Almost Everything

by Tate Hallaway

  I snuck my phone out of my pocket and pulled up Nik’s number. I decided there was no harm in asking him if he was okay, so I thumbed in the question and hit Send before Thompson could ask me about it. In fact, for good measure, I opened up another text to Bea.

  My thumbs hovered over the pad, not sure where to start. “If there’s a big mtg 2nite, tell me?” I sent it.

  We were turning the corner in front of the Spruce Tree Centre when the phone chirped. The green shiny concrete block building had been voted “ugliest building in St. Paul,” and I could see why. It looked like a bad Lego model of a squat, fat pine tree—except with windows and a dead spruce tree in a plant container near the sidewalk. Sad.

  I flipped open my phone, expecting some snide remark from Bea. It was Nik. Thompson didn’t seem to notice, so I opened it.

  “Just bruised. R u ok?”

  I knew he was more than just bruised. I’d cut through his skin. Just the memory made my teeth ache and my skin tingle with energy.

  I checked Thompson before replying. He was watching the busy traffic along University Avenue. There was construction everywhere, and he clearly needed to concentrate. The radio now blared something equally as offensive as the last song. I returned to the screen. “Sorry,” was all I could think to reply.

  “Ax-Man,” Thompson said with a smile, pointing at a square black building with a cartoonish hooded medieval executioner helium balloon bobbing on its roof. The sign in the window proclaimed free admission and lots of surplus. “I love that place.”

  My phone beeped with a message. “We need to meet.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said stupidly, though we were long past the store. “We should go sometime.”

  “You’ve never been?” Thompson was delighted.

  “Tonight?” I texted.

  “No,” I said. “Never.”

  “It’s really weird, but kind of cool. You can find all sorts of stuff there, like chemical beakers, and they even have this huge iron lung. But they have all sorts of other remaindered things—party hats, crayon packs, stickers, gigantic rolls of felt. …”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t really listening. My eyes watched the phone. “B @ yr house @ 8.”

  “OK,” I replied with my thumbs. My mouth said, “Sounds really cool,” hoping that was the right response to whatever it was Thompson was saying. I stuffed my phone into my pocket guiltily. When I looked up, I wondered if I’d missed a memo. There were families in lawn chairs and blankets sitting on the sidewalks and boulevards. People were sipping sodas and watching traffic, as if there were something to see besides a bunch of vehicles. I glanced behind us, half expecting a float or marching band. All I saw was one of those old cars you might see in a black-and-white movie starring Cary Grant. Somewhere behind us a horn tooted out the first bars of “Dixie.”

  We pulled into Porky’s parking lot. The restaurant was built to resemble a 1950s drive-in. A sign in the shape of a pig wearing a top hat winked a neon eye at us from the boulevard. The building proper was one story and painted in a black and white checkerboard pattern. Other people were parked under the separate metal awning. A lot of them had classic cars.

  “It’s Saturday night,” Thompson said, whistling in appreciation as we passed a long, smooth convertible with batmobile wings. “University Avenue parade.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but there did seem to be something going on at the drive-in. A few of the cars’ owners had propped up their hoods presumably to show off their engines, though it all looked like so much metal to me. People stood around the cooler cars, talking, smoking, and eating hamburgers.

  We found Bea and Malcolm parked in one of the few available spots. “Not a lot of room for non-show cars,” Bea told us. “We should get the food to go and park down the street.”

  There was a park just on the other side, so we agreed to meet there. Thompson ordered a double California, an order of fries, and onion rings. After what happened with Nik, I wasn’t feeling terribly hungry, but the greasy smell of French fries made me order the same plus a chocolate shake. In a minute, we were circling Iris Park, looking for an empty parking place.

  We got out and tried to find a nice spot to eat. The park was little more than a grassy area surrounding a water fountain. I thought it might be nice to sit near the spray, but it smelled a little like sewage, and people had tossed a lot of crap into the concrete pool. The park benches had been similarly mistreated. Wooden slats had been broken off or were missing entirely. What material was left had been completely covered in graffiti and gang tags.

