Drink, Slay, Love

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Pearl glanced over at Daddy. He was beaming with a smile so wide that he resembled a very happy shark. “My dear child,” he said, “this is indeed interesting.”

  She didn’t feel comforted.

  A few minutes later Mother, Daddy, and Pearl were seated at the kitchen table. Sun poured across the linoleum floor, and Pearl sat in a shaft of light. She felt the warmth caress her shoulders like a cat curled around her neck. She wanted to turn her face toward it and feel the dawn rays on her cheeks, but Mother and Daddy were staring at her.

  Mother and Daddy had claimed two chairs in the shadows and had pushed them as far against the pantry door as possible. Still, the light spread across the table only inches from where Daddy rested his hands, clasped together in front of him.

  “Serve us tea,” Mother said.

  “Sorry?” Pearl asked.

  Mother pointed at the stove. “Heat water in the kettle. You’ll find packets of dried type B-positive in the left cabinet.” Her voice was calm, even casual, which made it all the more unnerving.

  The chair scraped on the floor as Pearl pushed away from the table. She crossed to the stove and lifted the kettle. She felt Mother’s and Daddy’s eyes boring into her back, and she wished she knew what to expect. You didn’t sit down to tea with someone you were about to punish, but then she’d once seen Mother wait an entire week before slicing off the toe of a distant relative who had crossed into their territory without permission. This could be a prelude to much unhappiness.

  Behind her, Mother and Daddy were silent.

  Pearl filled the kettle at the sink. Through the window, she saw the sun perched on the horizon. Pink and lemon clouds dotted the roofs of the neighboring houses. She saw cars pulling out of driveways and wondered if the neighbors ever thought it odd that her family’s cars never moved in daytime.

  “We could talk downstairs,” Pearl offered.

  “This is a private conversation,” Mother said.

  The water from the faucet sparkled and glistened like crystal. Drops landed on her hand and vibrated there, catching the sunlight on their surfaces. She studied her hand in the light and tried not to think too much about what Mother meant. It never paid to try to predict what Mother would do.

  Pearl placed the kettle on the stove and studied the knobs. She’d never touched a stove before—only Daddy and Mother ever drank tea. It was an acquired taste, like Uncle Felix’s penchant for stored blood. From the diagrams, she identified which knob controlled which burner, then she turned the closest knob to high.

  “Please add sugar to mine,” Daddy said.

  She located the sugar and the tea bags in the cabinet and placed them on the counter. She wondered when they were going to begin the conversation—or if they’d already had it. Mother and Daddy knew each other so well that sometimes Pearl swore they had telepathy.

  Pearl searched the various cabinets until she found three teacups and saucers. She set them out next to the tea bags and then checked on the kettle.

  “Wait for the whistle,” Daddy instructed her. “The kettle will whistle when the water is ready to pour. Place a tea bag in each cup.”

  Pearl obeyed.

  “You weren’t anything special when you were born,” Mother said.

  Pearl froze in the middle of fetching the third tea bag. Mother’s tone was clinical, also unreadable. She wasn’t certain what response Mother wanted. “Next time I’ll try better?”

  Daddy said, “All vampire babies are special, of course. It takes a powerful magic to grow life inside dead flesh. It’s far simpler to turn a human. But the results of turning are so . . . unpredictable. Look at Jeremiah. Even Charlaine . . .”

  “You were supposed to be pure and predictable,” Mother said. “You are descended from a line that stretches back two thousand years. Your flesh bears the ancestry of the earliest nightwalkers. You were conceived to be nothing special.” Her voice hadn’t risen or changed, yet Pearl felt as if each word were a bullet. She flinched at that last phrase.

  Both of them fell silent again.

  Pearl studied their faces and tried to gauge how much trouble she was in. Mother’s face was as flawless as a porcelain doll’s. She didn’t breathe, and she didn’t smile. Daddy, too, wore a mask. His lips were curled in an expression of bland interest.

  The kettle wailed, and Pearl jerked.

  Mother and Daddy didn’t move.

  She turned and poured the water into the teacups. If she had disappointed them, it didn’t matter that she wasn’t facing them. It didn’t matter that she was across a stretch of sunlight. She’d seen Mother in the training room. Her aim was incredible. Daddy could have a half dozen weapons within his suit coat. If they wanted to punish her . . . or worse . . . she couldn’t stop them. Pearl poured the water with both hands, not permitting the stream to shake. She picked up one cup in each hand and carried them to Mother and Daddy. She placed the cups in front of them and fetched her own.

