Bring On the Night

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  My heart felt like it was trying to kick out my ribs. The federal Centers for Disease Control would want Aaron’s class roster, would maybe even quarantine all of us who couldn’t prove we’d either had chicken pox or the vaccine. And now the vaccine not only couldn’t help but maybe even made the disease strike faster and harder.

  My options were limited, to say the least. All I had left were hope and luck. And the beginnings of a plan.

  My voluntary quarantine forced us to move Lori’s Friday night bachelorette party to my apartment. After Aaron’s death, we weren’t in a festive mood, but her wedding was in a week, so there was no room for postponement

  Turner was in critical condition, according to the hospital, but still alive twenty-seven hours after collapsing—much longer than Aaron had lasted. Maybe Turner’s vaccine was working. If so, maybe the first dose of vaccine I’d gotten fifteen years ago would be enough to fight it off.

  Shane’s online research suggested that this was no ordinary chicken pox. The incubation period should have been ten to twenty days, but Turner had gotten sick only a day after exposure. Then again, he and Aaron could have gotten it from the same source, someone they’d been around while I was off in the mountains playing Control agent.

  I was confused, and tired of making conjectures based on crap information. I was ready to get drunk and be a girl.

  “I love you.” Shane attached Dexter’s leash to the dog’s collar and kissed me good night. “Now eat, drink, and be merry.”

  “For tomorrow I will die? Isn’t that the rest of the quote?”

  He blanched. “Oh. Uh, well, I think it’s—”

  A knock came at the door. He opened it to reveal Regina, who held up her hand and said, “Tag team Ciara supervision.”

  He slapped her palm as he and Dexter escaped to an allegedly low-key bachelor party for David.

  At the kitchen counter, Regina picked up two multicolored penis straws and butted their heads. “So lifelike.” She poured herself a glass of tequila.

  I pointed to the fridge. “The margarita mix is—never mind,” I added as she downed the tequila in one gulp.

  She smacked her lips. “I’m taking notes for your bachelorette party. Assuming you survive to see it.”

  My chest tightened, but I emitted a shaky laugh. “That’s not much incentive to live.”

  Another knock. I hurried to answer it, relieved to avoid the subject of my mortality. “It’s probably Tina. Be nice.”

  Sure enough, my recent roomie gave a forced smile when I opened the door. “Hey.”

  “Hey! It’s great to see you again.” I stepped back so she could enter. “How have you been since orientation?”

  “Indoc,” she corrected. “It’s only been five days. How do you think I’ve been?” As Tina stepped across the threshold, she fixed her eyes on Regina. “You’re kidding me. A yoosie bridesmaid?”

  “Don’t worry.” The DJ lifted her glass, newly tequilaed. “I’m only drinking booze tonight.”

  “Speaking of which, what can we get you?” I tugged off Tina’s fur-lined suede coat to encourage her to stay, despite the undead presence. As her arms slipped out of the sleeves, I saw a long bandage running up her inner forearm. “Did you cut yourself?”

  “No.” Tina pulled down her shirtsleeve, then folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll have a white wine spritzer.”

  “Brilliant.” Regina picked up four bottles in two hands. “Zombies all around!”

  Tina sighed and turned to me. “I’m sorry about your professor. Lori said he was great.”

  “He was. Chicken pox, of all things. Lori told me you’ve already had it.”

  “My adoption papers said I had immunity, so I guess I caught chicken pox when I was little, back in Romania.” She smoothed the static out of her long dark hair. “Lori said Aaron was in Hungary last week for research. He probably caught it there. I’ve heard it’s a filthy place.”

  Clearly the Romania/Hungary rivalry was alive and well in the twenty-first century.

  “The state health department says it’s investigating,” I told Tina, “which probably means they’re as clueless as we are.”

  “Don’t think—drink!” Regina scooted to the other side of the breakfast bar and passed out her cherry-garnished concoctions. “That’s tonight’s motto. Now pick your penis straw, and we’ll toast Aaron’s spirit.”

