Fangs

by Anna Katmore

  Quentin smiles, but then his face scrunches with disgust. “She the one with the garlic pills?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “No worries then, not gonna happen.” He pulls up the collar of his t-shirt to cover his mouth and nose, his eyes glazing over in the dark. “I should go now.”

  Yeah, that’s probably better than puking in our front garden when Nana comes home. He hangs onto the limb and then drops to the ground. His landing is quieter than a cat’s. But his sudden haste makes me nervous. There are so many things I still want to ask him. And then there’s… I sigh.

  “Quentin.” The soft word is out before I can stop myself. When he looks up at me with those big, dark blue eyes, it tugs at my heartstrings. Boy, I clearly must be out of my mind. Still, I tell him to wait and then grab the tooth from my nightstand. Back at the window, I stretch my arm, holding out my fist. Understanding what I’m doing, he cups his hands, and I let go. The fang drops into his palm. For half a second, he stares at it and then up at me with a look of puzzled gratitude. A tiny smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He mouths, “Goodnight,” before he ducks away and becomes one with the dark.

  I gape after him for another moment, but then I run downstairs and unlock the door for Nana in case Quentin changes his mind about her.

  Nana is just turning into our front garden when I pull open the door and shift from foot to foot as I wait for her to come in. Her hand is warm when she stops in the threshold and cups my cheek. “You’re still up, my dear? Is everything all right?”

  I nod, probably much too fast, and shut the door. “Couldn’t sleep. There was a—” And then I break off, holding my breath for a second as I almost crush the doorknob. What if Quentin was right? What if people go into a frenzied uproar when they hear about him dwelling in the castle and rush up there to stake him? An ice-cold shudder slithers down my back.

  “There was what?” Nana’s voice hauls me out of the ugly image.

  I force a tight smile as I turn around. “Nothing. Just a mosquito that kept me awake.”

  “Nasty little bloodsuckers,” she grumbles and then pushes the red fly swatter that lies on the kitchen counter into my hand. “Use this next time. It should do away with the vermin.”

  “Ah…yes.” Though not with this one. “Thank you.”

  I kiss her goodnight and then hover for a fraction of a second. Close to her face, I draw in a deep breath. Nope, nothing. Seriously, I don’t get what the problem is with Quentin and garlic pills.

  “Sleep tight,” I say, turning to the stairs with one hand already on the handrail. But then I halt and press my lips together. “Umm, Nana?”

  She lowers into a chair to untie her shoes and then lifts her head to me with a smile. “Hmm?”

  “There was an odd door-to-door salesman here this evening. Trying to sell me…Halloween stuff. You shouldn’t let him in if he comes back. Or anyone else.”

  “Don’t worry, my dear.” She rises and puts away her shoes, stepping into her warm slippers. Then she comes to me once more and gently pinches my cheek. “Here in Romania, we know not to ask strangers into our houses.”

  I frown at the glimmer in her eyes. Sure, the legends of Dracula will never die out in this region, but for a moment, I wonder if she perhaps knows more than she lets on. I drop the topic and head to my room because it’s still not an option to reveal Quentin’s secret and put him in the path of furious villagers with pitchforks. At least, yet. He sure gave me a lot to think about, though. And to be prepared for. But I don’t want him getting hunted like Frankenstein’s monster.

  Oh, shit!

  Is that one real, too?

  Chapter 11

  Mind strip

  Abigail

  I hardly slept last night, probably only an hour at a stretch, jerking awake at every tiny noise inside or outside my room. Only when the sun smiled through my window in the morning did I allow myself to relax into the pillow and catch up on a couple of hours rest—with the stake still on my nightstand.

  I’m unusually quiet during my late breakfast, thoughts running madly in my mind, and Nana notices. Her worried glances don’t escape me as she puts some herbs from various jars into a small green paper bag.

  “Dear, is everything—?”

