Life as a Teenage Vampire

by Amanda Meuwissen

Mr. Leonard’s house is the kind of place that one really cool, young aunt of yours might have: half modern, half antiques, the occasional comic book, and always super tidy. I liked the way the grandfather clock in the entrance hall made the place feel like some Victorian palace, but the spiral wooden staircase without any railings was my favorite modern touch. I’d never actually gone up it, since I was pretty sure I would fall to my death.

  The walls throughout the house were covered in paintings Mrs. Leonard had done. My favorite hung in the living room; a rendition of Marvel’s Cloak and Dagger. The rest were mostly abstract or landscapes, so a painting of two comic book superheroes definitely stood out.

  Hanging beside the grandfather clock was the one actual photo, something the Leonards had taken before they moved here, both of them styled in an old-timey, 1800s look. It was really authentic, and Mrs. Leonard was beautiful in the corseted gown with her long, curly black hair, and eyes even greener than my mom’s.

  A sour feeling filled my stomach as I looked at the photo, and I tried not to think about where her body might have been found.

  “Mr. Leonard!” I called as I stepped farther into the entryway. They’d always insisted I come right in without knocking, but it felt different today. I heeled off my shoes, and set them and my backpack by the door like usual, but I wasn’t sure where to go. Normally, one of the Leonards was right there to meet me, and even with all the lights on, the place was too quiet.

  I remembered the first time I’d been over to mow their lawn. The house had smelled like fresh baked cookies, and when I commented about it, Mr. Leonard said, “See, Mallory, I told you. Everyone loves a home that smells like cookies.”

  Mrs. Leonard had turned to me with a wide smile. “You can see why I married him. Would you like a cookie, Emery?”

  Today the house smelled like ammonia.

  “Mr. Leonard?” I called again, walking cautiously toward the living room.

  “Here, Emery.”

  I found him standing in front of the fireplace, staring at the large flames. It wasn’t cold enough outside to warrant a fire, but he seemed transfixed, even though he had called my name.

  Are you okay? flashed through my mind, but that seemed so inadequate. Of course he wasn’t okay. His wife was dead.

  “I know there isn’t much yard work to be done right now, Mr. Leonard, but I thought I’d come around anyway, see if there was anything else you might need help with around the house. I don’t mind. I have a couple hours before play practice, and…” I trailed off as he turned away from the fireplace to look at me.

  He was about my height, with light brown hair that was usually styled to perfection, but today it was askew as if he’d run his hands through it several times. His pale eyes looked molten in the light of the fire. His cheeks weren’t wet, but his eyes were red-rimmed like he’d only just stopped crying. His clothes were rumpled too; dark blue button-down and jeans with his sleeves rolled up—he never had his sleeves rolled up. He was usually more put together like a sharp businessman, even though no one was really sure what he’d done for work to be able to retire out here at thirty.

  “Is there…anything I can do?” I asked again.

  He tried to smile, but somehow the expression made him look even sadder. “I appreciate you coming today, Emery, but you don’t need to work. Maybe…” His eyes unfocused a moment before softening as they centered on me again. “Would you sit with me a moment?”

  That was the least I could do. Though I was pretty sure I’d be calling Connor to pick me up later. Mr. Leonard usually dropped me off on his way into town for errands, but I didn’t feel right asking for that today.

  We sat on the micro-suede sofa in front of the fireplace. It was too hot for me, so I tried to casually unzip my hoodie without calling too much attention. I didn’t want to be any trouble, but Mr. Leonard didn’t seem to notice. When he talked, he stared into the fire.

  “I bet you can’t even guess how long we were together.”

  I stiffened. “More than a decade?”

  “More…” he said. “Growing old with the right person is easy, Emery, but facing the unknown alone, knowing so many years stretch on without them, it’s…”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Leonard.”

