American Vampire

by Jennifer Armintrout

  It was Sarah Boniface all over again. Jessa’s knees went weak, but she forced herself to stand. They weren’t going to get any sign of guilt, real or imagined, out of her.

  Sheriff Stoke rose from his seat behind June and hitched his pants up by his huge oval belt buckle. “You two are under arrest on suspicion of witchcraft.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Graf growled. “Witchcraft? Do I look like a witch to you?”

  “You look like a vampire to me,” Derek shouted, and everyone else in the bar began shouting. It was clear that some didn’t believe him. But worse, it was clear that some did.

  “Quiet!” Sheriff Stoke yelled over the noise. “I said quiet, goddamn it!”

  Jessa looked to June and, once the crowd had quieted, said, “Are you really going to sit there and listen to that? In your bar? Tell them how ridiculous he’s being!”

  She shook her head, true regret written on every feature of her face. “I’m sorry, Jessa. I can’t do that.”

  The hush that fell over the bar was eerie, and strangely convincing that Jessa and June were the only two standing in it. Jessa shook her head slowly. “You don’t really believe—”

  “I’ve thought for a long time now that there was something not right about him. And Derek shows up with a scar that looks like somebody bit him, saying Graf’s a vampire…. There was blood on your rug when I was there today.”

  A chill ran down Jessa’s spine. “This is crazy.”

  “If you want a witch,” Graf said, nodding toward Derek, “look at him. He’s the one who brought that demon here.”

  “How’d you know It is a demon?” Sheriff Stoke asked, like a detective in a TV show. “Seems to me the woman who’s hanging around with a vampire might have more call to consort with a pet demon than a man who lost his wife recently.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense!” Graf shouted, incredulous. “In the first place, I’m not a vampire. That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows vampires don’t exist. And you can’t say that Derek wouldn’t summon a demon because his wife just left—the demon’s been around for years and his wife just left yesterday.”

  “Summoning sounds like some witch talk, if you ask me,” Sheriff Stoke said with satisfaction, and several people cheered.

  “You’re out of your minds!” Graf shouted, but it was pretty clear no one was listening.

  “I know why she did it,” Derek called over everyone’s voices. “She thought if she trapped me here, I’d have to marry her. Or I’d leave Becky for her. She came over to my house and told me all about it this morning.”

  Jessa opened her mouth, but closed it when she realized that anything else she said would be even more damning. The entire town believed she was some kind of crazy, desperate mantrap. And a liar. It wasn’t too big a leap to witchcraft, she guessed. They’d taken Sarah for less.

  “Are we even going to get a trial?” Graf asked Sheriff Stoke, his jaw clenched.

  “We aren’t barbarians. You’ll get your trial.” It was clear he was proud of his efficiency. “We’ll need about a day to gather evidence. In the meantime, you’ll be held at the jail.”

  “Just let us go home,” Jessa pleaded. “Where are we gonna run?”

  “There are procedures that have to be followed,” the sheriff said, his chest puffed up with the posturing of his office. “Come on, boys, let’s move ’em.”

  Jessa fought against whoever it was that held her—she couldn’t get a good look—and glared at Derek as she got dragged toward the door. He looked back guiltily, like a dog that’s done wrong and knows he can’t hide it. She hoped the sight of her being dragged away to die haunted him to his final days.

  She held out hope that once they were outside, Graf would fight their way free, but he didn’t resist as they marched them out. His hand found hers for just a second as they were jostled by the throng that followed, and it gave her some comfort.

  The “jail” wasn’t far up the road. The combination police and fire and ambulance station had housed a single, lonely jail cell that had rarely been occupied for more than a few hours before the state police would come and pick up the detainees to take them to the county jail. That building was long gone, destroyed by It in the first, early days of their confinement. They hadn’t had much call for a proper jail, so since then, if someone caused trouble they spent a few days in the teachers’ lounge at the old high school.

