So yeah. Drama.
“How’s that going?” I ask. “You haven’t really said much about him.”
“Oh.” She breaks eye contact. “We just met. Nothing’s really happened but being on the phone with him yet.”
I narrow my eyes at her in concern. She’s not acting normally, more like she’s about to date someone famous and doesn’t want to do something to mess it up. Yeah, her personality is what I call ‘squishie.’ She’s super-nice, squeals at kitten pictures, and tends to smile at people even if she hates or fears them, and will almost always run from conflict. At least BS social conflict. Something like those idiot wannabe vampire hunters, she can be fierce. Confrontation isn’t her first choice, but she’s not timid. So, seeing her walking on eggshells over a guy she’s met once has my red flags up.
Why? Because it’s exactly how I felt around Scott when the fairy-tale relationship started bursting at the seams.
“What’s he like?” asks Michelle.
Ashley shrugs. “He’s a musician. Has a band. Even has his own place already.”
“Whoa,” I say. “How old is this guy?”
“Like nineteen. I mean, it’s not his place really. He’s got a bunch of roommates.” Ash nibbles on a chip, still not looking at us.
“He work?” asks Michelle, one eyebrow up.
“Yeah.” Ashley keeps munching on a chip. “Some kinda warehouse thing. He’s cool.”
I can’t help but worry that something’s wrong here. “Are you sure? You’re acting weird.”
She finally makes eye contact with me. “I’m still thinking about you-know-who. She did something to me, and it’s not wearing off as fast as it should.”
Oh. Well, maybe that does sorta make sense in a way. Ashley probably thinks being with a boy will somehow ‘cleanse’ her of whatever lingering effect Aurélie had on her. Could be, she’s rushing into a relationship with a random dude like she’s grabbing the first bottle of headache pills on the shelf without looking at the label.
“Be careful, okay?” I ask.
“Exactly why I want you to give Corey the sniff,” says Michelle.
“Huh? Why?” Ashley glances over at her.
Michelle pauses with a chip an inch from her teeth. “I don’t wanna get stabbed.” She tosses the chip into her mouth.
“At least not with a knife,” I mutter.
“Mmm!” Michelle play-punches me on the arm, setting Ashley into a fit of laughter.
Once that subsides, Ash makes a face at me like a kid who broke her favorite toy. “Why are you so worried?”
“I’m getting a bad read on that River guy,” I say. “I don’t want you getting into a dangerous situation.”
“You had a ‘bad read’ on Scott, too, and still went out with him,” says Ashley, a little snap in her tone.
“Your point?” asks Michelle.
Guilt washes over Ashley; she stares down, fidgeting. “Sorry. I mean, look how that ended.”
“Exactly,” I whisper. “But hey, it may not be that bad. I just don’t think he’s going to last as like a long term thing.”
“You’ve never seen him,” says Ashley in a small voice. “How can you have a bad read on someone you’ve never met?”
“The way you talk about him. Maybe that triple date is a good idea then.” Sensing someone approaching, I lean back.
Tim arrives, followed by a short brown-haired girl about our age, helping carry food. My salad is… ridiculously huge. Of course, it is mostly lettuce. They’re a bit heavy with the shredded cheese and probably used half a bottle of ranch on it, but it’s not like I have to watch calories or anything.
My friends dig in. No sooner do I stuff my first forkful of greens into my mouth than I feel eyes on me. This could go wrong in any number of ways: more hunters, Eleanor’s people, some new hell I haven’t even thought of yet…. Old Me getting a feeling like this would’ve made me start looking around for the creepy old perv. New Me braces for a literal attack.
Okay, maybe not everything about being a vampire is cool. But hey, at least we’re hard to kill. Especially when the sun goes down. Of course, I could do without random attempted murder—especially when I’m only trying to have a fun night out with my friends.
