Twice Bitten

by Diana Greenbird

  ‘My older brother, Michael, joined the navy. He was really swayed by McKinley’s speeches. A lot of our family’s powers came from emotion: reading it, manipulating it, but his was different.

  ‘Michael absorbed it – the fever. It was like he fed on whatever energy was around. And with everyone riled up about the war, it was only a matter of time before he started to act on it. He was wild and impulsive.’ Emerson’s throat bobbed. ‘He died a few years before I turned. Never cared for human politics after that.’

  The way he rounded off his speech, returning to my original question, made me feel like he was trying to move past the emotion that speaking about his family brought up.

  He’d had six sisters and a brother… maybe more than one brother? That was a lot of family, even for the late nineteenth century, surely. And he’d lost them all.

  ‘The closest I got to caring about politics was going to the White House with my grandma,’ I said, hoping to distract Emerson from the depressing mood I’d brought. ‘Dad’s only living family was his aunt, but she’d died around the same time he met my mom, so grandma was the only family we had. We’d see her over Christmas and a week in the summer. She lived in DC, near Annandale Community Park.

  ‘One of the only memories I have before they died was going on a tour of the White House. Grandma used to work there… I don’t remember what she did. I was too young to know her for anything other than being my grandma.’

  ‘Is it a good memory?’

  I thought back. Feeling the leathery skin of my grandma’s wrinkled hand swallowing mine; mom and dad walking in front of us, both holding hands, too. The memory only lasted long enough for mom to turn her head around to check on me, her blonde hair obscuring her eyes for a moment before she pushed it back, the ring I now wore on my finger glinting in the light.

  It wasn’t much of a memory. But it was their faces – all of them – with me, happy and alive. I had watched every one of them die. But in that memory, everything had been perfect.

  ‘Yeah, it was a good memory.’

  Since Emerson’d had practice early in the morning, he didn’t miss anything with rehearsals after school. I sat in the seats of the auditorium as Gi and Emerson rehearsed on stage with the other guys in Act Two.

  ‘It’s alright, Gazz, I wasn’t really angry,’ Gi said. ‘I just wanted you to suffer a bit, that’s all. I forgive you. I mean, we had only been going out for a day.’

  Gi’s acting had gotten better over the weeks we’d been rehearsing. She had a feel for the character now, and when she spoke it was almost like the lines were coming from her and not the script.

  Emerson, as always, was a natural. He was at ease on the stage as he was every aspect of high school life.

  I didn’t watch them. I was too busy surveying the audience for trouble. Especially during this scene as Gi’s character mentioned sleeping with another girl. Lisa hadn’t been too bad, actually. Particularly since Emerson had shot her down when she’d been asking him out on Emma’s behalf.

  SCARAMOUCHE

  Besides which, I’ve been meaning to confess something myself. Actually, I’ve had her too.

  Emerson’s face fell into a state of shock. I loved him acting as Galileo. It was funny to see him directing all his flirtation and jealousy towards someone else.

  GALILEO

  You’ve had sex with Meatloaf?!

  It was especially funny since Martha played Meatloaf. So not only was he crushing on his gay best friend, but they’d both screwed the girl who had “no time for boys”. Acting was hilarious.

  SCARAMOUCHE

  Yeah.

  POP

  Horny! Chick on chick love action! Tell us more!

  Pop was some guy who I didn’t even know the name of. He was friendly with Gi, and Emerson knew him like he seemed to know everyone else in the school. He was one of the guys who Martha always had to message a thousand times on the group chat to make sure he came to rehearsals.

  GALILEO

  But... but... when?

  SCARAMOUCHE

  That first time we went to the Hotel. Remember when she and I went off to swap clothes?

  POP

  I have had this fantasy!

  SCARAMOUCHE

  It was just a bit of messing about really, quite nice but I don’t think I’d bother with it again.

  POP

  Well blimey. That sure is rock n roll.

  SCARAMOUCHE

  Which is what she said.

  They continued through to the end of the scene, then went back on themselves to rehearse the bit where the bohemians were kidnapped and being brain washed. Emerson settled down in the seat next to me. He put his arms on the back of the chair, the tips of his fingers brushing the back of my hair.

