"Hey, Lucius. How was basketball practice?" I asked, trying desperately to harpoon the conversation and bring it under control.
"I've seen you in the gym, man," Jake noted. "You're, like, NBA-bound. You could take the team to states with that jump shot. You nailed every one in drills."
"Ah, yes, drills," Lucius said, clearly bored.
"Drills build skills," Jake offered. "You gotta do the drills."
"Drills are dull," Lucius countered, not really looking at Jake. "I prefer competition."
"You're a wrestler, right, Jake?" Dad asked, passing Jake more saag. My parents were in an Indian food phase. The evening's entree consisted of limp spinach. God forbid we'd throw a few burgers on the grill and just have a barbecue when guests came over.
Jake gave the bright green, mushy contents a wary glance but accepted the bowl. "Yeah. I wrestle. I'm captain this year."
"How Greco-Roman of you," Lucius said dryly, lifting a glob of spinach and letting it drip, slowly, from his fork. "Grappling about on mats."
Jake shot me a confused look. I shrugged an ignore-the-moody-exchange-student shrug.
Mom slapped her napkin onto the table. "Lucius, may I see you in the kitchen?" Except it wasn't really a question.
Oh, thank god. I made a mental note to clean my room or do an extra load of laundry. Even Lucius's boxer shorts. I owed her one.
Lucius slunk out behind my mother. There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation at the table, during which we all pretended like we didn't hear the phrases "take part in polite conversation," "feeble-minded nincompoop," and "remove yourself," coming from the kitchen in stage-whispered tones.
A few minutes later, the kitchen door slammed shut. Mom came back alone. "Who wants more flatbread?" she asked, smiling grimly, not offering an explanation for the loss of one very irritable Romanian teenager.
Across the table, Lucius's saag congealed on his abandoned plate.
---------------------------------------
After Jake left, I wandered out to the garage. Lucius was shooting foul shots, using a rusted old hoop that the rest of us had forgotten even existed. Dribble, aim, swish. I watched him make about ten in a row before I interrupted him. "Hey."
He turned around, tucking the ball under his arm, looking incredibly like an average American high school student in the Grantley College sweatshirt Mom had bought for him. Until he spoke. "Good evening, Jessica. To what do I owe this visit? Aren't you entertaining this evening?"
"Jake had to go."
"What a shame." Lucius tossed the ball over his shoulder. It dropped through the rim.
"What was wrong with you tonight? You know we could hear you insulting him in the kitchen."
"Really?" Lucius looked a little crestfallen. "I didn't intend that. That's just boorish."
I crossed my arms. "Do you have something to say about me and Jake? Because if you do, just say it to my face. Don't give a cryptic dinner table lecture about whales and destiny."
"What could I have to say? You've made yourself quite clear."
"I don't know what you're getting at," I said honestly. "When you bought me the dress, I thought that was your way of saying you didn't care if I went out with Jake."
The ball rolled near Lucius's feet, and he bent to scoop it up, then traced the worn seams with his thumb, avoiding my eyes. "Yes. I did think that. . . but this evening, when I saw him looking at you ..."
"What?" Was Lucius actually jealous?
"I just don't like him, Jessica," Lucius finally said. "He's not good enough for you. Regardless of how you feel about our tenuous relationship at this point, don't sell yourself short with any man. Any boy."
"You don't know Jake," I said, growing angry. "You didn't even try to get to know him. He tried to be nice to you at dinner."
Lucius shrugged. "I see him in school, struggling to understand basic concepts in English literature. That's very telling, don't you think?"
"So Jake doesn't like Moby Dick. Who cares? I don't like it, either."
Lucius looked disappointed with me. Or sad about something. Or both. "I find that I'm in a very unusual mood tonight, Jessica," he said, avoiding my eyes again. "I'm not the best company. Perhaps you'll excuse me—leave me to my solitary pursuits."
“Lucius—“
"Please, Jessica." He turned his back on me and launched the ball with a flick of his wrist. It swooped through the hoop without touching the rim.
"Fine. I'll go."
Lucius was still shooting hoops when I went to check on him an hour later. It was dark outside, and he played in a small circle of light from a floodlight mounted on the garage. He'd switched to layups. I started to call out a greeting then changed my mind. Something about the single-minded way he was drilling shot after shot after shot, never missing, rising over the rim with ease to slam the ball through the hoop, like he was punishing the ball, sort of freaked me out.
Chapter 18
DEAR UNCLE VASILE,
Best wishes as we approach All Hallows' Eve. You would so enjoy the universally naive but ubiquitous depictions of vampires the Americans somewhat compulsively display at this time of year. One would think our entire race consisted of pale, middle-aged men with a genetic tendency toward "widow's peaks" and a penchant for the overapplication of hair gel.
But getting to the point. I am loath to admit that I increasingly see the situation here slipping from my control.
As per my last correspondence, I have tried numerous "American" strategies to at least build a rapport with Antanasia—including donning "jeans" (quite comfortable, actually) and, as I've mentioned, playing basketball, a sport for "popular kids." (Just call me "Number 23.")
