Grady finally comes back over and sits down on the couch as close to me as he can get. Granted, he had to squeeze in between me and some girl who I already forgot the name of, but who apparently really likes my hair and would give Eugenie a run for her money on the nonstop chattering front.
She’s not the only one. Grady certainly does talk a lot for a guy. I learn that he
a) was on student council last year and expects to win student body president this year,
b) wants to go to Tulane University after high school to study Veterinary Science, and
c) apparently likes to flex his biceps a lot. I get more than one glimpse of them as he keeps messing with his perfectly tousled hair.
I finally interrupt him. “I’m gonna get another drink. Do you want anything?” Everything goes kind of quiet. Not like completely dead silent since there’s still some jangly country tune going on and the guys outside are still battling it out, but there’s a definite lull in the conversations going on directly around us. The girl on the other side of Grady kind of clears her throat and shifts as far over as she can get, like he’s got the plague all of a sudden.
What, is it totally against the rules for the girl to get up and get a drink for a guy?
“Uh-oh,” I hear Grady say under his breath.
I look up to see a kind of pretty (if you like sharp angles and no curves), petite blonde girl dressed in skintight jeans that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination (and I mean nothing) and a teeny-tiny sparkly pink T-shirt (I swear, it could have been Barbie’s) giving me the evil eye from the doorway. I’m guessing she might be Kacie, whoever that is, since I see Lonnie standing behind her frantically waving at Grady. The girl comes sashaying over to stop right in front of us.
“Who’s your new little friend, Grady?” she asks in this really annoyingly sweet voice, ignoring me completely. I can already tell she’s going to be my new favorite person. Not.
I stand up and stick out my hand like I’m too stupid to notice that she obviously hates me already. “Hi! I’m Mina. I just moved to Cartville and Grady’s mom was nice enough to ask him to show me around and introduce me to people. Are you Grady’s girlfriend? It’s nice to meet you!”
There. That’ll hopefully do it. The last thing I need is some chick hating on me for no good reason. But I can see by the look on her face that I’ve somehow managed to say exactly the wrong thing.
“No,” she practically spits at me. “I’m not Grady’s girlfriend.”
O-o-o-kay. I’m not really sure what to say to that. Sorry? Guys suck? Good for you? So I just stand there with a stupid smile on my face, counting to ten in my head until Grady hauls himself off the couch and clears his throat.
“Hey, Kacie. How’s it goin’?”
Is that all he’s got? Oh man. I gotta get out of here.
“So …,” I say. “Um, Grady, thanks for showing me around, but I did tell my mo—my sister-in-law—that I wouldn’t be too long, so I think I’m going to head out.”
I sidestep around Kacie, who’s standing there glaring back and forth at me and Grady with her hands on her bony hips. Lovely. The last thing I need is a catfight at my first party in town.
Grady grabs my hand and tries to stop me.
“Oh, no, it’s a really long walk back to town. I’ll drive you.”
Dude. This guy is clueless. Cute, but clueless. If Kacie had lasers for eyes, he’d be a smoking pile of goo on the floor by now.
“No, really, I’m good. It’s a nice night for a walk. And maybe you should, you know … stay here.” I start backing up, hoping he’ll finally take the hint and drop my hand.
He looks like he’s going to argue when a hand mysteriously appears between us. A strong, capable hand attached to a tall, thin, pale guy with piercing blue eyes, a shock of dark auburn hair, and full red lips. He takes my hand like he’s going to shake it or maybe even kiss it, making Grady drop it in the process.
Where did he come from? It’s like he appeared out of nowhere to step in front of Kacie.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance. I was on my way out anyway.” The guy whisks me out of there before anyone has a chance to say a word. We’re already outside and in his car, something fast-looking and red, before I hear Grady go, “Hey—”
I don’t need to check the stranger’s nonexistent pulse to get the real picture. Looks like I’m not the only bloodsucking teen in town after all.
