Fangs

by Anna Katmore

In the afternoon, I flop onto the warm grass with a book and read away the hours. Three of the kittens curl up into one big fur ball next to me, while the fluffy gray tiger plays with one of my blue strands of hair. It pulls a little on my scalp when he catches it with his teeth and baby claws, so I push him away a couple of times. But he’s persistent and sneaks up on me again until I close the book and roll onto my back, dozing in the sun as I gently rub behind his ear.

  A light chill on my forearms wakes me from my nap. The sun has traveled to the west and is sliding behind the peaks of the mountains. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and accidentally toss the little tiger off me. He was sleeping on my chest the entire time. He quickly licks his front paw and then throws me a grumpy look as he trots off to his siblings.

  I nudge his head before I get up and walk inside. It’s time to meet Quentin and give him the charged phone. I’m sure he’ll be happy to get it back, especially in a boring place like the castle. I would have brought it up there earlier, but he didn’t invite me yesterday, and since it’s basically his home right now, I didn’t want to intrude. With Rosemarie still gone, meeting the L.A. guy tonight will add a much-needed diversion to my boring day.

  Taking two steps at a time, I run up the stairs to my room and stuff Quentin’s cell into my pocket. On the way out, my gaze gets caught on Nana’s little horn on the table. After the eerie howling of last night, it’s probably best to take it with me—not that I intend to venture into the woods. But one never knows what wild animals get up to when they’re hungry. The wolf could sniff me, track me down, and then eat me like the second little pig. I’m not taking risks tonight.

  I hurry down the road, trying hard to keep my pace casual and not fall into an excited jog. Which is hard because my nerves are strung tautly. Memories of the surprise kiss last night push to the surface of my mind. Snickering to myself, I decide that I wouldn’t mind a repeat of it sometime this summer.

  As I turn onto the dirt road leading up to the castle, I scan the place where I found Quentin dead last night. It’s empty and silent, except for a few crickets singing their evening song. Maybe he was already here, and we missed each other? I am a little late. Then again, what’s actually late when you’re allergic to daylight?

  Spinning that thought for a while, I head east and up the hill. Some two hundred feet ahead, I finally spot someone sitting under a tree, carving a branch with what looks like a pocket knife. Quentin smiles when he looks up and sees me.

  Suddenly, my heart beats a little faster.

  Chapter 8

  Why do you stink so?

  Quentin

  The eerie howling last night haunted me all through the castle. The creature baying so desperately at the moon couldn’t be more than a mile away. And a mile is dangerously close if you have nothing to protect yourself with.

  Because I had no idea if the beast was inside or outside of the magical vampire cage I found myself in, or if it could cross the border as easily as Abigail did, I dashed around the place and shut every single window. I also pulled the curtains closed in case sleep dragged me under before dawn.

  Wise decision, I think when I wake up in the kitchen next to the barrel of water that I’d used to wash the bed sheets. Lack of food gnaws at me. Work seems to exhaust me much quicker than usual—if it ever did at all. I remember deciding to take a tiny break from wringing out the blankets and sitting down on the chair in the corner. Now, a glance at my wristwatch shows that I was out cold for nearly ten hours.

  Holy bat shit, it’s the middle of the afternoon. I was dead and exposed, and anyone could’ve strolled in here for a little adventure. Although I know of only one girl who could do that. At least, so far. Since there’s no ambulance around with paramedics shooting electricity through my chest, and I’m not yet packed into a sealed body bag, Abigail obviously stayed away.

  Note for the future: even small breaks will be taken in my locked bedroom from now on.

  I finish washing and wringing the bed linens and then spread them over my coffin that I dragged into the kitchen. At least tomorrow morning I should be falling asleep in a fresh and cozy bed.

  Annoyingly, one thing interrupts that nice thought. Reg left me no matches. He must have lit the candle with his lighter upon our arrival. And while there are enough candles upstairs in the drawer to last for a year, there is no way to light them since the one I had went out.

  Even though my eyes are as sharp in the shadows as they are in light, I don’t like wandering around in utter darkness all day. It’s creepy and disconcerting, not to mention that it makes me feel alone.