  She knew she should sit at the table, but she stayed with her back against the sink. Sunlight wrapped over her shoulders and warmed her neck. She studied the tea. Rust red leeched from the tea bag into the water. It smelled pleasantly spicy.

  Without looking up from the tea, Pearl said, “It must have been the unicorn.”

  Neither of them responded, so she risked a peek up. Daddy’s eyebrows were raised in delicate arches. Mother’s lips were pressed together in a thin red line.

  “It’s the only ‘special’ thing that has ever happened to me,” Pearl said.

  In a kind voice, Daddy said, “Unicorns do not exist.”

  Mother looked at him, and then she sipped her tea. Daddy added sugar to his tea. He stirred it and then laid the spoon on the table. Sunlight kissed the tip of his finger, and Pearl heard a soft sizzle. He withdrew his hand and patted a tendril of smoke that swirled from his fingernail.

  “I was stabbed, that’s undeniable,” Pearl said. “Maybe the near-death experience? . . .”

  “Do not worry, dearest Pearl,” Daddy said. “We’ll discover the cause. But you must look to the future!” He flashed her his most brilliant smile, the one meant to charm his meals. She felt herself start to smile in return. She couldn’t help it. His smile was so wide and free that she suddenly felt as if everything would be okay. This was, of course, the same smile his victims saw before their blood loss began. She didn’t move from the beam of sunlight.

  “You will solve a problem for us,” Mother said. She began to smile too. This was more alarming than Daddy’s smile. Pearl wasn’t sure she had ever seen Mother’s face curve into a smile. It looked unnatural, as if the porcelain-doll face had cracked. Her eyes didn’t change. Only her lips curved.

  “Oh?” Pearl said. “Wonderful.”

  “For the Fealty Ceremony, we need to supply enough humans for the king and his guards to quench their thirst. However, obtaining the dozen humans needed with our current hunting grounds is problematic at best and extremely risky at worst,” Daddy said. “One or two at a time can always be managed, but that many at once . . .”

  Mother chimed in, “Our hope is that with this new development, new opportunities will present themselves.”

  “You want me to find the king’s dinner in daylight?” Pearl guessed.

  “Precisely,” Mother said.

  Daddy smiled. “We want you to attend high school.”

  Pearl dropped the teacup. It shattered on the linoleum, and blood tea spattered over the white floor. Scooping up a towel, Pearl bent to clean the mess. Mother and Daddy watched without moving as Pearl scrubbed away the blood that glistened in the stream of sunlight.

  Chapter

  SIX

  Antoinette bounced on her bed and clapped her hands. “Girls’ night!”

  Underneath the house, in her cousin’s room, Pearl contemplated an ignoble retreat. “Yeah, thanks, but I’d rather chug holy water. All I need is one outfit.” She shot a look at Antoinette’s closet door and wondered if Antoinette had rigged it with any boo
by traps. If not, Pearl could sneak in there while Antoinette was out hunting. . . She’d most likely laced it with holy-water traps. Antoinette loved her clothes. “Maybe two outfits. Just until I have a chance to shop.”

  “Oh, glorious shopping! Helpful sales staff waiting on your every wish! ‘Miss, can I bring you another size? Another color?’” Antoinette hopped to her feet on top of her bed and pointed at imaginary clothes. “Yes, please, I’d like a size four. Or do you think I’m a two? And could you send me that boy at the cash register, please? I’m feeling peckish. No, not the one with the tattoo. That one. Mmm.” She flopped down on the bed and sighed in delight.

  “Okay, then,” Pearl said. “You enjoy yourself. I’ll come back later.”

  “Pearly, no!” Antoinette flipped off the bed and darted to the door. She blurred into a streak of pink and blonde. Pearl shifted backward, prepared to strike if she had to. Antoinette’s speed was alarming. “You’ve never, ever asked me for anything before. You can’t blame me for being excited. We have the potential for a real bonding moment here, you and I. We could become BFFs.” Antoinette wrapped her arm around Pearl’s shoulders.

