He sighed. “The only one who’s, I would say, actually hostile, is Rosemarie, and even she wants me to be happy. They all do. They’re good people, Bonnie, and after you come with me to visit them, I’m sure they’ll see how wonderful you are, and come around.”
I hoped they’d find me so wonderful that one or all of them would insist on letting me join their undead club.
I went to sleep, while he held me. I woke up in the middle of the night, having to pee, and he was awake, watching me. I wasn’t even sure he could sleep—he was usually gone when I woke up, to make sure Harry wouldn’t spot him. I yawned. “You like what you see?”
“You’re a vision of loveliness. I shouldn’t say this, but, the first night after I met you… I followed you home. I came through your window and sat over there, by your desk, and I watched you sleep.”
I paused, seated on the edge of the bed. “Dude. Edwin. Stalker much?”
“I know. I… was trying to decide if I should drink from you. If I could stand to take just a little bit. Our venom acts a bit like rohypnol, it affects short-term memory, and I could have sipped you, made a bite in some… discreet place, perhaps your inner thigh, or under your armpit, the back of your neck where your hair would cover the marks—and tasted just a bit. You wouldn’t have remembered. Just a few strange dreams, perhaps. But I couldn’t trust myself to take just a taste, so I watched you, and then decided I had to leave town. You were too much of a temptation.”
“Okay, but still: if I didn’t like you back, Edwin, you’d be the obsessed villain in a psychological horror movie. Even without the whole vampire thing.”
“Then it’s lucky you do like me,” he said. “And what is love, after all, but a reciprocated obsession?”
Edwin drove me home from school—he’d taken to picking me up and driving me home, and while I missed Marmon, his sports car was a much sweeter ride. We lingered in the driveway, him loathe to leave, me loathe to let him go, our fingers entwined. “I really must,” he murmured. “Pleasance will be waiting for me.” He cocked his head. “Harry is coming.” He pulled his hand out of my grasp.
I shrugged. “It’s not like we’re half-naked in the back seat. This car doesn’t even have a back seat. And he knows I’m seeing you.”
“I know,” he murmured. “But there’s someone else, another car, wait, let me look.” His eyes went all faraway and glassy, then he shook his head. “Oh, dear. That’s… hmm.”
“What is it?”
“Probably nothing. Just… no, nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow. You should go inside now.”
Miffed at the tone of dismissal at his voice, I took my time climbing out of the car. I’d just shut the door when a ramshackle red truck pulled into the broad dirt side yard—driven by Joachim Noir, with an older man seated beside him. Willy Noir? Seemed likely. I glanced at Edwin, who stared at Joachim and Willy with something very much like hate in his eyes, or even (was it possible?) fear. Then he revved his engine and tore off around the truck and down the lane.
“Hey, Bonnie,” Joachim said, climbing out of the truck, a smile as big as the sky on his face. His father was huge, over six foot five, broad-shouldered, heavyset, belly like a beer barrel. His eyes were the same as Joachim’s, though: so dark they were almost black, observant, very striking. Willy stared at me, then turned his head and looked down the drive, where Edwin had vanished, then back at me. He shook his head, slowly, just once.
Crap. He was one of the tribal elders. He really believed all the wendigo/vampire shit. Crap, crap, crap.
Harry pulled up next, getting out of the cruiser. “Willy boy! What are you doing over this way?”
“Been a while since we visited,” Willy rumbled. “Did you miss me?”
“Hell, we played Modern Warfare together for three hours last night,” Harry said, “it’s not like we haven’t talked, but yeah, it’s nice to be in the same place where we can have a beer together.”
“About that,” Willy said. “I got the red ring of death on my Xbox. It’s kaput. Think you could spare a controller for an old man?”
Harry groaned. “You want me to play split screen? That’s brutal. Good thing I invested in the big TV. Come in, come in.” He turned to Joachim. “You want to play?”
“Does Bonnie play?” he asked.
I laughed. “Not me, I’m useless—all thumbs.” Of course, it’s not true—I have the reflexes of a bat—but killing shapes made of polygons isn’t all that satisfying for me. Like eating some kind of vegetarian meat substitute instead of the real thing.