  ‘I’ve been thinking-’

  ‘Don’t strain yourself too hard, love,’ Emerson teased.

  I gave him a withering stare.

  ‘How does it work, you being in high school?’ I asked. ‘Where does Gi think you live or where your parents are?’ The question hadn’t faded from my mind since lunch.

  I’d not asked Emerson why he was in high school and this was the closest I was coming to that question. It was sort of a gateway – if he answered this, maybe one day I’d be able to ask why he was here in the first place.

  Emerson took down one of his arms, not the one that was across the back of my chair. He brushed his thumb over his bottom lip, like he did sometimes when he was thinking. ‘You want to know?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s kind of why I asked.’

  ‘I’m emancipated,’ Emerson said, confirming a guess I’d had. ‘The where part you can find out yourself tonight if you want.’

  Our conversation was interrupted by the end of rehearsal. Ms Phillips clapped her hands, gave her “good job, guys” speech and we all went to pack up our things, returning to our groups of friends and saying goodbye for the night.

  Gi talked to a few of the other cast members, laughing. She didn’t nervously adjust her glasses once. At some point, she’d stopped thinking that this was going to end badly. Maybe Emerson and I had been doing a good job at Gi Will Rock You, but I supposed we wouldn’t be able to really know until the night of the play. That had been the part she’d dreaded after all: the audience.

  ‘Are you still interested, love?’ Emerson asked, as we all collected our things.

  ‘Interested?’ Jenny’s ears pricked up.

  She was dead set on finding proof me and Emerson were dating. Gi almost cared if it meant I wouldn’t be breaking Emerson’s heart.

  Emerson shrugged, like he hadn’t spoken at all. I could see how that could be infuriating to other people – his avoidance of answers – but as he was doing it for me, I liked it.

  I nodded my head. Curiosity was still imbedded deep. I wanted to know what Emerson’s life was like when he left the high school role he played. I couldn’t even say it was entirely to do with his vampire side. I wanted to know simply because it meant I would know more about Emerson. I was starting to have it bad. Kissing him clearly wasn’t helping.

  We opened the theatre doors to a torrential downpour.

  ‘Holy hell,’ Jenny swore. ‘See you tomorrow, guys!’ she ran quickly, her bag over her head, towards the lot where Robbie was parked up, waiting for her.

  Gi, the annoying person she was, had an umbrella in her bag.

  ‘Walk you to your car, Martha?’ she offered.

  Martha huffed, like Gi was putting her out rather than doing her a favour, but nodded. They walked out into the rain together, huddled under her flower-print umbrella, yelling goodbye to us.

  ‘Any chance you can use that vamp speed of yours and zoom me all the way to the car without getting us wet?’ I pondered, hovering at the door.

  Emerson chuckled. ‘You’d get whiplash – very, very bad whiplash. And maybe some internal damage.’

  ‘You sound like the men who feared women’s uteruses would fly out if they boarded a train back in the 1800s.
’

  ‘You don’t half know some strange stuff,’ Emerson commented, stepping out into the rain.

  ‘Just because I didn’t live through it doesn’t mean I’m clueless,’ I said, ironically, since I had been thinking only a few hours ago how little I did know about history. ‘There’s something about the nineteenth century I’m drawn to.’

  ‘That would be because your favourite person was born then,’ Emerson smiled. ‘Just like I have an affinity for the nineties.’

  He didn’t give me a chance to respond. He took my bag and books from my hands and disappeared. I started walking in the rain to the car, my hood up, the rain pounding furiously against my clothes. I was soaked in seconds.

  Emerson appeared next to me once I’d cleared the football fields and was rounding the main school building, towards the area he parked his car. Our bags and books were gone, no doubt in his trunk.

  ‘You look half-drowned,’ Emerson commented.

  ‘Says you,’ I said, but really it was a useless retort. The prick looked perfect as usual.

  His voluminous silk hair was slick with water, strands falling perfectly in front of his eyes. His eyelashes caught the raindrops. He swiped his tongue across the bottom of his lip as a heavy raindrop fell from his cheek onto his perfect mouth. Even without the vamp-glamour, his looks slayed me. It was worse now that I knew what those lips felt like against mine.

