by Molly Harper
Straightening my shoulders, I snagged another mocktail from a passing waiter and slid into the seat next to Ben.
“Having a good time?” I asked over the thrum of the bass.
“Sure,” he said, jerking his shoulders. “It’s a great party. Jamie’s around here somewhere, I think.”
“I know. I’ll find him.”
Ben’s eyebrows rose.
“Your face is screaming for a fresh drink and a sympathetic ear. I have one of those covered.” I handed him the mocktail. “Now, could you perk up a little? You’re sort of creating a fun-free black hole in the middle of a high-traffic area.”
Ben blanched. “Ah, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t even be out tonight. I’m not in a party mood. I’ll just take off.”
“OK,” I said, standing up and straightening my top. The problem had solved itself with very little effort from me. But when I caught the guilty expression on Ben’s face, a depressing facet to the sadness that was already there, I grunted and flopped back down onto the seat. “What’s going on with you?”
“It’s Gigi.”
I resisted the urge to rub my hand over my face, because I’d spent a lot of time and energy to get the vintage sweep eyeliner just right. “Of course it is.”
“It’s just that . . . Gigi is graduating at the end of this semester,” Ben told me. “She managed to complete a bunch of hours online, and she’s doing some special project from home. She’s not even going to set foot on campus, and she’s going to graduate.”
“And that affects you how?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just thought that I would have the chance for closure. Not getting back together or anything—it just seems like a lame ending to our story.”
I tilted my head as I stared at him. “You know what I’ve learned in my four hundred years on this earth?”
“Something scary that will make me wish we hadn’t had this conversation?” he said, brows crinkling in worried arches over his green eyes.
“There are no happy endings.”
“Huh. Well, that’s not scary so much as depressing, but yeah, still wishing we hadn’t started this conversation.”
I snorted. “There are no happy endings. There are no sad endings. There are no endings. Just one story flowing into the next, even if it continues on without you.”
“I’m begging you to stop talking.”
“I’m trying to be nice here!” I cried, throwing up my hands.
“The sad thing is that I can’t tell the difference.”
“Well, I suppose I deserve that,” I muttered.
“Is she happy?” Ben asked. “With this Nik guy. Does he make her happy?”
I grimaced. “Disgustingly so. Normally, I would offer to have someone kill her for you, since she’s causing you distress. But I’m pretty sure you know how that turned out for me last time.”
“Nice gesture all the same.” He shrugged and sipped the brightly colored drink. “So did you really date Dick Cheney?”
“I wouldn’t call it dating. We had a brief but intense connection that, while enjoyable, would have burned out within weeks and killed us both, if not taken out bystanders and maybe a few buildings.”
Ben was slightly aghast and still managed to whisper, “But you look so young . . .”
“Well, at the time, I wasn’t exactly acting my age, as you’d say. Dick was going through a rough time, and my darker nature appealed to him. Be glad that you know Dick now and not then. He’s much more palatable to the general public.”
Ben shuddered.
“Do you feel better now?” I asked him.
“You know, I think I do.”
“Well, I’ve enjoyed this conversation. Perhaps you aren’t a complete waste of life,” I told him.
“Well, gee, Ophelia, that’s so nice of you.”
Morgan and the girls flitted over to our couch, collapsing next to us in a fit of color-coordinated giggles. Ben’s eyes went wide, and he moved between me and Meagan, as if he was afraid I would attack the trio for daring to invade my personal space.
“This is the best party I’ve ever been to,” Keagan squealed. “The food, the music, everything.”
“And you got Naked Jason to show up!” Morgan exclaimed, pointing at the lanky blond undergrad lurking near the edge of the backlit dance floor.
“And he wore pants!” Meagan added, marveling at the sweats the aforementioned naturist was tugging at, as if the elastic offended his delicate sensibilities.
“Does it count as a Naked Jason appearance if he’s wearing pants?” I asked.
