Even her best friend wants her to be different. Veronica slides a finger inside one of the holes of her tights. It’s only clothes, sure, but Veronica has always known that there’s no such thing as only clothes. They’re how you choose to present yourself to the outside world, how you show yourself. The inner exposed on the outer, however you choose to, so it stings for Betty to dismiss them so easily.
“V?” Betty’s looking at her intently. “What’s wrong?”
Veronica looks back up at the house. Now it doesn’t seem so comforting and cozy; it feels claustrophobic. She knows what awaits her in there, and it’s the place where she played her old self so convincingly that every Cooper fell in love with her. If she goes in there, she’ll sleep on the same old blow-up mattress she always does, under the gingham comforter like always, and Betty will wish her sweet dreams the way she likes to, and in the morning Betty’s mom will make them blueberry pancakes.
The rhythm of it used to be sweet, but now it’s off.
“You know what?” Veronica opens the car door and swings her legs out. “I don’t think I’m going to stay. I think I need to take a walk, you know? Clear my head a little.”
“V,” Betty says again. “Are you mad or something? Did I say something to upset you? If I did, then I’m sorry.”
Veronica ignores both Betty’s question and her apology. How can she be sorry if she doesn’t even know what it is that’s upset Veronica? How can she apologize when it isn’t really even her fault but more about Veronica realizing that maybe she’s not the girl everybody thinks she is?
“I just need to take a walk.” Her stomach growls, and Veronica sighs. Yeah, yeah, Hunger. I hear you. “I need to eat.”
“Are you sure?” Betty says. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
Veronica whips around and bares her fangs at Betty, so fast and ferocious that Betty lets out a little scream. Don’t forget who I am now, she wants to say. Don’t forget what this monster can do.
But she doesn’t say it, instead laughs like she was just messing, and Betty laughs too as she puts a hand to her chest. “Okay,” she says, breathless. “But call me if you want me to pick you up.”
Veronica slams the door. “Sure,” she says, keeping what she’s really thinking inside.
I don’t need you to save me.
I can save myself.
CHERYL’S PANTING, LEANING over with her hands on her knees. There’s something about the last twist in her double-full that she just can’t get. She’s not whipping it around fast enough, she knows, but when she does that she always under-rotates.
She straightens up and starts over, powering down the tumbling track.
Her steps thunder in the quiet of the empty gym. There’s no Vixens practice today, and everybody usually loves Wednesdays precisely for this reason. It’s a rest day, time when they can ice their sore ankles and hips and hang out at Pop’s with the rest of the after-school crowd instead of sweating through practice. But Cheryl likes to use the time to get better. No, not better. Best. She wants her captain spot back, bad.
Although if Veronica keeps on the way she has been, it won’t be hard to snatch it. Veronica hasn’t been at practice for the past two days, or in school at all this week. Even Betty missed practice yesterday, and the last couple of days of school. So did Archie, Cheryl noticed, and no doubt they were all off together. Well, fine by her. They can have their little triangle of drama—it only clears the way for her.
Cheryl whips through the air, round off to back handspring to layout to the double-full that she pulls, hard. But then there comes the under-rotation, and she lands on her knees, the impact jarring through her.
“Crap!” She smacks the mat, breathing heavily, and then glances up at the large clock above the scoreboard.
Time to go. Her parents are out of town tonight, and Cheryl has felt the pressure creeping up her spine all week. So she’s doing the best thing she knows and throwing an impromptu rager. Sure, midweek pool parties aren’t the smartest, but right now Cheryl doesn’t care about being smart. She just needs to blow off some serious steam, before it cooks her from the inside out.
She hits the showers, rinsing the suds out of her long red hair and singing tunelessly. What? There’s nobody else around. Nobody can judge her rendition of “Black Velvet,” so yeah, she’s going to sing.
She’s toweling off her hair on her way to her locker when she catches sight of them.
A pair of feet in chunky boots, sticking out from behind the lockers.