  Very carefully, I crack a few of the curtains open here and there, only enough for a small strip of sunlight to stream in. I’ll have to walk around those so I don’t get burned, but that’s okay. The hallways are wide enough. And I’ll know when the sun starts to sink, and twilight sets in. Something I’m dying for so I can meet the cute cookie again.

  Hunger has started a rebellion in my stomach, but it’s still hours until I can sink my teeth into Abigail’s neck. In my belly-aching horror, I chug water from the pumper. The fake feeling of having a full stomach does little for my craving for blood. Shit.

  When the light sifting in through the slits in the curtains finally starts to fade, a rush of anticipation rolls over me.

  Time to catch my happy meal!

  To wait for Abby, I choose a place far enough away from the strange invisible wall that stops me from crossing over. Because she isn’t in sight yet, I break a thin but solid branch from a tree, sit down, and start sharpening it with the pocket knife I’ve been carrying with me since the howling set in last night.

  Once I finally sink my teeth into the cookie on two legs, I intend to take a walk through the woods and go looking for the damn beast. Better to have a weapon on me when I find it.

  Half an hour passes until Abigail Potts wanders up the road. I hear her footsteps and lift my head, smiling at my dinner delivery service. She stops short when we make eye-contact. Her healthy heartbeat accelerates, making the pretty little vein in her neck pulsate even harder. Is she nervous? Does she suspect something? Oh, please, don’t turn around yet! She’s still too close to the mysterious wall, and if she were to leave now, I wouldn’t catch her, even if I ran.

  But then the corners of her mouth lift, and she continues toward me, if with slightly shyer steps than before.

  The stick is sharp enough to pierce wolf skin, so I put the knife away and stand up like a gentleman. My mouth already waters, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation. Holy bat shit, I haven’t eaten in fifty-eight hours. This girl is going to be my savior.

  And I’m so going to enjoy her.

  “Hi,” she calls and lifts her hand in greeting.

  I open my mouth to return the salutation, but a foul smell filters through my nose at that moment and wreaks havoc with my stomach. Instead of saying “hey,” I throw up a little in my mouth and double over. What the hell?

  “Quentin! Is everything okay?” Abby sounds shocked to the bone. “Do you need help?” She hurries over, and with every step she moves closer, it’s obvious that she’s the source of the foul odor. Freaking hell, what did she do to herself? Take a garlic bubble bath?

  She’s only five feet away when the smell overwhelms me. I have to brace a hand on the tree to keep myself from collapsing. “No, don’t!” I grit out, pressing my other hand to my stomach. All the water I drank earlier comes up, and I puke on the ground. My mind is in such a haze that I can’t even hear myself thinking. The only thing I know is that I need to get away from Abigail. As far away as possible. And fast.

  Ignoring my warning, Abby rushes to my side and puts a hand on my back, leaning forward to look into my sweaty and probably pale face. “You aren’t going to pass out again… Oh my God, are you?”

  “Noooo…” Another well of vomit pushes up my throat and fountains out of my mouth. Jeez! “Could you just—?” Turning away from her, I try to focus on which way would take me back to the castle. “So
rry. I have to go.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  She’s clearly worrying her pretty little head over me, but I can’t stay even a minute longer when she’s obviously rolled in the most disgusting thing ever. I never liked garlic much while I was human. After turning into a vampire, the shit has become deadly.

  Abby follows me a few steps as I stumble away. “Would you like me to take you back to your…place?”

  That’s the absolute last thing in the world I want her to do. “No, just—stay. Please. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

  She remains quiet for a few seconds, but then she blurts after me, “Wait. Your phone. At least take it with you and call someone if you get worse.”

  Yeah, like who? The local emergency response? Should I ask them to bring me a gas mask? But she’s right about the phone. I need it. If only to ring Uncle Vlad and call him every foul name I can think of tonight.

  With my head tilted away from her, I reach out and wait for her to place the cell and charger into my hand. Then I pocket them and wobble away, throwing up once more beside the path.