  I examined the tall glass, wishing I was in the mood to drink. Someone knocked on the front door. Reminding myself of my duty to show Lori a good time despite the circumstances, I hurried to the door and swung it open with a flourish. “Surprise!”

  Lori laughed through her gauzy white veil. “You remember Maggie, one of my friends from SPIT? She’s my vice president now.”

  “Congratulations.” I hugged the thirtyish woman and planted a kiss on her perky red bob of hair. “I’m glad that if anything happens to Lori, someone will be there to step in. Constitutionally speaking, I mean.”

  Regina was already lining up three more glasses. She gave Maggie a “Hey” when introduced but looked slightly past the newcomer instead of meeting her gaze. Direct eye contact with vampires can throw the uninitiated off balance.

  “How was Aaron’s funeral?” I asked Lori.

  “Very sad.” She slid off her coat and straightened her veil. “The History Department canceled class and chartered a bus to take students and alumni down to the burial in Baltimore. Franklin held it together, but you could tell he was heartbroken.”

  The thought of his pain produced an ache of my own. “I wish I could’ve gone to the funeral without endangering the world.”

  She pulled back her veil to examine my face, as if looking for the Grim Reaper’s shadow. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine.” I waved my hand at the clock. “It’s been forty-eight hours. I bet I’m safe.” I grabbed her hand. “Help me celebrate life and shit like that.”

  I cranked up the music, and we all danced like a bunch of death-defying freaks.

  Lori and Maggie were jamming on the couch, halfway through their second zombies, when a knock came at the door.

  “Pizza!” I seized the remote control, switched CDs, and pressed Pause. “Lori, answer that while I put out plates. It’s all paid for.”

  She boogied over to the door and opened it to a man who looked like a younger, cuter Keanu Reeves. He held a pair of pizza boxes in a insulating red bag.

  He glided in, casting a smile over Lori on his way past. She returned it, smoothing her hair in an unconscious gesture of OMG hot!

  Ken—for that was his name—deposited the pizza on the table and winked at me. I hit Play on the remote control.

  The opening guitar riff of Prince and the Revolution’s “When Doves Cry” squealed out of the speakers. Ken turned to Lori with an intent gaze.

  She took a step back, eyes crinkling in confusion. “Didn’t Ciara pay you?”

  He circled her like a cat with its prey, stalking in time to the music. I snuck up behind Lori and shoved a roll of dollar bills into her hand, which was already damp with sweat.

  She looked down at the bundle of ones, then at Ken as he tore open his plain brown delivery shirt to reveal a tight red silk vest.

  Lori’s eyes grew wide as softballs. “You got me a private stripper?”

  She looked horrified. My mind played back our entire friendship in one moment, like a drowning person’s life. Maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought.

  Lori threw her arms around my neck. “I love you!” she shouted over Prince’s moans.

  I grabbed the zombie out of her hand so she could dance with Ken without spilling. When I set the drink on the counter, I noticed Regina watching the spectacle from the kitchen. Her eyes never left Ken, and the hunger within them made me shiver.

  Then he was in front of me, naked but for a dark blue G-string that set off his tan. As we began to dance, I couldn’t help thinking that Aaron would definitely approve.

  “You’re the best idea I ever had
.” I trailed the end of a rolled-up dollar bill down the glistening skin of his chest, finally folding it into his G-string.

  He spun me around to face away from him. We bumped and ground for another verse of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance,” and I took mental notes for my next striptease for Shane.

  All too soon, Ken moved on to perform a lap dance for Maggie, whose face turned as red as her hair. Then Ken proceeded to Tina and held his composure in the face of her seizure of giggles.

  The music took a darker turn with Marilyn Manson’s cover of “Sweet Dreams.” Ken finally turned to Regina.

  For the first time that night, their eyes met, and for the first time that night, Ken’s steps faltered.

  She didn’t budge as he swayed toward her, hips and shoulders off rhythm. He stopped a few inches away, his eyes glued to hers. She traced the tip of one long, black-lacquered fingernail up his arm, from wrist to shoulder, then finally arcing down to his heart. He shuddered.

  The rest of us watched, released from his spell, as he turned his head to expose his neck.

