Interview with the Vixen

by Rebecca Barrow

  Veronica plops down in the chair beside him. “I know it’s not exactly the safest thing for me to be here,” she says, holding a hand up. “But it’s kind of an emergency.”

  Dilton turns away from the computer, the Finch history forgotten for now. “What emergency category does this fall under?” he asks. “Like you-lost-another-pearl-necklace kind of thing, or like there’s-an-old-vampire-running-around-trying-to-take-over-the-town emergency?”

  “The second kind,” Veronica says. “And I did not lose my necklace. Theodore Finch broke it. Yet another reason he must be stopped.”

  Dilton pushes his glasses up his nose. “So … emergency?”

  “Right.” Veronica takes a deep breath. “Remember how I said I was supposed to be going out with Reggie on Friday, before the whole found-my-parents’-dead-bodies thing, and I thought I crashed my car into him but then I realized I was seeing things?” She lowered her voice. “Turns out I was not seeing things, and the reason there was no sign of Reggie is because our friendly neighborhood strigoi sort of rescued him and sort of made him into a vampire, too.”

  Dilton’s jaw drops. Great; this is exactly what they need. “Sort of?”

  “Completely,” Veronica says. “Yeah, that boy’s one hundred percent vamp now.”

  More wreckage, Dilton realizes. Theodore’s beginning to really piss him off. First Veronica, and her parents, and now Reggie? He’s just going to keep going, until all of Riverdale belongs to him.

  Unless they stop him first.

  “We need to end Theodore,” Dilton says. “But we can’t do that until we get Archie out of danger.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Veronica snaps. “Don’t you think I’ve been trying to come up with something all day?”

  “Ah, but you don’t have to plan anymore,” Dilton says. “I think I have come up with something.”

  Veronica widens her eyes. “What? Tell me,” she says, and then in the same breath, “Also I’m starving. Did you get the—”

  Dilton kicks his foot against his backpack on the floor. “But not here,” he says. “Can’t have you doing the vampire snarl where anybody might see.”

  “Vampire snarl?”

  “You know, when you go all—” He makes the face Veronica had worn when he’d woken her in the student lounge, all bared teeth and creepy staring eyes. “Like that. And then your eyes go red, and the fangs come out, and you generally look like you’re about to eat someone.”

  “I do not,” Veronica protests. “Whatever. Tell me about this idea of yours.”

  Dilton runs a hand through his hair. “It involves distracting your father for long enough that you can get in and out of there without him realizing. I figured if we could send someone in there to occupy him, get him talking, then you might have a shot.”

  “You think he can be distracted just by talking about something?”

  “Not about something. His favorite topic,” Dilton says. “Himself.”

  A smile spreads across Veronica’s face. “Oh, perfect,” she says. “And we’re going to do this how?”

  “We call him and say we want to interview him for the school paper,” Dilton says.

  Veronica nods. “That’ll work. He always says those kinds of interviews, puff pieces with nobodies, are stupid, but he actually loves them. Why wouldn’t he? Somebody who wants to hear all about how smart and rich and talented he is? No questions about offshore accounts or union busting? It’s his dream.” She pauses. “But who’s going to go in? He’ll recognize you from the attack, and obviously I can’t go.”

  Dilton shifts excitedly. Here’s the part he’s most looking forward to, inspired by his research.

  Veronica’s a strigoi, and strigoi have special powers.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” he says. “You go in. But not as you. As somebody he won’t know.” Veronica’s frowning, and Dilton leans in to clarify. “You shape-shift.”

  Now Veronica begins to laugh. “Are you for real? Wait, oh my god, you are. Dilton!”

  “What?” he says, trying not to be too hurt by how clearly hilarious his plan is to Veronica. “You’re a strigoi, and that’s one of the powers I read about. It makes sense.”

  “It makes zero sense!” Veronica stops laughing and looks at Dilton seriously now. “One: I have no idea how to do it. Two: We have no idea if there are restrictions on it, limits on who or what I can shift into or for how long I can stay shifted. And three: I’m certainly not trying it for the first time on my own father, currently under the control of Theodore Finch.”

