“He didn’t get into the details,” Dad says. “He wanted to talk to us afterward but we—”
“We said ‘no’ of course,” Mom interrupts. “You need to stay away from them, Daphne.”
I roll my eyes. “You won’t get any arguments from me.”
“God, this job can’t end soon enough,” she mutters.
“Let’s make our plan of attack for tomorrow,” Dad says. “I think we’re in for a bumpy ride.”
I can’t help but think he’s right.
When Mom and Dad leave to get their things out of the van I take my binder out. I hear Mr. Harker’s voice echo in my head. “It’s fate.”
I never believed in fate, but after he yelled that out I started thinking. I found one of my “friends.” Not like I imagined—but still—to actually meet Maybelle Crusher, live and in person; what are the chances?
I sit on a bed and open the binder. I flip through the pages until I find the picture I drew with the name “Maybelle” scrawled in purple crayon at the top. I’d drawn an arrow from the name to a round girl with long, brown hair. She’s holding hands with my cartoon self in a pink house filled with music notes I’d scribbled here and there. There’s a unicorn that looks more like a dog with a spike coming out of its forehead, nibbling a flower in the garden surrounding the house.
I turn the pages back toward the front and stop on the picture with the house and the white dog.
My heart aches.
Meeting “Kiki” should’ve been a “this is the end of your troubles” moment complete with trumpets blaring and angels singing. Instead I can’t shake the feeling there’s a truckload of crap coming my way. Despite my best efforts to stop it, a tear tumbles down my cheek. Why did Maybelle have to become Kiki and ruin everything?
I wonder how many more of my dreams have to crash and burn before I adopt Mom’s robotlike persona.
I slam the binder shut and move the things around in my crate so I can bury it at the bottom. Whatever happens tomorrow, I can’t help but think Mr. Harker was right—the die has been cast.
The only question is: at what cost?
6.
Revenge. Hunger. Feed.
My alarm goes off at 5:45 a.m. and I sit up in bed with a start. Whispers tickle my ears and I look wildly around the dark room as the echoes of faint voices fade away. Dark shadows flit and drift around the ceiling with clawlike hands pulling at the air.
Hunger. Feed.
My heart races as I squint, trying to make out the shapes. I turn on the light and see black wisps roll back into themselves until there’s nothing.
I rub my eyes and look again. Nothing. Just a dream.
I take a deep calming breath as I sit up. Then I do my usual “where am I?” and “what do I have to do today” routine to ground myself.
I look around the small room again. South Bristol, Maine. Meet with Kiki. Kill vampires.
I head to the bathroom and look in the mirror and frown. Nothing like bed-head and crease lines from the pillow on my cheek—ugh. Jennifer-Kate has suggested satin pillowcases for better hair and skin in the morning but Mom thought the idea was ridiculous and assumed Jennifer-Kate must have an interest in some pillowcase company.
I splash cold water on my face, run my fingers through my hair and then dig out an assortment of quarters and dollar bills from my purse.
I open my door and head out into the parking lot. A fishy-smelling fog is drifting around in swirls and eddies. I shiver as I head for the soda machine. As I get closer I see someone leaning over to take out a soda.
Tyler Harker.
“Hey,” he says and my stomach flips. His eyes are wide and for the first time I notice blue. He stares nervously at me, no doubt because I wasn’t too pleasant during our first encounter. He’s wearing a tight white shirt and I can’t help but notice he’s got a better build than I first thought. He should definitely ditch the baggy trench coat. His hair is still hanging in his face, but without the eyeliner he doesn’t look half bad.
Too bad he’s the enemy. Not to mention a complete jerk.
“Hey,” I say nonchalantly, deciding it’s best to act a little friendly—keep-your-enemies-close kind of thing. I walk past him and run my fingers through my hair again, wishing I’d brushed it before I’d ventured out and immediately hating myself for thinking that. I smooth the wrinkles on a dollar bill to put in the machine and wait to hear his footsteps walking away.
