Vampires Drink Tomato Juice

by K. M. Shea

  I muttered before stalking across the hallway and sitting down, pulling my knees tight against my chest.

  Dave ignored my sulk and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small thermos. After popping the cap off, he took a sniff of his tomato juice and gagged. “This stuff is unfit for human consumption,” he complained.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But you aren’t human.”

  Dave shot me a wounded look, his flaming eyebrows crawling down his face, which only emphasized his retreating hairline. “Morgan, I called you out here to see if you were okay.”

  I laughed. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay? Today, I get to leave all of this stupid drama behind me.”

  Dave took a sip of his tomato and scrunched his face up. “Nasty stuff,” he muttered before turning back towards me. “Look here, young lady. I know that miserable werewolf hurt you, but if you don’t want to give this up, you need to put your pride aside for a minute and tell me that.”

  “Why? I didn’t think it mattered whether I wanted to be hypnotized or not,” I said, playing with a pre-ripped hole in my jeans.

  “It does,” Dave insisted. “The MBRC isn’t full of horrid despots, little mortal. If you wanted to stay on, I’m sure Dr. Creamintin could appeal your case.”

  I took a deep breath and mindlessly stared at the door to the Spanish classroom. Not get hypnotized? I hadn’t thought much of it…to remember the cyclopes, and Doggy, and Corona, even Aristotle, Devin, and Dave!

  And then I remembered Frey’s nasty scowl as I left the room with Dave. “No,” I firmly decided. “I want to forget.”

  “I hope you aren’t biting off your nose just to spite your face,” Dave observed. “I’m very sorry for what Frey did, but I can’t help but think that you are being just as petty as he.”

  I was, but I would never admit it. To me, at that moment, Frey had hurt me enough that I wanted to forget about the dragons, fairies, and magic.

  “So, you didn’t have anything you wanted me to make copies of?” I asked, pushing myself into a standing position.

  Dave waved his hand in a negative before taking another sip of tomato juice and grimacing. “That was all, Miss Morgan.”

  “Right,” I said, walking towards the door.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be seeing you again before you are hypnotized.”

  I stopped by the door.

  “It was a very fun experience, having you at the MBRC,” Dave kindly smiled, his pale skin creasing with the gesture. “I shall miss you on our train rides.”

  “Thanks,” I awkwardly said, reaching out to grab the doorknob.

  “And, Morgan,” Dave paused before speaking again. “I do hope, for your sake, that the hypnotizing helps.”

  “It will,” I said, my voice as hard as rock. I opened the door and strolled back inside, leaving Dave alone with his tomato juice thermos propped up on his belly.

  At the end of the day, Frey was waiting for me at my locker.

  “Let’s go,” he barked.

  “No. I’m putting my books away first. Then we can go,” I said, spinning the dial on the lock.

  Everything about getting to the MBRC was awkward. Walking to the train station was awkward. (Frey walked about ten feet in front of me, and neither of us made any attempt at conversation.) Waiting for the train was awkward. (I stood as far away from him as I could while still standing on the right platform.) The train ride was awkward. (Frey and I sat in separate seats, staring out our windows.) Arriving at the MBRC was awkward. (Tiny started to greet Frey and me before catching on to our arctic moods.)

  In fact, my back was tight with agitation by the time we reached Dr. Creamintin’s office.

  Dr. Creamintin, who was talking with the mermaid secretary, looked up when we entered. “Morgan, Frey, is today the day already?” Dr. Creamintin inquired.

  “Yep,” I said, forcing a smile across my lips.

  “Yes,” Frey said, a smug smile etched in his face. I wanted to snap his lanky body in half right then and there.

  Dr. Creamintin’s cloud-like eyebrows rose at the differences in our response before checking his schedule. “Aisis is waiting in the second room.”

  “Aren’t you coming with?” I asked, pausing by the desk as Frey started out for our assigned room.

  Dr. Creamintin shook his head. “I don’t do hypnotizing. I would only get in the way. Thank you, Morgan, for all you’ve done here,” Dr. Creamintin said, offering me a hand.

  I took it, and he squeezed the living daylights out of my hand. “No, thank you. I don’t think I’ve done that much at all,” I said.

  Dr. Creamintin shook his head. “That’s wrong, but I guess we’ll never be able to convince you,” he said with a rueful smile.

  “Morgan,” Frey called.

  “I’m COMING,” I snapped at the werewolf. I gave one more pleasant smile to Dr. Creamintin and Felisha. “Thank you. For everything,” I said before walking after Frey.

  Frey opened the door to the examination room and followed me inside.

  Aisis, my hypnotizer—who also happened to be a siren—was seated in a chair, going over notes.

  I was all prepared to meet a bird babe decked out in a leather bikini or something equally as gaudy. Aisis, just like Dave the chubby vampire, Nick the handsome cyclops, and Frey the not sweet and not buff werewolf, put legends to shame.

  She wore a white lab coat that swaddled her frame like a baggy bathrobe and square-framed glasses that were just wrong for her. Her gorgeous red hair was pulled back in a bun so tight it pulled her eyebrows up, and her smile was sweet, not at all seductive.