  Bea found a detritus-free spot under a pine tree and waved us over. Under the shelter of the boughs and sitting on the cushion of fragrant needles, you could almost pretend the park was nice—almost.

  “Wow, this place is scary,” Malcolm said. “I can’t imagine hanging out in this neighborhood for long.”

  “My dojo is one block over,” Thompson said snappishly.

  Oh crap. This was one of those class things, wasn’t it? I had to say something supportive, but all I really wanted to do was get out of there. I knew I should be thinking about Thompson, but I felt so guilty about what happened to Nik that I could hardly focus. This was especially so since I also needed to figure out how to get Thompson to drop me off at my house by eight. I had about one hour.

  Bea nudged my elbow, making me toss my onion ring Frisbee-style onto Thompson’s lap. I peeled it off his leg with an apologetic smile. To the others, I said, “Hey, did you guys know that Thom—Matt is a black belt in cooking karate?”

  Bea shook her head. That wasn’t the right thing to say.

  “Kuk sool wan,” Thompson corrected. “Brown belt.”

  At least Malcolm seemed sincerely impressed, especially when Thompson produced evidence in the form of an official-looking card that showed his rank and the organization’s seal.

  Bea pulled on my sleeve. “Could you be more of a dope?”

  “My mind is elsewhering,” I admitted.

  “Obviously,” she said sarcastically.

  Since the boys seemed deep into discussion of the differences between various martial arts, I took a chance and whispered, “I texted Nik. He’s coming over tonight.”

  Bea’s squeal ended any chance of further private discussion, and now I was going to have to lie to Thompson’s face.

  The guys waited expectantly to be clued in on what all the excitement was about. I hoped Bea would do her usual social magic and redirect the conversation with a white lie. Uncharacteristically, she had nothing to say. Her hands covering her mouth, she just sat there looking absolutely guilty.

  That left everyone staring at me. “Nik texted,” I said. Bea’s face paled, and she gave a little squeak as if she might faint. “Uh, I guess they got a record deal.”

  I really hoped that was true. I mean, it was all over the rumor mill as a possibility. Nervously, I checked their reactions. I turned to Malcolm first. He looked disappointed. He clearly expected bigger news, given Bea’s reaction.

  Bea was not helping either. She wasn’t saying anything; she was just holding her hands up in front of her stupid mouth and nodding vigorously, as if she didn’t trust herself to even go along with the lie. It was a little late to hold back, I thought.

  Thompson, when I finally checked, looked … angry.

  “I hate that guy,” he said when our eyes met. “I seriously hate him.”

  With a hiss I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. “I know,” I told him, and I wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to worry. There was no hope of me and Nikolai ever being an item again. I had just bitten the local vampire slayer. Bea might have been able to make Thompson forget our little interaction, but there was no way it would work on a full witch like Nik.

  Finally, Bea found her voice. She entertained us with stories of bad tryouts and cursed theater shows. I forgave her entirely when she came up with an excuse to cut out before eight.

  Alone in the truck, I managed t
o keep up the small talk. Thompson seemed desperate to try to find things we had in common. It wasn’t music; that was for sure. He was into heavy metal, and I liked alt rock and musicals. I tried favorite books, but Thompson wasn’t much of a reader, though I guessed he liked some superhero comic books. That sounded a bit like some of the graphic novels I liked, but we were pulling up to the curb by the time we finally hit on something.

  Thompson drove me directly to my house. Only when he turned off the engine did I wonder how he managed it without asking for directions. Then I remembered that he mowed our lawn on occasion. I looked at our gorgeous garden spilling over the wrought-iron fence, and I had to fight the urge to tell him he’d done a good job. I knew that wouldn’t go over the way I intended it.

  I leaned in to kiss Thompson good-bye, when Nikolai’s rusty Toyota pulled in to the spot in front of us. I choked. Thompson opened his eyes just in time to see Nik stepping out of the car.