9
“So,” says Cameron, the mystery vampire guy, “you must be one of the new VRA victims that we’ve been hearing about.” He’s got a slight French accent, but more regular French than the Cajun-French spoken around here. It kind of adds to his whole air of coolness.
“That would be me. And my mom and dad, but now they’re supposed to be my brother and sister-in-law. What’re you doing here in the middle of nowhere? I didn’t think there’d be any other vampires my age in a place this small.” Especially supernova hot ones. Not that I noticed.
“You’d be surprised how many vampires there are in Louisiana. We’ve been here since the beginning.”
Oh. Hey. I wonder just how old this guy really is. Maybe he just looks like he’s my age. Can I ask? Is it impolite? Is asking a vampire his actual age like asking a woman if she’s pregnant when she’s not? Maybe I should ease into it.
“So how long have you been here? Do you like it?” I can’t imagine he does, but who knows.
“I like it well enough, I suppose. I travel a lot, but I always come back to Louisiana. So I guess you could say that I’ve been here all my life. And death, for that matter. I’m part of the Carter Clan.”
Am I supposed to know what that means? Is this another one of those things I should have paid more attention to in vampire class? Gah, G.W. was right. I hate that.
“There are a lot of us around here still, though there aren’t many of us actually in Cartville itself anymore. And I get the feeling John and Wayne will probably be rolling into town any day now.”
“Um …” Okay, I guess I am going to have to ask since I haven’t understood anything he’s said yet. “I’m really new to this whole vampire thing. Who are John and Wayne? Are they part of this Carter Clan whatchacallit too?”
He arches an eyebrow at me, but keeps driving. “You’ve never heard of John and Wayne Carter?”
I’ve heard of John Wayne, does that count? Seriously, how many ways can I admit to being stupid?
“Nope. I only just turned like a couple of months ago.”
“Ah,” he says, shifting gears. The trees and cows outside are just a blur. “I’m surprised they didn’t mention the Carters in your vampire prep classes. You took those, right?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Or were you an unauthorized turning?”
Does he know G.W. or something? I am so going to ask George and Lorelai if they know who the Carters are. When I can. Oh, wait. “I missed the first class. I think that was the history one.”
“Well, John and Wayne Carter are vampires, obviously, who came to the States back in the late 1600s from England. They founded Cartville, but they also lived in New Orleans for a time until they got caught, back in the early 1900s.”
“Caught?”
“Yeah, one of their humans escaped.”
One of their humans? Is he kidding me, I hope? “What, are they like Black Talons or something?” I laugh a little nervously. Surely this überhot vampire guy can’t possibly be part of that whole human-hating scene, right?
Cameron downshifts and swerves a little as we take a corner a bit too fast. “Why do you say that? The Black Talons were outlawed by The Councils, as I’m sure you know. They must have mentioned that in your classes.”
“Oh, right. It was just a joke.” I try to muster up a funny ha-ha laugh, but it falls kind of flat. There, now I’ve done it. Gone and insulted the only vampire (maybe) teen around. “Anyway, you were saying?” I stop myself from playing with the seat belt buckle.
“John and Wayne were caught red-handed with a bunch of h
umans in their house in New Orleans. They were tried and ‘executed’”—he takes his hands off the wheel long enough to make little quote marks in the air—“and they’ve been traveling the world ever since. There are Carter Clan members everywhere.”
Oh. So I guess John and Wayne just go around indiscriminately turning people wherever they go? Isn’t that kind of against the whole Council don’t-do-anything-without-telling-us-first thing?
“So I guess John or Wayne turned you?” I hope that’s not too personal a question to ask. I’m not really up on the whole vampire etiquette thing. They didn’t cover that in class.
“Wayne did. I just came back to town last year. I’ve been gone for awhile.” He abruptly turns off the headlights on his car and makes a sharp left. I look around and have no clue where we are. We’re surrounded by trees and that’s pretty much it. I should have been paying attention. Oh, man, what if he is like a Black Talon or something? Do they hurt other vampires or just humans?
Dad always told me to never go anywhere with strangers. What was I thinking?