  The only hints I had that Aisis was a siren were her nails, which were quite long and claw-like, and the wings nestled on her back. But they weren’t even hawk wings; they were pigeon wings. I am not kidding. Pigeon wings that, when tucked up and folded, were nearly as big as Aisis herself.

  I burned to pull her hair out of the bun and break her glasses. She could be so pretty if she just tried!

  “Good afternoon, Frey. And you must be Miss Morgan L. Fae,” Aisis smiled before half-scolding Frey. “Frey, you gave me a heart attack when I saw her name. I thought for sure you were making me hypnotize one of King Arthur’s relatives!”

  I rolled my eyes—I was dealt Morgan La Fae witch jokes enough in real life to know what she was alluding to. “My godmother is a professor, and she got a real kick out of naming me Morgan,” I explained.

  “Well, Morgan, it’s very nice to meet you—although I wish it was under different circumstances. I’m Dr. Aisis Ligeia. I will be handling your hypnotizing today. Do you have any questions before we start?” Aisis asked, pushing her horrid square lenses (they really didn’t work with her face shape) up her button nose.

  “Am I going to remember any of my normal life from the last two weeks? Will I recognize Dave?” I asked.

  “Those are good questions. No, you will not remember Dave, or Frey for that matter. However, you will remember all of your normal life from the past few days. The only things I will tamper with are your memories of the MBRC and anything magical. The details of the last two weeks will feel hazy, but you will be completely relaxed and at rest. Nothing will strike you as being odd. In fact, you won’t be able to even tell that we’ve modified your memories. Hypnotizing is not an upsetting process,” Aisis smiled.

  “How does it work?” I inquired.

  “First, I will lull you into a state of relaxation with my voice. I’m a siren, so singing is the most powerful tool I have,” Aisis smiled, self consciously brushing off her white lab coat with her clawed hands. (This motion made me realize she had a few red feathers at the bottom of her hairline on her neck.)

  “Then, I will discuss your memories with you and begin covering them up. Hypnotizing doesn’t remove the memories; it pastes over them, like putting wallpaper over an old coat of paint,” Aisis explained. “I do this all using my voice. Frey is concerned you may break through the memories, so today I’ll herd your brain int
o a continuous loop, which will make it easier to cover your memories.”

  I nodded and wiped my sweaty palms off on my jeans as I leaned back against the wall, completely ignoring Frey, who was in the corner a few feet away from me.

  “Do you have any more questions?” Aisis asked.

  I exhaled and swallowed before cheerfully replying, “Nope!”

  “Great. Hop up on the bed, and we’ll begin,” Aisis said as she dug into the pockets of her lab coat.

  I uneasily seated myself on the examination bed, my legs hanging over the edge.

  I fiercely scrubbed at my jeans with my palms, trying not to think about what was going to happen. No matter how much I wanted to forget everything, the idea that someone was going to mess with my mind was not reassuring.

  “Morgan,” Frey started.

  I looked up and met his green eyes.

  He opened and closed his mouth several times, clearly searching for words.

  “Frey? Here, you’ll need these earplugs so you don’t hear my song,” Aisis said, passing the werewolf a set of wax earplugs.

  Frey took them in his hands and stared at them for a moment before finally speaking to me again. “Bye,” he mumbled before placing the earplugs in his ear.

  “Are you comfortable, Morgan?” Aisis asked, standing in front of me, her hands clasped.

  I wiggled on the examination table. “Yeah.”

  “Good,” Aisis nodded before turning to Frey. She flicked her thumbs up. Frey returned the gesture. “Okay, let’s get started. Now, Morgan, I want you to listen to my singing, please. Don’t worry; this will all be over in a few minutes,” Aisis said before launching into a song.

  It didn’t have any words, the song that is, but it was beautiful. It was unearthly. I suspect only angels would be able to outperform Aisis. Her voice was haunting and alluring. I didn’t want her to stop singing, ever! Her pitch rolled and tolled, stretching high and low. I found myself relaxing, and when she changed songs, I was a goner.

  Beautiful singing, sounds like a lullaby.

  “Morgan, listen to the sound of my voice.”

  “…forget it all…”

  “….MBRC…..forget”

  The voice came in and out of focus, like a radio station.

  “Have no memories of magic.”

  No memories…

  “You will never, ever, remember meeting Dave Smith or Frey Christenson….”

  Dave? Frey? Who were they?

  “Morgan,” someone said, shaking me.

  “Mm,” I muttered.

  “Morgan, come on! I want to go home.”

  Ugh. It was Michael.

  “MORGAN!” my brother shouted, savagely pulling my hair.

  “I’m awake!” I snarled, shooting out of the desk I was folded in. I blinked, wiping the sleep away from my eyes before yawning.

  “Come on. Football practice is over. I want to get home so I can shower and go out tonight, and we’re late,” Michael said, already halfway across the Spanish room.

  I rubbed at the crick in my neck and gazed around the room.