Cheryl pulls her towel tighter around her body and creeps forward. “Hello? Is somebody here?” She looks around for a weapon, suddenly aware of how alone she is. If some creep has snuck in here and is lying in wait for her, there’s nobody to help. Only Cheryl can defend herself.
She spots a stray hanger on the floor by Chelsea Montez’s locker and snatches it up, brandishing it ahead of her. “Show yourself,” she demands. “I’m not afraid of you.”
There’s a rustling sound, and then the skulking figure appears around the edge of the locker bank.
“Jesus, Cheryl. You could take someone’s eye out with that thing.”
Cheryl’s heart slows and she drops the hanger. “Veronica! What the hell are you doing?” She narrows her eyes. “More important, where the hell have you been? You know you’ve missed two practices, right?”
“Yeah.” Veronica leans against the lockers, an insouciance to her that Cheryl hasn’t seen before. “I’m aware.”
Cheryl tosses her hair back. “Well, since you’re here,” she says, “I’m having a party tonight. Everybody’s coming.” Not everybody, obviously, but Veronica will know who she means: everybody who matters, everybody in the upper social echelons of Riverdale High. Of course that includes Veronica Lodge, and of course she’ll come—
“Pass,” Veronica says. “Thanks, though.”
Pass? Cheryl puts a hand on her hip and stares Veronica down. “What, you have someplace better to be?”
“Something like that,” Veronica says, and she pushes off the lockers. Cheryl notices what she’s wearing for the first time: an entirely grungy twist on a Veronica look, including those chunky boots and a short zebra-print skirt that clashes with her faux-fur leopard coat.
“Are you channeling Courtney Love or something?” Cheryl says. “Is this your attempt to go alternative? Because I don’t think anyone’s going to buy it.”
“Buying people’s opinions is what you do, Cheryl. Not me.”
“Excuse you?” she says, keeping her voice steely. Show no weakness to Veronica. That’s one of her most important rules. The Lodges, like the Blossoms, are cutthroat people. If Veronica sees any crack in Cheryl’s armor, then she’ll use it to her advantage. That’s what Lodges do.
Cheryl rearranges herself, a flash of thigh as she moves, and puts her own cutthroat vision back on. “Don’t be at my party tonight, then,” she says. “But you better be in practice tomorrow, or the team will have no choice but to discuss your standing as captain, Veronica. It’s your job to set an example to everyone, to stand as our leader. Can’t do that if you can’t even get your ass in the gym.”
Veronica glares at her, and for a moment Cheryl wavers. It’s a trick of the light, or maybe a trick of her own mind, but for a second she could have sworn Veronica’s eyes flashed red.
“You try that,” she says. “Run your little coup, Cheryl. See how that works out for you.”
And then Veronica storms out, knocking Cheryl’s shoulder, and Cheryl gives an outraged gasp as she watches her go.
Wench, she thinks, and flips her hair back again. She hadn’t really been thinking about any kind of coup before, but now?
Oh, now, I’m out for blood.
VERONICA HURRIES OUT of and away from the school, trying to put as much distance between the building and herself as she can. Trying to put as much distance between herself and Cheryl, really.
It was risky to go back there, she knows, but she had to. It was the only place wi
th a readily available supply of pig’s blood, and after all the action of yesterday followed by walking around town by herself all night, Veronica had been starving.
It should have been perfect, chowing down in the locker room that would be empty because there was no Vixens practice today. Except of course Cheryl had been there anyway, and Veronica couldn’t believe she’d almost let herself get caught. She’d managed to stuff the empty blood bag into her locker and clean any remnants from her face before showing herself to Cheryl, but it had been way too close.
And then there was the problem of her lingering hunger. Sure, she’d fed, but the pig’s blood had barely taken the edge off. And then Cheryl had been there going on and on about her party and the Vixens, and all Veronica had been able to think about was sinking her teeth into Cheryl’s pale, pulsing throat.
She speed-walks through the parking lot. She’d had to get out of there.
