I shrugged them off, and pointed to my temple, making the crazy twirl of my finger. “It’s all in your imagination.” Of course, Thompson chose that moment to come up beside me, and so I choked a bit on the last word.
Everyone laughed.
“What’s so funny?” he wanted to know.
“Nothing, darling,” Bea said, taking Thompson’s arm, although he hadn’t offered it. “We just love watching Ana get all gaga over you.”
As she swept him out the door, he craned his neck to look back at me. I tried to avoid his curious glance, but I think Thompson noticed my I’m-so-busted expression. How was I going to make it through a whole dinner with him?
I noticed Taylor looking glum, so, to distract myself, I tugged her sleeve. “What’s wrong?”
“I really wanted to be in this show.”
“What makes you think you won’t be?”
“Come on, he hardly called on me,” she said, suddenly angry. “Anyway, I’m the only girl in a hijab. I’m never going to get a lead.”
I understood how she felt, sort of. My eyes had kept me from a lot of the good roles too. So I told her my theory about stage time and callbacks, and that made her brighten a little.
Lane, who I was now pretty sure had a crush on her, reminded her of his idea about how she could be the perfect Eliza. “Besides,” he said, “the only way it wouldn’t be racist is if he cast Malcolm as the good professor. You saw how he had Malcolm read with everyone. I think for sure he’s going to get the part.”
I frowned at Thompson’s broad shoulders. Despite the light rain, we’d decided to walk.
Lane saw where I was looking and said, “No way. I’ve got him pegged as Freddy. You heard him sing ‘On the Street Where You Live.’ He’s perfect for something light, but there’s no gravitas, you know. Not for Higgins.”
I wanted to dismiss Lane’s predictions, but for past shows, he’d proven remarkably accurate at guessing Mr. Martinez’s taste. And given that we were going rock-opera-y with the music, making the story about something as relevant as the Somali immigrant community finding a way to fit in to “high” society had some merit.
Rain soaked the cotton of my shirt and clung to my shoulders heavily. The drops pitter-pattered as they fell through the canopy of leaves. The smell of wet reminded me of the river, and the kiss Elias and I had shared.
He’d be sleeping now. Younger vampires could stand being out on overcast days, but it was a struggle for Elias.
The conversation continued to buzz around the topic of the play.
I listened halfheartedly, my eyes scanning the street for any sign of the red-haired vampire. Had he been sent to watch over me? That seemed likely, but was he one of the good guys or one of the loyal servants who worked for witches? I kind of doubted Mom had sent him. After all, it wasn’t like she didn’t know where I was or what I’d be up to. She’d driven me here herself.
He seemed kind of spooky to be one of Elias’s knights, though. They tended to at least try to be courtly and deferential around me.
As tired as I was, I wondered if maybe I’d imagined him.
The restaurant wasn’t too crowded for a Saturday evening, and after getting our food, we managed to find a spot that fit all of us. I ended up squashed in a booth between Lane and Bea. Thompson sat directly across from me.
Taylor looked around helplessly for a moment before determining there was no other option, and put her tray down beside Thompson. “I’m not going to bite,” he said.
She seemed unconvinced, especially since he seemed to be inspecting her food choices.
“Are you a vegetarian or something?” he asked.
Taylor looked at me for help. So I explained, “She’s Muslim, Thompson. She can’t eat meat that’s not halal.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t be such a bigot,” Lane admonished. “It’s almost exactly like keeping kosher, which I could do, but it’s a hassle.”
“You’re Jewish?” a bunch of us asked at once.
Lane rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, Lane Davis, just like Sammy Davis Jr. And, let’s see, Bea and Ana are witches, and Malcolm is an atheist.”
“Secular humanist,” he corrected around a mouthful of burrito.
“And you’re Catholic, right?” Lane continued, ignoring Malcolm. Thompson nodded. “So that’s everyone.”