  “Are you kidding me?” Graf said with a laugh as they walked up the long drive. “We can break out of here in no time.”

  Sheriff Stoke panted a little as he tried to keep up pace. “Don’t be foolish, boy. We’re going to watch you like a hawk. You step one foot out of your cell, and we’ll put a bullet in your heart.”

  “My heart? Not my head?” he asked. “That sounds cruel and unusual to me.”

  “Not for your kind,” the sheriff said, and he elbowed him in the chest. The blow wasn’t as hard as it was meant to be, because the sheriff was having a tough enough time talking and walking.

  When they reached one of the three entrances to the school, Sheriff Stoke found a key on his key ring and unlocked the double doors.

  Jessa hadn’t been inside the building since she’d graduated five years ago. Despite being abandoned and shut up for so long, the halls smelled exactly the same as when she’d left on that last day of high school. When the sheriff flipped on the lights, every illuminating bulb took her back to strolling the halls with Becky, slipping notes into Derek’s locker. As Sheriff Stoke marched them down the hall, Jessa took note of her old homeroom, the stairs down to the gym.

  They reached the teachers’ lounge, and Sheriff Stoke opened the door and motioned them inside. “I’m locking you in, but if you get any bright ideas about escaping, know that there will be some real angry folks waiting on the lawn all night to see you put up to trial. They’ll rip you apart, if I don’t shoot you first.”

  “Thanks for the hospitality, Sheriff,” Graf said dryly as he followed Jessa inside. The sheriff didn’t bother with a retort, just closed the door, leaving them in total darkness.

  “There isn’t a window in here,” Jessa said, trying to sound positive about it. “At least there’s that, right?”

  The sound of a light switch flipping back and forth filled the darkness. “They could have at least turned the lights on.”

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Jessa could make out the general shape of the furniture in the room. A couch and two armchairs surrounded a low oval table, and an area rug covered the space. Where the carpet ended and the default school tile resumed there was a taller lunch table and heavy plastic chairs, beyond that a kitchenette. Jessa inspected the sink, where a slippery stalactite hung from the faucet, proving that it was still connected to a water source. A small bathroom stood to the left, and nearly a whole roll of toilet paper was still on the dispenser. She made a note to come back and steal it somehow, if they weren’t sentenced to death.

  “Did you see how ready they were to believe him?” Graf asked, flopping down on the couch. “It’s like they were just waiting for some excuse to come after you.”

  “That’s how it works in a small town,” she said, pushing on the pump top of the soap dispenser on the sink. Jackpot. “Why didn’t anyone think to loot here?”

  “I’ve never been to a small town that tried people for witchcraft. I mean, I went to Salem as a tourist, but centuries after the fact.” He got up and paced from the refrigerator to the couch and back again. “Is this how it’s going to end? Death by hillbilly? I’m not even a hundred years old yet.”

  “Don’t open that refrigerator,” Jessa warned. “Nobody’s been here for five years, it looks like. It won’t smell pretty.”

  Graf stopped his pacing, and though it was dark, she could tell he stared at her. “Are you completely suicidal or something? Aren’t you the least bit worried about what’s going to happen to you?”

  “Not really. You’ll figure something out.” She truly believed that. “Y
ou said you weren’t going to let anybody hurt me, and you haven’t gone back on any of your promises yet.”

  “Oh, no pressure or anything, Graf.” He went back to the couch and sank down. “I don’t know how we’re getting out of this one. If I do anything that shows them I really am a vampire, we might be able to escape somehow, but they’re still going to come back. Even when I’m gone, they won’t leave you alone.”

  His words struck her as painfully obvious, but painful nonetheless. “What do you mean, when you’re gone?”

  He sounded a little embarrassed when he said, “Well, it’s not like I can stay around here forever, is it? I’ve got a life outside of Penance.”

  “Right, your life. Your vampire parties and your slutty friends,” she said, recoiling inside at the naked hurt in her voice.

