Blood Of A Vampire (Negre Clan Book 1)

by Cheri Winters

  "Graylock Carcass Cleanup is always available," I say.

  "What would Ivy think if she saw you flirting with Kate like that, especially after the night you two had together?"

  I am just about to tell Rachel to lay off when we see Ivy pull her car into the lot, right as the first bell rings.

  "Ivy IQ is never this late," Rachel says.

  She's got a genuine look of concern on her face, and I know that all joking about last night is at an end. She's right, though. Ivy is never tardy for school unless something is terribly wrong.

  I look back toward Ivy and notice Ben's motorcycle right behind her. Ivy finds two empty spaces side by side, and they pull in next to each other.

  "Oh..." Kate says, as we watch Ivy get out of her car while Ben parks his bike. There is very definitely something different about the way they are interacting this morning. "Come on, Carl," Kate says. "We'll be late for class."

  I can't take my eyes off of Ben and Ivy. They both keep looking our way as they talk.

  "Carl!" Kate says. "Let's go."

  "It's Ok," I tell her. "I can tell what's going on, too."

  "Then go to class," Rachel says.

  I don't move.

  "We're mad, too, Carl. We don't want her with that freak any more than you do, but getting into it here and now isn't going to help."

  "Let us talk to her. It won't do anybody any good for you to lose your temper at her," Kate says.

  "Or at him," Rachel adds.

  I stand up and walk toward the front door. I risk a quick look back just as I'm inside the building, and they're holding hands as they walk.

  It takes everything I've got to keep walking to class. In the end, it's remembering what Grandpa told me the other night that gets me to walk away. If I harm Ben, they'll take it out on Ivy. As mad as I am at her as well, it would kill me if anything ever happened to her.

  I let my morning classes distract me from my mood. Ironically it is because of Ivy that I find those classes so calming. My morning is Music, Shop, English Lit, and Graphic Design. Ivy is the one that first showed me that the arts could be something much more than mandatory classes that weren't going to get me anywhere in life. When she told me some of the stories behind her favorite piano songs, and played certain passages over and over again, telling me how the composer used different sounds and patterns to create emotion, I finally understood why it was important.

  From there I figured out that it's not just sound that can affect people that way. Words can do it, images. The way Ivy could explain these things to me in ways no teacher ever could was part of why I so admire, and honestly, love her.

  I get to the lunch table that Ivy typically shares with Kate, Rachel, and me, and pretty soon my mood sours again. She never shows. I'm so worried about her being with that zombie that I barely touch my lunch – something very unusual, since my wolf blood gives me a pretty indestructible stomach. Even Rachel notices it, and seems to back even farther off from her teasing.

  "Carl, I know you don't want to hear this, but let us talk to Ivy about Ben," Kate says. "I know you very legitimately care for her, but anything you say about Ben is going to sound like you're just jealous that he gets her and you don't." I know she wants to add more, about my tendency to get pretty hot headed, but she bites it off.

  I know they're right. Kate and Rachel are right, Grandpa is right, everybody is right. If I try to come between Ben and Ivy, I'm going to just push her farther away from me and ever closer to him. I still chafe at being told to do nothing about a problem. Problems are meant to be solved, not watched.

  Of my afternoon classes, only the hour of Gym set between Algebra 2 and Physics offers me any distraction from my feelings. Even Gym is tough, though. We're in the middle of a month of wrestling lessons, and while it's good to get to tangle physically with someone, I have to keep reminding myself to play nice, to hide my actual strength, to not just let myself go on some poor kid who doesn't deserve it.

  By the time the day ends, I've gotten myself completely worked up. I walk out the door, and there I see Ben and Ivy, walking hand in hand again. The zombie isn't wearing his absurd glasses and is bare headed. I look out into the parking lot and see a helmet sitting on one of his motorcycle's mirrors. The zombie is obviously trying to play like he's a nice, respectable boy, riding his bike like an old man now, and wearing a lid. He's also outside in full sunlight now, which vampires simply cannot stand. A tiny voice inside of me briefly says, "No," but I ignore it, and catch up with them.

