So despite this offer of assistance, this life preserver thrown to me as I struggled against the current of a rapid river, I had only one choice.
“Thanks anyways,” I said heavily. “But no.”
And without another look over my shoulder, I made my way back to my house, feeling Gregory’s eyes follow me until I was out of sight.
Chapter 29
When I got back to the yard, I grabbed the clippers as I passed them.
Sighing heavily, I slumped down onto the grass in front of the bushes. I was just so tired. Four hours of sleep were just not enough to make up for the sheer amount I’d missed since Byron stepped into my life.
Insane to think that it had only been days ago. It felt like weeks, or months. Already I’d become a totally different person … one who I was still figuring out.
I dug the end of the clippers into the ground.
How much had Gregory actually seen?
I picked at some of the thick grass beneath me, and then shrieked as I saw almost a dozen fire ants start to race up my legs.
I tried to brush them off of my legs, but I couldn’t get tear them loose. I could feel the bites, sharp, intense, tearing into my flesh. I screamed and kicked and danced as I slapped my thighs and shins, trying to smash them, knock them loose—
A hand landed heavily, grasping my shoulder, and I almost tipped over as I dropped another stinging blow on an ant sitting mid-calf. They were endless, swarming, crawling all over me—
“Cassie, what’s the matter?”
I glanced over, sluggishly, and saw my dad, staring into my face. His hand was the one on my shoulder.
I breathed heavily, my chest burning, sinking into his grip, and I pointed at my legs. “The ants … they … they’re …” I couldn’t finish my thought. My legs were burning, itching.
Dad looked down at my legs and brushed his palm over my knees and my ankles.
“I think you got them all,” he said gently, looking at me with concern behind his glasses.
I tried to get my breathing under control and forced myself to look at my legs.
He was right. They were gone, all of them. I held onto him as I steadied my footing.
“There’s an ant hill,” he said, pointing to a small, grey pile of what looked like sand not far from where I had been sitting. “You must have stepped in it.”
“They … they were everywhere,” I said weakly. How many had there been? It had seemed like thousands when I was in them.
“Did they bite you?” he asked. I nodded: tiny stinging, throbbing spots itched all down my legs.
“Okay, let’s get you inside and irrigate them as much as we can.”
Dad turned me around and started ushering me back toward the lanai’s back door back inside.
There was a shadow beneath one of the trees along the outside of the yard, near Gregory’s house, that seemed to stutter like an old home movie tape I’d once seen. I blinked, trying to clear my eyes. Someone stepped into the light.
I jumped back, my mouth opening wide in horror.
It was Theo.
He was grinning, but half of his jaw was unhinged. One leg dragged behind him like a dead weight. Dark, black wetness oozed down one side of his face.
The leg he dragged was too much: he stumbled to his knees—but still he kept coming, crawling toward me.
“No … no, no, no, no …” I said, trying to move away from him. Why had Dad not seen him?
“Are those bites bothering you?” Dad asked. “It’s all right—we are almost inside. We’ll get some calamine lotion on them or something.”
I barely heard his words. All I could do was stare in absolute horror at Theo’s shambling crawl toward me.
But … he was dead! I had killed him!
“I killed you!” I gasp.
“Yes, you got the ants, sweetheart,” Dad said. “But we need to get you cleaned up before those bites get infected.” He continued to push me along. “I hope you aren’t allergic …”
Theo’s body crumpled, as if it were deflating, and it shriveled up into a pile of ash, only to be blown away by the breeze that rushed through the yard.
My heart hammered. Cold sweat had broken out on my skin.
Breaths quick, my eyes darted, taking in every shadow, every shape that might be the vampire I had killed.
Something was seriously, seriously wrong.
I let Dad lead me up the stairs and into the bathroom. He sat me down on the toilet and went to their bathroom to retrieve some things to clean the bites with.
I scrubbed my eyes with my palms.
When I opened them, Lord Draven was standing in my bathtub, head brushing the ceiling.
I shrieked again and tumbled off of the toilet onto the floor.
When I looked at the tub again, he was gone.
I was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating, when Mom walked in.
“Cassie? Are you all right?”
I was back up onto the toilet seat, Mom’s hand on my arm. Had she just helped me up?
What the hell was happening to me? Hallucinations?
Was this some form of PTSD from what had happened last night?
Were Byron’s predations finally taking its toll? Was he actually driving me mad, in real time?
Or was I just utterly exhausted and bereft of sleep?
I lost a few more moments, snapping out of a short interval of silence to hear my parents discussing whether or not to take me to the emergency room. I was slumped over on the toilet with my head in my hands.
Tell them, I thought wildly, the words echoing and rebounding in my mind in a mad cacophony. Tell them what’s been happening.
I couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand—and nothing I could ever say would make them.
“I’m fine,” I said faintly, speaking into the ball of my hand. I pressed my fist to my clammy temples, willing myself to calm, to shake loose this fear. “I just need a shower or something.”
“I’ll run to the drugstore,” I heard Dad say, “and get some Epsom salts and anti-inflammatory lotion.”