She’s halfway to the town library when her phone buzzes in her pocket. Thank god for Daddy’s insurance plan that allowed her to order a brand-new phone to be delivered to Dilton’s—more than two days without checking Insta and she starts to get the shakes. Her problem now is that all day the phone’s been going off, but Veronica’s ignoring everyone. Well: Truth be told she’d been asleep in the laundromat for a large part of the day and then she’d woken up hungry, and cue school/Cheryl/escape.
So she’s only glanced at her phone—increasingly impatient messages from Betty and Archie and mostly Dilton, asking where she is and if she’s okay and what their next move’s going to be.
Veronica feels exhausted by it all. She didn’t ask to be leader of their pack. Honestly, part of her wishes she could just go it alone: Having her friends trailing her is beginning to feel like it’s slowing her down. After all, she’s a vampire now and they’re still weak little humans.
The thought enters her mind unbidden. They don’t have to be.
Veronica shakes her head violently. No. No way is she going to turn any of them. First, she’s only read about how the change happens—what if she accidentally does it wrong and kills them? And second—this is the less noble reason, she knows, but she’s okay with it—she doesn’t really want them to have this.
Selfish, sure, but she likes having something separate from all of them, and she likes being New Vampire Veronica. Vampironica.
She rolls her eyes at herself. Okay, joker, very funny.
When her phone buzzes again she answers it, her voice tight. “Yes?”
“Veronica, darling.”
Veronica goes cold. It’s her mother’s smooth voice. “Hi, Mom.”
“I’ll cut to the chase,” Hermione says. “You’re in big trouble, young lady. What you did to your father? I’m ashamed of you.” She sighs. “But luckily for you, your father and I have decided not to punish you.”
Veronica watches the cars pass by from where she’s paused and the orange leaves on the trees waving through the air. “Wow,” she says. This conversation—is it even a conversation? Can it be called a conversation when you’ve exchanged less than five words with the person on the other side?—is ridiculous. The way her mother’s speaking as if Veronica broke curfew or failed a test rather than conspired to drug her father and break her friend out of their kidnapping clutches is wild. “So I’m not in trouble? Oh, thank you, Mother dearest! Thank you oh so much!”
Her mother ignores Veronica’s blatant sarcasm and forges ahead. “Come home,” she says. “I think if you just got to know Theodore, you’d come around to our way of thinking.”
“Your way of thinking?” Veronica scoffs. Their way of thinking is only Theodore’s way of thinking. “Sure, Mom. I’ll get right on that.”
“You should consider what I’m offering you,” her mom says. “Because honestly, sweetie, it’s join us or face the consequences. Understand? You’re either with us or—”
“Against you,” Veronica says. “Yeah, spare me the clichés. Listen, I’m never going to get on board with your turn-everyone-and-take-over-the-town thing, so you can cut the act. I’m not coming home, and I’m not going to play the dutiful daughter anymore. Clear?”
“Veronica—”
She hangs up, jabbing at her phone angrily. No. She won’t let her mother, even under mind control, manipulate her into becoming a pawn in their game. She’s been that for too long already—her whole life, really.
Instead, she starts walking again, switching tracks to head to Betty’s. Yes, she’s a little mad at Betty and she’s tired of all that’s going on, but she doesn’t really have the luxury of turning her back on things. The Blossoms’ hotel opening gala is in two days, and they need a solid strategy for taking Theodore out once and for all.
It would help if I understood why he’s doing this, she thinks. What does Theodore get out of turning everyone, besides a vampire army? What’s he going to do with that army?
Veronica strides into the darkening evening. That’s what she needs to know.
“DILLY! DO YOU want some ice cream for dessert?”
Dilton glances at the door, irritated. “No, Mom,” he yells back. “I’m busy!”
He hasn’t heard from Veronica since he came home yesterday evening, but that hasn’t distracted him. She’s probably with Betty, making it up to her after almost killing them all with that car stunt. Although Dilton didn’t mind much: In the moment when he thought it was about to be all over, as the trees were speeding up to meet them, he got a flash of inspiration.