  Fortunately, the nausea stops as soon as I slip through the castle door and close out the disgusting stench that she tormented me with. What is it with this girl that she permanently tries to torture me when we meet? I’ve had to deal with humans since becoming a vampire, but none of them were ever a plague like Abigail Potts.

  On the plus side, she certainly killed my hunger for the next ten hours.

  When I can walk straight again, and my stomach finally gives me a break, I head into the garden and sit down by the well near an oak tree to catch my breath. The moon casts a perfect glow of blue light over the area, but I would like to take Abby over my knee anyway for spoiling another twilight for me. She’s lucky she charged my phone, which I’m unspeakably grateful for. It saved her from discipline the next time we meet. I need to get out of this damn prison and go food shopping in the village. So, the first thing I do is turn on my phone. I ignore all the messages on Twitter and open Google.

  Vampire can’t break through invisible barrier, is the first thing I type. What comes up is a lot of bullshit from a vampire TV show with explanations on how they can’t enter somebody’s home without an invitation. Right, I already knew that.

  Next, I try: vampire trapped inside a dome. I ignore all the suggestions for vampire romance books and scroll down to an entry about people who call themselves night-crawlers, pointing out how much better zombies are when compared to vampires.

  Yeah, go fuck yourself, Google.

  I push the search result page up with my finger until an article stands out that seems to be written by some ancient Middle-eastern folks. There’s a lot of witchy stuff in there, but the deeper I delve into the matter, the closer I come to the salvation of my personal riddle. Legend has it that you can trap a vampire in a certain place if you plant thirteen yew trees in a perfect circle around the location.

  My brows knit. What the hell does a yew even look like? Okay, Google is my friend again as I go to a page that shows several pictures of this particular tree type. I didn’t pay any attention to the vegetation last night, but there may have been a few of those around as I checked out the invisible barrier.

  The people who wrote the article say that chopping down one of them should be enough to break the spell. Thank you, internet folks! Can you now please send me a chainsaw and lay a power cable from the village up to the castle? I’ll pay with Count Dracula’s Visa card.

  A cricket lands on my bent knee and starts to cat-lick its tentacles. I snap it away and then get up from the ground. My back hurts, and it’s time to get inside anyway.

  The castle is awfully dark. And cold. Weird, I haven’t been cold in over two decades. Being a vampire brings many advantages, like a healthy and cozy temperature, super-fast speed, exceptional sight and hearing, and then, of course, all the cool stuff that Uncle V can do that I can’t. But I shouldn’t shiver from the chilly temperature inside these stone walls. I shouldn’t even notice it. Still, my skin turns into a carpet of goosebumps.

  I rub my upper arms to get rid of the chill, and for a moment, it makes me feel warmer. But the shivers set in again as soon as I lower my hands.

  I wonder if it has anything to do with my burning hunger. Low blood sugar and all that. The devil knows what that can do to a vampire.

  The air outside is much more enjoyable, so I use finding those yew trees as an excuse to escape into the night. With the picture on my phone, I scan every plant near the cursed circle and easily make out the traitorous ones. They’re tall. And thick. They look several hundred years old. They must have been planted shortly after Uncle V moved away from here. The joke about ordering a chainsaw doesn’t seem so unreal anymore. Even with vampire strength, there’s no chance that I can tear one of the giants from their earth beds. Digging them out seems just as unlikely.

  I swipe the Google app away and call my uncle instead. But all I get is his damn voicemail. Shit. He must be in his death sleep. What is the time difference between here and California again? Nine hours? Ten? It’s bright daylight over there now. No chance of reaching anyone in Villa Dracula, not even my aunt’s P.A. because she’s used to working at night. She’s probably not allowed to answer my calls anyway, by my uncle’s decree.

  Damn, what I wouldn’t give now for a little nibble from Cassie’s tender neck. She’s blood type O-negative. Not as sweet as the walking cookie, but still a flavor with a mild finish.

  I pocket my phone on the way inside the castle and pick up some fallen branches and dried weeds from the yard. A fire in the bedroom would be nice.