  We listened to the radio on the way to his place, silently dripping onto the leather seats. He had the air-con on high, but I knew it was only a momentary reprieve as we would be soaked on the way from the car to his apartment.

  ‘You live in an apartment block?’ I asked when he told me what direction we were going in.

  ‘Yeah,’ he shrugged. ‘Is that weird?’

  ‘No… it’s normal.’

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s one of those misguided things where you believe we have to be underground-?’’

  I cut him off. ‘I thought we’d quit it with the “misguided” shit.’

  ‘Me too, then you thought vampires still fed from humans directly. I don’t know what else is twisted up in that head of yours.’

  I smiled wickedly at him. ‘Oh, baby, everything is twisted up in my mind.’

  Emerson chuckled low. ‘I love it when you call me baby. You need to do that more often.’

  I scowled at him. He chuckled again.

  The on-site parking wasn’t underground like some buildings, so we were once again back in the torrential rain. Emerson carried our stuff as we ran through the doors into the lobby.

  Emerson’s place was on the third floor. We dripped, leaving a trail of footprints behind us, making our way past the rows of letterboxes.

  He was oddly silent as we went up the elevator, his thoughts a mask behind his half smile. Was he nervous? For me? Himself? I had a feeling inviting a human home was no small thing. Where he lived was a lamia-exclusive zone. There would be too many giveaways he wasn’t human if he invited mortals over on the regular. At least I assumed that was true. Unless he staged his home as perfectly as he staged “Emerson Lark” high school jock and baseball star.

  The elevator eventually dinged. It led to a small landing with two apartments per floor. He went for the one on the left, opening it with a key he pulled out of his sweatpants.

  He dumped our things on the table by the door, throwing off his wet jacket and kicking it across the room to where a pile of dirty laundry was waiting to be taken to the basement level of the apartment block where occupants did their laundry.

  ‘I’ll get you something dry,’ Emerson said, pulling off his top with one hand and throwing it in the pile with the other shit.

  I ignored a topless Emerson to look around. I’d lived in a lot of places in my life, it came with the territory of moving from one foster home to the next, so on the face of it, Emerson’s apartment shouldn’t have been any different, but somehow it was.

  There were still the generic rooms you’d expect – living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms. The living room and kitchen were separate, rather than the modern open-plan most buildings had these days. But it was… void. The things that made a house look lived in were absent because Emerson’s mortality was absent. There were no kitchen appliances, no food wrappers, no kitchen paper, or cutlery and plates. The ginormous pile of laundry was the only thing that made the place look lived in, besides the towering pile of DVDs by the side of the TV.

  I followed the sound of Emerson when I was finally done looking around. I popped my head around the corner of the open door. He’d changed into a dry t-shirt and some grey joggers. His cap was hung up on his bedpost to dry.

  He threw me a spare top and some shorts for me to change into. He pointed out the bathroom, but I just told him to turn around. He did, and I quickly peeled off my wet clothes and put on the dry ones. I twisted up my hair into a bun, so the wet strands from my ponytail didn’t drip on the dry tee. I put my clothes over the back of his desk chair so they could dry out a bit.

  ‘So, this is it?’ I finally said.

  ‘My bedroom,’ Emerson shrugged, turning around to face me.

  I tugged on my top. Thankfully, my legs were the least scarred things about me. My knees had some pretty bad scarring, and my ankle. My arms and hands had the worst visible damage. I realised this was quite possibly the first time Emerson would be seeing me like this. I always wore long sleeves at school, many layers, and even my Halloween dress’d had sleeves that covered my arms down to my hands.

  His eyes did briefly scan me in the top, but they didn’t linger on the scarring. He knew how many accidents I’d been in the past from my morbid monologue a couple nights ago, but it was different seeing it.

  ‘There’s a bed,’ I said, finding something to say.

  Emerson laughed. ‘Yeah… why wouldn’t there be?’

  ‘You don’t sleep.’

  ‘Beds are for more than sleeping.’