Thus far, Antanasia seems less than impressed with my best efforts, though. She is actually getting "involved with" the peasant. (Vasile, if you heard him attempt to make conversation . . . it's unendurable, really. I would rather have our omnipresent lentils shoved into my ears than listen to him for more than two minutes.)
Honestly, Antanasia quite baffles me. Just the other day, I thought we had experienced a significant breakthrough. I purchased for her the most magnificent dress—really, if you had seen her in it, you would have judged her nearly ready to take the throne. . . . For the briefest moment, I thought we had made progress. The look in her own eyes as she watched herself in the mirror . . . She was altered, Vasile. And altered toward me . . . I could have sworn it.
And yet the peasant clings on like a parasite. A leech or a tick that cannot be dislodged. What does Antanasia see in him? And why does she persist in seeing it? I could offer her so much more. In particular, conversation. Repartee. Not to mention leadership of two powerful clans. A castle. Servants. Anything she desired. Things she deserves, Vasile.
Damn. I'm blathering.
The point is, I quite fear that you will be disappointed with me if I fail to convince Antanasia to honor the pact and accept me as her husband. And, in all candor, your disappointment is a rather formidable prospect. Thus I feel compelled to keep you updated on the situation as it unfolds. I certainly wouldn't want to present you with an unanticipated failure. I would much rather prepare you for the worst eventuality—even as I fully intend to continue my efforts.
Your nephew, most humbly,
Lucius
P.S. If anyone offers you "saag," decline if at all possible to do so without breaking the rules of polite society. Is there any chance the cook might ship a frozen hare or two this way?
P.P.S. The investment I've made with your advance on my trust will arrive soon. I am rather looking forward to it.
P.P.P.S. The peasant doesn't understand the symbolism of the whale in Moby Dick, Vasile. It's true. Concepts literally pummeled into my brain (recall my half-Gypsy tutor, Bogdana, whose grasp of literary devices was exceeded only by her grip on the switch?) during preadolescence remain beyond his grasp. Is he feeble-minded? Or just obtuse?
Parasite.
Chapter 19
"HEY, BELLE." I grinned, giving my Appaloosas muscular neck a firm pat. "Ready for a workout? Only a few more practice sessions before the show." My grin quickly faded, though. The 4-H show, just a few weeks away, had seemed like a good idea when Id signed up, but now I was suffering from some serious attacks of nerves.
Well, it was too late to back out. Or was it?
As I reached for Belles bridle, lifting it from a nail in the wall, I heard a truck pull up outside the barn. A door slammed, and I glanced toward the barn door to see a stranger walking toward me. A stocky man in dirty coveralls, holding a clipboard.
"Can I help you?" I offered.
"You know a . . ." He glanced at the clipboard. "A Lou Vlad . . . here." He extended the roster. "I can't make out that name."
"Oh, no." My heart sank. I didn't even have to look. "Vladescu. What did he do now? Did he order something?"
"Yeah. And he needs to take delivery of this monster that's kicking my trailer all to hell. I want that thing out of there now."
"Monster?"
"You're looking for me?" As if on cue at the word monster, Lucius appeared from out of the shadows, accepted the clipboard and a pen, and signed.
"I hope you know what you're doing," the delivery man said, shaking his head.
"Oh, I'm sure I do."
I followed as Lucius and the man strode through the indoor riding ring, headed toward the door. "Lucius? What did you buy?"
The delivery man called over his shoulder, answering on Lucius's behalf. "Your friend bought a murderous horse. Thing oughta be put down."
"Lucius?" We all passed through the barn door and arrived at the dirt drive, where I saw a horse trailer. Rocking. Thudding sounds were coming from inside.
"You get her out, kid," the man insisted. "I'm not touching that thing again."
Without hesitation, Lucius approached the rear of the trailer, unlatched it, and opened the door.
"Um . . . Lucius? Should you go in there?"
"Kid's dead meat," the delivery man noted.
There was the sound of a scuffle, then I heard Lucius's voice calming the animal, and hooves against metal. Then silence. A long silence. And finally Lucius emerged, leading a very skittish, very powerful horse. The blackest horse I had ever seen. It had to stand a full nineteen hands high. Its eyes rolled wildly, showing whites against its ebony face. I stepped back as it passed by, but it shied, then nipped at me.
"Easy, there," Lucius soothed. He called back to me, "Sorry, she's a tad excitable."
The delivery man took off, muttering about broken skulls, and I followed Lucius, who was persuading his new mount to enter a stall. Right next to Belle's.
"I want them to be neighbors." Lucius smiled.
It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Great."
"Easy," Lucius told the mare again as she snapped at his fingers. He clapped his hand across her muzzle, struggling with her as he hooked her halter to both sides of the stall. When she was contained, he released her, and she took one last lunge at him, clipping his forearm with her teeth. "Dammit!" He shook out his arm.
I planted my feet and crossed my arms. "You bought a horse? That horse?"