  "Ivy, Ben," I say. It's taking everything I've got to stay calm and cool when I approach. They turn to look at me, still holding hands. "Mind if I take a minute," I ask Ben, keeping it civil, trying to sound as natural as I can.

  "Sure," he says, squinting into the sun, trying not to wince in pain. I'd intentionally approached with the sun directly behind me, so it would be in his eyes whenever he tried to talk to me. "I'll call you later tonight," he says.

  Both of them are polite enough, or maybe just scared enough of me going off, that they don't kiss goodbye right in front of me. Ivy just says, "Yes. I'll look forward to it." Her eyes follow him as he scurries off to his bike to cover up from the mean old sun and go back to his little crypt.

  "Since Grandpa's gone, want me to come over and keep you company for dinner?"

  She turns her eyes from Ben to me. "Thanks, but I'll be fine tonight." She gives me a really awkward smile. The kind that always says, "I want to let you down easy."

  "He's not coming over, is he?" I ask.

  "Not like it's any of your business, but no. Grandpa's rules, no boys over to the house when he's on the road."

  "Well, no boys you have any chance of doing anything with," I say. It sounds way more petulant and whiny than I'd intended. I sound weak.

  "You're family, Carl. And he likes you coming by when he's gone, because he trusts that nothing could ever hurt me while you're there."

  How can one word be simultaneously the best and worst thing anybody could call you? I lost my family when I was five. Murdered by vampires in the Great War. A couple other werewolves took me in to foster, but they weren't family, and they never let me be a child. From the moment my parents died, I went into training to be a soldier, a vampire killer. They didn't love me, they didn't care for me, they just molded me.

  When Grandpa calls me "Family," nothing in all of the world makes me happier. To have a man I look up to consider me as close as his own blood fills me with such pride. But when Ivy uses that word with me, it's something else. It's a limitation, a cage. Sisters don't love brothers the way I wish Ivy could love me.

  That one word, "Family," out of her mouth is a future I long for rendered impossible.

  "I should come by, then, so Grandpa can relax knowing I'm there."

  "No." Ivy says, sharply. "We both know what's going to happen. You're going to just bad mouth Ben all night long. Maybe you'll start politely, but you're not going to stop, and I am sick and tired of everybody constantly pushing me about this."

  I open my mouth to say something.

  "Shut it," she says. "I can take care of myself. I can date who I want to date, whether you or Grandpa or anybody else likes him or not. I see something in him that I really like and that I don't see in anybody else." Ivy looks down at her shoes and bites her lip.

  I know what she's about to say next, and I don't want to hear it out loud, but I also respect her enough to not walk away from her right now.

  "Not even you, Carl."

  Behind me, I hear Ben's little toy drive off. She finally looks up, not at me, but to watch him go. I'm furious at him for using all the skill at charming women he's certainly picked up over his many years to turn my sensible Ivy into a love-struck fool.

  "There's a lot about Ben you don't know," I say.

  "I know enough. He told me about his family last night, about how they have to live. He's just been needing somebody to reach out to him and open up a bit."

  "Oh, he told you, did he?
What did he say?"

  "He said you need to earn his trust enough for him to tell you the story, Carl."

  I shake my head at her. "Whatever he told you is a lie. There is no Ben Wake, it's just a name he's using for now, and that he'll discard it, along with you, as soon as he gets what he wants."

  "See, Carl? This is why I don't want you to come over tonight."

  "This is why you need me to come over, Ivy." I'm trying so hard to not break the secrecy of the vampires, because there's no way I could do that and not break the secrecy about my people as well. It would also break the Truce for any one of us, zombie or blood, to out one of the others. I don't care about the truce, though. I care about protecting my own. And when I say "my own", I mean my blood and I mean Ivy.

  "I can't deal with this anymore. I can't deal with you anymore, Carl."

  "And I can't stand by and see someone I love be taken and used by something like Ben."

  Ivy stares at me.