  “What the hell?” Graf said angrily. “You want me to rescue you from these redneck witch hunters, but you’re going to insult my friends?”

  No, she wanted to say. No, but you’re the only good thing I’ve had happen to me in five years, and I don’t want you to go. But she was wounded, so she just shrugged, deliberately exaggerating the movement so he could see it in the dark.

  “That’s really nice of you. Really nice.”

  “I never pretended to be nice,” she shot back, though she had to struggle past a lump in her throat to speak.

  Silence pressed down on her, filled with his anger, as she went through the drawers and cabinets. There wasn’t anything to eat, the people who’d been incarcerated before her had taken care of that, but behind a box of trash bags under the sink she found a six-pack of Coke. She smiled at the thought of her old teachers hiding their food from one another in a futile effort to keep their coworkers from consuming their lunch. She didn’t figure Coke would go bad, not even in five years, so she pulled one out and popped it open.

  As she stood, she became suddenly aware of Graf standing behind her. She turned to face him, steeling herself to feign anger again, when he gripped her shoulders and pulled her against his chest, smashing their mouths together painfully. She dropped the can in surprise, and before it could hit the floor, Graf caught it and slid it across the counter.

  “You’re mad at me,” he said, breathing fast. “You’re mad because you don’t want me to leave.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” She shoved at his chest, but it was a halfhearted effort. “I’ve been trying to get rid of you since you showed up in town.”

  He didn’t bother with an answer, but kissed her again, and though she thought it might be wise to resist, she couldn’t help herself. She put her arms around his neck, opened her mouth to the cold slide of his tongue. It was all she could do to keep from wrapping her legs around him and climbing him like a tree.

  “Don’t leave,” she begged against his mouth. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, smearing a kiss across her jaw.

  “I know you’re not,” she said with a laugh that dissolved into a moan. “But don’t.”

  He lifted her up to sit on the edge of the counter, kissing a wet path across her neck as his arms slid under the back of her T-shirt to unhook her bra.

  It had been so long since she’d felt this good. So long since she didn’t have to shut down the voices in her head telling her that she was a whore, filthy, just reaffirming everyone’s suspicions of her. And it felt good to be wanted, not because she was comfortable and familiar and stupidly willing. Well, she was stupidly willing to let a vampire put his mouth on her neck, but she trusted him. Maybe that was stupid, too.

  “I swear to God, if some inbred redneck busts in on us, I’m going to rip their goddamned throats out.” And as if to prove his point, he yanked her shirt up, and she had no choice but to raise her arms to let him pull it over her head. He turned fast, taking her with him, and she locked her legs around his hips. The cold Formica tabletop shocked her as he laid her on the table. He stood between her legs and pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the ridges of muscle she had covertly admired earlier in the day. God, it had been hard to concentrate on keeping her lies straight in front of June and the town council while he stood not two feet from her, all shirtless and looking like a naughty firemen calendar. Just the sight of him before had made her wet and achy, and now anticipation tightened muscles she rarely acknowledged.

  He smoothed his hands over the cups of her plain cotton bra, and the look in his eyes as his gaze drifted over her breasts made her feel sexier than if she were wearing black lace. He slid the straps down her arms, then tossed it aside with a helpless groan as he leaned down to suck one tight nipple into his mouth.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and stroked his neck, then over the wide planes of his shoulders. His tongue swirled over her skin, taking a wandering path over her other breast, then down her stomach. He reached the waistband of her jeans and she sat up, pushed him back. The look of shock on his face was almost funny as she hopped down from the table and pushed him again, backing him into the cupboards. When she dropped to her knees, her meaning became clear, and he swallowed audibly as she reached for his zipper.

  When she unzipped it and slid her hand inside, he brushed her hands away and pulled his jeans down over his hips. Not trying to be cool or in control, like Derek would have done. She pushed that thought right out of her head. Derek wasn’t going to be in this room right now.

  “Oh, wow,” she said on a sigh as she gripped him, and on a throaty exhale he laughed, “Well, thank you.”