  That’s always the mantra that comes to mind, right? I’m sorry for your loss. But I’ve never lost anyone close to me. I couldn’t possibly understand. So it felt hollow, and I wished there were better words.

  Empathy sucks, because feeling bad for other people’s sake doesn’t mean you get it, doesn’t mean you know what to say to make it better, just means you feel a little of their awful with them without any of the good.

  I had good memories of Mrs. Leonard, but that wasn’t enough either.

  Mr. Leonard stood, jolting me out of my thoughts, and walked behind me where the Cloak and Dagger painting hung on the wall.

  “It’s the contrast, she used to say,” Mr. Leonard said when I rose to join him, “that’s why she liked them, why she painted them. Shadow and light. Masculine and feminine. Have you ever heard the quote about how these two characters came to their creator after he visited Ellis Island? They aren’t as old as most of the heroes you’re familiar with.”

  I shook my head. I had my fair share of comics, but Connor was the expert. I’d always liked Cloak and Dagger’s designs though; Dagger all white light like a blond warrior fairy, and Cloak dark and mysterious controlling the shadows from beneath his hood. The painting depicted them side by side, leaping into action.

  “The creator said…‘They came in the night, when all was silent and my mind was blank. They came completely conceived as to their powers and attributes, their origin and motivation. They embodied between them all that fear and misery, hunger and longing that had haunted me on Ellis Island’. I think that’s how it always is when two halves come together. Fear and misery, hunger and longing. Somehow, together, and only together, it subsides, it’s bearable. But when that other half is gone…”

  I felt silly for thinking I could have distracted Mr. Leonard with happier topics. But if this was what he needed, I didn’t mind listening. I thought of how my mom always found a way to put her hand on someone’s arm or shoulder, her complete attention on them when they discussed something painful or important. I reached to touch Mr. Leonard’s shoulder and he turned to me with that same mournful smile.

  “I was relieved the police were finally done with me today.”

  “I’m sure it’s been really hard on you.”

  “Yes, but it isn’t over yet.”

  “The killer’s still out there,” I said, then bit my lip, wishing I’d said something else.

  “I’m thankful they never suspected me—the police, though I’m sure the town has been talking. I don’t think I could have handled that on top of everything else…being accused of…” He clenched his eyes shut before returning his gaze to the painting. “But they’re still out there, as you said. Now that there are no more police around the property…they’ll come for me.”

  “What?” I pulled my hand back as if I’d placed it in the fire. “Did someone threaten you? Have you told the police? Tim—”

  “Chief Ashby has been very helpful and understanding, all of the officers have been, but they can’t help me with this, Emery,” he said, sounding weirdly detached now, resigned.

  “What do you mean?”

  I’d been so used to Mr. Leonard’s eyes looking away from me or through me that when they focused on me again, I flinched. His eyes really did look like they were glowing, almost white-blue with flicks of orange from the fire. But the fire was behind him now…

  He began a sudden, steady trek toward me, and with every new step, I took a step back to match him. That nervous feeling in my gut curdled into something else. Mr. Leonard was menacing in a way I’d never seen before, large
r somehow too, like a predator. But his blank expression was what scared me.

  “If I had contacted him the moment Mallory died, he might have made it in time, but he won’t arrive before the hunters do. He told me not to do anything foolish, but if I do nothing, I’ll die, the hunters will leave, and the trail will run cold. Mallory will never get justice.”

  His voice floated around me like an echo, his eyes too bright.

  “He told me to run if they came, but that is something I cannot do. I know you can’t help me fight them, Emery, but you can give them a reason to stay, give Alec time to discover the truth.”

  “Alec?” My back hit the wall and I gasped. He had me cornered.

  “My Maker, my friend. He can ensure they pay for their crimes. But if I don’t give them a reason to stay in town, he’ll be too late.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. If he had more emotion in his voice I’d worry he was delirious, but he sounded so even, so certain. The twist in my gut nearly doubled me over, and I held out a hand to keep him from getting closer. “Mr. Leonard—”

  “Hush, Emery.”