He turns back to the piece of wood in his hand and resumes whittling at it with a short, sharp knife. Something about the trees had pinged an idea deep in his brain, and when he’d come home he’d taken a look at the stakes he and Veronica had bought at the paranormal store. They were cheap and flimsy, maybe capable of inflicting some kind of damage, but something sturdier would be better. Pure oak or something similar would really pack a punch, he thought. And then there was the semiaccidental discovery Betty had made: the holy water as internal poison.
What if I could create some kind of reservoir inside a stake? he’d wondered. Fill that with holy water and then add a small explosive mechanism so that, when used, the stake explodes and the holy water infiltrates their internal system?
So that’s what he’s doing now. It’s less for Veronica and more for himself and Archie and Betty. If they’re going to counterattack at the gala on Friday, then they’ll need to be prepared. Veronica can more than take care of herself, but the rest of them? Up against an as yet unknown amount of mind-controlled vampires?
Dilton slices off another strip of wood and holds the stake up to the light, eyeing the sharpness of its point before tossing it on the growing pile he’s already finished. Yeah, facing off with a rabid pack of newborn vamps? They’re going to need to be fully armed.
CHERYL STANDS OUT on her balcony, surveying the scene before her.
The backyard is packed, and music thumps out. The party is in full, beautiful swing, but she hasn’t gone down there yet. No, Cheryl Bombshell always makes an entrance.
She goes back into her room and admires her outfit in the mirror: short shorts, a white tee, and signature red lipstick. She’s tamed her hair into tumbling waves and added a pair of gold hoops to finish off the look. Through her door she can hear the noise below, and she gives her reflection a small smile. See? People do like me. They’re here tonight, aren’t they?
Cheryl gives herself a last look and then makes her way down into the fray. She spends some time parading through the party, making sure that everybody sees her, accepting their fawning gazes and eager greetings like they’re oxygen.
No sign of Veronica.
Not that she cares, Cheryl tells herself. Just because her main rival for queen bee refused to make an appearance doesn’t mean she’s lost her edge. Everyone else is here, and that’s all that matters.
Out by the pool some of the Vixens are dancing through cheers tipsily, and Midge and Nancy are waiting for her. “Ladies!” she barks. “Fetch me a drink.
”
And then she turns to the group of girls hanging close behind her and throws her hands in the air. “Who wants to play seven minutes in heaven?”
REGGIE STARES UP at the fence that surrounds the Blossom property. He can see the top of the family’s mansion looming over the fence and hear the party happening behind it.
“Can’t we just go in the front?” Moose scratches at his neck, eyes red. “Seems a little dramatic to hop the fence.”
“It’s the element of surprise,” Reggie tells him. “If we go in the front, everyone will see us and we won’t be able to plan out our attack. This way, no one will know what to expect.”
He licks his lips. When he heard about Cheryl’s party earlier, he couldn’t believe his luck. It’s going to be like an all-you-can-eat buffet in there for both him and Moose.
Well. All they can eat, and then all they can turn.
That’s Reggie plan, at least. He’s been thinking about it ever since he turned Moose. What fun is it to have to creep around, hiding out from everyone, like they’re monsters who need to be hidden away? And how fair is it to keep all the fun of being a vampire for himself when he could be bringing more of his friends in on this? Think about it: Veronica’s already one of them. He can turn Betty, Archie and Jughead, the rest of the Bulldogs, and the Vixens, too. Cheryl—well, he has a better plan for her. But the rest of them?
Why not turn this town into one big vampire party?
Reggie takes out his phone and snaps a selfie of him and Moose, fangs out in front of the Blossom mansion, composing a message to go along with the image. Found something better to eat than a Pop’s burger. Why don’t u come join us?
He presses “Send” and then crouches, hands forming a cradle for Moose to step into. Lay low, Veronica had said.
Interview with the Vixen Page 13