“Well, mind if I hang out with you?” Joachim said.
I blinked. My evening was free, and Joachim was nice enough, and Willy hadn’t started denouncing me as a witch or consorter-with-wendigos, so maybe there was nothing to worry about. “Sure,” I said. Harry and Willy were already going in, discussing squad tactics and their rankings. I took Joachim into the kitchen and said, “Want a glass of soda—sorry, they call it ‘pop’ up here, right?”
“I’ll take whatever you’re having.” He slid into one of the kitchen chairs, still beaming. He was so happy, especially in contrast to Edwin’s usual pensive brood. Normally I detested seeing happiness among lesser beings, but something about Joachim’s joy was infectious. He really loved life, and on his own terms. I could appreciate that.
“So who was the guy in the fast car?” he said, taking the glass of soda.
I sat down with him and spun my glass around. “A friend, who gave me a ride from school.”
“Rich friend,” he said. “My dad acted like he recognized him.”
I sighed. “It’s Edwin Scullen.”
Joachim snorted. “Ha! No wonder Dad got all cold and still and serious.”
I pretended to remember something. “Oh, that’s right, you said he had some, ah, issues with Edwin’s family.”
“Just crazy superstitions. So.” He took another sip. “You two dating?” His voice was casual. Super casual. Way, way too casual.
“I don’t know. I guess. Sort of. Do you think your dad would, you know, tell my dad anything? Say anything bad about Edwin?”
“I doubt it. He always says that wendigo shit is tribal business, not for outsiders.”
I decided to change the subject, and we chatted a bit more, then drifted out to the living room, where we watched Willy and Harry machine gun terrorists and shoot helicopters out of the sky for a while. Very impersonal mechanical mayhem. Ho-hum. Joachim made small talk, and I chatted too, but mostly I kept an ear on Willy and my dad, to make sure Edwin’s name didn’t come up. It didn’t.
Finally, they finished up whatever they were doing and the little party broke up. Harry slapped Willy’s back and told Joachim it was good to see him again. Willy paused by the doorway, looked at me, and said, “Take care, Bonnie.”
“Of course,” I said. “You, too.” I closed the door on them, and soon after said my goodnights to Harry, and went to bed.
The next time I had Edwin alone, and it was my turn to ask questions, I said, “So what’s the deal with your people and the Ojibwe over at Pres du Lac?”
He snuggled against me. “Your basic supernatural rivalry.”
“Gotcha. Like in that movie where the werewolves fight vampires.”
“I think you mean ‘those movies,’” Edwin said. “There are quite a few of them. Which is strange, as I’ve never met a werewolf.”
“Huh. I thought you beasts of the night all hung out together.” I was vaguely disappointed. No werewolves? There was something hot about a powerful, hairy, muscled, bad-boy type that appealed. Not that I was growing bored of my pale slender Edwin, by any means, but variety is the spice of this girl’s life.
“I’m not saying werewolves don’t exist. But, like leprechauns, the Loch Ness monster, and delicious lutefisk, I tend to assume they don’t. The Ojibwe on Pres du Lac aren’t werewolves, but they do have… certain powers, and apparently they’re perfectly suited to the business of killing wendigos. Unfortunately, they think
we’re wendigos, and apparently those powers are equally well suited to dispatch vampires.”
“Ancient Native American wisdom,” I said. “Shamanic prowess. Like that.”
“I don’t know the source of their power,” he admitted. “Nor have I ever witnessed it. Argyle says things were… very heated… when he used to live here, generations ago. He assures me the Ojibwe, at least some of them, are quite formidable. We have a truce, as you know, but things have been… strained of late. We’re treading very carefully, as a result.”
I decided to spend another direct question, because implication can be exhausting. “Why are things strained?”
“Ah. Well. I may have… inadvertently encroached on their property. I was pursuing a deer through the forest, just a spur-of-the-moment thing, really, saw it running and thought I’d have a snack. So I gave chase, and didn’t pay close attention to where I was, and in the course of my pursuit, I strayed over the border. Only a little, mind you, but… the elders take this very seriously.”