"Yes," Lucius said, rubbing the bite. "I recall a while back that you said—and I quote—that we 'have nothing in common."' He jerked a thumb toward his hell horse. "This is something we can share. An activity. A way for us to spend time together."
"You're not joining 4-H," I told him.
"My commemorative club jacket is being embroidered as we speak." He grinned. "I do so look forward to wearing that blue corduroy. You do know that 'corduroy' means 'fabric of kings,' right? Appropriate, I think."
"But I thought you had sort of given up . . ."
Lucius frowned, stroking his horse's muzzle. This time she flinched but didn't snap. "You thought I'd forgotten a pact that I have been prepared to fulfill since childhood just because I endure Squatty Boy's crude advances toward you? I think not."
"Stop calling him squatty and stop insinuating that he's stupid. Jake is a very nice guy."
"Nice. Now that's an overrated quality." Lucius unhitched one side of the ropes restraining his horse, and she half reared. He patted the mare's neck. "Isn't nice overrated?" He paused, turning to me. "What should I name her?" he mused. "She needs a name if I'm to enter her in the jumper class."
"You can't," I cried. "I'm competing in that."
"I know. I thought we could practice together."
"I already told you, I don't want your help."
"You're not afraid of a little friendly competition, are you?"
I stamped my foot. In part because, no, I didn't want to compete with him. He was a natural athlete. A Romanian all-star polo player. I also didn't want him to start skulking around the barn. "I told you I don't want to ride with you."
"You are completely overreacting."
"And you are a stupid . . . stupid . . . vampire! You never listen to me. I specifically told you not to interfere in this part of my life. We live together, go to school together . .. This is one place where I don't have you bugging me all the time."
"A vampire?" The voice came from close behind us.
Uh-oh.
Lucius and I both swung around to see a very curious, somewhat bemused Faith Crosse watching our argument. Her lightly tanned arms were crossed over her tight cheerleading-camp T-shirt, and her blond ponytail bobbed, gleaming in the dim light, as she cocked her head. "Did you just call him a vampire?"
I stammered, grasping for an explanation. "He's . . . he's sucking the life out of me today," I finally said.
"Jessica's full of pet names for me." Lucius smiled, nonplussed. He extended his hand. "So nice to see you outside of the classroom, Faith."
Oh, brother.
Faith seemed a little surprised, but extended her hand, too. "Urn . . . you too, Lucius."
Lucius didn't shake. He grazed her knuckles with his lips. "Charmed, as always."
"Oh. Wow. That was different." Faith withdrew her hand, addressing me, the stable hand, as an afterthought. "Hey, Jenn."
"Its Jess."
"Right." But Faiths attention had shifted again, to the unnamed horse. "What a beautiful mare. I saw you bringing her in. She looks dangerous, though."
Lucius unhooked the other lead, freeing his new perilous pet. "I find that horses, like people, are boring if completely broken. I prefer a little spirit." The animal jerked its head, but Lucius soothed her. "Calm down now." He addressed Faith and me. "She's been treated hard, poor beast. Unpleasant childhood."
"Unpleasant?" Faith cocked her head.
"Don't ever come near her with a crop or a whip," Lucius advised. "That's what the previous owner strongly suggested. Apparently her first master had a quite heavy hand."
Raised under the whip. I thought of Lucius's own admission that he'd been hit by his uncles. Again and again. I wondered if he had deliberately chosen the mare for the cruel connection they shared. It seemed like something he would do.
Faith and I both stepped back, dodging quickly, as Lucius led the mare out of the stall.
"You're not going to ride her, are you?" I asked, incredulous.
Lucius frowned. "That's what one does with horses, right?"
"I have a spare saddle," Faith offered.
I glared at Faith. "No! Are you serious?" Normally Faith wasn't the type of person whose actions you questioned, but I couldn't believe she thought Lucius should make any attempt to ride the mare with the diabolical look in her eyes and the snapping jaws. "Lucius, don't even think about it."
"Oh, I don't think she'd like a saddle," he said. "Not yet. I'll let her get used to carrying just me first."
I shook my head. "You're going to get killed."
Lucius shot me a conspiratorial look. "You, of all people, should know that's unlikely. Animals can't use tools."
Without further hesitation, he swept to the horse's side and leapt onto her back, with the same ease he demonstrated doing layups on the ba
sketball court. The mare immediately whinnied and wheeled, but Lucius lived up to his boasts. Within seconds, he brought her under control, and the two—madman and mad animal—proceeded into the center of the ring at a brisk but controlled clip, Lucius guiding with his knees and the halter. Every few steps, the horse shied or twisted back to nip at Lucius's legs. But the two kept a steady, if edgy, partnership. "We'll be jumping in no time," Lucius called, grinning.
He was doing it. Riding the meanest-looking mare I'd ever seen. My relief was short-lived as I realized exactly what his survival meant for me. When it came time for the 4-H show, I'd be competing with both Faith Crosse and a Romanian all-star on a devil horse.
Beth_Fantaskey-Jessicas guide to dating the dark side. Page 10