“Good idea,” Mom said. “I guess we were bound to run into fire ants sooner or later. This is Florida, after all. I hear they’re everywhere down here.”
Mom came into the bathroom and moved to start drawing a bath. The sound of the rushing water was surprisingly soothing, like a peaceful waterfall beside me.
“Don’t get in all the way,” she said. “Just soak your legs where the bites are.”
I obliged, but my mind was not totally with it. It was starting to come back to me though, piece by piece. Some of the nauseated feeling that had overtaken me was dissipating too, running out of my body along with the adrenaline, like someone had opened a hatch in my feet and let gravity do the work.
It wasn’t real. Theo was dead. I killed him.
My mind was just playing tricks on me. The ant bites, my fatigue … maybe Byron’s influence too, I thought, remembering what Iona had said: that some of his victims ended up being hospitalized.
I couldn’t let that happen to me. Wouldn’t.
“Seriously, I’m fine,” I said at last. “I’m just going to go lie down for a bit.”
“All right,” Mom said. “At least put some coconut oil on those bites.”
“I will,” I promised. And she let me go back to my room.
The bites were itching madly, so I did as she asked and grabbed the small jar of organic coconut oil from my dresser that I used as a hair mask. I slathered it all over my legs and then went to lie on top of my blankets.
I couldn’t keep doing this. I had to rest. I had to get away from my parents’ scrutiny. I had to do it as much for me as I did for them. But with being grounded, I didn’t think I would ever get that chance.
“This sucks …” I murmured to my ceiling. My phone lay on the side table. With nothing to do but mull over the way my life had taken a dive off a cliff into actual Hell, I picked it up and lit the screen. Xandra had texted. A few times, a
ctually. Just checking in though—no real panic about last night. Which was totally annoying, because if it had been me and I woke to terrified texts from her, even if she later messaged to say it was all cool, I’d be a bit more concerned than she was right now.
Still, I owed her an answer.
Everything sucks, I typed. I haven’t had a decent night of sleep in three nights. Some random girl who apparently used to be Byron’s ex swung by last night. And now I’m seeing dead vampires.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the cool flow of the air conditioner, and the low hum of the fan overhead.
You can stay with me tonight, Xandra texted back three minutes later. My parents said it’s totally cool. Ulterior motive: I imagined that she wanted to know what had happened. When had I actually seen her last? Friday? What day was it today?
Ulterior motive of my own: if school was tomorrow, I definitely needed the rest.
Problem was, I was grounded, and if I asked my parents to let me stay at Xandra’s, they were liable to blow a gasket and lock me in my room.
On the flipside, I was going literally crazy here. I’d accidentally invited Byron into my house, which meant it wasn’t a safe haven for me anymore … whereas Xandra’s at least offered me respite—respite I sorely, sorely needed, if I hoped to ever have a normal life again.
That settled it. If I left, then at least my parents would be out of danger. He wanted me, not them. And the prospect of rest was seriously enticing. Yes, Byron knew that Xandra knew about him—but I had a stake now.
A stake. Sleep. Protection, for myself and my parents—and the truth from Iona.
There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
I was going to get through this.
I just had to hope my parents did not discover me sneaking out—and accept that, if they did, I would sacrifice their opinion of me one more time.
I could only hope it would be the last time.
I had to move fast. Dad was leaving, or gone already, to go get some lotion for me. Mom was hopefully downstairs, or in her room. I would plan my exit based on where she was. I texted back asking for Xandra’s address.
Then, hurrying, I threw a change of clothes into my school bag, in case I didn’t come back before nightfall. I had no idea how long I might sleep for.
“Mom, I’m hopping in the shower!” I shouted down the stairs, my bag slung over my shoulder.
“Okay. I’m just getting dinner ready.”
“I’m not hungry. I was reading that ant bites can make you sick to your stomach …” I said, hopefully making it sound like the truth.
She was silent for a moment. “Okay. But you’re going to school tomorrow, young lady. I’ll come check on you in a bit.”
“That’s okay, Mom,” I said. “I’d rather get some rest. I’ll text you if I need anything.”
I knew that she hated that, but she also liked when I relied on her.
“All right. If you need me, I’ll be out back with the grill. You sure you don’t want some steak?”
My mouth watered, but I called back, “No, thanks. It doesn’t sound good right now.”
I waited until I heard the sound of the sliding door open, then close, before I hurried downstairs and out of the front door, stepping out into the warm afternoon sun.
This was just for the night, I told myself. Or the afternoon. A short respite, and I’d be back, refreshed. Maybe then I could think straight, without hallucinating about dead vampires or endless swarms of fire ants.
Just a short break.
I pulled open my map app and started walking down the sidewalk in the direction of Xandra’s house, in search of rest.
Chapter 30
Xandra lived in a small cul-de-sac about two miles away from me in the same development, surprisingly enough. All of the houses nearby all looked the same, and I felt it in me that much of what I had seen looked exactly alike. Was that the lack of sleep?