“Sure. You violated their airspace, right, and you pretty much count as an army all by yourself, so I can see how that would be construed as an act of aggression.”
He sighed. “It was an accident. But that’s why I fled when I saw Willy Noir coming—I didn’t want to remind him of my existence. Argyle was… cross with me.”
“I’m surprised it didn’t turn into a shooting war. Or a biting war. Whatever.”
“No, it’s pretty much smoothed over. They believe it was a mistake on my part, not a deliberate taunt. But let’s just say it wouldn’t be a good idea for people of the bloodsucking persuasion to stray into their territory again. Argyle says they’ll kill us immediately, no questions asked. I find it hard to believe they could dispatch us so easily, but Argyle assures me they can. Apparently this particular bunch of Ojibwe—at least members of some particular bloodline—have evolved or trained or altered themselves by magic to be perfect wendigo-killing machines. They’re like antibodies tuned perfectly to destroy vampiric infection. Argyle sent them gifts, gold and bearer bonds, as a peace offering, but the elders sent them all back without comment. Things are still tense.”
“Must be tough to negotiate a peace when you can’t drop by for a chat. Must be a bitch to talk to a hostile foreign power, I guess, since I doubt there are vampire embassies.”
“Ha. No. We aren’t much for diplomacy—Argyle is pretty much the only one who ever tried negotiating a peace with a hostile force. Normally we’re more fight-and-slash-and-burn in our relations. But Argyle saved a few lives at the reservation, generations ago, as the basis for the truce, and that’s why we’re tolerated now. Unfortunately, the ones he saved are long dead, and the elders now weren’t even born back then, and they aren’t too fond of us there. We don’t talk to them directly, at all, but we have an, ah, intermediary, a local human who does work for us.”
I sat up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Somebody else living in Lake Woebegotten or environs knew about the Scullens and the Scales? I would’ve blurted a follow-up question, but I knew he’d elaborate if I just stared at him in alarm.
“Yes, I know what you’re thinking, but he’s very trustworthy.”
“Let me guess: he’s like a mind-controlled blood-slave.”
“No,” Edwin said. “He’s like a guy trying to make ends meet who really needs money, and we pay him handsomely to act as a liaison, when necessary.”
Now this was worth spending a question on. “Who is it?”
“Pass.”
I frowned. “You can’t say ‘pass.’ I ask, you answer, that’s the rule.”
He gave me a lazy smile. “I just did. I can’t answer that question. Argyle says our agent must remain anonymous. Take it up with him. I’m not about to cross him.”
I settled down, frustrated. “Hmm. So since Willy found out about me and you—I mean, I’m sure Harry mentioned it—I guess that means I’m unwelcome on the reservation too.”
“Not judging by the way young Joachim looks at you,” he said, suddenly sullen. “I’m sure he’d love it if you’d come around more often.”
I laughed. “You and your looking-through-people’s-eyes. He’s sixteen years old, you can’t be surprised if Joachim has a boob fixation.”
“Nothing so crass,” Edwin admitted. “But he does watch you, constantly, whenever you’re around. I can’t read minds or sense emotions, but he’s clearly besotted with you.”
“Besotted! What a word! I love it when you show your age. Joachim’s cute enough in a scruffy way,” I said, “but he’s no immortal love god, like some guys I could name.” I snuggled in closer to him.
“By my count you have one question left,” he said, “but only because I’m very generous about offering information without prompting, unlike some people I could name.”
“I can’t help it,” I said. “When I play, I play hard.”
“Well? No final question?”
“This questions thing is fine,” I said, “but a girl can have too much of Truth.” I slid my hand under the covers. “How about we play a little Dare for a while instead?”
Reader, that night Edwin actually made it to second base. I was hoping he’d steal third, but no dice, to mix my sports metaphors.
FANGS AND GAMES
FROM THE JOURNAL OF BONNIE GRAYDUCK
Saturday came, and Edwin slipped out of my room just long enough to get his car and come over after breakfast. For once Harry was home, though he was on the phone a lot—I guess some old local drunk hadn’t been seen in a while, and Harry was worried about him, putting in calls all over the place. Small-town cop who knew everybody by sight: talk about service. He hung up the phone long enough to greet Edwin, though. I’d told him we were spending time together—I’d avoided saying “boyfriend” or even “dating,” but Harry is not a dumb man, so he got the idea.