  She slid her hand down the considerable length of him, then trailed her tongue up, around the wide head, before closing her lips over him. She’d forgotten how much of a turn-on it was to give a guy head, how hot it was to hear him make nonsensical sounds and repeat the same words over and over, like a prayer, only profane instead of sacred. She certainly wasn’t an expert, but from what she could tell, Graf was enjoying himself.

  She cupped her hands around him, stroking up and down in time with the movements of her mouth, and he laid his hands on her head, then pulled them away as if he didn’t trust himself.

  It had always amazed Jessa how something so simple as sex could make a person forget everything else. She knew they were in danger. She knew there were a million other things they could be doing to try to save themselves. When Graf stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulders, she didn’t care about any of those other things. When he carried her to the couch and pulled her jeans off, then her panties, she didn’t care about anything but the way his hands felt on her body, the way his fingers felt stroking the slick, hot flesh between her legs.

  “I want to make this good for you,” he rasped against her ear as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. “Just tell me what to do.”

  She couldn’t articulate what she needed, not beyond “now” and “please,” but he understood the gist of it. And she was so grateful he had, as he pushed into her, stretched her almost painfully. Then he moved inside her, each thrust forcing the breath from her lungs, each withdrawal dragging new breath down. She arched underneath him, twisted her legs around his hips, and she almost lost him, but he gripped one of her legs by the calf and hooked it over his shoulder, bent her almost in two as he drove into her. She clung to him, her hands greedy to touch more, to feel the muscles flexing under his tight, cold skin, to know every piece of him before it was all over.

  She panted into his ear, moaned her appreciation over and over, until, almost too soon, she found herself back at the familiar and completely alien edge of the pleasure battering through her. In an instant, everything seemed too cold, too hot, too big, too much to feel, and then she burst, screaming, holding tight to his shoulders as he groaned and drove harder into her. As she quaked beneath him, he collapsed over her, his limbs trembling from exhaustion.

  Could vampires be exhausted? She laughed at the absurd thought, at the absurd idea of where they were and what they had done. Her back stung from the rough upholstery, her legs ached like she’d run a mile.
It had all been so erotic in the heat of passion. Now, it just seemed silly.

  “Oh, that’s very encouraging, thank you,” he said, pushing himself off her.

  She could only laugh harder, and she sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking…you’re supposed to be this supernatural creature, all strong and tough, and here you are, looking like you’re going to pass out or have an asthma attack from sex.”

  “I don’t have asthma,” he corrected. “And that’s hard work. Always has been. You women don’t think it is, because you don’t have to do it.”

  “I’m pretty sure I had sex, too.” She scraped her hair back from her face.

  “Oh, yes, you did. And you’re welcome, by the way.” He grinned, and it sent all sorts of hot shivers through her.

  She wished they could lie there longer, but she knew what was coming.

  “So, when do you think they’ll come get us?” he asked, reaching to the floor for his jeans. “I don’t want to get caught with my pants down, literally.”

  “I don’t know. They want to ‘gather evidence,’ so I guess however long they need to find proof that I’m guilty.” She pressed her hands against her head. “Oh, God, they’ll find Sarah’s book, and we’ll be doomed.”

  “We are not going to be doomed,” Graf said with so much certainty that it was hard not to believe him. “I’m going to figure something heroic out, and you’ll be fine. You said so yourself. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

  An unexpected wave of remorse tugged her down from the giddy swell she’d been riding on. “How would you know? I’m a great liar.”

  “That you are.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then stood and pulled on his jeans before strolling to the kitchenette. “You forgot your Coke.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked as she limped after him, feeling strangely modest. She reached for the T-shirt he’d discarded on the floor and pulled it over her head. It was one of her father’s old T-shirts, but it didn’t smell like him anymore. It smelled like the cedar drawers of the bureau, and the bizarre absence of scent that clung to Graf’s body.