“Tina threatened to call his parents if he didn’t put on pants before leaving his room,” Keagan said. “But Jason’s parents are planning to file a complaint against the school for denying his right to walk around naked.”
I snickered. “Of course they are.”
And that’s when I noticed Ben making what Morgan would call “heart eyes” at Meagan, full-on, unabashed, uninterrupted staring. With his mouth open. And Meagan was so entertained by the novelty of Pants-On Jason that she hadn’t even noticed.
“Meagan, this is my friend Ben,” I said, motioning toward his chin.
He started and wiped his sleeve across his face, as if swiping away nonexistent drool. Meagan turned just in time to see this gesture, which Ben somehow managed to turn into a little wave.
“Ben Overby. This is Meagan Keene.”
“Hi.” Meagan greeted him cheerfully and stretched out her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, attempting to shake her hand but missing it and waving his hand in empty air.
“Are you a friend of Ophelia’s?” she asked, generously ignoring Ben’s handshake gaffe.
“Uh, well, we’re from the same hometown . . . Oh, you mean friend, as in . . .” He paused to make what was a completely ridiculous vampire snarl. “No, I’m all human.”
“Well, no one’s perfect,” she said with a shrug. “Come on, let’s dance.”
Without further preamble, Meagan grabbed Ben’s arm and dragged him toward the dance floor. Ben was a terribly awkward dancer, but Meagan made up for it with her enthusiasm.
“Do we approve of this?” Morgan asked, eyeing Ben suspiciously.
“Oh, sure,” I said, waving dismissively. “Ben is indeed all human, except for the small percentage that is adorable baby panda. Totally harmless.”
“Good, she could use a little harmless,” Morgan muttered darkly.
“What?”
“It’s a story for some other time,” Morgan told me, her mouth set in a worried line.
“I can’t believe this is the same old student lounge!” Keagan enthused, clearly trying to elevate the suddenly dour mood. “You did such a great job. Everybody’s saying so. It’s just like going to a real club! Except there’s no one carding at the door.”
“Because there’s no booze,” Morgan told her. She added cheerfully, “But hey, you can’t have everything.”
“I wouldn’t say there’s no booze,” Keagan argued. “I saw a few guys passing around bottles.”
“We need to find them,” Morgan cried, before she spotted my irritated expression. “Are you going to have to report that to Tina?”
I rolled my eyes ever so slightly. “No. I’m not liable for anything that happens at the party. I am only responsible for organizing. Maintaining the school’s alcohol policy is on her.”
“That is a solid rationalization, and I admire your belief that you can pull it off,” Morgan told me.
“So we have a plan,” Keagan informed me. “Dear John. Our room on Friday. It’s BYOB—bring your own blood. But we will provide hilarious commentary and supportive back pillows.”
“Yet another movie in the Nicholas Sparks ‘Oh, I’m sorry, did you form an emotional attachment to that character, because now t
hey’re dead’ oeuvre?” I asked.
“Don’t knock the Sparks,” Morgan warned me. “And you get to watch Channing Tatum for two hours, so don’t complain.”
“I do enjoy Channing Tatum,” I conceded. “He would make a terrible vampire, but I would be willing to turn him just to see what happened.”
I was proud that I didn’t immediately think about Jamie’s schedule. I was going to enjoy myself. There would be other Friday nights, for eternity. And if Jamie wanted to secure my company for the evening, he would have to do so before I made plans with my girlfriends.
Huh. Girlfriends. I had girlfriends, my own budding circle of benevolent weirdos.
What did that mean, exactly? Would we take vacations together? Get matching tattoos? Challenge other social circles to fights?
Probably not.
Across the room, I watched as a pouting Brianna slipped behind the DJ booth and commenced yanking on the plug that powered the speaker system. I narrowed my eyes and concentrated on the flow of energy from all of the electrical devices in the room—the lights, the refrigeration systems, the cell phones. I pictured a series of bridges, each carrying a little bit of electricity to the speakers, so that when Brianna finally yanked the plug, the music continued without skipping a beat.