  I raised an eyebrow at that.

  ‘Get your mind out of the gutter, love,’ Emerson said. Then, quickly like he did sometimes, he appeared in front of me, pinning me to his dresser. His arms bracketed me, his face mere inches from mine. ‘Or keep it there.’

  I kneed him in the balls. Just because we’d made out a few times didn’t mean I was going to spread my legs for him. He dodged just in time, like he expected it from me.

  He chuckled. ‘Kidding.’

  I focused my attention on his bare bookshelves. I had fallen into the Hollywood pop-culture trope that as a vampire, Emerson would have a museum-worthy collection of antiques and memorabilia from his many lifetimes. Instead, there were school textbooks, a few notebooks, some videogames and PlayStation controllers and speakers. Things you’d expect from a normal guy’s bedroom minus the personal artefacts.

  ‘What?’ Emerson asked.

  He was aware that my observation of his room meant something, but couldn’t read my mind. Not like he was able to read most of my emotions.

  ‘I just thought you’d have more stuff,’ I said.

  ‘Hard to get sentimental when you dissociate from practically every moment you live,’ Emerson explained.

  ‘But Assassins Creed is up there?’ I asked, grabbing one of the games from his shelf, trying to infuse a little bit of humour into the situation.

  ‘Hell yeah,’ Emerson grinned. ‘The second one is coming out in a couple weeks. Renaissance Italy. Grayson and I have a bet on who can finish it first.’

  ‘Where do you have the time for games when you’ve got school, baseball practice and rehearsals?’

  ‘I don’t sleep, remember? I get another twelve hours than you do.’

  ‘Maybe five or six. I don’t sleep much,’ I admitted. Less since I’d been having dreams about vampiric wars and Charlotte and Emerson bumping uglies.

  ‘You play any games?’

  I shrugged. ‘Some. I can’t really get into games with storylines. I appreciate them and all, but since I never have the time to finish them it’s sort
of like getting invested in a movie and then being forced to stop watching it for weeks on end and then pick it up again.’

  ‘You’d prefer something mindless like Call of Duty or FIFA?’

  ‘I’d prefer to read,’ I said, jumping on his bed. Then I was instantly distracted. ‘Holy hell, what are these sheets?’ I laid down, doing snow-angel minus the snow. ‘This is insane. What thread count is this? Is this what they mean when they say rich guys sleep on piles of money? How much do they cost?’

  ‘They’re silk. Draw back to having preternatural senses is that whilst our skin can take a lot of damage, the nerves are fairly sensitive.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘Nope,’ Emerson said, leaning back against his chest of drawers he’d pinned me up against. ‘We have a higher tolerance for pain since our pain receptors are different to mortal nerve endings, but irritation seems to make up the difference.’

  ‘Then how do you cope wearing normal clothes?’ I asked.

  ‘Only wear them when necessary,’ Emerson smirked. ‘I spend a lot of time naked when I’m alone.’

  ‘It’s annoying that I can’t even tell if you’re making this up or not,’ I mumbled.

  The silk did feel amazing on my skin. I hardly even felt self-conscious that most of my scars were showing, though I did make sure my top didn’t ride up and show my stomach.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ Emerson asked me.

  I was still doing snow-angels on his bed. ‘Immensely,’ I said, refused to be embarrassed. I did stop and sit up, though.

  ‘How do you afford all of this stuff?’

  ‘How does anyone afford anything?’ Emerson asked evasively.

  ‘They have jobs. I don’t see you having a job.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll go pro after high school,’ he said. ‘That’d earn me some good dough, don’t you think?’

  ‘There’s no way you could go pro.’

  ‘No? Don’t think I have it in me?’ he teased.

  ‘You’d fail the drug test – or would be incompatible.’

  ‘There are ways around it. Otherwise how would guys on steroids ever get away with it in the Olympics?’ Emerson took a beat, then continued. ‘But you’re right. I can’t go pro. Vampires aren’t allowed to compete in any athletic tournament. One of the rules set by the Order. But a lot of lamia are managers. If I didn’t perpetually look eighteen, I could have gone down that route.’