Nice Werewolves Don't Bite Vampires
Page 9
“I can’t always control them,” he said, gesturing to his mouth and clearing his throat awkward. “Though, uh, it’s been a long time since that’s happened.”
“I’m fine,” I promised him. “And not to be a buzzkill, but no matter how well things work between us, we may never be able to have all those nice things you mentioned.”
“I’d still like to try,” he mumbled, kissing me again. “And a proper first date—without your contingent of vampire chaperones—is a good way to start, I think.”
“Dick doesn’t mean half of those threatening gestures,” I swore as we settled back into our seats.
“I would like to believe you, but somehow…” Alex shuddered.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie,” I said. “I figured Amadeus would be right up your alley.”
He shrugged. “I don’t spend much time on television or movies. It’s always seemed so loud to me. Too much.”
“That seems so outside of my experience,” I laughed, thinking of how often I would come home to not only the living room TV blasting, but my parents’ unit blasting in their room. No wonder I was so good at tuning out noise at the music school. “But I think you’ll like this. It involves Mozart…though I can’t guarantee historical accuracy…or that you won’t be insulted by the way the era’s hairstyle was portrayed.”
“Impossible, the era’s hairstyles were horrifying,” he informed me, making me giggle.
As the last pink fingers of sunset faded from the sky, the screen lit up with the same old WELCOME TO MARV’S slide. As usual, the classic dancing concessions commercial played, encouraging the audience to “go to the lobby.” Which didn’t exist, because we were outside.
Alex glanced towards the concession stand, grimacing at the sight of a line that stretched all the way across the parking lot and around the corner towards the screen. “The line has barely moved since I got here. Is there service really that slow?”
I grinned. “No, that is the magical draw of the pizza bacon dog on a stick.”
Alex froze. “I’m sorry, what now?”
“It’s a hot dog wrapped in bacon with cheese, pepperoni, and chopped onions sort of secured inside that porky cocoon, then dipped in corndog batter and deep fried.”
Alex gagged and held up a finger. “Pardon me for a moment.”
“No, I get it, if solid food tastes like garbage to you, that would basically be a nightmare on a stick.”
Local legend had it that Marv invented the pizza bacon dog on a stick late one night when there was a rush on the concession stand and he had hot dogs, but no buns; pepperoni, but no pizza dough. He’d combined them in desperation and created a snack food that captured local tastes and imagination. (It wasn’t that hard to do, considering that Marv had used cheese food product, processed meats and deep-frying…and this was Kentucky.)
Despite the increasingly mediocre movie selections, customers still showed up for the pizza bacon dogs on a stick. Sometimes, they just ate pizza bacon dogs and then left before the movie started—even after paying admission! That culinary marvel kept Marv’s open through recessions and heat waves and the IMAX craze.
“Did you want something to eat?” he asked. “It’s considered a cornerstone of any modern date, yes?”
“You’re sweet to offer, but I wouldn’t do that to you.” I snickered. “I ate before I left the house. I don’t want to trap you in a car with food that smells disgusting to you.”
“Your sacrifice is very considerate,” he said, smiling at me. “Jane told me how important food is to werewolves, what with your fast metabolism.”
I didn’t mention the devastating effects of a pizza bacon dog on a stick on one’s breath. The one natural ingredient in the pizza bacon dogs on a stick—the onions—were homegrown in Marv’s garden and were legendarily potent. I was doing us both a favor.
“That is one of the few things werewolves have over on the vampires. The ability to eat multiple pizzas in a single bound without suffering the consequences,” I conceded. “But you all get super-secret extra powers and I am very jealous.”
“Some of those powers aren’t very useful,” he assured me. “I met a vampire in Munich whose special vampire skill was knowing when sun was about to rise.”
“But isn’t that important information for people who burst into flames when they come into contact with the sun?” I asked.
“Yes, but generally, the best indicator that the sun is rising is a big ball of fire in the sky.”
“Fair enough.” I nodded. “Is it considered rude to ask about a vampire’s special power?”
“Not at all. I can hear the true emotions in a person’s voice, which I know sounds like I’m just listening to their tone. But I can hear hidden love, I can hear hidden hate. When we met, I could tell that you weren’t just annoyed with those boys knocking into the bookshelf. I could hear your desperation to get away. I could hear how nervous you were to talk to me. I could hear that you wanted me.”
“Well, that sounds…I really wish I had known that before I talked to you,”
“It’s not an exact gift, like mind-reading and I try not to use it to my advantage,” he said, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “And when you think about it, it makes sense. My hearing was highly attuned in life, and music has always affected my emotions profoundly. My gift just combined the two.”
“Well, it’s definitely more helpful than the sunrise thing.”
The movie started and we stopped speaking, leaning towards each other as the story sprang to life on the screen. For the first time since we’d met, we managed to be alone and still, without people watching or my having to rush away. It was so nice, to sit there together in the quiet dark and just be.