Okay, I know what I was thinking. I was thinking, “Gee, stay here with the about-to-go-postal Southern belle or leave with the sexy vampire dude?” It had seemed like a no brainer at the time.
“Um, so where are we going exactly?” And please don’t say: You insulted my bloodline. We’re going to some secluded cabin so I can kill you, muwhahaha!
“Didn’t I tell you? I thought I’d show you the local blood bar, Ernie’s. There’s really only one, but I know you and your family haven’t been by yet because I’d have heard about it if you had been. I thought you’d like to meet some of the other vampires around here.”
Well, that’s a lot better than the alternative. “Hopefully they’ll be friendlier than Kacie.” We both grimace at the same time. “Hey, is there a local vampire-friendly butcher anywhere too? Mom was looking.”
He raises his eyebrows at me again. “Oh, so your family are pig swiggers? Ernie can hook you up there too, if you want.”
“Excuse me?” I’m not sure whether to feel stupid or insulted. Or both.
“You are new,” he says. “A ‘pig swigger’ means you primarily drink animal blood rather than human blood.”
“Oh. Well, my mom and I do. Dad, too, mostly.” No one ever called us pig swiggers before though. You’d think there’d be a more polite way to say it. Maybe it’s just a Southern thing. I can’t see some California vampire running around calling people “pig swiggers.”
He keeps driving with the lights off (not that we really need them anyway) until we come to a clearing where about ten or so cars and trucks are parked. I still can’t see anything but trees though. No buildings or anything. Or vampires.
Creepy. Where is everybody?
He parks his car and waves at me to follow him. I guess the Southern hospitality thing only applies to the non-vampire folk. I follow him, even though I can hear my dad yelling at me in my head. But what else could I do now that I’m here? It’s not like I have a clue where we are, other than in the woods. And as far as I can tell, half this state is woods—or fields—once you get out of New Orleans.
“So …” I say. “Do the vampires around here know some secret vampire invisibility trick or something?”
Cameron laughs and walks over to a particularly tall tree with feathery-looking branches. “Just look for the cryptomeria,” he says.
I jump back and look down at my feet. “The what?” I take a big step to stand right next to him. “Gross! Is this some kind of a graveyard or something? Am I walking on dead people?”
“Cryptomeria, not crypt.” He gestures at the feathery tree. “That’s what kind of tree this is. They’re often used around here to mark underground locations. The entrance to Ernie’s is under this one.”
Oh. Yeesh. He must think I’m a complete loon after my little two-step performance. But who names a tree after a grave? And who would know that the tree was named that? It just looks kind of like a Christmas tree to me.
He pulls on an ancient-looking iron ring set into the ground and a trapdoor opens up. I guess they’re real into secrecy here. I’d have totally missed that if I were just walking by. Not that I would have been walking by, since we’re in the middle of FREAKING NOWHERE.
I head down a narrow flight of stairs and he closes the trapdoor after us, then squeezes past me to lead the way. It smells musty and earthy and makes me think of being buried alive. (Which is totally not appealing to me. I don’t care how undead I am.) I can still see, but only barely. Even vampires have to have some light.
The ground slopes down and we keep walking for about five minutes. Then Cameron abruptly stops and I run into his back, which is very solid and very masculine and smells very not musty. Kind of like really good cologne, but better since there’s nothing fake about it. I catch myself taking a deep whiff and then stop.
What am I doing? I have a boyfriend and he smells perfectly wonderful too.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and step back a few steps.
He opens a door, reaches back for my hand, and pulls me into a candlelit room full of vampires … who all immediately stop talking to turn and stare at me like I’m some kind of alien demon spawn.
10
There’s an ancient-looking wooden bar in the middle of the room with a pudgy bald bloodtender (Ernie, I’m guessing) behind it. Other than that, there are a few plain wooden tables scattered around and an old-school jukebox in a corner playing something guitary (thankfully not country music). Most of the vampires are gathered around the bar, but a few are back in the corners. The only light is from a bunch of candles scattered around the room. All in all, the vibe is very fourteenth century. Except for the jukebox, which is more circa the fifties, I guess, since it has actual records in it.