  The dashboard clock said it was only seven forty-five.

  “What is he doing here?”

  “I—I asked him to stop by,” I said, scooting back to the door. “I needed to apologize for biting him.”

  That last part came out before I realized what I’d said.

  Thompson started slightly and blinked as if waking up from a dream. I expected him to ask me what the hell I’d meant by that, but instead, he reached up and touched his own cheek.

  Before Thompson could formulate more of a response, I pulled open the door and hopped out. “Sorry, got to go!” I shouted through the open window. “I’ll call you!”

  In my dreams, Thompson would just take the hint and drive off. I should have known better. Instead, I watched him unbuckle his seat belt.

  Nik, meanwhile, had turned from the gate at the sound of my voice. “Ana,” he said with a smile that faded the moment Thompson came around the front of the truck.

  The two guys locked eyes over my head.

  My mind swirled in a panic. But, despite my latent feelings for Nik, this meeting really was innocent. Worse, what I needed to talk to him about was more important than Thompson’s jealousy. “I just need to talk to Nik about something,” I said to Thompson. “There’s nothing going on.”

  Thompson crossed his arms in front of his chest, somehow making the muscles on his arms seem ten times larger. “There had better not be,” he said, looking directly at Nikolai.

  Nikolai didn’t posture in response. Instead, he smirked.

  I wasn’t sure that helped smooth things over with Thompson. In fact, Thompson took another step forward, threateningly. I put up my hands between them. To Thompson, I tried to be reassuring when I said, “I told you I’d tell you all about it, and I will.”

  He seemed to relax a bit. If nothing else, perhaps Thompson realized no good would come from this standoff right now. He made his way back to the driver’s seat without taking his eyes off Nikolai.

  We watched him drive away. He cranked up his heavy metal as he peeled out of the spot, barely missing Nik’s car.

  “New boyfriend?” Nik asked casually.

  I nodded.

  “Isn’t he the guy from the play?”

  We walked toward the house. “How’s your hand?”

  He showed me a tightly bandaged hand. As he waved it past me, I smelled mint. “My mother took care of it. I’m completely smeared with poultices and herbs. But she says there shouldn’t be scarring.”

  “Can you still play?”

  He turned his palm over as if inspecting it. “Not for a while, but Mom’s magic is strong. I have faith.”

  I hoped he was right. “You should be mad at me,” I told him. “Why didn’t you—you know?” I pantomimed stabbing someone.

  “Are you kidding?” His face drained, clearly horrified by the thought. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

  We were almost to the steps, and I could feel the tingle of the wards. Nikolai seemed to sense them too, because he slowed.

  “Paranoid about something?” he asked.

  I gritted my teeth and stepped quickly onto the porch. “Mom accidentally invited someone in that she shouldn’t have.” I pulled open the screen door. The palm of my hand stung with the contact, as if I’d touched something hot. I jerked away instinctively. The door snapped back, almost catching my hand.

  Nikolai grabbed the edge of the frame and held it open. “It’s a bit much,” he said, his head scanning the porch as if he could actually see the structure of the wards. “She should tone it down.”

  “She did,” I said. When my feet were on the other side of the threshold, the buzzing stopped. “This is her low setting.”

  “What is she trying to keep out—an army?”

  “Close. An army’s prince,” I said. “And two captains. Or one captain and a general, who knows? Three high-ranking vampires, at any rate.”

  Nikolai gave a low whistle, as though impressed. He stood on the rug in front of the door while I sat on the Parsons bench and unlaced my Converses. They’d pinched all day, and I couldn’t wait to get out of them.

  Nikolai had changed since the concert. He wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that showed off the tattoo on his bicep. Two dragons intertwined in a Celtic pattern around his arm like a blue and green cuff.

  “I’d heard there was another vampire prince in town,” Nikolai said. “So, what’s he like?”

  “Weird,” I admitted, rubbing my sore toes through my stockings. “He came all the way from Mississippi to marry off his captain of the guard. Or start a war.”