Later that night, as I settled into bed, having showered and changed into PJs and thrown my drive-in clothes in the washer while my parents dozed in their recliners, there was a knock at my window. It was so soft, it was almost unnoticeable. I cringed, wondering if one of my relatives had followed the smell of popcorn to my window from the perimeter. I’d changed into fresh clothes after I ran home, and then used the floral-scented wet wipes to clean my skin before I walked through the door. But you could only do so much to get rid of movie snack-smell.
In my dark bedroom, I crept to my window and saw nothing but tree branches swaying, as if they’d just been swept aside. I opened the window, a narrow horizontal affair I couldn’t hope to slide out of…which in terms of parenting, was pretty diabolical. I turned the crank to vent it outward and picked up on the warm scent of cedar…and onions and pepperoni.
Which was not a great combination.
I sniffed, glancing down to a shiny object placed just under my window. Winking in the moonlight was a pizza bacon dog on a stick, carefully wrapped in aluminum foil.
A silly, stupid grin broke out on my face.
My phone pinged. Under Aunt Myrtle’s screen name, Alex had texted me, “It didn’t seem right to me, that you missed out on your favorite treat because you’re such a considerate person.”
“Thank you, you’re very sweet,” I replied. “How did you get one? The line was still crazy when I left”
Alex had not been thrilled about not driving me home, but his protests were minimal after I laid what I considered to be an impressive second goodnight kiss on him and then ran away. Had he really stayed behind and shelled out cash to get me a stinky processed food treat and sneak it across supernatural enemy lines? Somehow, it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.
That was sort of sad.
“If you offer enough people bribes, they’ll let you skip ahead in the pizza-bacon-dog-on-a-stick line.”
I laughed, typing back. “Your chivalry is very impressive. But please don’t sneak onto the compound again. It’s very dangerous. If my family caught you.” I paused, trying to think of the most appropriate and not-insulting way to phrase “werewolf ass-whooping.” But I just went with, “It would be very bad.”
I gasped. If he saw me smile, did that mean he was standing in the woods, watching? It already denied logic that my family hadn’t smelled him. “You’re still here? Go!”
The trees rustled just a bit more and I imagined him running through the woods—I hoped to get far, far away from here. I snuck through the living room, past my sleeping parents and the blaring TV and out the door.
I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed around the side of the trailer. The foil package was waiting there for me and I took it to the garden plot to sit among natural, healthy plants…and eat the most unnatural and unhealthy thing possible. I was a creature of contradictions.
That man had risked nausea and limb to get me something he knew I would like, something I’d given up to make him more comfortable. When was the last time anyone had done that for me? Put themselves at risk? Noticed and appreciated what I’d done for them? It certainly wasn’t something I saw in my parents’ relationship. The last time my daddy had given anything for Mama, I think it involved not watching a play-off game because she’d broken her tail bone and wanted to watch Wheel of Fortune.
I laid back on the dirt, staring up at the stars and chewing thoughtfully. I felt like I was standing with my toes over the edge of something, something special, something that could change the rest of my life. But I didn’t know if that change would be for better or for worse. I could have maybe found someone I could love. I could have found someone who could be in my life for years. And at the same time, my family could find out about Alex. I could be pushed out into the cold on my own.
Some weird little voice in the back of my head said maybe one would be worth the other.
5
“What you don’t know about your partner’s past can hurt you. What you don’t tell your partner about your past will hurt you in a far more dramatic (and possibly bloody) fashion.”
—A Gentleman in Any Era: An Ancient Vampire’s Guide to Modern Relationships
* * *
The next morning, I woke up to a silent house, which was never a good sign. I padded into the living room. My parents were sitting at the dinette, eating an inordinate amount of sausage and eggs.
“Morning,” I muttered, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
“I smell pizza bacon dogs,” Daddy said, staring at me.
I froze in the middle of my first coffee sip. How was that even possible with the amount of sausage and coffee in this small space? But instead of making up an excuse, I just said, “Weird.”
“Pretty weird, being able to smell them so far away from the drive-in.”
“Mmmhmm,” I mumbled into my coffee cup.
Daddy stared me down while he chewed. “Where did you say you went last night?”
“Jolene’s,” I replied, careful to maintain eye contact.
“And if I called Jolene to ask what time she sent you home, what time would she tell me?”
“Well, I got home around 11, so 10:40?” I guessed, sipping my coffee. I was able to stay so casual because I’d already texted Jolene to tell her what time she’d sent me home.
I wasn’t proud of lying, but life wasn’t giving me much choice lately.
“I’ll do just that,” he said. “Keeps ya honest.”
“All right, then.” I shrugged, even while I mentally apologized to Jolene.
The front door swung open and Aunt Lurlene walked in without even knocking. Because why would she? It was just our kitchen, where we were sitting, in our pajamas, having a private conversation. I hated it. Almost as much as I hated the way my mother hopped up from her breakfast to plate some sausage and eggs.