Nothing.
“No coffee in the rooms—sucks, huh?” he says.
I nod, keeping my attention on the soda machine. “I could tell they wouldn’t have free coffee when we pulled in. I’ve developed a sixth sense for predicting which places have it and which don’t. At least there’s decent shampoo.” The first bill I try is too wrinkled and the machine keeps spitting it out. I take out another and feed it carefully into the slot.
“You’re up early,” he says.
The bill comes back out toward me and I turn to him with my best evil eye. “Yup, gotta get an early start since we’re competing for kills.”
I yank out another rejected bill and hear him sigh. What does he expect? It’s bad enough we have to share the job. Does he think I’m going to be all buddy-buddy with him after he and his dad almost stole it from us? Please.
Suddenly he’s standing by my side, inserting a crisp bill into the machine. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as his arm briefly bumps up against my shoulder. Goose bumps crop up on his bare, well-toned arm and I wonder if it’s from the cold or me. The dollar disappears in the slot and I add two quarters. “Thanks.”
I push one of the diet soda buttons and the bottle rattles to the bottom. After I fish it out of the machine, I hand him one of my wrinkled bills but he shakes his head.
“I’m good. It’s the least I can do for crashing your territory.” His dark bangs fall across his eyes and he brushes them aside. “Look, I know it was a really crappy thing for my dad to do, but he got completely obsessed with coming out here. He’s …” Tyler looks away. “He’s not in a good place, if you know what I mean. He hasn’t been for a long time.”
Tyler turns away, but I can see that his face registers a mix of embarrassment and sadness. He shakes his head and lets his hair cover his eyes.
I realize my original assessment was wrong. He’s not the jerk—I am. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone lumping me in the same category as my parents, especially Mom.
“Well, neither of our parents will be getting any awards for child-rearing,” I say. “And sorry I kind of bit your head off at the station last night.” I look down at the ground and kick at the fog. “It’s just that money’s tight and my mom was flipping out more than usual.” I look back up and notice him watching me through his hair. His light blue irises are rimmed with a darker blue. I realize we’re staring at each other and look away while butterflies flit around in my empty stomach.
“Sounds like you could be talking about my dad. Only when money is tight, we sleep in the car.”
As if on cue, a car horn blares and we both jump. Kiki is hanging out of the roof of a white limo that’s pulling into the parking lot. Her long blond hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and she’s wearing a pink hoodie far more modest than the revealing outfit she had on last night. “Daphne,” she yells. “Look!” She checks the lot for I don’t know what, and then starts laughing maniacally. She pulls out a hunting knife and waves it over her head.
“Whoa,” Tyler says. “Who is that?”
I can’t help but laugh and give Kiki the thumbs-up. “That would be Kiki Crusher—wannabe vampire slayer.”
Tyler looks at me in disbelief as the limo slowly circles the lot with Kiki slashing the air with the knife.
“Long story short, I’ve been assigned by the South Bristol vampire task force to give her the 411 on all things undead.”
“She’s going to hurt someone with that knife,” he says, watching Kiki stab at the fog.
“That’s kind of the point” I gigg
le. “Pun intended. But you know after you stake ’em—off comes the head.”
He turns back to me. “Huh? Why would you do that?”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t?”
His gets a stupid smirk on face. It reminds me of his father, and my annoyance returns.
“No, I don’t,” he says, looking at me like I’m the crazy one. “But given what my dad said about your parents I’m not surprised they have you beheading dead vampires.” His smile broadens. “You either stake them or cut the head off—one or the other, babe.”
Babe? I put a hand on one hip. “My name is Daphne. And your father’s far from perfect. I heard his demon theory—that’s a little out there, don’t you think?”
Tyler stiffens. “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t.” He folds his arms across his chest. “But at least he’s not having me follow antiquated slayer practices that have no basis in reality.”
“At least my father never had to …” My mouth opens and my stomach drops. I can hardly believe what was about to come out of my mouth.