  “I’m late,” I cut her off, probably much too loudly as I jump up and nearly knock the chair over. I don’t want to lie to her, but I didn’t change my mind overnight about putting Quentin in danger, either. She’s the wrong person to talk to anyway—she’s old. And aged people are more prone to strokes or heart-attacks when receiving shocking news, so I’m certainly not going to talk to her about a live vampire living in Castle Dracula.

  But Quentin is too big a secret to keep to myself. I need to share this with someone before I do something stupid. Rosemarie said she’d be home today. She can help me get through this without going insane.

  When I rush to the door, Nana stretches out her arm, and I run into the green paper bag she’s holding. “She needs to make a tea of this. It will help her.”

  Rigid now, I scowl at the bag and slowly take it from her. “Who?”

  “Rosemarie.”

  With my eyes narrowed, and a puzzled frown creasing my brow, I scrutinize her sideways. “How did you know I was going to see Rosemarie?”

  Nana raises her brows and blinks. Then she smiles like someone just flipped a switch. “Because you said so.”

  “No… I’m sure I didn’t.”

  “Oh.” A pause, and then she adjusts the two knitting needles in her tight, gray bun. “Well, then…it was just a good guess.” Simpering like she’s totally winding me up, she returns to the kitchen and starts peeling apples. Irritated, I nail the back of her head with a stare, but she decides to ignore me.

  A grumble passes my lips. With my mind still all twisted, I slip into sandals that match my red summer dress and leave.

  As soon as I’m outside, a shiver ignites in the back of my neck and travels down all the way to my toes. It’s the first time I’ve been out of the house since… My heart starts pounding incredibly fast.

  It’s bright outside, Quentin is trapped in his castle. Still, my gaze moves fast, scanning my surroundings for anything out of place. Creepy eyes in the bushes, perhaps.

  Get a grip! He can’t come down to eat you during the day.

  Nighttime is an entirely different matter, though.

  I glance at the hill where I can make out the tip of the western tower above the trees. The master bedroom is there. I wonder if he’s asleep now or wandering through the dark corridors, trying to fix his tooth issue. At least he can make a fire and light up the spooky place now. The thought gives me some comfort. He did seem quite lonesome yesterday. Perhaps I should—

  God, no, Abigail! Are you crazy?

  I obviously must be. Shaking my head and abandoning the strange sympathy I feel for this blood-drinking creature, I turn in the other direction and stalk off. Quentin is no longer my concern. And for any future night strolls—no matter where in the world!—I just might start swallowing garlic pills.

  Soon, the warm noon sun chases away the rest of my gloomy thoughts, and I slow my pace. It’s only a two-minute walk to Rosemarie Wynter’s house. I love her cozy yellow cottage with its red roof and purple window frames. She and her grandaunt Emily live there, along with the goose family they house in their garden. Rosemarie’s parents died when she was just a kid. She never speaks about them, mostly because she doesn’t remember much, but I know she loves her grandaunt like a mother.

  To my surprise, I find Rosemarie lying on a deck chair in her garden, wrapped in a cuddly orange blanket with a duck pattern on it. She appears asleep, but I can’t tell for sure with her black sunglasses covering her eyes. They stand out in stark contrast to her sickly pale skin and chin-length blond hair.

  With soft steps, I walk up the paved walkway through her front garden and whisper her name. Immediately, she stirs and tilts her head, her lips stretching into a weak smile. “Abby!” The
next thing out of her mouth is a series of sneezes, though. I scrunch up my face in sympathy.

  “Sorry,” she says quickly, blowing her nose in a couple of tissues that she plucks from a box on the tiny table next to her. “I caught a bug on the camping trip.”

  Oh, boy, she looks miserable. The corner of the blanket slides from her shoulder, revealing a gray knitted sweater underneath. She must be running a fever if she’s chilled with these hot temperatures. Raincheck on our usual screech-hug-happiness fit when we see each other again at the beginning of every vacation.

  On autopilot, I hand her the green bag I clasped to my stomach the entire time. “Nana sent this for you. She said you should make a tea with the herbs. It will help.” When she reaches for it, my forehead creases in puzzlement. “Did you speak to her this morning?”