  I realize both of the mistakes I just made, dropping the l-word with her, and referring to Ben as a thing. I can't stop myself, though. The wolf has got a hold of my tongue.

  "You want Ben, take him, but if you do, I walk away. Which is it? All the good years we've had as best of friends, or some gloomy fop that just sauntered into town."

  "Well thank you for giving me a simple choice," Ivy says. "You can turn around and walk away. Right now."

  I open my mouth to speak, and she cuts me off again.

  "Shut it, Carl. Shut it and keep it shut."

  Now I'm angry, and that always gives the wolf more control. If I open my mouth, I will regret to my dying day what comes out of it. I clamp my teeth together and turn away. Keeping quiet now is my only chance of salvaging anything that we once had, if there's anything left of her after Ben throws her away.

  Ivy doesn't know that even in human form, I still have unusually acute hearing. Nowhere near as sharp as when I'm in wolf form, but enough that I barely hear her whisper, "Carl," and "Please?" as I walk away.

  I have never in my life had as much trouble putting one foot in front of the other as I am now. The wolf is whispering in my ear to go out and hunt, rend, tear, kill. It reminds me of the feel of hot blood spraying all over my face, of the metallic taste of raw flesh in my mouth. The wolf reminds me that for all the years of childhood I lost learning to stalk and destroy vampires, the Truce happened before I ever got to use any of it. “Just once,” the wolf whispers. “Just once. Use it...”

  I need to silence the wolf right now. I start humming some of Ivy's favorite piano music. It doesn't completely silence the wolf, but I at least remind it that any harm we bring to Ben will be paid for in Ivy's blood. They will send more zombies than I could ever dream of fending off to destroy her.

  Chapter 7

  Ben Wake

  It has been more than a hundred years since I’ve felt this way. It is 6:58 p.m. I told Ivy that I would call her "tonight". Does "tonight" mean seven, or eight? I certainly can't call right on the hour. That makes it obvious that I'm fretting over what time "this evening" ends and "tonight" starts.

  I lost a lot of innocence within an hour of meeting Sonia Vătafu. By the time the sun set again, I became immortal and I left for war. By the time I came back from France in 1918 I thought I would never, ever feel a silly schoolboy crush on anybody ever again. I came back from the war, less than twenty years of life behind me, hundreds more in front of me, already old. My sensitivity to the sun set in quickly, and my senses heightened in darkness. When they found out how good I was when it came to fighting at night, they were happy to let me sleep all day in a deep bunker and stalk the place between the trenches called "No Mans’ Land". It was a good place for something like me, who was no longer a man.

  It is now 6:59 p.m. Gazing into my past is doing nothing for me. It is not doing anything to bring my future any closer. The first future I’ve looked forward to in a long time.

  I already know what I want to talk about when I call her. Prom is coming up. Something I never got to go to. Now I have a chance. I fret about for as long as I can stand, and at 7:18, I pick up my phone.

  "Hey, Ben!" Ivy's voice is bright and cheerful as she answers.

  "Ivy. How have you been this evening?"

  I hear her sigh. "Carl and I had it out."

  "I’m sorry." As much as I don't like Carl, I also take no joy in the loss of a friendship for Ivy. I've made few enough friends, and those that I have had, I've valued greatly. They're not something to cast away lightly.

  "I know," Ivy says. "But maybe it's time. I'm moving on at the end of summer, Carl's going to stay here. We're going to drift apart when that happens, so maybe it's better for it to be a quick thing now than a slow thing later. Just grab the bandage and yank it off."

  "Well, remember what we talked about last night?" I remind her.

  "I don't remember much about the talking last night," Ivy says. I can hear the smile in her voice. "I clearly recall being chilly on the back of a motorcycle, and I think some talking happened, and then there was this delicious, delirious blur."

  "And then the ride back to take you home was chilly again," I say.

  "No. I've never felt so warm in my life."

  "Polar fleece is a wonderful thing." I feel a little bit guilty at that. Unless I've recently fed, I generate very little body heat. If we ever have a true future together, I'll have to learn to moderate her expectations on that count.