He stares at me—his jaw locked and his angry blue eyes dare me to finish the sentence. I feel sick and wish I could rewind time and take it all back.
I swallow hard. “Uh, I don’t have time for this,” I say trying to sound all businesslike and not at all like I was about to bring up what happened to his mother. “I have work to do.”
Kiki skips up to us and eyes Tyler. “Hellooooo,” she says, taking him in.
“Hey,” he says, totally staring at her chest.
I retract my earlier thought about her modest attire. Kiki’s hoodie is unzipped just enough to reveal a black lace cami her boobs are in danger of spilling out of. She’s wearing black leggings that show off every curve. The whole ensemble’s pretty hoochie for hunting vampires. At least she’s got on a pair of pink high-tops instead of heels.
I can’t help but notice that even though she’s obviously made an effort to dress down, she still took the time to put on a ton of makeup. She elbows my side and gives me a look that says she wants an introduction. “Sooooo, who’s your new friend?” she asks drawing out the words.
I scoff. “He’s not my friend; he’s just some guy who horned in on our gig.”
Tyler shakes his head in disgust. “Guess what—any handshake agreement our parents had is officially null and void. If you want the job, make sure you do a better job than us.” He gives Kiki a brusque nod. “Nice meeting you.”
“I’m Kiki!” she calls out as he marches toward his room. “Hopefully I’ll see you again soon!”
“Tyler,” he says without turning around.
She tilts her head and watches him walk away. When he slams his door shut, she turns to me. “Are you always so rude to hot guys?”
“He’s not hot, he’s just another slayer. He and his dad had an agreement with my parents not to get jobs in the same area, but here they are nonetheless.”
“Mmmm. Maybe I can work with him next time.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “I’d let him slay me anytime!”
I scowl at her and rub my arms to chase away the chill. I glance at his room. “Do you really think he’s hot?”
“I could stare into those baby-blues twenty-four-seven. Did you notice the darker blue on the outside of his irises?”
“I guess.” I fold my arms across my chest. Apparently my boobs were nothing to openly gawk at. “He’s a jerk.”
“So is Gabe, but he’s still good in the—”
“Tyler wears a black trench coat and eyeliner,” I interrupt. Kiki is obviously the kind of girl who tells her friends everything, and I don’t think I could stomach listening to her bedroom antics—not when I’ve never even held hands with a guy or gotten one to stare at my chest.
“Ew. Guy-liner?” Kiki wrinkles her nose and snaps her fingers dismissively in the air. “Dealbreaker. I’m more partial to blonds anyway.”
I smile. The last thing I need is a budding romance between Kiki and Tyler. I tilt my head toward my room. “Let me get my stuff and we can get started.” We start walking and I feel drained from my encounter with Tyler. Talk about an energy vampire—someone needs to put a psychic stake through him and his father.
Kiki bounces along beside me. “I’m so excited!” she gushes, grinning. “I woke up at five and couldn’t go back to sleep.”
“You’re awfully perky for having gotten up at five o’clock in the morning. Shouldn’t you be hung over or something?”
“Going to the police station seriously cut down on my drinking last night—do you know how many papers we had to sign? It was ridiculous. All they need is one form that says ‘tell no one or we ship you off to Area 51’!”
I laugh. “Yeah, dealing with vampires seems to require a ton of paperwork.”
“Anyway, I’ve had at least four cups of coffee this morning. I wanted to be ready for action!” She does a few karate chops in the air and then a roundhouse kick. At least she manages to stay upright this time.
I slide my key card in the door and lead Kiki in. She looks around the little room with the tacky bedspreads and I can’t help but feel self-conscious. “Home sweet home,” I say, trying to sound lighthearted. “When you’re a full-fledged slayer like me you, too, can live in the lap of luxury.”
She plops herself on the unused bed. “So slaying doesn’t pay too much?”