  “No. I only came back last night. I haven’t seen your grandma in weeks.” Opening the bag, she sniffs and pulls a face. “Ugh. Smells like wet socks.”

  Yeah, Nana’s homespun remedies usually do.

  She puts the bag on the table next to the tissues. “Please, tell her thanks. I’ll try it.”

  I lower to the edge of the other deck chair, sitting sideways while Rosemarie reclines and pulls the blanket tightly around her shoulders again with another weak attempt at a smile. “So, how is your summer so far? Have a nice restful few days since you got here?”

  I’m not quite sure if restful is the word to describe things like taking apple strudel to a vampire. Or resuscitating him when I thought he was dead.

  Oh. My. God.

  Suddenly, I feel as pale as Rosemarie looks. I had my mouth on a real…dead…vampire. He wasn’t just pretending, he was like…what? In a vampire coma? And he put his tongue into my mouth! I gulp.

  “Abby? Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Rosemarie’s voice pulls me back from my horror, my eyes focusing on her again. “Yeah, sure. It’s just…” Damn, what are the right words to explain this to her? “You remember when we played house up in the castle as kids?”

  She nods.

  Well, Dracula’s heir is playing that game now.

  Nope, that just doesn’t sound right. “Um…I went there a couple of days ago and met—”

  “Hello,” a deep male voice gently interrupts, and I jump in the chair with another bout of terror because I totally missed someone walking out of the house.

  When I tilt my head, I have to blink against the burning sun to make out the silhouette of a tall, young man, his hands casually tucked into his jeans’ pockets.

  As if in a trance, I slowly rise. From this perspective, the fine features of a beautiful face become visible. His eyes are a deep shade of chestnut, and there’s just enough stubble on his cheeks and chin to make him look a little over twenty.

  “Hi,” I rasp, starting to lift my hand.

  It drops when Rosemarie’s harsh voice surprises me. “Seriously? I can’t even have three minutes alone with my friend?” Exhausted from her illness and perhaps a little from his appearance, she rests her head against the cushioned deck chair again.

  His toffee hair stands at chaotic angles, but it looks as soft as silk when he runs a hand through it. “Just worried about you,” he answers wryly. “Who’s your friend?”

  My gaze darts uncomfortably back and forth between them. Somehow, it feels like I shouldn’t be interrupting their conversation—which is strangely in English and not Romanian—but…alas…I’m still here. And I don’t know how to make myself invisible.

  “Sorry, Abby, this is Trayan MacCorbin. He’s living with us for the summer and came on the camping trip with me,” Rosemarie finally says in a much softer voice than before. Okay, I guess now is the right time to hold out my hand again. “Trayan, this is Abigail. I told you she spends her summer vacations with Carmina Potts up the road.”

  “Right. Nice to meet you, Abigail.” His warm fingers close around mine, applying a semi-long but gentle squeeze. “Rosemarie spoke a lot about you.”

  Interesting. Because I have absolutely no idea who he is. “Please, call me Abby.”

  He smiles with a nod and releases my hand. When he lowers to the deck chair I was sitting on earlier, I sink back to my former place beside him and keep my curious gaze trained on his face. “Your name sounds Scottish. You’re not from here, are you?”

  “Brinmore, Loch Ruthven.”

  Oh, I know that region in the Scottish Highlands. It’s absolutely beautiful. “And you came to Romania for the camping trip?”

  “Not quite…but it was part of it.” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His well-defined biceps tighten under the sleeves of his dark red t-shirt. “I’ve got family here. And a job to do.” At the last word, his gaze slides subtly to Rosemarie. And even though his smile is almost perfectly hidden, there’s no doubt that he’s teasing her.

  Rosemarie purses her lips. “The job is done. I think you can go home now.”

  A laugh almost escapes me at her not-so-subtle hint to send him back to Scotland. Camping with him must have been quite the experience. And then she simply ignores him. “So, what were you saying before, Abby? You met someone at the castle?”

