Blood Type

by Melissa Luznicky Garrett

  I scanned the place again for John but didn’t see him. I wondered if he’d already left for the night and was on his way home. Maybe we’d totally missed each other. I dug my cell out of my purse to check for missed calls or texts, but there were none.

  Some of the guys in front of the TV were getting riled up over something that had happened in the game, and there was a lot of ugly name-calling going on. I was thinking that I should just get up and leave—I really didn’t belong in a place like The Marauder’s Cove—when I looked over and caught the eye of the guy at the piano. He’d obviously been staring at me, and I wondered for how long. He had this sort of Rastafarian, struggling-artist look about him, not at all my type. I wasn’t into dreds, especially on skinny white guys.

  He rose from the bench and I looked down, finding myself suddenly very busy with the contents of my purse. I counted to three-Mississippi, half expecting him to sit down across from me at any second and start flirting, but he didn’t. I finally looked up, and my heart leaped into my throat.

  The strange cowboy I had once run into downtown, still clad in his black trench coat and hat, had his hand in the middle of the guy’s chest. Wyatt Earp, or whatever his name was, shook his head at the piano player. The guy tried to push past, but Wyatt stopped him with a shove that sent the other man rocking back on his heels. I saw the cowboy’s lips moving, even though I couldn’t hear what he was saying. The piano player looked once at me and nodded, and then he stalked off in the opposite direction.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I jumped in my seat as John set the glass of Coke down on the table in front of me. “Jesus, John. You scared me half to death,” I said with a laugh, my hand going to my chest to still my racing heart.

  John looked down at me. He had a gray bucket tucked under one arm and a soggy dishtowel slung across his shoulder. “I told you I would call you when I got off. I’m a little busy at the moment.”

  I looked around the place and then back up at him. “You weren’t kidding when you said this place is intense.” I laughed again, trying to make a joke of it.

  “Yep,” he said. He didn’t sound at all happy to see me, which gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “I guess I didn’t totally believe you,” I said. He still looked mad so I added, “Hey, you want to hear a coincidence?”

  John sighed and slid into the seat opposite mine. “Sure.”

  “That man over there?” I raised my chin in the direction of Wyatt Earp. “That cowboy? I ran smack into him once. It was so embarrassing. I can’t believe he’s here. I actually thought he was homeless.”

  “That’s Josiah,” John said, without bothering to turn around. “He’s sort of like a bouncer.”

  “Well, I’m not sure how seriously people will take him, not with the way he’s dressed.”

  John finally cracked a smile. “That’s just Josiah. And people would be foolish to underestimate him. Anyway,” he said, getting up again, “I have to get back to work. I’m definitely stuck here for a while. We just got in a fresh shipment.”

  “Okay.” I got up, too, leaving my drink untouched. I pulled out my wallet, but John put his hand on mine to stop me.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you covered.”

  I shoved my wallet back into my purse. “Thanks. So you’ll call me tomorrow?”

  “Definitely.”

  We said goodbye and I made my way to the exit. Just outside the door, Josiah was leaning casually against the wall. Our eyes met and he nodded his head, touching the brim of his hat with his free hand. “See you around, Blake.”

  I nodded back but didn’t say anything, only quickened my pace to my car. It was only after I’d gotten home and was on the verge of falling asleep that I replayed the scenes from The Marauder’s Cove in my head. And the part that stuck with me the most was, how in the world did Josiah know my name?

  October 27

  I made the five-minute drive up the hill to John’s house in three and took the steps two at a time. I pounded my fist against the door, and it swung open a few unbearable seconds later.

  “Blake,” Ian said, genuine surprise in his voice. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “I’m not here as your personal blood bank, so just keep the fangs away from me.” I pushed my way inside.

  “Well, ye look and smell like a horse’s arse. I canna think even the most hungry of my kind would want a taste of your blood.” His grin widened. “You’re like a great slab of molded meat.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “So if you’re not here for my pleasure, why are you here? You broke wee John’s heart when you sent him away. Have ye changed your mind then?”

  With every word that came out of Ian’s mouth, I felt a little less sorry about ratting him out to Josiah. “Don’t you feel the least bit sorry for the position you’ve put me in? Do you feel any remorse at all?”

  Ian leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, regarding me with narrowed eyes. “I do, to be sure, but only for myself and my own weakness for blood. I couldn’t help it at the time. I had a terrible hunger.”

  A flush of anger rose to my cheeks, and I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind. But Ian cut me off before I could get a word in edgewise. “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise, aye? John loves you, in case you didn’t know it. Perhaps what I did could be seen as speeding things along between the pair of you. Maybe a little thanks is in order.”

  I gritted my teeth, unmoved by his pretty speech and disgusted by his excuses. “Surely John told you I have no intention of letting him turn me. I want no part of living in your world.”

  “I can see as that’s true,” he said, gesturing at my wilted hair and pale, sweaty face. “And for what reason? Because ye think we’re monsters!” Ian laughed out loud. “I’ll tell you what. I have seen more atrocities suffered at the hands of humans than I ever have from any one of my kind. I honestly don’t know what he sees in you. It’s you who’s lucky to have him.”

