the demons in Maldecido, Phoenix, and Los Angeles."
Scattered murmurings greeted his words. Some of the group looked confused; others nodded as though they agreed. All turned rapt attention on him as he said, “Take the time to show your sons and daughters that they are loved, that they are children of God, even if they think that's uncool. When they are lured by a cult, they will be armed with the love of their community and of their God, and they will easily repel any charlatan's advances."
O'Neal's tiny eyes fixed on Thomas. “And if you think Bascomville's small size protects it from evil, know that I have seen evidence of that very same cult in the halls of your own Chiricahua High School."
There were gasps from the congregation now, and Thomas's blood ran cold. Could a drug be responsible for that episode with the painting in the hallway? Could it have caused the missing time on Wednesday?
"So communicate with your children,” O'Neal finished. “Love them, and bring them to worship. Let the light of our Lord keep away the servants of darkness."
What O'Neal was saying didn't make sense. Warrenna originally told him to stay away, and neither she nor her family had asked for anything from him. They seemed to be nothing like the cult O'Neal was talking about. But they certainly made him feel special.
Thomas gnawed on his cheek. Feeling all glowy inside makes all of this vampire stuff feel natural. But where were those feelings now? Where were they last night? Could they have come from a drug, one that was wearing off?
O'Neal sat, communion began, and Thomas took his wafer and sip of wine. The sacrament felt exactly the same as every other time he went through the motions. He returned to his seat and stared at his shoes. The mass was nearly over and he had no answers, no special feelings he could use to figure out what he was. Just more questions.
* * * *
Warrenna woke with a gasp, recoiling from whatever it was grasping her shoulder. After a couple of blinks, she saw a throbbing, crimson vision of her mother standing before her.
"Renna,” Alexandria said firmly. “It's all right. You are safe."
Warrenna wiped her brow and told the beast inside her to go away. I just fell asleep when I left the great room. We are safe here.
She sat on a black tile floor, her back propped against a wall. A large kitchen spread out before her, clean white counters and a center-island with a sink. Muffled hums filtered in through the door to the Great Room, and then Warrenna remembered.
The circle of thirteen, hands joined, surrounded Necole's comatose form on the bed. She couldn't say how many hours she chanted with the Orphans, her muscles twitching from the chain of sparks flowing up one arm and down the other. By the time she finally stopped, her knees were wobbly and her calves throbbed.
She yawned. Her back ached from the hard tile that had been her bed. “What time is it, Mom?"
"Nearly ten-thirty.” A tall man held her elbow, supporting her. The man, who Warrenna remembered was named Grant, had dark sideburns down to his jaw and the most gorgeous green eyes she had ever seen.
He smiled and bowed his head reverently. Warrenna rolled her eyes.
"How are you feeling?” Alexandria asked.
"Okay, I guess, Mom. I still feel that weird warmth in my fingers."
"Just residue from the cleansing ritual. It's harmless, and will fade in time.” She gestured for Grant to help her daughter to her feet.
Warrenna refused his hand and rose on her own. “How's Necole?"
Alexandria looked away and drew her lips together. “Not much better. I'm afraid we just postponed the inevitable. Tamara is still working on her, but your aunt is distracted by something that has come up regarding your friend."
"You mean Thomas?"
Alexandria nodded. “Vincent saw something in his trance, an
d Tamara agrees that it needs to be investigated right away. But she can't leave Necole. Do you think Thomas would come here if you asked?"
Warrenna frowned. She pictured Thomas surrounded by Orphans like Grant who treated her like some kind of freaky savior. Then there was the chanting in the next room. “What's wrong?” she asked. “Can't you tell me what's wrong?"
"We're not entirely sure."
Warrenna folded her arms. “Tell me, or I won't ask him."
"Very well.” Alexandria shifted her weight to lean more on Grant. “We don't want to alarm him, but Vincent saw suggestions in Thomas's mind that didn't appear to belong. There are signs that someone or something is trying to control his thoughts. Tamara should be able to tell what has him just by looking at him."
Warrenna's heart caught in her throat. “Do you think it's a vampire?"
Alexandria shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I suppose it could be. It takes a powerful creature to influence humans like this. But Bascomville is a quiet area. That's why we moved there."
Warrenna ground her teeth. She didn't want to pull Thomas into her world of hiding, passwords and worrying about what supernatural beast held a grudge against her family. But it sounds like he might already be here.
"He's probably very confused right now,” Alexandria said. “And if a vampire is responsible, Thomas will be suffering some unexplainable mental anguish."
"Fine,” Warrenna relented. “But let's say he is under something's control. Are we going to help him get out of it?"
Alexandria's frail body shook through a coughing fit. “Of course.” she finally said. “If we must, we will kill whatever is controlling him. We owe him that much for helping you."
"All right, I'll call. I think I left my phone in my bag."
But Alexandria handed her a different phone. “His number is already dialed. Just hit Send."
* * * *
Thomas slumped onto the couch. What I need is a basketball game.
He clicked the TV on, untucked his shirt, put his feet up and prepared to spend an hour or two thinking about something other than vampires, angels, or dreams.
He found a game competitive enough to keep his attention and relaxed for a few minutes. That is, until a pretty cheerleader with blonde hair came on the screen.
The Cure for the Curse Page 11