  “Stop that.” Regina gave his face a gentle slap. “Dance for me.”

  He jolted as if from a trance, then did as she asked. His self-possession had vanished, replaced by a desperate, almost doglike desire to please. Regina’s gaze roamed over his sinewy frame, as he knelt before her, twisting his body in a pathetic pantomime of lust.

  By the last chorus, he was writhing on his belly, like Roman slave dancers I’d seen in movies. As the song ended, he laid his head on her foot and stretched out his tongue to lick her boot.

  “No!” Regina stepped back and looked away. He crawled after her, bobbing his whole body to stay within her vision, a puppy begging for attention.

  She leaped over him and dashed for the bedroom. With a strangled noise, Ken lunged to follow her, but she’d slammed the door and locked it behind her before he could take a step.

  Ken turned to me, eyes heavy lidded with longing. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “For starters, she’s not the bachelorette.” I motioned to Lori. “See the veil? Dance for the veil.”

  But Lori shook her head. “I think we’re done.” After a short, awkward silence, she started applauding. We all joined in, though it sounded more polite than appreciative.

  “I’m so sorry.” Ken collected his clothes and hurried off to the bathroom, dropping a sock on the way.

  “So.” I unzipped the insulated pizza bag. “Who’s hungry?”

  “Nakedness and pizza.” Lori grabbed a slice with olives and sweet peppers. “Perfect man.”

  “Sorry he went all Igor there at the end,” I whispered.

  “I’m sure it’ll seem really funny ten years from now.” She stepped out of the way for Maggie and Tina. “Do you think he stuffs his G-string?”

  “Definitely,” Maggie said. “No way that’s real.” Tina and I just snickered. Silence fell over the kitchen as we devoured the pizza with hormone-enhanced hunger.

  Ken hobbled out of the bathroom wearing one shoe. “Oh, there’s my other sock.”

  “You want to stay for a drink?” I said.

  His eyes turned to the bedroom door with a distant, cloudy awareness.

  “Of alcohol,” I added. “Or soda.”

  “Oh.” His face relaxed into a boyish smile. “No thanks. I have another, um, delivery.”

  “Where’d you get the pizza?” Maggie asked. “It’s amazing.”

  “My dad’s restaurant.”

  Lori gasped. “You’re actually a delivery guy?”

  “No, I’m a dancer.” He sat at the table to put on his remaining sock and shoe. “The pizza is one of my gimmicks.”

  “So if I’d picked the fireman stripper,” I said, “he would’ve brought his giant hose?”

  Tina choked on her laughter, but since her face turned red instead of blue, I decided she didn’t need the Heimlich.

  When Ken was fully dressed and had collected his props, I led him to the front door. “Thanks for an unforgettable experience.”

  He reached into his pocket. “Can you give that black-haired girl my card?”

  “Isn’t dating a client’s friend kind of unprofessional?”

  His hand remained steady as it held out the card, poking its corner into the webbing between my thumb and forefinger.

  Figuring it was none of my business (and really wanting to return to the pizza before it got cold), I took his card and shooed him out.

  “Should we bring Regina some pizza?” Maggie asked me.

  “She’s lactose intolerant, but I’ll check.” I picked up our half-full zombies, went to the bedroom door, and tapped it softly with my foot.

  “It’s open!” she called.

  I found Regina on our bed, smoking a cigarette and reading my latest issue of Under the Radar. I was so high on alcohol, saturated fat, and naked-man endorphins I didn’t care how I would get the smoke out of my duvet.

  “I heard him leave, so I unlocked the door.” She flipped the page and frowned at it. “Thought I’d stay here until your little friends defreaked.”

  “I think you’re the most freaked of all.”

  She slapped shut the indie music magazine. “That guy was so hot.”

  “He was pretty cute.”

  “I don’t mean cute. I mean, hot. Sweaty.” She eyed my neck a little too intently. “When a human’s temperature rises, the blood moves to the surface of the skin. He smelled incredible.” She hugged the throw pillow to her chest and kneaded its soft fabric. “I wanted to put my hands all over him. I wanted to keep him.”