  We were silent then, each of us glaring at the other from opposite ends of the foyer. Ian broke the silence first. “If you care nothing for John, why’d ye come back?”

  I had every intention of leaving without saying a word about Josiah, but the truth of the matter was I did care about John. I banged my fist against the paneled wall in frustration. “I’ve just come from speaking to a man named Josiah.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “And who, pray tell, is Josiah?”

  “He’s what your kind calls a Watcher.”

  The grin fell at once from Ian’s mouth. His skin blanched, and a range of emotions flitted across his face. He closed the distance between us and grabbed my arms, his fingers digging into my skin.

  “A Watcher?” He shook me then, so hard that my teeth clacked together in my mouth. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done, ye wee bitch?”

  August 6

  I twirled back and forth in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, making sure that I looked perfect from every angle and that the hem of my dress hadn’t got tucked into my underwear. The doorbell rang, and I froze.

  John.

  Before I could rush downstairs to head off my parents, I heard footsteps in the foyer. A brief moment later the familiar tenor of my father’s voice drifted up to me. I took a deep breath and held it, listening as intently as I could.

  “You must be John,” my dad said. He used his accountant’s voice; firm and business-like.

  “I am.”

  “Nice to finally put a face to the name,” Dad said. “Please come in. I believe Blake is upstairs getting ready and doing whatever it is girls do before they go on a date.”

  John laughed. “Thank you, Mr. Ehlert. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your wife already, but it’s nice to meet you, too. You have a beautiful home, by the way.”

  I smiled and rolled my eyes, wiggling my feet into my red patent-leather sandals and pulling the straps in place arou
nd my ankles. A part of me wondered if it was just natural politeness, and another part wondered if John had discovered the benefit of buttering up a girl’s parents.

  I grabbed my red cardigan, the one with the shimmery sequins sewed on front, just in case the night grew cool. Finally, I checked my make-up in the mirror one last time and then skipped down the stairs to meet John.

  Dad let out a long whistle when he caught sight of me. “You look like a movie star.”

  I smiled. “Stop it, Daddy. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “You look really nice,” John said. “I should be taking you to a fancy restaurant instead of the state fair. We can change our plans if you want.”

  “Not a chance,” I said. “I’m excited. I haven’t been to the fair in ages. As long as you buy me funnel cake, I’ll be happy.”

  “Just make sure you eat the funnel cake after you’ve ridden the Ferris wheel, and not before. Remember that one time?” My dad laughed at the memory and turned to John. “Blake is extremely susceptible to motion sickness, if you know what I mean.” He winked and nudged John in the side with his elbow; a bonding moment, I supposed.

  “Daddy!” I cast a stricken glance at John. Leave it to my dad to mortify me in front of my date. “I am not prone to motion sickness. I only . . . got sick . . . because you wouldn’t stop rocking the car. And anyway, I was much younger then. Now where’s Mom so I can tell her goodbye?”

  The amused look lingered on my dad’s face, but he thumbed over his shoulder. “She’s out by the pool taking an extended lunch break. I’ve got to get back to the office myself. I’m working late, so I might not see you until tomorrow. You two have a great time.”

  “Okay. Bye, Daddy.” I leaned in so he could kiss my cheek. He smelled of Old Spice and pipe tobacco, two of my favorite scents.

  “You seem really close to your dad,” John said as he followed me down the hall to the kitchen.

  I smiled. “He’s good to me. I can’t complain.”

  We found my mom on an inflatable chair in the middle of the pool, drifting aimlessly with the fingers of one hand trailing in the water and a stack of papers in the other. She rarely took an actual break from work. “I hope you’re wearing sunscreen,” I called out to her.

  She looked up and pushed back the wide brim of her slouch hat, squinting through the sun at me. “I am, as a matter of fact. How do you think I stay looking so young?” She sat up and began paddling her way to the edge of the pool, careful not to splash water on her papers.

  “It’s so nice to see you again,” she said to John. “How are you?”

  “I’m very well, Mrs. Kinsley. Great day for a swim.”

  “John and I are leaving now,” I said. “Remember we’re going to the fair?”

  “Of course I do,” Mom said. “That’s sounds nice. Just mind your curfew.”

  “About that,” I said as I shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you think I can have an extended curfew, just this once?”

  Mom handed her papers to me and then rolled off the edge of the inflatable chair with the grace of a synchronized swimmer, hardly making a splash or getting herself wet. “Blake, if I extend your curfew tonight, just this once, you’ll end up asking me to do it again some other night. And quite honestly, this is the beginning of a very bad habit.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glared down at her. “Seriously, Mom. I’ve never missed curfew before. And when was the last time I even got in trouble? You know you can trust me.”

  “You should have left for the fair earlier,” Mom said with reproof. “You would have had more time.”

  “I’m afraid that was my fault,” John said. “I had to work. I only just got off an hour ago.”

  “Please, Mom.”

  “I promise to have her home at a reasonable hour, Mrs. Kinsley,” John chimed in. “But the fair is over an hour away. Once we factor in trying to find parking, we’ll be spending nearly three hours just getting there and back.”