Thompson raised his hands as if in surrender. “Okay, okay, I was just curious.” We all went back to our food momentarily, and then, after a thoughtful chew, Thompson asked, “Wait, Sammy Davis Jr. was Jewish?”
We all laughed, the brief tension broken.
I wondered what would happen if Thompson really did get a part in the play. He was so different from the rest of us. Most of the theater people were politically and socially liberal, academic, and, well, a bit odd.
Thompson sort of defined the norm at our school. He was a straight-C student whose only hope for college involved a sports scholarship. I didn’t know that for certain, of course. Let’s just say I’d never seen his name on the honor roll, and his picture was all over the trophy case.
I shook my head. After all, he wasn’t really one of us yet. If he got a part, then we’d have to see if we could transform the jock into the theater geek.
I ate my burrito, letting the familiar banter distract me. I kept a close eye on the clock in the restaurant. My plan was still to get home and surprise Mom at whatever she was up to.
Finishing, I crumpled up the tinfoil. Lane was in the middle of regaling Thompson with a story the rest of us had heard a hundred times, about the time he fell from the catwalk in the middle of opening night of Macbeth. Of course, then he had to explain how “that Scottish play” is always cursed. When he was done, I motioned for him to let me out.
“Going already?” Thompson asked.
“Um, I have some ... stuff I have to do.”
“Can I give you a lift?”
I must be the only sixteen-year-old without a license, and everyone at school seemed to know it. “It’s okay. I can walk; it’s just a bit of a hike.”
“If you’re sure.” The disappointment was obvious on Thompson’s face.
“Aw, give the boy a break,” Malcolm said. “He couldn’t be more obvious!”
Pretty soon everyone was encouraging me to let Thompson take me home. I gave up with a sigh. “All right, all right. I’d love a ride home, Thompson.”
“Matthew,” he said. “My first name is Matthew.”
“Oh, uh, right. Sorry, Matthew,” I said, but I was afraid he’d always be “Thompson” in my head. The problem was that all his buddies called one another by their last names and, of course, it was written on their jerseys.
“It’s okay,” he said, standing up to follow me out the door. “Everybody calls me Thompson. I just sort of wanted to hear you say my name.”
That was awfully sweet. What was going on here? It was one thing when we were pretending to be other people onstage, and something else entirely in real life.
He grabbed the door for me and held it open.
I heard someone back at our table whoop. I couldn’t believe Thompson had a cheering section. It wasn’t like I could date him. We were in different social circles. His buddies would mock him mercilessly. The cheerleaders would murder me in my sleep.
“Ignore them,” he said as I passed under his arm. For a second I thought he meant the homicidal cheerleaders, but he jerked his square jaw in the direction of where Lane was flashing us the thumbs-up. “They’ve never seen a gentleman before.”
“They’ve never seen you be a gentleman, you mean,” I said before I could censor it. “Oh, sorry. I tend to forget we’re in détente.”
The rain had mostly stopped, but everything was covered in a wet sheen. Car tires hissed through puddles as they passed. “Actually, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“To be insulted?”
I’d meant it as a joke, but he shook his head seriously. “Everyone else has been treating me like
. . .” He groped for an appropriate metaphor for a moment, then gave up with a shrug of his massive shoulders. “I don’t know. Not you, though. You’re still the same.”
With all the talk about chemistry and hormones, I felt exactly the opposite. I thought I’d been acting the strangest around Thompson. “You think so?”
He hunched his shoulders again. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “I trust you to tell me the truth.”
“About what?”
“The play. Do you think I really have a chance?”
Though the sidewalk had already dried in places, the clouds remained thick and gloomy. As I considered my answer, I watched a crow soar lazily through the gray sky. “You have a phenomenal voice,” I said. “There’s always more spots for boys, and a lot fewer boys who try out. I’d be surprised if you didn’t get in. Everyone would.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” he admitted. His eyes watched his shuffling feet.