I’d been practicing with my new gift and was pleased with the progress I was making, manipulating the electrical energy around me. I didn’t know my limits yet or all of the ways I could use my talent, but I was having a lot of fun experimenting. Brianna’s expression as she stared stupidly at the unplugged extension cord in her hands was worth the centuries I’d spent without a gift. Apparently, my former roommate had tired of hearing how well my plans had turned out and wanted to throw a wrench into the works.
She turned, eyes darting around the room, as if she could spot some alternative form of power for the speakers. I caught her eye and smiled, letting my fangs show. She immediately shoved the plug back into the outlet. She and her tacky black lace disappeared into the crowd.
Laughing, I watched Morgan and Keagan wander onto the dance floor, where Ben and Meagan were still bobbing along together. Jamie slid his arms around my waist and kissed my cheek. “Great party, babe.”
I smiled at him and gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you.”
“See what you can do when you use your powers for good instead of evil?”
Grinning, I tucked my head against his shoulder. Maybe I didn’t need the Council. What had I been chasing all these years? Power? Vampires rarely listened to those appointed to lead them, at least not with respect. They grudgingly obeyed until they could figure out a way around the Council’s rules. Position? Being the most important vampire in western Kentucky was like being the smartest ape at the zoo, not exactly an enviable spot. Money? OK, the money was nice, but I had enough of it squirreled away that I didn’t need to work as a bureaucrat any longer. Georgie and I would be comfortable for centuries to come.
Maybe I should relax. Have some fun for a change. Not the hurtful, violent kind of fun I was used to but Jamie’s more normal exuberance. Maybe I could try to approximate a normal teenager, with normal concerns. No agendas. No subagendas. Just a girl going to classes and trying to find her place in the world, while perfecting a new and interesting talent.
Jamie led me to the dance floor to sway to some truly mediocre house music. I grinned, sliding my arms around his waist, enjoying the reverberating bass and the illusion of a heart beating in Jamie’s chest.
Normal. I could do normal.
For a while.
Keep reading for a peek at the next hilarious Half-Moon Hollow romance from
MOLLY HARPER
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THE ACCIDENTAL SIRE
Coming soon from Pocket Books!
1
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There is no such thing as a dignified accidental vampire transformation.
—The Accidental Sire: What to Do When You’re Forced into Vampiric Parenthood
I was dead. And then I wasn’t.
I liked dead better.
I catapulted from absolute dark, inky silence to being completely and regrettably aware. I blinked into the soft light of the cool, windowless room where I’d slept. And while it was perfectly nice, it was not my dorm room. Where was I? Why did my head hurt so bad? Like I could feel every vein in my head and they were all angry.
I rolled over on the strange bed with its crisp white sheets and hospital rails. Had I been in an accident? Was I in the hospital? I didn’t recognize the room, but it certainly wasn’t a dorm room. I would know if my dorm housed a medical wing, wouldn’t I?
I bolted up and immediately regretted it. My head felt like it was being clamped between Tom Hardy’s muscular thighs . . .
“Argh, I should be so lucky,” I mumbled, flopping back onto the bed. I was wearing my favorite purple Adventure Time pajamas. Someone had taken the time to braid my hair into pigtails.
Other than the headache, I felt OK. I wasn’t nauseous. In fact, I was hungry . . . well, no, I was thirsty. My tongue was dry and gritty, begging for something, anything to drink. I would wrestle Morgan to the ground for one of her disgustingly healthy “green machine” smoothies. And I was of the opinion that kale was God’s way of making CrossFitters suffer karmic payback for all those humblebrag selfies.
My gums felt raw, like I’d lost teeth. Smacking my dry lips together, I ran my tongue over my teeth. They were all there, which was a relief. It was hard to get dates with meth mouth.