The idea that I might be hallucinating even normal, ordinary things was pretty terrifying.
I walked up to the door, numbered 4961, and knocked.
I didn’t have to wait long, as a tall, thin Vietnamese woman opened the door. She had short black hair cut close around her ears and wore a pair of pretty blue eye glasses.
“Oh, you must be Cassie,” she said, and her dark, onyx eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I’m Mai, Xandra’s mother.”
Instantly, I liked her.
“Come in, come in,” she said, standing aside.
I smiled and thanked her, stepping inside the foyer.
The scent of ginger and cilantro hit me. Something was cooking, sizzling softly from a kitchen where a television played the local news, volume down low.
“Xandra was just finishing some of her homework, I believe,” Mai said, leading me in. “Xandra,” she called. “Cassie is here.” Xandra’s house, I discovered, was totally different to my own. Clutter covered near every surface. My mother would have freaked to have seen stacks of mail on the table near the door, or the jackets hung over the backs of the chairs around the table in the kitchen, or the basket of laundry outside of a closed door, waiting to be folded.
The kitchen was smaller than ours, and the cabinets had been painted by hand, but the bright blue color on the walls was eye-catching, and the mismatched chairs circled around the wooden table were charming.
The living room was pretty normal, with a big overstuffed couch, a cluttered coffee table, and a large flat screen situated between two large, totally full bookshelves.
But it felt so real, so lived in.
It felt like a home.
A deep, unexpected pain blossomed deep within me.
My home always felt so empty, so sterile. Is this what a normal household was supposed to feel like?
I reprimanded myself. Everyone’s home was different. Mine was just … meticulously clean and organized.
“Xandra said that the two of you met recently. She says you are new?” Mai asked as we waited for Xandra.
“Oh,” I replied, trying to smile at her. “Yes. I started just after the Christmas break.”
Xandra appeared out of one of the doors down the hall, and she smiled at me.
“Hey,” she said, padding down the hall in a mismatched pair of socks. She looked super comfy, with baggy pants that cinched at the ankle, an oversized sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder, and her wildly vibrant hair tied in a knot at the very top of her head.
She reminded me of a pixie, with her hands in the pockets of her pants, and her toes pointed in slightly.
“Ah, our guest has arrived.”
Another voice appeared in the room, and I glanced over across the wide living room to the sliding doors to the backyard.
A tall man with large shoulders and a balding head stepped inside, carrying a plate of shrimp skewers. They sizzled away on the platter, and the smell was almost intoxicating.
“That’s my dad,” Xandra said.
He came across to where we stood and passed the shrimp to his wife.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said as she accepted the platter and walked into the well-lived-in kitchen.
He looked at me, and offered one of his large, strong hands.
“Mr. Stewart,” he said, and I took his proffered hand.
I smiled up at him. He looked intimidating, but his eyes were gentle.
“I’m gonna go help Mom with something real quick. You okay?” Xandra asked, gesturing over her shoulder into the kitchen.
I waved her away. “Yeah, sure, that’s fine.”
Mr. Stewart slid onto the couch, and exhaled with relief, putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. “Go ahead, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the large leather armchair in front of the glass doors.
I hesitated. Not wanting to appear rude—plus the facts that I was totally whacked and that chair looked ridiculously comfortable right now—I lowered myself carefully into it, a wave of pleasure I’d rarely known sweeping over me as I sank into it.
“So, Cassie, right?” Xandra’s dad asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said, straightening against my desire to curl into a ball right here.
He smiled and nodded his head. “Where you from, Cassie? Originally, I mean?”
“New York, sir,” I answered. “But not the city. Closer to Rochester.”
“I had to go to Syracuse for a business trip once,” he commented. “Middle of the winter, though. The snow was pretty amazing.” He laughed heartily. “What about you? Do you miss the snow yet?”
“No,” I laughed, but it felt hollow. “No, I don’t. I think the snow was what I hated most about living in New York. The heat suits me better.”
Aside from the vampires that seem to be crawling out of the woodwork, it did suit me better. Nevertheless, not for the first time, I felt homesick for New York. I hated the snow, but damn, did I miss those cool nights, when the sky was so clear that you could see every star overhead and the air was so cold that your eyelashes could freeze. I missed my friends.
And I missed a time in my life when I was not stalked by vampires.
The television flickered, and there was a low rumble of thunder outside.
“Guess those storms are coming in a little early tonight,” Mr. Stewart said. “Not usual for this time of year.”
I winced. I hate thunderstorms.
He picked up the remote control and changed the channel to the weather channel.
“Hey, honey,” he said, calling over his shoulder. “Looks like the weather will be fine to go fishing this weekend.“
Huh, a fishing trip. A family thing? I could see it with him and Mai, but Xandra … try as I might, I couldn’t imagine her holding a fishing rod, or even having the patience to try and wait out a fish on her line. The image of her in a wide-brimmed fishing hat and wading overalls amused me, but not enough to show on my face.
“So how long you been here?” Mr. Stewart asked, returning his attention to me.
No One Will Believe You Page 16