  I made to push him away, but in that same moment, the fear that had crept under my skin feeling like it might burst out my pores, lessened. Everything about Mr. Leonard seemed different. He didn’t move. His expression didn’t change. It was the air around him, the atoms buzzing, something intangible that shifted. His eyes were mesmerizing, and as I returned his stare, all the anxiety in my stomach washed away. I felt warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like I was snuggling up for an afternoon nap.

  My hand dropped.

  “I am so sorry, Emery. I have no other choice.”

  I didn’t see him move. He was there, standing in front of me, and then he wasn’t. Instead, the curve of his shoulder was in front of my face, and a sharp pain in my neck tore the air from my lungs, like he’d struck me with a knife or a needle. But the pain faded almost instantly, and the tight pressure felt almost soothing.

  I sagged against the wall, seeing only the dark blue of Mr. Leonard’s shoulder, the hazy background of the sofa and fireplace fading in color until there was nothing but calming darkness.

  ~

  Something warm and tangy lingered on my tongue. I licked my lips to get another taste, feeling starved. My vision was blurry around the edges as I blinked awake, but I could see movement above me, the ceiling moving quickly past my head. Mr. Leonard must have been carrying me, but I felt like I was floating.

  A distant crash of glass sounded, and Mr. Leonard cursed—at least I think it was a curse from his tone, but it wasn’t a word I recognized.

  “They’re earlier than I expected. I have to hide you,” he said.

  I must have fallen asleep, I told myself. It was the fire. It had been so warm…

  I licked my lips again; whatever this was, I wanted more of it.

  Mr. Leonard tried to lean me against a wall, but I was too tired; I slid down it and sat, eager to lie down. There were shouts now; more things breaking.

  “I pray they don’t find you, Emery, but Alec will. Wait for him. He’ll explain everything. I hope both of you can forgive me someday.”

  I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell Mr. Leonard that it was okay; I felt fine. Everything would be fine. But then he was tucking me in, soft, fluffy warmth all around me, covering my face, and what little light remained went out at the sound of a door clicking shut. A nap sounded fantastic.

  I licked my lips one last time, catching the last traces of that strange, sweet…what was it? Then I felt myself slip back to sleep, not even bothered by the sound of Mr. Leonard arguing with someone outside the door.

  ~

  “Mr. Leonard!”

  All my grogginess gone, I bolted upright, the coats that had been tossed over me falling from around my face and upper body. I was in a closet, the door closed, with very little light creeping in. I held my breath, listening for sounds outside the door and checking myself for wounds at the same time.

  My hand flew to my neck where I remembered that sharp pain, but there was nothing, just smooth skin, not even sticky traces of blood. I looked down my shirt, but even there, not a single drop. I wondered if I’d imagined it all, but then…why was I in the closet?

  No sound came from the other side of the door, though my senses seemed a little foggy, like I couldn’t quite focus on what I saw, or heard, or smelled, even though my head felt clear and I didn’t feel hurt anywhere.

  I hoisted myself to my feet and tried the door. I opened it slowly, peering out. Bright light filled the living room from the windows, but that didn’t make sense. It should have been getting darker.

  “Mr. Leonard?” I called. The closet was near the doorway that led into the living room from the entryway. I could see the sofa and fireplace ahead of me—the fire was still burning but it was down to embers.

  Then I noticed the side table by the back wall had been toppled. Papers were strewn about from somewhere. A lamp lay sideways on the floor. The far window was shattered. I remembered hearing the glass break…

  I’d been out all night, the clock on the wall confirmed that, but where was Mr. Leonard? My memories of him attacking me couldn’t be right. He wouldn’t do something like that, and even so, I didn’t have any wounds. This struggle hadn’t been us.

  I knew I had to be remembering things wrong. There was only one explanation—the murderer had come back to finish the job.