  I set her drink on the nightstand. “He would’ve let you.” I dropped Ken’s card in her lap.

  She stared at it as if it were a winning lottery ticket coated in holy water. “Give it to Shane. He always needs guys, thanks to your little arrangement.”

  “But Ken liked you. Why not call him? You can end it if he seems unstable.”

  “And then he stalks me, and things get messy. Breaking in a new donor isn’t worth the novelty of fresh blood. So unless I’m desperate, I try to keep things status quo.” She rested her chin on the corner of the pillow and scowled. “It pisses me off, looking at 99.9 percent of the male population and knowing I can’t fuck them—at least not without risking the thing that makes fucking them worthwhile.”

  I didn’t envy Regina or other female vampires. Their, uh, interior muscles could ruin the life of a human male. But male vampires could sleep with female humans. Monumentally unfair.

  “Still.” I took the card and stuffed it into her hand. “I think it would make Ken’s day—and yours—if you called him.”

  Someone knocked softly on the door, then Lori opened it. “Sorry to interrupt. Tina just had the spookiest idea.”

  13

  Girl Power

  The Sherwood cemetery was less than a half-mile walk from my apartment. It was almost midnight, and the streets of the small town were empty. So we figured as long as I didn’t cough on any permeable surfaces, I wouldn’t be a public health hazard.

  The three ladies of the Sherwood Paranormal Investigative Team walked down the cemetery lane ahead of Regina and me, examining their Star Treky EMF readers, which they all kept in their car trunks for ghost-hunting emergencies.

  “If we get caught trespassing, I’m running away,” Regina told me as she lit a cigarette. “Remember, jails have windows.”

  “Speaking of windows…” I raised my voice. “Lori?”

  She turned, then looked where I was pointing. A small stone building sat at the top of the hill, in the center of the cemetery. A light was on in the upper window.

  “It’s commemorative.” Her drunken lips tripped over the word. “That chapel was a stop on the Underground Railroad. They’d leave a light in the top window to show it was a safe haven for runaway slaves. So there’s always a lamp lit at night. Cool, huh?”

  I kept my eyes on the glow, expecting a shadowy figure to pass before it. This was only my second time in a cemetery; mo
st of my experience with them came from horror movies.

  The fact that Susan Haldeman’s body had been found nearby should have made this outing seem stupid. But I was accompanied by a vampire and a soon-to-be Control Enforcement agent. As bridal parties went, this one had high ass-kicking potential.

  To lower the creep factor, I kept Lori talking. “So the Underground Railroad went through Sherwood?”

  “It went through everywhere. It was so secret that most of the places still aren’t known. This one’s been confirmed.” She drew an imaginary line from the chapel toward town. “It had an actual tunnel that led to one of the churches in Sherwood.”

  “Is the tunnel still there?” Regina asked.

  “It’s sealed off. Probably collapsed by now.”

  “Shh!” Tina glared at us, apparently having sobered up during the walk to the cemetery. “Ghosts prefer quiet.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Regina clapped her hands together, cupped for maximum volume. “I saw Poltergeist a million times. Those ghosts were loud.”

  Tina flapped her arms. “Poltergeists haunt houses. The ones in cemeteries prefer to be left in peace.”

  My skin prickled. “If I believed in ghosts, I would say that maybe peace is where we should leave them.”

  Lori caught up to her fellow SPITters. They whispered among themselves, sweeping their EMF readers, each covering a different sector or whatever.

  At least it had stopped raining. The blacktop of the cemetery lane still glistened, and I had to weave to avoid soaking my pink high-tops in the puddles.

  A breeze stirred the bare-branched trees scattered throughout the cemetery. I unbuttoned my jacket to let the cool, damp night air soak the skin of my neck. A week from now, I could be in my own grave after my brain swelled out of my skull and my body baked from the inside, like a potato in a microwave.

  The thought made me giggle, partly at the image of a giant microwave and partly with the euphoria of being not yet dead.

  “I’ve never seen you this pissed,” Regina said.

  I turned to face her, walking backward. “I’m not mad.”