I close my jaw, chewing in slow deliberate motions while scanning the room. That sense of being stared at pulls my attention to the opposite side of the room, where a white-haired man standing by the hallway leading off to the bathrooms is fixated on me with an expression like I’m his long-lost daughter. Okay, creepy and old, check. Perv, I’m not so sure. His expression is all pleading, and it’s not like I’m dressed to turn heads. I look like I just came from a Nirvana concert.
Having an old guy ogling me like that is unnerving enough, until I notice that I can see the wall through him… and he doesn’t seem to exist much below the waist. That’s not a jab at his manhood—he doesn’t have legs. My mouth opens in stunned realization as I find myself locking stares with a ghost. It’s pretty obvious when a woman exiting the bathroom walks straight into him and doesn’t notice. He washes around her like a hologram, continuing to give me this unblinking, pleading look.
“Hey guys,” I whisper. “Do you see anything strange over by the bathrooms?”
They both twist around to check. Michelle shrugs and shakes her head. Ashley stares more intently at the spot, but I don’t think she sees him or she wouldn’t be so calm.
“Feels kinda eerie,” says Ashley. “What am I looking for?”
I glance back over there, but the old guy’s gone. “Hmm. Thought I saw a ghost.”
Michelle rolls her eyes. “Oh, please tell me you don’t believe in that stuff.”
“Ghosts are made up,” I deadpan. “Just like vampires.”
A piece of broccoli flies across the table from Ashley’s sudden laugh.
“Oh, speaking of not believing.” Michelle grins. “My dad totally bought the car window story. As far as he’s concerned, someone we never saw busted it while the car sat in the lot outside the theater.”
“Cool,” chirps Ashley. Her smile fades as she stares at me. “Umm. Are those guys gonna like come back and try again? What about others?”
Michelle takes the last sip of her Blue Moon and sets the empty glass down. “It doesn’t make sense to me where those guys even came from. It’s not like Sarah’s running around being obvious.”
I chase a cherry tomato around my plate, trying to stab it with a fork, but the damn thing keeps sliding away. “No idea. The one guy just showed up and started following me. Kinda creepy.”
“Do they have like a machine that lets them scan people to see who’s a vampire?” asks Ashley.
Michelle and I both shrug.
I eye the spot where the ghost had been, wondering why he took such a keen interest in me. Did the guy die here? How much would that suck? Being a ghost who’s stuck in a lame bistro type place for eternity. Is he here to warn people not to order the steak with a side of salmonella? Can’t be. Harry’s hasn’t been open that long. That poor man probably died here before they built this place. Guess he sensed a kindred soul. I mean, I do technically have one foot into the next world. Darn. I can’t remember what used to be on this location before the restaurant happened.
“What are you gonna do if more show up?” asks Ashley.
“The same thing I did last time.”
“Try to take over the world?” Michelle holds up a finger.
“No, Brain,” I mutter. “Make them forget vampires exist.”
3
The Recital
Thursday afternoon, I awake to soft, whispery crying in my ear.
I roll my head to the left and come nose to nose with Sophia, in a pink T-shirt and jean shorts, curled up between me and the wall. Red rings her eyes, and she looks a few inches short of throwing up.
“Hey, sprite,” I mumble in a half-awake attempt at a voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry for waking you up,” whispers Sophia. “I was tryi
ng to be quiet.”
I lean close and boop noses with her. “You didn’t wake me up.”
She manages a smile.
“Why are you crying?”
“I don’t wanna go to the dance recital tonight. Can you make Mom forget about it?”
Ahh. Nerves. “Soph, you’ve been practicing for two weeks. Tonight’s the big night.”
She wipes her eyes. “I know.”
I sit up and eye her vulnerable bare feet. “Why don’t you want to go?”
“Eep.” Sophia scrambles upright and sits back on her heels. “Don’t tickle me!”
Since she defended her feet, I go for her ribs.
“Stop!” she squeals, before I even touch her, then breaks into giggles. “Because.”