“Hello there, son. Bonnie tells me she’s going over to spend the day at your folks’ place. It’s nice of you to have her for lunch.”
I stifled a grin. Being “had for lunch” at a house full of vampires wouldn’t be a very pleasant prospect, most of the time.
“Yes sir,” Edwin said, unfailingly polite.
“I’d love to have you over for dinner some night,” Harry went on. “You’re always welcome here. I’m glad Bonnie’s found a… friend… to keep her company. It’s always hard starting over in a new place.”
Edwin glanced at me. “I appreciate the offer. We’ll have to make plans sometime. Your daughter is… very special, sir.”
“True enough. Take good care of her. And don’t let her come home too late.”
I did the requisite eye-rolling and said, “Now that the men-folk have sorted out who’s taking care of helpless old me for the day…” I shouldered my purse and took Edwin’s arm, out into a day that was, fortunately, heavily overcast. We got into one of his family cars (just a Jeep this time, nothing too zoomy or fancy, maybe because he was afraid Harry wouldn’t approve) and set off on the long back roads of Lake Woebegotten. One field looks much like another, but my sense of direction is pretty good, and I could tell we were aimed for a spot basically on the opposite side of the lake from Pres du Lac. “So what’s the plan for today? Bela Lugosi film festival? We watch Hermet wrestle an imported grizzly bear?”
He laughed. “We’ll talk. Introduce you around, formally. And, we were thinking… let you see what the Scullens and the Scales do for fun.”
“Blood orgy?” I said.
“Not quite. You’ll see.”
He wouldn’t be drawn further, and I didn’t pry after my first few attempts were rebuffed. Eventually we drove down a little track into the trees, then took a series of turns down unmarked side roads, with two points where Edwin got out of the car to unhook a padlocked chain, drove through, and locked up after us. He did the locking-and-unlocking at full speed, or at least the fastest I’d ever seen him move, his body and hands just blurs of movement.
“Wow,” I said after the first chain was p
assed. “You’re fast.”
“I could pick you up and run through the forest faster than driving,” he said, “but the wind of our passage might tear up your clothes, and I always get bugs in my teeth when I run that fast. Besides, that kind of exertion makes me hungry, and it’s, ah, better if I’m quite sated. Everyone at the house ate until we were stuffed last night, so none of us should be… too tempted.”
“That’s reassuring,” I said, because it was.
The car wound along a curving road, and emerged into a pastoral clearing, dominated by a farmhouse of the rambling, ramshackle, Addams Family variety. Not quite a gothic castle, but the closest thing you were likely to find in the Minnesota woods, complete with turrets and strange weathervanes and tall narrow windows. “Wow,” I said, emerging from the car. “You guys could make a pretty great haunted house out of this. I can’t wait for Halloween!” In truth, Halloween wasn’t that far off, and autumn was starting to give up its place in favor of winter. I had on a coat and a hat, though Edwin scoffed at my complaints about the cold. I pointed out that he was cold-blooded, basically, and didn’t know what it was like to be freezing. He pointed out that I’d been in California for too long, and compared to the wilds of Canada, Minnesota was a mild and temperate place.
“We certainly have enough monsters on the premises,” he agreed, and led me up the front steps.
The house was big and rambling on the inside, too. We went through a little foyer hung with lots of coats and scarves (all for show, of course, as the inhabitants weren’t troubled by the weather) into a big living room. The walls were decorated with a riot of artworks from all over the world: tribal masks, bright paintings, woven rugs, tapestries, odd bits of sculptures, framed photographs showing vistas of impossible beauty. I guess when you’re a vampire, you have time to go everywhere and see everything… and yet, somehow, they’d still ended up in Lake Woebegotten. Funny old world. The furniture was, indeed, mostly Danish modern, stark couches and armchairs and low tables. Fewer lamps than you’d have expected, but they could all see perfectly in the dark, after all.
The Twilight of Lake Woebegotten Page 15