I could see too much. I could tell that I wasn’t wearing my contact lenses, but I could see every inch of this sterile, cold room. I could see every wrinkle in the thin cotton blanket. I could count every hole in the ceiling tiles. Also, everything smelled like industrial-strength cleaner. I closed my eyes and pressed my head into the blessedly scent-free pillow.
I remembered the party. Ophelia Lambert, a nice vampire girl from my world literature class I’d been spending time with, had arranged a human-vampire mixer in the student lounge on the sixth floor. It was, hands down, the best party I’d ever been to. Ophelia had spared no expense turning our silly student lounge into a swanky nightclub, complete with fancy-looking mocktails that dutifully complied with the campus’s no-alcohol policy. And I’d been dancing with a sweet guy that Ophelia introduced me to . . . Ben. Ben Overby, a boy she knew from her hometown. I remembered dancing with him and his cute little jerks and kicks. I remembered that he kept his hands on my hips, but in a respectful, nongropey way.
Ben had been sweet, sincere in a way that I hadn’t seen in ninety-nine percent of the boys I’d met so far this year. I felt like I could trust him when he smiled. I didn’t spend the whole dance trying to look for hidden double entendres when he spoke. He asked for my number as I walked him to the lobby and I programmed it into his contact list as “The Most Interesting Girl You Will Ever Meet.”
I heard a strange thrumming noise through the hospital room door. Thump-a-thump-a-thump. I rolled my eyes. Some douche-bro must have turned his car’s bass as high as it would go to get that kind of reverb all the way into the building.
In slightly less head-cringey developments, I heard a single set of footsteps making their way closer to me. I heard the click of the door being pushed open. I could smell flowers, waxy and sweet, as a weak top-note over a much stronger scent of soap and . . . moss? My eyes opened, but I didn’t move a muscle.
Ben, the boy I’d danced with the night before, was standing beside my bed, setting a pretty little bouquet of gerbera daisies on the nightstand. He was so much cuter than I remembered. It was like I was seeing his face for the first time. Everything was so clear: the smooth, tan skin of his oval face, the straight lines of his nose, the hints of gold and auburn in his hair, the distinct wrinkle forming between his—frankly, luminous—jade-green eyes.
“I know you’re still, uh . . . sleeping. Jane says you won’t wake up for a couple of days,” he said softly. “But I hated the idea of you being in here in this cold white room with no color. And it will be something nice for you to see when you first wake up. I didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked, but Keagan said you like yellow.”
“They’re perfect, thanks,” I told him.
“What the!” Ben yelped, head whipping toward me as he stumbled back in alarm. He tripped over his own feet and landed hard against the white tile of the floor. “Ow!”
Ben winced as he cradled his arm against his chest. He’d scraped his knuckles when he landed and the tiny wounds were weeping little ruby droplets of blood. I could see each of them in sharp detail, like he was bleeding in high-definition.
Thump-a-thump-a-thump.
I opened my mouth to speak, but it immediately started to water. The whole room was filling with a scent that was better than fresh coffee or melting caramel or double chocolate cheesecake brownies. I threw my legs out of the bed and stepped closer to Ben, inhaling that wonderful, beautiful scent as deeply as I could, as if I could drink it. That thump-a-thump-a-thump noise came back, faster now, and the sound was pleasing to some weird instinct deep within my brain.
That same raw sensation had me stretching my jaw as my teeth seemed to shift outward. My lip scraped across something sharp and the taste of my own blood filled my mouth. I pressed my fingertip against the long, sharp canine poking out over my bottom lip and winced.
Oh, no.
Suddenly memories of what happened the night before came flooding into my brain.
I’d enjoyed dancing with Ben so much, I hadn’t wanted to walk away from him. Something about him made me feel like he saw me, not body parts that happened to have a personality attached, or a chance to brag to his friends. But me, as a person. And for a female undergrad at a state college, that was a pretty rare thing.