I nodded, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Theater could be scary when you weren’t used to it, all that standing up in front of people and the massive opportunities for embarrassment. But that was the exciting part too, like when you had to ad-lib your way through a missed cue or a misplaced prop. Nothing was quite like the kick of the audience’s response—a laugh or applause.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, suddenly angry. “Man, you really are an evil witch.”
“Wait—what did I do?”
“Here I’m trying to talk to you, you know, seriously, and you’ve been laughing at me.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been smiling. “Oh, hey, listen, it wasn’t like that. I was thinking of something else.”
“Oh. I see.” For some reason my explanation made him madder. “You really haven’t changed, Parker. I don’t know what I was thinking. Walk home for all I care,” he spat. He stalked back in the direction of the restaurant.
I had no idea what had just happened exactly, but at least our relationship was back to normal. Thompson hated me. All was right in the universe.
About a block from home, I noticed someone on my trail. The sun remained obscured by a blanket of storm clouds, so I had no idea if the person who followed me was human or vampire. But in St. Paul, there’s just not a lot of foot traffic, so I noticed my shadow once I turned off Lexington and headed onto side streets.
Whoever it was stayed about a block and a half behind me. I kept twisting to see if I recognized any of the person’s features, hoping against hope it was just Thompson acting all stalkerish or Elias checking up on me.
The only thing I could really make out at this distance was a dark leather jacket, like a biker might wear. I was pretty sure it was a guy. Turning again, I saw him pass under a streetlamp just as it flicked on. Was that reddish hair?
Crap.
Picking up my pace, I randomly turned a corner. The neighborhood near my high school was a mix of houses and apartment buildings. Even though many of the single-family homes dated from the same period as mine, they seemed shabbier and neglected. A chain-link fence surrounded a yard that was more dirt than grass. A filthy pink plastic tricycle lay tipped on its side, abandoned.
I hazarded a glance behind. Had he gained on me?
I started to run.
At the corner, I turned again. But I instantly regretted my choice. A bunch of guys leaned against a sports car smoking. The stereo blasted something in Spanish. It was too late to change course if I wanted to outdistance my pursuer. “Hey, sweetheart,” one of the men teased as I raced toward them. He wore a basketball jersey that showed off toned, muscular arms and a dragon tattoo. Black hair was shaved to little more than stubble. “What’s your hurry?”
“There’s a guy following me,” I said honestly, my breath coming in puffs. I pointed just as red-haired vamp turned the corner and kept running.
Jersey pushed off the hood of the car, and shouted, “Yo, what you doing, scaring the lady?”
Being verbally accosted seemed to stump the vampire. He slowed, as if assessing his chances against the four guys, who now stood a bit taller and began to close ranks behind me.
As I made the corner, I apologized to the Goddess for thinking ill of anyone, especially when I heard someone shout, “Hey, I’m talking to you.” Red-haired vampire had been quite effectively slowed down. I had a good chance of losing him, thanks to my would-be champions.
I was fairly certain I made it home alone. When I got to my block, I set out for the alley. Even though our house was in the middle of the block, I could see the nose of Mom’s MINI sticking out from its parking space. I crept along the alleyway to our carriage house. Finally, some luck! A window was open, and I could hear voices coming from inside.
I pressed myself to the wall. Virginia creeper climbed much of the brick, and its wide leaves had begun to unfurl, providing extra cover. Droplets from the brief shower collected in the nooks and crannies of the vine, and now and again random drips snaked down my neckline.
Holding my breath, I listened.
“But we don’t know what would happen. It’s dangerous to assume in this case. What if we unleash something we can’t control?” It was my mother’s haughty Witch Queen tone; I’d recognize it anywhere.
“We can’t do nothing. We’ve been doing nothing for generations and the vampire problem hasn’t solved itself.” This was a man’s voice, thick with an Eastern European accent. He sounded tired, like they’d had this argument a dozen times already.
It was hard to distinguish the words over the chatter of birds and nearby traffic sounds, so I closed my eyes and concentrated.