The many benefits of living in my own space seemed to scroll through my brain, like a devious voice whispering in my ear. Privacy. Control over who walked in my door first thing in the morning. Meals in blessed silence. But Lurlene was teetering with purpose on her cork wedge shoes, so I didn’t have time for that voice or its seductive promises.
“Morning.” My daddy just kept chewing as Lurlene kissed his cheek. She didn’t say ‘thank you’ when Mama served her breakfast, which was not helping my mood.
“What brings you by?” Mama asked, pouring Lurlene coffee.
“Oh, just checking in on Tylene,” Lurlene said breezily, as if that was a normal thing to say about a grown ass woman, who was standing right there. “I hear you stayed out late last night.”
“Yes, as I mentioned before to my parents,” I said, even while Daddy glared at me. “I was babysitting for Jolene.”
“Well, I just think it’s weird that you would stay out so late to babysit,” she said, giving me the stink-eye.
“Okay.”
“It would be a shame,” she said, chewing on a strip of bacon. “If you were to break the trust of your parents, and your whole family, your pack, the people who have sheltered you and fed you for your entire life, by lying to them.”
I tried not to respond, with facial expressions or words. What did she know? Had she seen Alex running through the woods, pizza bacon dog in hand? Had she smelled him on the property? On me?
“That would be a shame,” I said, sipping my coffee. Daddy was watching the conversation bounce between us like a very angry tennis fan.
“If you want to go on a date with a boy, he needs to come seek your family’s approval,” Lurlene said. “He needs to talk to your daddy. If he’s not willing to do that, he’s not worth having.”
“Tylene knows that,” Mama said quietly.
“She damn well better,” Daddy muttered.
Indignation burned through me—far more indignation than probably deserved by someone who was actually lying to her family and dating someone who would not be approved by her family. Even if Lurlene did know something, what right did she have to walk into my home, and question me in front of my parents? For the first time in a long time, the anger I felt being treated this way far outweighed the fear of getting into trouble.
“I promise not to date any boys you haven’t met yet,” I said through an insincere smile.
Six hundred year old vampires didn’t count as boys, right?
Lurlene must have picked up on my very specific wording because she seemed unconvinced.
“You just need to be careful who you throw your lot in with, Tylene.” She wiped her mouth and stood, leaving her plate for Mama to clear. “Tyler, we need to talk sometime soon.”
With that last comment hanging in the air, she swanned out of the trailer, leaving me to deal with the fallout.
“What did you do?” Daddy demanded.
I scoffed. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
Which was true. I had no idea what she was referring to. She could have gotten a phone call from someone who saw me at the drive-in. She could have seen me sitting out in the field and eating ill-gotten deep-fried food. She could have inferred some random scenario that had no connection with reality as I knew it. The worst part was I didn’t know what she planned to do with that information or how to get ahead of it.
Daddy sneered at me.
“Look, last year, Lurlene was convinced cousin Shaylene was pregnant by that cook from the Coffee Spot. Remember? Shaylene was keeping ‘odd hours’ and Lurlene ‘thought maybe’ she saw Shaylene’s car in the parking lot of the diner once or twice? Lurlene got all the aunties riled up about the new baby and planned a baby shower? But it turned out Shaylene was keeping ‘odd hours’ because she got her mechanic’s certification and was working at a garage in Monkey’s Eyebrow.”
“And why did she feel like she couldn’t tell her family about her new job?” Daddy snorted. “Working for some stranger instead of your cousin Nate’s towing business?”
“Because she didn’t want to work for her brother, who drives her crazy?” I guessed. “My point is Aunt Lurlene sometimes—”
“You need to watch yourself,” he warned me. He stood up from the table and threw himself into his recliner. He picked up the remote and began flipping through channels. I watched Mama clear the table, knowing that I would get no help from her.
Just last night, I’d been lying under the stars, eating my favorite food, obtained at great peril by my gentleman caller—only to come crashing back to reality this morning. And all I could think of was getting back to Alex.
And possibly getting more pizza bacon dogs.
With the specter of Lurlene’s “dangerous information” hanging over my head, I was only too happy to take the kids to music class the next week. Alex’s intermediate class was a demonstration their musical skills for the local Junior League. And the Junior League was delighted to host them at the fancy old house where they held their meetings, sipping tea from painted china cups in an honest-to-God parlor while the twins and their classmates played simple chamber music pieces. The ladies who lunched—sure, they lunched at the Coffee Spot, but it still counted—were not only impressed by the kids’ playing, but the idea that the Hollow had attracted something as sophisticated as a “youth orchestra.” We were a small town on the rise.
And Alex being dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and tie certainly didn’t hurt.
Because damn.
By the end of the evening, the twins were asked to play a duet by Bach, something in G major. I was still pretty much a classical music novice. I had tried listening to it on my phone over the past few days and while I knew what I liked, I couldn’t discuss the merits of one composer versus another. But the music was smooth and bright and reminded me of water falling over stones.