  Dilton slumps back. “Fine,” he says, disappointed. Is it so bad that he wanted to see how the whole transformation thing worked? Maybe not the simplest plan in the world, but it would have been great.

  “Back to the drawing board,” Veronica says.

  Dilton thinks for a moment, and like a flash of lightning, the perfect candidate comes to him. In fact, it’s so perfect, he can’t believe he didn’t think of it sooner.

  Only problem is, Veronica won’t like it. And, truth be told, he’s a little afraid of Veronica now. Well—he was a little afraid before, but now she has the added bonus of being able to literally eat him if she wants.

  He exhales and says it anyway. “What about using a real reporter?” he says. “What about Betty?”

  Veronica pushes away from Dilton. “No way,” she says. “No. I’m not putting Betty in that kind of danger. Anything could happen to her! What if Theodore gets her? She could end up being under his control.”

  “But she’s the best,” Dilton says. “If there’s anyone who can keep your dad talking, it’s Betty. She’s so good she’ll have him thinking he’s doing a Vanity Fair profile, not a fake column for the school paper.”

  “Archie’s already in my father’s gross little clutches,” Veronica says. “I can’t have Betty getting caught up in all this, too. I mean, if something happened to her …” She looks at the worn library carpet and then back at Dilton. “She’s my best friend. I can’t live without her.”

  “We’ll give her weapons—holy water, a cross,” Dilton says. “And we’ll be there to protect her, if we need to. But we won’t need to, because the plan will work.”

  There’s a shushing noise, and both of them look over to the desk, where the librarian is giving them a stern look. Veronica looks up at the ceiling, like she’s weighing whether she wants to do this. Whether she wants to endanger her best friend—because, Dilton knows, that’s what he’s proposing they do. There’s no such thing as absolute safety, not when monsters are involved.

  And then Veronica sighs, air hurtling Dilton’s papers across the table. “All right,” she says. “I guess I’m about to tell my best friend that I’m a vampire.”

  CHERYL’S EYES ARE wide as she turns in a slow circle, taking in the soaring ceilings and gold filigree outlining the arched windows of the ballroom. “It’s perfect, Mom.” She whirls around, her hair spinning behind her like a red ribbon through the air. “Don’t you think?”

  Penelope Blossom purses her lips as she looks at her daughter, and for a moment Cheryl thinks she’s going to disagree. But then Penelope smiles, her lips painted with her signature shade of red, a habit Cheryl has inherited. “You’re right,” Penelope says. “It’s perfect.”

  “And it’ll be even more perfect for the opening.” Cheryl strides over to the nearest window and stands with her back to it, holding her arms out wide. “The tables are going to be set up here with space for dancing up at the top, and the stage should be done tomorrow.”

  Her mother nods as she takes the space in. “And the menu?”

  “All set,” Cheryl says. “With vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free options, of course.”

  “Excellent.”

  Excellent. Cheryl has to fight to keep the beaming smile off her face. It’s a big deal that her parents let her take control of the gala, and it’s a bigger deal that it goes well. With her brother at boarding school, sometimes it seems like he’s all her
parents can talk about. Jason’s doing so well in Switzerland. Jason’s really picking up French quickly. Jason’s school is going to be excellent for his college applications. Sometimes it’s nice to know her parents remember she exists, even if she’s not becoming bilingual or whatever. And won’t this look great on her college apps? Not only can she plan a hotel opening, but she can also make sure it doubles as a philanthropic venture—everyone will have the chance to make a generous donation to a community-based charity. See? Glitter and glamour and good deeds.

  Her mother sighs and turns back to Cheryl. “It’s just a shame your brother can’t be here with us on Friday.”

  Cheryl grits her teeth. Of course. “Well, you can always Skype him in,” she says with a false brightness. “I’m sure that’s exactly how he’d love to spend his Friday night!” Or day, or whatever the hell time it’ll be there.

  Penelope claps her hands together. “That’s an excellent idea!”

  Excellent.