  I wasn’t usually a realist—life was real enough—but as I came to the edge of the sofa and saw the shattered glass coffee table, in pieces like the window, and the body splayed over the carpet in front of the fire, I knew I was right.

  Mr. Leonard was dead, with the same gaping hole in his chest that had killed his wife.

  Chapter 3

  Connor

  Connor tapped his hard, plastic pointer finger on the bench by his front door, tapping his feet along with it as he sat there waiting. He’d grabbed his Terminator arm without thinking—it was Emery’s favorite; he’d dubbed it that since it was silver colored and had bony looking fingers that gripped better than any of Connor’s other prosthetics.

  He stopped the motion of his finger with his other hand as he caught sight of the sliding glass doors leading out to the backyard. He’d forgotten about the giant, singed teddy bear. It was still under the recycling bin, its blackened, furry feet sticking out the bottom.

  “We’re just waiting for John to bring the car around, hon, okay? We’ll ride with them, and your dad will follow in the Subaru,” Connor’s mom said as she hurried around the corner, grabbing her coat and habitually checking her purse to make sure she had everything she needed. Her purse was literally a pharmacy, since she was an RN, and tended to house a few dozen random other things that might be needed in a clinch.

  Connor gripped his plastic hand harder to stop it from shaking but couldn’t prevent his feet from tapping out a constant rhythm. He looked at his mother blankly. She was in her coral scrubs, ready to head to work as soon as they finished at the Leonards.

  Mr. Leonard…

  “Paul, Kay and John are going to be here any second!” Georgia called over her shoulder.

  “I’d hope so, they live next door,” Paul Daniels said with a faint smirk as he appeared. He looked perfectly at ease, as if they weren’t about to follow the police to the Leonards’ house to look for Emery, who they weren’t even sure was still there.

  Connor was just glad they hadn’t been made to wait a full twenty-four hours, not with Mr. Leonard part of an ongoing murder investigation—and the last person who’d seen Emery.

  When Emery never showed up at practice, Connor had assumed his friend’s cold had gotten the better of him. He’d even been the one to give that excuse to Mark and Aurora, since he knew Emery’s phone had been about to die when
he dropped him off.

  Emery’s parents assumed he was at practice and, since it was a Friday night, that their well-behaved nearly-adult son had stayed over at Connor’s afterwards. It was only when Connor went to check on Emery in the morning that they realized he was missing. They called the police right away when Connor reported he’d last seen Emery at what had so recently been a crime scene. Well, they called Tim directly. It paid to be friends with the Chief.

  “I’m sure he’s there, kiddo, and just fine,” Paul said, rubbing a hand over Connor’s short cropped hair that only somewhat mirrored his own fully shaved head. “And if we don’t get an answer this time, Tim can burst right through that door and pull a John McClane on Leonard’s ass.”

  Georgia snorted.

  Connor attempted a weak smile.

  “Terminator today?” Paul said, seeing the prosthetic. “Well, then, we won’t even need the cops if things get hairy.”

  “Paul,” Georgia admonished, though her tone was playful.

  The sound of an engine had Connor jumping to his feet. “They’re here,” he said, and dashed out the door before his parents could reply.

  As soon as he climbed into the back of the Mavus’ Tahoe, John Mavus gave him a reassuring smile from the driver’s seat.

  “Calm down, T-1000, I’m sure everything’s fine,” he said, only betraying his concern in the crinkle of his dark eyes. His brunette beard was getting fuller again, though not really long the way his wife implied when she called him Grizzly Adams.

  Kay Mavus peeked her head around the seats as Connor’s mother climbed in after him. Kay’s hair was like a sunset, offset by her bright green eyes. “Tim just called to say they see movement inside the house. They’re going to check it out now before we get there. They have an ambulance on site, just in case.” She opened her mouth to say more but stopped, eyeing Georgia with sudden, unspoken panic.

  Connor had felt that same panic all morning.