  "Seriously, though," she says, "I do actually remember what we talked about. How many friends you've drifted away from over the years."

  "Yes," I say. "If you ever need a sympathetic ear, I have two of them, always available for you."

  "Not tonight," Ivy says. "But thank you."

  We talk some more, small and inconsequential things. How our classes are going, what shows she’s binging, and what I’m reading. Finally, I can't hold myself any longer. A hundred years alive, and waiting through an hour of small talk to ask a question is undoing me! "Listen. I don't know if this is an inopportune time to ask this, but if the answer is yes, I’ll need some time to make preparations."

  "What?" Ivy asks.

  "Well. Are you available for Prom?"

  "I am not currently going with anybody," she says. I can hear a tease in her voice.

  "Would you like a date for it?"

  "I'd love one," Ivy says. "So far, no boy has ever worked up the guts to ask me."

  "I hardly believe that," I tell her.

  "Kate and Rachel are convinced it's because I'm too perfect. Everybody assumes I'll turn them down so they never ask me. I don't believe them, though."

  Her best friends are right, though. There is a certain kind of woman who carries herself with such a sense of grace and poise, intelligent and beautiful and profoundly sensible all in one, that simply seems too unapproachable. They find themselves surrounded by friends, but always alone in some ways. Perhaps that was what drew Ivy and I together. We shared that need for a certain affection.

  "Enough about them," I say. "I'm trying to ask you to the prom here."

  "Are you sure about that? You seem to keep asking me about it."

  "I would very much like to go to prom," I say. "Would you accompany me as my date?"

  "Yes," she says, without hesitation.

  For the first time in a hundred years, my heart leaps up in my chest.

  After we hang up, I spend the rest of the night distracting myself from what taking Ivy to prom really means by researching what I must do to prepare myself. Never having been, I discover I have a lot to learn. Clothing for myself, flowers, dinner beforehand – I'll have to find somewhere that I can hide the fact that I do not eat – transportation to the event. I imagine she will wear a dress much too fine for a ride on my bike.

  Arranging these formal traditions for the event is time consuming, but simple enough to distract me from the other tradition. There is something undeniable about Ivy, something truly rare and unique. For some reason that I don't yet
understand, she draws me toward her, not only as Ben Wake, the person, but also as Ben Wake the vampire. If I am drawn to her so strongly, any other vampire that comes across her will also feel the pull.

  One thing that is true about the false story I've told Ivy is that my family is very wealthy, and that I wish to have nothing to do with them ever. I did understate my reasons for wishing to have nothing further to do to them. My family, the Negre clan are not merely terribly dishonest. They are simply terrible, truly evil. Dishonesty doesn't begin to describe them. Sonia Vătafu was a typical Negre, she went out hunting somebody to kill, just for the sake of taking a life. When I amused her enough with that one stray mention of poetry, she claimed me and turned me instead of killing me. But she did not guide me through the trauma of the change. She left me to endure it unsupported, unguided, on the stomach-churning passage across the Atlantic Ocean in a small cargo ship pressed into service as a troop carrier. I arrived in France so ill that I should have been kept in a hospital, but I found out later that one of her agents had some control over the physician that examined me and declared me a coward faking illness to avoid combat, and I was promptly sent off to the unspeakable mire of mud and blood that was the Western Front in France.

  I met one other vampire in the trenches over that, but because Sonia had already claimed me, he could not help me. He knew that she wished me to either live or die as my wits and fate would have it, so he could not aid me in understanding what I was and what that meant.

  It was only when I'd managed to not only survive the war, but to use my new-found abilities as a vampire to adapt and thrive, that she took her responsibility as my mama în sânge. She was there in New York to meet my ship when it arrived. She brought me to the rest of the clan and presented me as her protégé, bid them welcome me as one of their own. My survival of combat with the warm impressed them, and they made me into one of their warriors, honing me to fight vampires of other clans and thropes. The training I endured for that was worse, by far, than what I’d endured on the western front.