  Cheryl turns so her mom doesn’t catch the angry look on her face, or the muscle that’s jumping in her cheek. What more does she have to do to make sure she’s center of attention? What else can she do to make sure her parents notice her and only her on Friday?

  She turns back to her mom, her face under control. “It’s going to be quite the night,” Cheryl says. “Just you wait.”

  AFTER SHE LEAVES Dilton, Veronica heads to his house so she can feed without any danger of interruption or, as Dilton has so delightfully taken to saying, “going vamp.”

  What, like I’m supposed to not look like a scary killer when I’m drinking blood? Veronica thinks. Pshh. Imagine expecting me to look pretty and put together while I’m just trying to eat. Misogyny at its finest.

  She spends an hour or two attempting some more research on Dilton’s laptop, trying to dig into Theodore Finch. The Finches were a founding family, Dilton told her, but Veronica has never heard of them, which is especially weird considering that Veronica also belongs to a founding family. It’s like they’ve been completely erased from Riverdale history.

  There’s not much online, either—almost like they’ve been completely erased from the entire internet. Well, almost. Veronica finds a handful of mentions of Theodore in different historical society columns from way back in the early 1900s: Magda Lefleur, accompanied by Theodore Finch; Lorena Kitt and Theodore Finch demonstrate their waltz abilities; Theodore Finch and unknown companion enjoy all the casino has to offer. Seems like he was quite the playboy, back in his day.

  Dances, dinners, and gambling, Veronica thinks. Great. That tells her almost nothing—and certainly not anything useful about how that Theodore became this Theodore.

  A society gentleman whose family has disappeared from memory, who became a vampire and a monster.

  Veronica exhales a gusty sigh. Great research.

  She slams the laptop shut. It’s time for her to head back to school, anyway.

  This time she doesn’t venture inside but instead waits behind Betty’s car, picking the polish from her nails. When she realizes what she’s doing, she makes a noise of irritation. That mani cost forty bucks and was supposed to last until the gala on Friday.

  But then she looks at her chipped nails and realizes that the irritation she thought she felt was more of a reflex than a real feeling. She doesn’t really mind the way they look. Usually the sight of chipped polish puts her on edge because it goes against everything she’s supposed to be. Veronica Lodge, always styled to perfection, with her short skirts and heels, flouncy blouses, and velvet headbands. The ever-present pearls that should live in the now-empty space around her neck.

  There’s something refreshing about the lack of all that, though. The old Veronica never would have gotten into a physical fight with her father; the old Veronica would have turned her nose up at the thought of killing someone. But it’s almost as if being a vampire has shattered her shell. There’s no space for perfection when the stakes are life and death.

  And plus—Veronica the Vampire Slayer is so far providing plenty of new and interesting costume opportunities. Before she found Dilton in the library, she had swung by the department store downtown, just to get a few essentials. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the low key she’d lectured Reggie about, but what was she supposed to do, live in her one pair of ripped jeans and a leather jacket? No, thank you.

  Now she’s in a skirt similar to Old Veronica (Human Veronica? she thinks), except instead of plum corduroy or pleated chiffon, this one is pink and pleather, with a gold zip running down the front. She has on the same boots, but a new white sweater with an upside-down cross stitched into it (seemed appropriate, no?) and a leopard-print faux-fur coat, the kind her mother would burn if she saw.

  She’s smoothing her fingers over the fake fur as she waits for Betty to leave Vixens practice and come back to her car.

  Veronica does not want to involve her. And not because she’s mad at her anymore, either—god, Betty and Archie, their love triangle, and the constant wonder of which of them Archie likes more is the last thing she cares about now. All of that feels an absolute lifetime away. No—she’s more worried that bringing Betty into this bloody mess is going to end up hurting her, somehow, and what she said to Dilton is true—Veronica doesn’t know if she can live without Betty. They’re two sides of the same limited-edition coin. B and V, light and dark, Vixens together. It feels safer to keep her out of this. If Veronica could, she’d lock Betty in her bedroom until all of this was over.

  And honestly—it’s not just about Betty’s safety.

  What will she think when she knows I’m no longer human? What will she see when she looks at me, once she knows the truth?