“Let’s be honest—their very existence is our fault. Every death from the hunt is our responsibility. We should take them back under our control. Then we can decide what’s to be done.” I had no idea who said this. It sounded like a woman, but it wasn’t Mom.
“You make it sound like that’s an easy option.” Mom sighed.
“It could be,” the woman said, “if you would just agree with the rest of us.”
“Hush,” the man said suddenly. “There’s a vampire near. I can sense it.”
When I opened my eyes in surprise at his words, I realized my mistake. Everything had the sharp focus I’d come to associate with my heightened senses. In my desperation to overhear, I must have gone a bit vampy.
Crap!
I pressed myself against the wall, but my sharp ears detected the sound of footfalls on the stairs. Someone was coming down! Running would expose me, I was sure. Frantically, I looked around for a place to hide.
The door creaked open. In a minute, I’d be discovered.
When a raindrop hit my head, I knew what to do. Surrendering completely to my inner vampire, I climbed the ropy stems toward the roof. That strange ability that made the forest glow with an inner light guided my hands and feet to sections that could support my weight. By the time the door clicked back on its hinges, I’d hauled myself onto the roof.
Unfortunately, thanks to the slant of the roof, I was still exposed. I clambered quickly across the shingles to crouch behind the chimney. Then I felt it, a spike of magic that sizzled across my skin like lightning, making the hairs on my arms stand up.
An energy blade!
The man circling the carriage house searching for me must be Nikolai’s dad, the vampire hunter.
“Check the roof,” he said. “They tend to go up.”
“There he is!” Mom shouted, and I ducked, half expecting to feel the pierce of a psychic missile through my shoulder blades. “At the end of the alley.”
Carefully, I peeped around the chimney. Sure enough, there, near the sidewalk, was the red-haired vampire who’d stalked me from school. Mom and the other woman started toward him. Nikolai’s dad lagged behind, and without warning he turned back to look me directly in the eye.
I cringed and quickly huddled behind the chimney. Had he recognized me? Nikolai had never brought me back to “meet the parents,” and since Nik’s dad
wasn’t a witch, I never saw him at the coven gatherings. I wouldn’t have recognized him at all if it weren’t for the familiar sensation of the blade.
The worst part was there wasn’t really anyplace for me to go. The closest thing I could jump to was a power line, and though my vampire form seemed light and swift, I didn’t think I could zip along it like a squirrel. I might make the neighbor’s garage roof if I took a run at it, but I didn’t have the same experience Elias did at midair acrobatics. Then his words came back to me:
You could fly, if you wanted to.
Could I really?
I guess I’d have to try. From the shouts, it sounded like one of the women was hot on the heels of my unlucky stalker. Where was Nikolai’s father? I stood up to see. He’d made only a perfunctory step in the direction of the other vampire and, instead, was watching me. When our gazes met, he motioned for me to come down with a crook of his finger.
Though there was something similar about the shape of his eyes, I could see very little resemblance between Nik and his father. His dad’s frame was stocky and square. A shock of blond brush stood up on the top of his head. In his hand, I could see the glimmer of a long, curved ghost blade.
He pointed downward again.
Like I was just going to surrender myself? What a cocky bastard!
I’d show him.
Pivoting on my heels, I took off at a run for the edge. I’d forgotten about the rain, however, and my Converses began to slip. Soon, I was hurtling uncontrollably down the slope.
I had all the momentum, but none of the trajectory. It probably didn’t help matters that I flapped my arms uselessly and squawked like a chicken when I found myself airborne. I hit the other roof just long enough to know that under other circumstances I might have made it. My fingers frantically pawed for purchase, feeling the drainpipe slip from my grasp.
Then I fell.
The only good thing about my misaimed jump was that my bounce off the roof sent me careening into the neighbor’s buckthorn hedges and not flat, splat, on the pavement. Though the snapping branches scraped and clawed my skin, they also slowed my descent. Even so, the impact knocked all the air from my lungs.
Almost Final Curtain Page 14