  Pearl considered breaking her arm. Just a spin and a chop, and the deed would be done. Regretfully, she decided that she needed the clothes more than the satisfaction. Plus Antoinette was fast, and a failed arm break would be a bad idea. “I’m not playing truth or dare with you. We aren’t going to start texting. All I want is one standard high school outfit.”

  Antoinette laughed, a high-pitched squeal like a squeezed pig. “Silly, Pearly! That’s why you need the girls’ night.” She bounded across her room and inserted a DVD into her TV. Antoinette was the only vampire in the Family who was addicted to TV.

  Wielding the remote, Antoinette sped through the nondescript opening credits. “You’re joking,” Pearl said as the image of a high school appeared.

  “I never joke about Molly Ringwald.” Antoinette plopped back on her bed and patted a spot next to her. “Listen well, young padawan, there’s no such thing as one ‘standard’ outfit.” She hit play on the remote. “The first thing you need to decide before you can choose an outfit is which clique you plan to join. And you announce that by your clothes.” She upped the volume for the movie’s opening voice-over. “You can be a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, or a criminal. Or if you prefer: nerd, jock, dirtbag, mean girl, et cetera.” She pointed to each human.

  Pearl drifted farther into the room, compelled by the TV. “Humans don’t . . . Did he just set his shoe on fire?” As Antoinette skipped through scenes, Pearl watched the boy in a blue tank top bounce his fluffed hair as he played air guitar. A girl in a baggy sweater and a redhead danced on a railing. A scene or two later, they were crawling through ceiling ducts. “This can’t be an accurate portrayal of the human education system.”

  “Wait, wait! I skipped the best part.” Antoinette rewound and then stopped and said in sync with the actor, “You’re a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie.” She shook her head in admiration. “Best insult ever.”

  “You like this movie?”

  “After Breakfast Club, you must watch Sixteen Candles. ‘What’s happenin, hot stuff?’” Antoinette jumped up again, and Pearl wondered if she’d drunk from an overly caffeinated donor tonight. “Oh, and we have to do your nails!”

  Pearl put her hands behind her back. “Clothes, Antoinette. Focus.”

  Antoinette pouted. “You didn’t select your type.”

  Pearl considered it for a moment. “Not hooker.”

  “Surprisingly, that does narrow it down,” Antoinette said. She got off the bed and opened her closet. As Pearl watched, Antoinette flipped through clothes. “No, no, definitely no, don’t trust you with that, no, hate that, ooh must wear that, no, no. . .” Pearl’s eyes slid back to the TV, where the “dirtbag” that Antoinette had identified was charging through empty hallways singing, “‘I wanna be an airborne ranger. I wanna lead a life of danger.’” Antoinette selected three skirts and tossed them on the bed. A pair of jeans joined them, plus two blouses. She then dumped a pile of jewelry on top of them. “Okay, choice number one. This says, ‘I am innocent yet possess many exotic secrets.’” She held up a flowy skirt with a midriff-revealing top. “Works best with a belly-button ring or a tramp stamp.”

  “Yeah, no,” Pearl said.

  Antoinette selected jeans plus a formless sweater. “This says, ‘Too hot to care what I wear. Worship my wit instead.’ Best if worn without a bra.”

  “I’d like a simple, ‘I’m human. Move along.’”

  “Ah, you want a ‘These aren’t the droids you’re looking for’ look.” Rifling through her dresser, Antoinette emerged with a soft pink sweater. She paired it with a black skirt. “Wear your boots with this. Plus this necklace.” She tossed a tangled strand of charms at Pearl. Pearl caught it and examined it. One charm was Hello Kitty, another was the Eiffel Tower, a third was a silver pair of tiny flip-flops. It looked as if someone had deliberately assembled meaningful pendants.

  “Yours?” Pearl asked.

  “Memento from an extra delicious type O,” Antoinette said. She gestured at the other necklaces strewn on the bed. “I like souvenirs.”

  Pearl supposed it was better than Uncle Pascha’s collection of dried ears, his souvenirs from days when vampires didn’t have to be so cautious.

  “Now, let’s discuss payment,” Antoinette said.

  “You aren’t going to lend me this out of the goodness of your heart?” Pearl scooped up the skirt and the sweater. The sweater felt as soft as dandelion fluff. She checked it for bloodstains.