  Mom’s top teeth sank into her lower lip as she stood in the shallow end of the pool contemplating. “I don’t know. We have rules for a reason.”

  “Just until midnight. That’s only two measly hours later than usual. Come on, Mom,” I said. “Pleeaase?”

  John ran a hand through his dark hair and flashed a thousand-watt grin. “Come on, Mrs. Kinsley. Say yes.”

  “Yes,” she said, throwing her hands up in defeat. She made her way to the steps and climbed out. John snagged a folded towel from the table and held it out to her.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I promise to take good care of your daughter.”

  She wrapped the towel around her waist and raised an eyebrow at him. “I like you, John, but that’s precisely what I’m afraid of.”

  “Mom!” My eyes flew wide open at the implication. I grabbed John’s hand and backed away before my mother could embarrass me even more.

  The fair was hot and loud and absolutely wonderful. Country music drifted from the bandstand, drum beats and guitar riffs growing louder and fading again, depending on which way the breeze blew. The clank, rattle, and asthmatic wheeze of carnival rides echoed all around us, punctuated by the squealing laughter of children as they pointed and dragged their hot and tired parents behind them to the next attraction.

  The air hung heavy with the mouthwatering aroma of piping hot corn dogs, salted popcorn, and deep-fried whatever-you-might-want on a stick. There was the sweet scent of funnel cakes frying in hot, bubbling oil and cotton candy swirled on cardboard cones. All of that overlaying the pungent reek of sweaty armpits and stinky feet.

  “This is awesome.” My cheeks ached from smiling so much. “I can’t believe Ian didn’t want to come with us.” The side of John’s mouth quirked, and I wondered if Ian had even been given much choice in the matter.

  “He assured me he could keep himself out of trouble by himself. Besides, this is supposed to be a date, remember?”

  “I know. I just feel bad thinking about Ian sitting all alone while we’re out having fun. I mean, he did come to see you.”

  “Don’t worry about him.” John grabbed my hand and linked his fingers with mine. “Where to first?”

  “I’ll take that funnel cake for starters,” I said. “And then maybe we could listen to whoever’s playing before going on any rides.”

  John squeezed my hand and bent down to kiss me. His lips tasted faintly sweet and made my entire mouth tingle. “You got it.”

  We stood in line for the funnel cakes, my back pressed against John’s chest and his arms wrapped snugly around my middle. The day was warm, but not too humid, and I could feel John’s dry heat radiating off his body through his faded jeans and t-shirt. He’d tucked a baseball cap in his back pocket, and he took it out, squeezing the brim until he was satisfied with the shape, before fitting it on his head.

  A group of girls stared at him and whispered to each other, twirling their hair and making eyes while trying to get his attention. I craned my head to speak softly in his ear. “Those girls over there think you’re cute.”

  His eyes cut to them, but the expression on his face remained impassive. He turned me around then and bent his face to mine in a kiss that left me struggling for breath. One of the girls snorted and muttered “jerk.”

  The brim of his baseball cap brushed my forehead, and I was at once reminded of the guys from the night before, the ones at The Marauder’s Cove watching the game. And thinking of The Marauder’s Cove made me think of the cowboy, Josiah.

  “So last night when I was leaving the bar,” I said, “that guy, Josiah, was outside.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “He said, ‘See you around, Blake.’ And it got me to wondering, how does he know my name?”

  John’s arms tightened around me briefly before relaxing again. He laughed in my ear and pressed his lips to my neck before answering. “I couldn’t keep to myself how completely awesome you are.”

  I blew a raspberry and punched him in the chest with my fist,
though not hard. “You’re so full of it.”

  John rubbed his chest, feigning hurt. Then he held up the three fingers of his right hand. “I’m not lying. Scout’s Honor.”

  I gave him a narrow look. “That’s actually very sweet. I like that you talk about me to your friends.”

  After I ate my funnel cake, of which John declined even one bite, we made our way to the bandstand. We found seats down front and clapped in time with the audience to a group of small girls dressed in short, poofy dresses, and boys in red, white, and blue suits, clogging frantically to “Mountain Music.” After they were done, a woman with long silver hair came on stage next. She played the mandolin and sang with an airy quality to her voice that made me think of woodland faeries and unicorns. But it was the next band—with their trio of guitar, violin, and banjo players—strumming their bluegrass funk, which really got the crowd on their feet.

  During one of the band’s slower songs, John grabbed my hand and pulled me close to him. We swayed in time to the music, my head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around me.

  “I could stay like this forever.” The words rushed out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I smashed my face into his shirt and cringed.

  John’s answering laugh rumbled in his chest. “Could you really? Tell me the truth.”

  I nodded without hesitation. “I could.”

  We danced until the last song in the set played and another band came on stage.

  “How about a spin on the Ferris wheel?” John asked. “I promise not to rock.”

  We left the grandstand and took off for the midway. Dusk had begun to settle by then, and the lights of the rides were just starting to twinkle on. A sort of magic permeated the air, like everything existed in a state of suspended reality. At that moment, I believed anything was possible.

  “Look how pretty it is!” I craned my neck to take in the awesome view of the Ferris wheel revolving at a leisurely pace, its red, white, and blue lights twinkling in the growing darkness.