  There’s more than one way to lose a person.

  She sighs to herself. But Dilton does have a point. Betty is a great reporter, and she’s the only other person Veronica trusts to get the job done.

  If Betty loves her as much as Veronica believes, then her being a vampire won’t change anything.

  She sees a familiar blond ponytail bobbing through the parking lot, and Veronica steels herself. Remember, she thinks. All of this is so I can return to being human. I’m a vampire now, but I won’t always be. If Betty helps us, everything can go back to normal.

  Normal Old Human Veronica.

  Why does it sting a little to think of that?

  There’s no time to dwell on it; Betty’s on her then, relief written all over her face. “V!” Betty throws her arms around Veronica’s neck with such strength that the two of them almost topple to the asphalt. “Oh my god, I was so worried about you! I thought maybe you were mad at me, or maybe something had happened to you, or—”

  Veronica untangles Betty’s arms from around her neck and looks her best friend in the eye. “B,” she says, her breathing uneven. “Something did happen to me.”

  Betty’s eyes widen. “Oh my god,” she says. “What? V, what happened? You’re scaring me.”

  Veronica bites the inside of her cheek. If you’re scared now, wait until you hear this.

  “Give me your keys,” she says, holding her hand out to Betty. “I think you’re gonna want to sit down.”

  BETTY GRIPS THE sides of the car seat and stares straight ahead. Across the parking lot is a little bird, maybe a robin, hopping from puddle to puddle. It’s all she can focus on while her brain processes what Veronica just told her.

  A vampire. Veronica is a vampire. Veronica’s a vampire? Vampires are real. Vampires are real, and Veronica is one and so are her parents and now they, plus the vampire who turned them all, are holding Archie hostage so that Veronica won’t interfere with their plans to turn more people and take over Riverdale with their vampire gang.

  Betty blows out a breath. Simple, right? Not a big deal. Her best friend is dead—undead? Living dead? Something like that—but it’s totally not a big deal at all.

  “Betty?” Veronica sounds anxious. “Are you freaking out? I knew this would freak you out.”

  Betty shakes her he
ad almost violently. “I’m not freaking out,” she says, in an extremely freaked-out voice. “I’m fine!”

  “B, it’s okay. I know you think I’m a monster now—”

  Betty whips around to look at Veronica. “A monster?” she says. “Oh my god. Why would I think that?”

  “I mean …” Veronica bares her teeth and in a split second, with a sharp thwick sound, her fangs shoot out. Betty swallows. Oh, yeah. Oh, those are some rip-your-throat-out vampire fangs right there. “I’m a literal monster. So.”

  “But you’re still you,” Betty says. “Right? Aren’t you?” Isn’t she? She looks it—or, she looks like a version of it, at least. Her outfit’s a little more Cheryl Blossom than what regular Veronica Lodge would wear, but those are just clothes. On the inside, she’s still Veronica.

  “I think so?” Veronica plays with the hem of her sweater. “I mean, I feel different, but I still feel the same, too.”

  “And you’re—” Betty squints, trying to straighten it all out in her head. A moroi is a vampire who can be controlled; a strigoi is one who can do the controlling. “You’re a strigoi, right? You’re not, like, under mind control from the one who turned you?”

  Veronica shakes her head. “Operating under my own free will,” she says, and as if to prove it, mimes part of the dance section of their latest cheer routine, flipping her hair and rolling her shoulders. “See? No musty old vampire could ever dream of puppeteering that choreo.”

  Betty laughs, relaxing finally. “I was worried about you,” she says. “I even asked Cheryl about you. I thought maybe you were mad at me.”

  “For what?” Veronica asks.

  “You know. Me and Archie. Our date.” Betty coils the end of her ponytail around one finger. “I felt really bad, you know. When we were together. I felt … guilty.”

  Veronica looks at her, a small smile on her glossed lips. “You shouldn’t feel guilty,” she says. “I mean … yeah, I was a little mad before, but not really mad. And I don’t even know why I was mad at you, because Archie’s the one who keeps stringing us both along.”