  My nausea forgotten, my stomach starts killing me as it keeps punching me with reminders that it didn’t get a draught of blood in way too many hours. To get my mind off my misery, I stack the wood in the fireplace and hunker in front of it. Time for another little mind practice. Since the spider mind-control thing didn’t work, it’s probably best to go for something easier. Something without its own free will. Wood is good.

  I stare at the logs with an iron will and visualize the neat little heap starting to burn. But, apparently, staring is not the key to success. Maybe the power needs to come from somewhere else. I rise and take a step backward, holding out my arms, fingers spread at a cramping angle. “Hey, presto!” I shout at the wood. It seems unimpressed by that.

  “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo?”

  Eyes narrowed and teeth clenched, I tighten my muscles so much that my hands begin to shake. “Abracadabra!”

  Nothing happens.

  “By the Power of Grayskull, goddammit!”

  Exhausted and running out of spells, I stumble back until I knock into the bed and land on the mattress. I swear, if I survive this stay and ever get back to California, I’ll find the evilest witch in town and have her teach me every spell she can to turn my uncle into a toad, a slimy snail, and a fricking cockroach—in that order.

  Homesickness clogs my throat. I crawl over to the pillow and bury myself in the fresh blankets and sheets. If I can’t make a fire in this godforsaken place, I can at least wrap myself in something cozy and pretend to be home in my own room when I close my eyes.

  *

  The redemption of sleep is much too short, and I wake again long before noon. Jeez, I need to get this jetlag thing under control, or it’ll kill me before starvation does.

  Endlessly, I wander through the corridors, exploring all the rooms and corners I haven’t yet seen. How alone can one vampire feel in a castle half the size of Hollywood? I stop in front of an old, scratched mirror and smile at my reflection for fifteen minutes just to give myself the feeling of having company other than a bunch of rats. When my cheeks cramp, and I start looking like a tortured guinea pig, I finally continue my stroll around the place.

  The only upside of being awake during the day is that I can now call my uncle and I won’t get stuck with his recorded message. If he’s gracious enough to pick up when he sees my name, that is.

  He answers on th
e second ring, but what reaches me before the very first “hello” is his chiding chuckle. “Well, well. If it isn’t our vampire in training…”

  “Yeah. Hi to you, too.” I actually want to grumble this, but I find it’s too good to hear a voice in this deserted place, and I end up sounding more like an excited whelp than a grumpy undead.

  “Does your call mean you got the werewolf and learned to use your given powers?”

  “Ugh…not exactly.”

  Uncle Vlad’s sigh drifts through the line. Is that sympathy? I’m not sure. Impatience? Certainly. “Then what do you want, Nephew?”

  “Bring me home! Please!” Yeah, I’m not even a little ashamed of my whiny tone. “This castle is like a run-down haunted house, and I don’t know who did it or how, but there’s a magical dome over this place. I can’t get past it, and there are no people with me inside that I can eat.” Apart from the girl who keeps crossing the line, with the sole purpose of torturing me, I’m sure.

  “What do you mean?” He sounds curious now.

  I tell him all about the yew tree circle and how the barrier knocked me out cold on my first day. “There’s no way I can chop one of them with just my pocket knife, they’re much too big. And why the hell is there no electricity in your old home? There’s a pit latrine behind the castle, for blood’s sake!” Thankfully, as a vampire on a blood diet, there’s no need for me to use it, but it’s ancient!

  “Go to the dungeon,” comes the answer from my uncle.

  I stop dead in my pacing. “To do what? Shit in the rat’s home?”

  “Not for the toilet, you ignorant—” I don’t know what he planned to call me because his next words get muffled by what sounds like a hand pressed over his mouth.

  A soft, female voice drifts to me, though it’s clear she’s not speaking into the phone. “Don’t get your temper high again, darling. Take a deep breath…” A pause, then her voice becomes an insistent notch sharper. “Deep breath, Vladimir. Now!” An extreme snort follows, something that obviously appeases my aunt. “Good. Now, be a nice uncle to Quentin and tell him what he needs to know.”