“Because why?” I brush her hair off her face. “You’re going to be awesome tonight.”
She bites her lip. “If I mess up, then everyone will see and laugh at me.”
“You won’t mess up.” I wink. “Besides. If someone else makes a mistake and trips into you, I’ll make the whole audience forget.”
Her eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Promise. But, you won’t mess up. Have fun. That’s the entire point of it. I thought you loved dance class.”
“I do!” she half-whines. “I like dancing. I just don’t like people watching me.”
“That would kind of get in the way of going professional. Performers no one sees don’t really have much of a career.”
She shrugs, her arms draped crossed in her lap. “I don’t wanna be a pro. It’s like Sam going to taekwondo. He’s not going to kick people for a living. It’s fun and exercise. I’m gonna do makeup and stuff, like for movies and TV shows. Not dance.”
“Cool.” Wow. This kid knows where she wants to go and she’s only ten. I’m eighteen and still have no idea. Though, for all I know, she’ll change her mind next year.
Sophia looks around as if to make sure no one eavesdropped, then leans close. “Something weird happened last night.”
My muscles lock up. Crap. What now? “Umm. Weird?”
She nods. “I woke up and saw an old person in my room.”
I can’t help but cough and raise my eyebrows. Did she seriously see that ghost? “Umm, are you sure?”
“I swear it wasn’t a dream,” says Sophia. “This man was standing in the corner of the room by the window. As soon as I looked at him, he disappeared.”
Weird stuff gives me a little exception to my rule. Then again, ‘reading’ is harmless. I’m not making any changes. I peek at her memory enough to see what’s at the tip of her brain. An image forms of her bedroom, pitch dark. Moonlight leaking in the window reveals the face of the same old man from Henry’s Bistro, though his body is little more than a vague shadow except for his face, and even that’s kinda hard to make out. I have no explanation for how Sophia saw him other than maybe there being some truth to that whole animals and children can see things adults can’t idea. I’m sure my being a supernatural creature made it easier for me to see him.
“He didn’t scare me,” says Sophia.
“Wow.” I ruffle her hair. “This coming from the kid who’s afraid of everything.”
She sticks her tongue out. “I am not scared of everything. I’m only scared of scary stuff.”
“Well then. That makes total sense.”
Sophia gives me a raspberry.
The day is gloomy enough that I’m not trapped in my bedroom. Sophia wanders around the house as nervous as if she’d been ordered to surrender herself to the cops at 8:00 p.m. to begin serving a ten-year prison sentence. Every so often, she does stretches, splits, or strange maneuvers like pulling one leg up behind her back until her foot almost touches her head. If her hands slip, she’s totally going to kick the lamp off the table next to the sofa. She’d probably break a toe. Maybe that’s her plan? She wouldn’t be able to perform in the recital with a hurt foot.
Sierra and her friend Nicole show up a little past one in the afternoon, and the girls head out to ride their bikes. I resist the urge to check her temperature. The ‘something must be wrong with her if she’s not attached to a video game’ shtick has kinda run out. She doesn’t even roll her eyes at me anymore if I do that.
Mom’s at work and, technically, Dad is as well, only he’s in the house. His company has some new release or major update scheduled soon, so he’s been spending way more than eight hours a day programming. Sam and his friends are in the backyard hosing each other with giant water guns.
I grab my iPhone, flop on the couch, and send off a few text messages. It’s soon clear I’m going to have a boring day. Ashley and Michelle are both at work, and Hunter is about to go to work. Still, I call him and we spend about an hour talking about random crap. He’s okay with the idea of a triple date, at least in theory, since we haven’t picked anything particular to do when we go out.
He eventually forces himself to get off the phone so he won’t be late to his job waiting tables at Mi Tierra. I sit there a while, turning the phone over and over in my hands, debating if I want to work at that place so we can spend more time together. Not like there would be much of an if involved. A little mental prod to the manager and I have a job. I do have experience waiting tables after all. But, still, that place closes at 10:00 p.m., which guarantees I’d need to start shifts before the sun went down. Even powers of vampiric mind control would struggle to keep me employed if I call out sick every time the sun’s strong.
