by Gayla Twist
Chapter 11
Mom came to school Friday afternoon during my lunch period to pick me up. We went to the police station, and I had to fill out a report. The perv hadn’t physically accosted me or anything, but he had made threatening remarks and refused to give me access to my car. I was sure that in a big city, a perv harassing a high school girl wouldn’t warrant a police report, but in Tiburon, it was taken seriously.
“What are you doing tonight?” Blossom asked me when we bumped into each other in the hallway between classes that afternoon. “Jimmy’s cousin is in town, and he’s totally gorgeous. We could double.” Jimmy Stevens was Blossom’s latest flame. A very recent flame. I think she decided she’d better reel it in a little after being drugged and spending the night unconscious. She’d been being extra nice to me ever since our escapade from the castle without actually bringing the whole thing up. I think she knew on some level she’d crossed a line with me. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to be friends with her anymore; I just needed a little break. Besides, going out with her would mean I couldn’t dance with Jessie’s jacket.
“Thanks, but I’m still pretty grounded,” I told her. I wasn’t grounded, of course, but she didn’t know that.
I had all my homework for the weekend done by eight o’clock on Friday night. I was turning into a real party girl. Still, there were vampires out in the world, so I wasn’t super excited about going out late at night.
Saturday, I worked the morning shift at Cup of Joe’s, my humble part-time, minimum wage job. Mornings are always the busiest and when you’re most likely to get a few tips. The steam from the cappuccino machine always sends my hair into overdrive, as far as curls are concerned. In the afternoon, I drove out to Ashtabula Care with Grandma Gibson’s photograph in an envelope and a plate full of ginger snaps. They were her favorite, and I wanted to thank her for lending me the photo.
“Aurora,” she sang out when I poked my head through her door. “Come here, my girl. Let me look at you.” She held her arms out to me from where she sat at her table, a deck of cards laid out in front of her.
“Hi, Grandma Gibson.” I walked in and gave her a hug. I loved when she recognized me. It usually meant she was in a good mood.
“Always such a beauty,” she said, touching my hair.
“Too bad none of the guys at my school think so,” I said, blushing.
“Well, don’t worry about them. Young boys are too foolish at your age to know what’s good.”
“I brought you some ginger snaps. Homemade,” I told her, in part to distract her from talking about my continued failures at romance.
“You made me ginger snaps?” she asked, beaming. “Aren’t you a sweet girl. Plug in my kettle, and we’ll have a real tea party.”
Ashtabula Care had rules against their residents having appliances—even hair dryers were illegal—but Grandma kept a contraband electric kettle so she could brew tea properly. I was pretty sure some of the nurses knew about it but were kind enough to look the other way. I pulled the kettle out from a hatbox in her closet and filled it with water from a plastic jug she had on the table.
“The blue cups, please, Aurora,” Grandma told me. “And the tea things.” She had a tea set of bone China and two different sets of cups and saucers, one blue with white and one green with pink flowers.
Once we were all set up with tea and snaps, I said to her, “I brought back your picture. Just like I said I would.”
“What’s that, now?” Grandma looked a little confused.
Fishing the envelope out of my bag, I handed to her. “Last time I was here, you lent me a photograph.”
“Did I?” she frowned slightly, sliding the black and white from its envelope. “Ah, the castle. Yes, I can see why you’d be interested in it.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, taking a sip of the scalding hot tea.
“Don’t you remember? You would ask me about it all the time when you were a little girl. I made the mistake of telling you once that I worked there for a few months, and then the questions never stopped.”
“How old was I?” Her story barely rang the faintest of bells.
“Oh, I’d say from when you were three, then every time I saw you after that for at least a couple of years.” That was before she had moved in with Mom and me.
“And what did you tell me about it?” I asked.
“As little as I could,” she said, busying herself with stirring sugar into her tea.
“Why don’t you like to talk about when you worked there?” I asked as gently as I could. She was having a good day, and I didn’t want to ruin it.
“I just don’t,” she said firmly.
“Okay.” I nodded, letting it drop. I tried to think back if there was anything I could dredge up out of my memory from when I was very little but came up with nothing. I may have asked her a zillion questions when I was younger, but I doubt she’d answered many.
Grandma spent some time looking at the photograph. I saw her blink hard a couple of times, and I wondered if she was upset. “Would you like me to put that back in the album for you, Grandma?” I asked. There was no reason to let her dwell.
“Would you, sweetheart?” She handed it to me. “And while you’re up, you’d better hide the kettle. Lord knows I don’t want to get caught with it. They’d throw me out, and I’d have to sleep on a bench in the park.”
It was late afternoon by the time I finished my visit with Grandma Gibson. She was getting tired, and I had formulated a new plan that I wanted to put into action immediately. While I was driving home, I stopped by a card shop. For a moment, I was tempted to get a card with an illustration of little boys playing basketball on the front that read, “Happy first birthday. You’re number one!” but wasn’t sure what vampires thought of offbeat humor. Eventually I decided on a blank card with two swans on the front gliding across a pond.