  “I have no goodness in my heart,” Antoinette said. “In fact, the existence of said heart is open for debate, given the whole no-pulse thing, which, by the way, I’ve never understood, because how does the lovely, delicious blood travel through our body if we don’t have a pulse? Maybe I’ll eat a scientist someday and ask him.”

  “You could borrow one of my outfits in exchange,” Pearl said.

  “Hmm, again, no,” Antoinette said. “No offense, sweetie, but black is so cliché. You might as well wear a cape and befriend a bat.” She clapped her hands together. “I know! Your boy. You won’t have much time for him once you’re up all day. He’ll be so lonely without you to brighten his nights. I could keep him company.”

  Pearl considered chucking the clothes back in her face. “Hands off Jadrien.”

  “Or . . . oh! You could let me give you a makeover!”

  “You’ll let me borrow these if I let you decorate my face?” Pearl said. That seemed a small price to pay, especially in comparison to Jadrien. She wondered if she was missing something. She’d say no to anything that involved tattoos or branding.

  “Not decorate, highlight!” She fluttered around Pearl. “You would look astounding in natural-tone eye shadow. You have tremendous eyes, you know.” She laughed. “Of course you don’t know. How could you?”

  As silent as a breath, Daddy drifted into the room. “Her eyes are fine as they are, Antoinette. We thank you for your contribution to the cause.” He flashed Antoinette a smile intended to knock grown women off their feet.

  Antoinette simpered. “Of course! My pleasure!” She wiggled her fingers in a wave at Pearl. “I’ll tell Jadrien you said hello.”

  Before Pearl could reply, Daddy wrapped his arm around Pearl’s shoulders and guided her out of the room. Her eyes readjusted to the dim light. All the corridors under the house had been created to appear as basementlike as possible, a final disguise in case defenses were ever breached. Pipes were exposed in the ceiling. Bare bulbs illuminated the space. The walls were cement painted a dark gray.

  “Congratulations!” Daddy said. “You are enrolled as a junior in Greenbridge High. Your first day is tomorrow.”

  Pearl stared at him. She should have been sitting down for that sort of announcement, not standing in the middle of a corridor. “That’s . . .”—a string of adjectives ran through her mind: exciting, great, wonderful
, or more accurately, horrifically nightmarish—“. . . soon.”

  He turned the full force of his magnificent smile on her. “You’re nervous! You shouldn’t be. This is your moment to shine!”

  “Or sparkle,” she said.

  Daddy let out a hearty laugh. She felt her shoulders unknot. If Daddy was pleased with her, that was a good sign. She couldn’t be too much of an abomination if she could make him laugh. But before she could truly relax, he switched to serious. “You won’t have much time to ingratiate yourself. Get the lay of the land quickly and become a trusted member of the community as fast as you can.”

  “I’m not the only source for the king’s dinner, am I? You have a backup plan, right?” She’d overheard Daddy say that without dinner, the king would cancel the ceremony. She didn’t want so much responsibility. She was only supposed to swear allegiance, not worry about the success of the whole event.

  “You’ll do fine,” he said. “Just remember: Sometimes the trick to blending in is to stand out.” He cupped her face in his hands. His steel-gray eyes didn’t waver or blink. “Also remember: You are my flesh and blood. You cannot fail.”

  “I won’t, Daddy,” Pearl said. “I promise.”

  He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

  Putting his arm around her again, he escorted her upstairs. “Your aunts and uncles insist on speaking with you. Try to be civil to them.”

  Upstairs in the living room, the tableau matched the usual scene with only slight variations: Uncle Pascha occupied his chair at the chess set, Uncle Felix stretched on his (slightly charred) couch, Aunt Rose and Aunt Lianne sat like bookends on either side of an embroidered quilt. Another two aunts reclined on chairs by the bare fireplace. One, Aunt Fiona, read a book of poetry in a dead Celtic language. The other, Aunt Maria, simply stared at the wall. Her lips moved as if she were speaking, but she didn’t make a sound. Cousin Jocelyn was ensconced in her window seat. Cousin Charlaine was curled up in a chair. Her head was wrapped in bandages, and her body was cocooned in a blanket. Cousin Jeremiah had tucked himself underneath an end table. He had what appeared to be a mouse’s tail wrapped around his fingers. Pearl decided not to look too closely at it. Better not to know.