So, bleh.
Seriously… what the hell do vampires do to fight off boredom?
In all fairness, though, I’d still be this bored right now if nothing happened to me. Good morning, Sarah, welcome to growing up. All your friends are busy with jobs and stuff. Well, no sense burning energy I don’t have to, especially since the daytime feels like Nevada desert. I head back to my room, my much cooler room, and flop in front of the computer.
It’s tempting to start Googling ghosts, but that makes about as much sense as trying to find serious information on vampires. Recent developments have opened my mind to accepting the likely truth of ghosts being real, but I’m not so naïve as to think the Internet has valid information about them. Though, I’m sure far more people consider ghosts plausible than they do vampires. Probably because ghosts haven’t actively trying to keep people in the dark. If my life keeps going on this trajectory, I’m probably about due to be abducted by aliens.
Hope they warm up the probe first.
I spend a few minutes trying to be responsible and searching for something educational to do online before I give up, frustrated and indecisive. I can’t even make a decision about what to do with myself career wise. Chances are, it’ll probably be computer programming like Dad, so I can work from my basement bedroom regardless of weather. But, at the moment, I can’t focus. It’s summer vacation and I’m immortal. Hell with it.
Video games or books.
Hmm. Change of pace time. I grab the e-reader and flop on my bed.
Shouting upstairs gets my attention around 6:30 p.m. Sophia and Mom are going back and forth about her costume. Mom’s about ready to sue the dance studio and Sophia’s in tears, saying it’s fine. Ugh. What now?
I make my way upstairs.
Sophia’s standing in the middle of the living room in basically a black two-piece bathing suit with a gauzy tutu decorated with silver sparkles. While Mom paces about fuming that the dance studio would make a ten-year-old wear something so skimpy, my sister just stands there bawling—like she did something wrong. She hadn’t been embarrassed about the costume until Mom made a huge deal about it being horrible.
“Mom,” I say.
She spins, jumping like I startled her. “Look at this. Do you believe what they’re making her wear?”
“It’s a little small, but she can wear skin-tone tights with it,” I say.
Sophia points at me. “She’s right.”
“Then why didn’t you?” barks Mom.
“Because I’d be th
e only kid wearing them.” Sophia frowns. “I don’t wanna get made fun of. It’s not that bad. The shorts are bigger than my bathing suit.”
“If anyone gives you a hard time, tell them I made you wear them,” says Mom.
“They’ll still make fun of me, but okay.”
While she hurries off to change, Mom unloads on me, venting about the dance studio oversexualizing pre-teens. I agree with her, but I also think she’s adding to Sophia’s anxiety by making such a big deal out of it.
“She’s already terrified of performing in public. Making her body-conscious like that isn’t helping.”
Mom sighs. “Who did the costume design for this thing anyway? Those outfits are totally inappropriate for that age range.”
“Well, it does get pretty hot under stage lights. It’s no more revealing than a swimsuit.”
“It’s one thing at the pool where everyone’s swimming and wearing swimsuits. They’re putting them up on a stage to parade around in front of adults. Would you let your daughter do that?” Before I can answer, Mom clamps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No worries.” I hug her. “I’d say if she’s comfortable with it, don’t make a big deal out of it. She’s more afraid of being teased for wearing leggings than uncomfortable without them. Seriously, my bathing suit shows more skin than that dance outfit.”
“You’re eighteen!” says Mom, trying not to shout. “And that suit almost killed your father.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve been married for twenty years and you still don’t realize when he’s teasing me?”
Sophia glides down the stairs, having added leggings as close as she can get to her… lack of color. They’re obviously more ‘beige’ than the rest of her. “I look ridiculous. White ones are too white and these are too tan.”
The Artist of Ruin Page 3