Back in my VW, I searched around the floorboards until I found a pen, then wrote in the most legible hand I could manage:
Dear Jessie,
Colette Gibson was my great grandmother’s sister. She used to work at the castle and disappeared when she was a teenager back in 1935 or 36. Did you know her?
I spent a long time trying to decide how to sign off. I couldn’t write Love or Your friend or Best wishes. Finally, I decided on
Thinking of you,
Aurora
As an afterthought, I wrote:
p.s. Don’t you read books anymore?
I slid one of the copies of the Lillian-and-Colette-in-front-of-the-castle photo into the envelope along with the card and sealed it. On the outside, I wrote, Mr. Jessie Vanderlind.
By the time I was standing outside the Vanderlind Castle gate, it was dusk. I wondered if vampires could rise when there was still a little bit of light, or did they have to wait for nightfall.
“Are you lost or something, Miss?” a guard posted at the immense iron front gate asked as I got out of my car.
“Miss Aurora Keys to see Mr. Jessie Vanderlind,” I told him. The guard was wearing the dark purple jacket with black pants, white shirt, and black tie.
“Sorry, Miss.” He shook his head. “Mr. Vanderlind isn’t expecting you.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “Don’t you have to call up to the house to check or something?”
“No need,” the guard told me. “The Vanderlinds never expect anyone.”
“Well, I have something for him,” I said, extending the envelope through the bars. “It’s just a photo that he asked me about. I told him I’d make him a copy.”
The guard eyed the envelope suspiciously. “You spoke to Mr. Vanderlind about a photograph?” he asked. “And where did this happen?”
I met his incredulous look with a steady gaze. “At the library. He goes there on Thursday nights.”
This time the guard nodded and accepted the card. “I’ll see that he gets it.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling at him before hopping back into my car and driving
home.
Another endless week of trying to focus on anything but obsessing over Jessie. I was not a boy-crazy kind of girl. I liked guys, and I’d had crushes in the past, even a few short-lived relationships, but they were nothing like my attraction to Jessie. And I’d only met him briefly. It was maddening. I wanted him out of my head but frequently indulged in fantasizing about seeing him again. I dreamed about him every night and started keeping a dream journal next to my bed. When I woke up, I would quickly write down every detail I could remember from my dream.
The dreams were frequently quite similar. Things kept happening at the same locations. It was like in the old movies where they’d use the same set over and over, just changing it slightly for the next film. Frequently, I found myself in the field of wildflowers. It was my point of accessing the field that shifted from night to night. Monday night, I had a variation of a dream that was familiar from childhood. I don’t know why, but I’ve always had dreams that take place in libraries. Or maybe it’s always the same library. It’s hard to tell with just shelves upon shelves of books. I told Blossom about my book dreams once, and she said, “I wouldn’t tell anyone else about that dream. That just proves you’re a geek.”
My newest version of the book dream had much more detail. I was in a very elegant library. One like you’d picture Mr. Darcy having in Pride and Prejudice. I was up on one of those sliding ladders libraries used to have, and I was doing something, although I’m not sure what. I had something in my hands, but I couldn’t remember what it was once I woke up. Anyway, I was up there doing something but also kind of browsing through the books as I went. The library door opened, and in walked Jessie.
I was immediately embarrassed for some reason, like he could look up my skirt or something. But then he smiled at me, his eyes so kind that I felt a warm glow all over. He said something and then lifted his hand up as if to help me down from my perch, and then the dream got blurry, and I wasn’t sure what happened after that.
Mr. Schwartzman stopped me on the way out of class on Tuesday. “What’s going on with you?” he asked. “Everything okay at home?”
“Yeah. Fine. Why do you ask?”
“Well, your homework has been excellent; you’re in class on time; you pay attention; you even volunteered to answer a few questions today. It’s got me wondering what’s come over you. Not that I’m complaining, just wondering. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s good,” I told him. “Just trying to be a little more serious about getting into a good college. I can show up late tomorrow, if that would make you feel better.”
He chuckled. “No, that’s okay. Just wanted you to know, I’m impressed. Keep it up.”
Thursday evening, I drove to the library and stationed myself in the same chair I had occupied the week before. I felt pretty confident that Jessie wasn’t going to walk through the door, but I kept a lookout anyway. At a quarter to nine, I headed out to my car while there were still plenty of people around and cars in the parking lot. I was not a complete idiot. I could usually learn from my mistakes. But I didn’t drive away. I sat in my VW with the windows rolled up and the doors locked. By ten minutes after nine, the parking lot was empty and the lights to the library were off. I rolled down the VW’s window a few inches and said in a clear voice, “I still have your jacket.”
Nothing happened. There was a slight rustling in some nearby trees, but that was it.
“I also have your watch,” I called.
I heard the flapping of fabric and then suddenly there he was, standing next to my car. Jessie gave a small but amused sigh then bent at the waist to look in at me through the driver’s side window. “You never give up, do you?” the vampire said with a grin, his fangs on full display.