I pull a brush through my hair and start to braid it. “Nope. The big bucks go to paying off witnesses—I just do it because I love working with vampires.” I give her a look so she’ll know I’m kidding. “We do get full government health insurance; that’s supposed to make up for the low pay, but we’re kind of at the mercy of town budgets. A lot of slayers have full- or part-time jobs on the side. Lucky me—my parents decided to make a career out of it.”
“What about big cities? They must pay better.”
The cities do pay better, and over the years I’ve repeatedly asked my parents to put in for a metro-gig so we could stay in one place and I could have some semblance of a life. But they always said it’s the little towns that need the most help. It’s embarrassing to admit my parents chose the “little towns” over me. “Most of the big cities have in-house hunters. We’re freelancers,” I say, hoping she won’t ask more and we can move on.
“How often do you get to go home?”
I turn away from her and rifle through my toiletry bag. “We don’t.”
“So your house is just sitting empty all the time or do you have relatives living in it?”
I take in a deep breath, turn back to her and force a smile on my face. I wave around the room. “This is home. And we used to travel with my grandfather until he was institutionalized. He passed away ten years ago. I don’t think my mom has any family left—at least she’s never talked about them.”
“Oh,” Kiki says quietly. “I guess if you’re always traveling around a lot it doesn’t make sense to have a house.”
“Exactly.” Tears prick my eyes and I turn from her and blink them away. “So, how about we start today’s lesson.”
“Wait,” Kiki says. She opens her large pink bag and takes out a handheld recorder and a spiral notebook. She turns the recorder on and holds it toward me. “What do I need to know?”
I point to the recorder. “Is that necessary?”
“I don’t want to miss anything.”
“No recordings.”
“Fine,” she says, putting it away.
“Okay, you know the basics—stake in the heart.” I put my hand over my heart. “I don’t know if you know this, but it’s located a little to the left of—”
“Got it covered,” she says. She rifles through her bag and pulls out a folder. She opens it and takes out a diagram showing a heart inside a rib cage. “I did some research last night. I also found this cool website that sells vampire stakes. Look at these.” She takes out some more printouts and spreads them on the bed. “I ordered a few of these and a couple of these,” she says, pointing to some
intricately carved stakes. “I wasn’t sure which ones would be the most durable; we’ll have to test them out.”
I look at the stakes and roll my eyes. “These may be pretty, but if they break, you’re screwed.”
“Well, it would be way more convenient if you could use, say, a metal stake that wouldn’t break. Can we?”
“The theory is they have to be staked by something that was once alive.”
“Is that the same kind of theory that thinks it’s a necessity to decapitate heads after you stake the body?”
I toss her a stake. “Just use this. Trust me; it’ll get the job done.”
She grimaces as she catches it. “It looks like a fence post.”
“I know, you already mentioned that,” I say, finding it difficult to hide my annoyance. “But they’re cheap and they work.”
She puts the stake down on the bed, folds her hands in her lap, and looks at me like I’m a small child who doesn’t know the first thing about hunting. “Daphne, just because the cheap prototype stake works doesn’t mean you should ignore the kick-ass, hand-turned, spindle-style, aged-cedar stake with leather covered handle for a ‘sure grip.’”
She holds up a picture and I have to admit it does look cool. Of course owning something like that sends the message that you enjoy hunting vampires. Which I do not.
She picks up another picture. “And look at this one—cherry-stained hawthorn with roses carved on it. Is that totally sweet or what?”
I look at the price and almost faint. “It’s also two hundred dollars—that’s almost half of what we’re getting paid per kill. And I’m fairly certain the people making these are not expecting them to be plunged into any actual vampires.”
She pouts. “But they’re so pretty.”
“If you want to use the fancy stakes I won’t stop you.”
She bounces on the bed. “Yay! I’m having them express-mailed so they should arrive tomorrow. I was even toying with the idea of having one specially made.” She grins. “How awesome would it be to have a stake carved like a unicorn’s horn? Every time I plunged it into a vampire’s heart it’d be like—take that, Mom and Dad. I don’t need your stinking television show!”
Slayed Page 6