Everyone stares at me and Cameron for a long minute and then just goes back to whatever they’d been doing before we came in. Ernie grunts and gives us a brief nod.
I guess I’m not such big news after all.
Cameron leads me to the bar and squeezes us in to stand between two grizzly looking guys. Definitely a lot different than the only other blood bar I’ve ever been in, where everyone was dressed in all kinds of crazy clothes from a bunch of different eras. Everybody here pretty much just looks normal. Like country normal, but normal.
Well, as normal as a bunch of vampires ever look, I guess. Given the whole mostly buff, no-aging, pale-skinnedness of us all. I wonder how vampire farmers explain away the whole lack of a farmer’s tan thing?
Cameron nods at Ernie. “I’ll take an O negative,” he says, “and a Special K for Mina here.”
“Special K?” What, they serve cereal at the bar?
“Pig’s blood is all type K. Ernie keeps a couple of sows out at his place.”
“Oh.” Ugh. He didn’t need to do that. I really prefer not to think about exactly where the blood I’m drinking comes from.
Ernie grunts at us again and slaps some glasses down on the bar. A young-looking guy in the back of the room grumbles something about “damn Cullenist” loud enough for me to hear (well, me and everybody else, since we’ve all got superhearing). What’s he talking about? What did I—oh wait, yeah, those vampire books with the sparkly vampires. Great, now I’ve been branded like I’m some kind of a vegetarian vampire freak.
Cameron juts his chin at the guy on our right, the smelly one in overalls who probably hasn’t shaved in this century. “Mina, this is Lowell. He’s a Carter as well. And supposed to be my uncle, now that I’m back in town. I’m staying with him at his place. Lowell practically lives in the back room here at Ernie’s though, so I’m usually on my own.”
I stick out my hand to Lowell, but he just barely nods at me.
Cameron grimaces at him and tries again. So much for friendly. “Lowell teaches out at the high school, but I doubt if you’ll have him for a class.”
“Oh? What do you teach?” I can be polite, even if he’s not going to be.
“Shop,” he
says.
Um, yeah, don’t think I’ll be taking that one. And honestly, the thought of this guy with power tools is a little disturbing.
“Anyway,” says Cameron, obviously giving up on Lowell, “on your left is Roy.” This one looks younger than Lowell and isn’t as smelly, but his fashion sense is about on the same level. Plaid really doesn’t look good on anyone.
Roy stands up to face me, weaving a little. “So, what year are you?” Roy asks, looking directly at my chest. Gross.
I try to cross my arms in the cramped quarters and mostly just succeed in elbowing both Cameron and Lowell in the chest. “Um … senior?” Why in the world does this old guy want to know what year I am in school?
He snorts at me. “No, I meant your turning year.”
Oh. Is this the equivalent of the whole “what’s your sign?” conversation or “what’s your screen name?” for vampires? Cheese. “I just turned this year.”
“Fresh blood. We need some of that around here. Especially the young, pretty kind.” He reaches between me and Cameron to poke Lowell in the shoulder, who just grunts in return, not even bothering to take his nose (and beard) out of his glass. What is it with these people and grunting? And they call me a pig swigger.
“So, how about you?” I ask, trying to change the subject and keep his eyes focused upward.
“Nineteen fifty-four. Lowell here is an 1862.”
“Yep,” drawls Lowell. “I was part of the Civil War influx.”
I nod like I know what that means. I refuse to admit to not knowing something else for the rest of the night. I foresee some research in my future. I could ask Dad (I’m sure he’d know), but I’m still not talking to him.
Roy gives me another toothy smile and leans into me. Blech. Does he realize he’s old enough to be my dad? Actually, more like my grandfather. Maybe even great-grandfather, depending on how old he was when he was turned. He doesn’t look like any kind of spring chicken, let me tell you.
Still Sucks to Be Me: More All-True Confessions of Mina Hamilton, Teen Vampire Page 5