Chapter 12
I couldn’t believe it. Everything was going according to plan. Jessie was there, standing next to my car. He was in dark suit pants with a white shirt and dark tie. Over his arm, he’d folded his suit jacket like a model in a catalogue. I was frozen in my seat. I’d so desperately wanted to see him, but on some level, I was also afraid. He was, after all, a vampire. “I have your jacket,” I finally managed to stutter. “I thought you might want it back.”
“Keep it,” he shrugged. “I’ve already had it replaced.”
My heart sang with the knowledge that the jacket was mine. “What about your watch?” I asked.
“Yes, that is something I would like returned.”
I took a deep breath. Here came the part of my plan that was going to be the most challenging to execute. “I’ll trade you for it.”
He let out a small laugh and then gave me an incredulous look. I knew I had said something he wasn’t expecting. “It doesn’t have much value, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “I only want it for sentimental reasons.”
“I know,” I told him.
His handsome face appeared a little angry as he looked in the VW at me. “And what exactly do you want in exchange for my property?”
“I want the answers to one hundred questions.”
Again, his handsome face showed surprise. “You want what?”
“I will give you back your watch, and in return, I want you to answer one hundred of my questions.”
That was when he really started to laugh quite heartily. “You’re holding my watch for ransom until I answer your questions?”
“No, you can have your watch back, of course,” I said, feeling embarrassed. “I just... I just wanted to talk to you. Just to see you again. And I have so many questions that I want to ask you. I hope you’re not mad.”
He had his arm outstretched with his palm against the car so he could lean over and talk to me at eye level with some degree of comfort. “You are quite charming, did you know that?”
“My mother calls me determined.”
“Charmingly determined,” Jessie amended.
“So, do we have a deal?” I wanted to know.
He rubbed a finger across his lower lip. “I really shouldn’t agree,” he said, but I could tell he was considering it.
“I’ll just keep trying to find ways to talk to you.”
Jessie sighed. “I’m really not used to you modern girls, but you have yourself a deal. Besides, I have a few questions of my own.”
“Really?” I gulped. It was my turn to be surprised. Maybe he did have feelings for me like I did for him. Or did he just want to know about Lettie’s family?
“Mostly about your great grandmother,” he admitted.
“Oh.” I was disappointed, but I couldn’t have everything, and he had agreed to talk to me. “So how do we do this?” I asked, quickly following it up with, “And that doesn’t count as question number one.”
“Is there anywhere at your house where I could sit outside while you stay inside? An awning or a ledge or a terrace or something?”
“We’ve got a back porch,” I suggested.
He lifted his eyebrows a little. “Is it screened?”
I shook my head.
“Then that’s no good. Can you think of anything on the second floor? I’d prefer to be up high, if possible.”
“There’s a roof over the porch that actually comes up to my bedroom window. It’s pretty sturdy. I tan out there sometimes.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you there.” And then he was gone. He didn’t exactly evaporate or anything; he just moved so quickly that, in the dark, it was hard for my eyes to follow him. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but I thought maybe he rose up into the air.
I drove about two blocks before I got the shakes so bad I had to pull over. What was I doing? I’d just invited an admitted vampire to meet me at my house. That was insane. I had gone completely insane. For almost two weeks, I had done nothing but obsess over Jessie. And once I had his attention, I was freaking out because there was a good chance he might kill me.
But I didn’t really think that would happen. Not really. I mean, he fought Viktor to save me and told me how to escape the castle and sent Viggo t
o help me because he knew I wouldn’t leave Blossom behind. Those are all things someone does because they want you to be alive and happy, not dead and drained of all your blood.
I could blow him off and go hide at Blossom’s for the rest of the night. I knew immediately that would never work. He could still find me whenever he wanted me, and breaking a date with a vampire probably wasn’t a healthy idea. And what if I didn’t meet him? What then? Would I ever be able to push away all the questions that were filling my brain? Would I ever get another good night’s sleep? Would I be forever condemned to being a straight A student just to keep my head clear of thoughts of him? No, no matter how frightened I was, I had come this far. I had to meet him. I had to talk to him. Not speaking to him had been torture enough.
I pulled into the garage and made sure no one was in there with me before I closed the door and got out of the car. Mom greeted me from the living room where she was enjoying a bowl of popcorn and watching TV. “Want to join me?” she asked. “There’s a John Hughes marathon on.”
“What’s on now?” I asked, just to appear interested.
“Beethoven’s 2nd.”
I made a face. She knew I really didn’t like movies about big, slobbery dogs. “I’ve still got some homework to finish up. If they show Breakfast Club, record it for me, and we’ll watch it tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She went back to her snacking.
Upstairs, I went into the bathroom first to give my hair a quick brush and to freshen my lip gloss. I didn’t usually wear a lot of makeup on a daily basis, but I felt it was a good time to throw on some eyeliner and a bit of blush.
Feeling spruced, I headed for my bedroom, my legs trembling a bit beneath me. I opened my window and looked out. The porch roof was empty. He wasn’t there. My heart plummeted into my belly.