  Wiggling out of the other shoe, I rubbed that foot. When I glanced over, Nikolai had his hands in his pockets. He was giving me a very strange look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’re not … I mean, you’re dating Thompson now, right?”

  Did he think I was the one who’d be marrying Captain Creepy? Did he look upset about it? Did I want him to be? I shook my head to try to clear it of all the conflicting emotions. “I was dating him. Thompson’s pretty angry right now, after seeing you here. Not the best start to our relationship. I’m not sure I’m going to get to go to the movies or dancing or any of that.”

  “Huh?” he asked, but at the same time he looked relieved to hear I wasn’t planning on running off to marry some Southern vampire. I supposed that was good, but I kind of wished he’d be more upset at the idea of someone taking me out for real dates.

  “Forget it,” I said. “Do you want some lemonade or something?”

  “What I really want is to know why you needed to talk to me. And, frankly, why you bit me.”

  I guess I did owe him an explanation. I got up and led him into the kitchen. I could hear Mom moving around upstairs, so I called up. “I’m home! Nik’s here with me.” I added that information in case she wasn’t wearing much.

  Flicking the switch, I turned on the kitchen’s overhead light. It was starting to get just dark enough to need it. There were dirty dishes in the sink, the remains of whatever Mom had had for lunch.

  “What happened today?” Nikolai asked again, settling himself against the counter and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He didn’t have Thompson’s massive body, but the muscles in his arms jumped like taut wires.

  I looked away because, despite myself, I still felt that old attraction. “Uh, I am sorry about that, you know.”

  I reached into the cupboard, then handed him a glass. He started to take it with his injured hand but quickly switched. He’d been over at the house enough that he felt sufficiently comfortable to get ice from the freezer himself.

  I got the lemonade pitcher and set it on the table.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. I didn’t think it was an intentional attack.” He smiled. I’d forgotten how much I loved that smile. It was so warm, but always with a hint of mischievousness. “But why did it happen? Was it something I said?”

  I shook my head. “Hunger,” I said, struggling to keep a blush from rising from my collar at the memory of his warm blood flooding my mou
th.

  Nik poured himself a glass. “So, what’s affecting them has caught you too, eh?”

  I nodded mutely. I hated when it came down to conversations of “us” and “them,” because I always felt I was on the wrong side. I hid my discomfort by fetching myself a glass from the cupboard.

  “There have been more and more attacks on witches,” Nik continued. “Papa has advised that no one go out alone at night. We’re to travel in pairs. I’m surprised no one handed you the flyer at the potluck. Oh, right, you were hanging out with mundanes.”

  He was trying to poke at me about Thompson, but that wasn’t what got to me. “They wouldn’t have given it to me, anyway, Nik. I’m one of the ones you’re protecting yourselves from.”

  “I know that, Ana. I mean, obviously.” He flexed his injured hand. “But you’re one of us too.”

  He had no idea the effect his words had on me. I’d just been feeling the divide between us, and that simple sentence eliminated the distance. I smiled at him, but he was staring, unfocused, at the table. The finger of his uninjured hand traced the pattern of the grain.

  “Have you seen your father?” Nik asked without meeting my gaze. “I mean, it’s sort of strange that he’s letting this happen with your … um—”

  As hard as it had been for him to mention my father, I could see it would be impossible for him to complete this sentence, so I did. “My people?” His only acknowledgment was to wait for me to continue. I sighed. “My dad’s lost it. Like, totally cracked. I tried to go talk to him, and I nearly got killed for my efforts.”

  “Seriously?” He finally looked at me, his expression shocked. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, and then everything came out in a flood of words. I told him about how I couldn’t understand why my dad hadn’t called a hunt, even though I was scared of what that might mean to the witches. I went on about how I was searching for a solution, but I stopped short of telling him about the grimoire. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea for the vampire slayer to know about a magic book that contained the spell that enslaved vampires, even if the talisman was destroyed. That reminded me. “Did you know my mom’s been trying out potions on Elias? To see if she can enslave him?”