  “Ugh…” Yeah, with Trayan around, this really isn’t the subject I want to discuss right now. I would tell Rosemarie about the vampire, but definitely not a stranger.

  “At the old castle on the hill?” Trayan probes, looking at me with a curious tilt of his head. “I heard it once belonged to Count Dracula.” His eyes are expectantly narrowed.

  Shit.

  “Yeees…?” The word drags out ominously between my teeth as I think about what to say, panicking a bit. I swallow to slow my suddenly racing heart. “He’s just some movie guy.” Right. That excuse worked with Nana, so it’s a good enough cover for now. I’ll tell Rosemarie the full story next time when Trayan has gone back to Scotland, and we’re alone. Hopefully, with her feeling better. “Said he was checking out the location for a film shoot.” Oh, look, my voice sounds normal and nonchalant. Not at all like a trapped mouse.

  “Now, that’s cool!” Even in her miserable condition, the spark of excitement comes through in Rosemarie’s tone. “Did he say which movie?”

  “Frankenstein.”

  She nods. “Mm-hmm. That fits.”

  Trayan’s immobile eyes still focus on me. There’s such a fine curve to his lips that I cannot tell whether this is all natural or if it’s the beginning of a secret smile he holds back. His intense gaze boring into me feels anything but comfortable, though.

  At his invasive look, a sudden urge overwhelms me. I want to shout at him that it was all a lie and promise that I’ll never again speak an untruth in front of him. I frown, for lack of a better reaction and because I want to shut off anything he might be reading in me right now. My throat feels dry when I swallow. Damn, what is it about this guy?

  Wringing my clammy hands, I jerk to my feet. Time to go. “Sorry, I can’t stay. Nana needs help in the garden today,” I tell Rosemarie and offer her an apologetic smile. “Call me when you feel better, okay?”

  “Of course. Don’t forget to tell her thanks for the tea.”

  I nod and then turn to her friend, who still looks up at me with that same secretive, not-sure-if-it-is-a-smile grin. “Trayan…”

  “Abby…”

  I draw in a breath, then spin on my heel and walk down the paved walkway through the garden, turning a sharp right at the end to head home. Jesus! And I thought the vampire was creepy.

  Chapter 12

  Friendship over food

  Quentin

  I wake up much too early. Holy bat shit, how long does it take to get over jetlag? Another afternoon to while away in a creepy, giant, lonesome castle.

  My tongue glides across my upper teeth. All in a perfect line again. The fang I pushed back into the hole of my gum after my return from Abby’s is still in place. Now I pray that my super-healing kicked in during my death sleep and sealed the wound.

&n
bsp; A test run of extending and retracting my canines in front of the aged mirror in the corridor proves that not all my powers are waning yet. My strength and speed are lessening alarmingly—I found that out last night when I worked up a sweat chopping that damn tree to get past the invisible barrier—but at least everything else seems to be intact. For now…

  Hunger burns its way through my veins. I know that, eventually, all my superior abilities will suffer as a result of this fucking famine. But to descend on a human and feed without placing them in a willing trance first is just too dangerous. It could start a hunt, when vampires have kept their existence covered and protected for centuries. We might be the superior race, but we’re certainly the minority on this planet. And fear makes humans do incredibly stupid things—like eradicate entire populations. Starting with me…

  The blurred face in the mirror scrunches up. I don’t want to be annihilated. And Uncle V would kill me twice over if I were the cause of the species’ downfall. So, what’s a little hunger? I just have to learn mind control within the next few days...or get Abby to break into a blood bank for me. Hey, she gave me my tooth back, chances are she just might.

  Outing myself to her was probably the dumbest thing I could have done. But there was a small flicker of trust in her eyes when she sat on the floor in her room last night and started asking questions that impressed me. She’s a brave one. She opened up instead of throwing garlic bulbs at me. I was sure if I asked her to let me bite her, she’d impale me right through the heart with the stake I gave her—or with a mop if she had to.