  “I couldn’t find you anywhere, and you weren’t answering your cell phone! I probably wouldn’t have found you, but I ran into some guy who said you were napping in the Spanish classroom. What were you doing in here anyway?”

  I thoughtfully gazed at the ceiling as I followed my older brother out of the Spanish classroom, dragging my backpack behind me. What was I doing in the Spanish room? Maybe I fell asleep while helping Fran with student council duties, and she left me for dead again.

  “Do you think you could walk a little faster?” Michael called, a ways down the hallway and irritated. I could almost see the veins throbbing in his forehead. “I’m pretty sure Odie’s dead turtle can move faster than you.”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I yawned, lazily shouldering my backpack before trailing after Michael. Man, I was tired.

  The weekend was nice. I finished my homework right away so I could go out with Fran on Saturday and Sunday. We laughed and joked and watched a ton of chick flicks. Fran insisted on watching Eclipse, which shouldn’t be a surprise because she’s a big fan of those books. But oddly, as we watched it, I felt myself growing frustrated…as though I had been misinformed or wrongfully guided about something.

  I returned to school on Monday with much hesitation. I live for weekends. School days are so boring. Everything proceeded like normal until I went to Spanish.

  This chubby guy with a suicidal hairline waltzed into our class instead of Mrs. Allen. “Good afternoon class!” he sang, which was oddly disturbing. He was so white, if I placed a marshmallow on his skin, I probably wouldn’t be able to find it again.

  I stared at him, my eyebrows furrowing. “Something wrong, Morgan?” one of my friends, Samantha, asked as she headed for her seat.

  “Who is that guy?” I asked, staring at the weird, singing dude.

  Samantha looked at me like I was crazy. “Um, Mr. Smith? Or Señor Smith, I suppose. Our sub for Mrs. Allen?”

  I stared at her, and she shook her head at me.

  “Where have you been for the last two weeks, Morgan, out to lunch?” my other friend, Emily, asked.

  As I observed the pale-skinned teacher while he fumbled madly with notes, I wondered what my friend meant about two weeks.

  I started to look back down at my desk when movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was a guy. A tall, lean guy with a track star’s build. His skin was pale—not the paper shade of the sub’s skin, but more like the white-blue shades of snow. His hair was silver. It was a nearly colorless shade of blonde that can only be achieved with the help of dye, but it glinted in the school’s fluorescent light. His eyes were a vibrant, forest-green color.

  I hadn’t seen him before in my life.

  Oddly, people weren’t really reacting to him. Dani and Toni, the popular girls in our class, didn’t even flutter an eyelash at him. (Which was twisted. Usually they would be all over someone like him in seconds.)

  The silver-haired guy glanced at me and smiled. I actually twisted in my seat to look if there was anyone behind me. There wasn’t.

  The guy plopped down in a seat between Emily and Samantha, as if that was his spot. My friends didn’t react out of the ordinary. They smiled at him and said good morning, acting like they knew him. Or like they were familiar with him.

  I was weirded out.

  But it got worse. During class, we had a partner activity. I headed for Emily and Samantha, because I always work with them. “Hey guys,” I greeted, snagging an empty desk near one of them.

  “Hey, Morgan. You aren’t working with Frey today?” Emily asked, her eyes darting to the silver-haired boy.

  “Who?” I asked. Talk about a weird name.

  “…Frey?” Samantha said, pointing at the silver-haired guy.

  I was about to ask why on earth I would work with him when the guy, Frey, interrupted. “Nah, we’re going to mix it up a little,” he winked. “I’ll work with you today, Samantha.”

  “Fine with me!” Samantha said, pleased to be working with the random hot guy.

  The rest of the class proceeded normally, and when the bell rang, I stormed the halls with my classmates. As soon as I lost sight of the pudgy sub, and the silver-haired guy, my head buzzed.

  “You will never, ever, remember meeting Dave Smith or Frey Christenson….”

  Well, that was weird.

  Monday was dreadfully boring and dull. I didn’t even get to hang out with Fran, who shooed me off after saying she felt sorry for me that I no longer had my after-school job. (What job??)

  I expected slightly better of Tuesday because face it, Monday, the first day back at work or school, sucks.

  It didn’t exactly disappoint me.

  When Michael and I got out in the student parking lot, we had to walk along the school Peace Garden. Normally, this place is abandoned until lunch time, when some of the skaters and goths come outside to eat lunch. Bu
t this morning, there was a guy standing at the edge of the garden. A hot guy.

  He was definitely older than Michael. He was probably in college, most likely some senior girl’s boyfriend or someone’s older brother. He was dressed too cool to be a student teacher. His hair was a beautiful, luxurious black color with body in it most girls would kill for.

  In spite of his hotness, my hand just itched to smack him, which was weird because I am not a violent person. He glanced at Michael and me, and when our eyes met, he smiled, holding my gaze. His eyes were a hypnotic mixture of yellow and gold, like a pale moon.

  He nodded at me as my brother and I walked past him, and I actually stopped for a moment. (He was that hot!)

  “Morgan, come on,” Michael growled. “You said you had a dictionary in your locker, right? I want to borrow it. So can we please get to your locker before the bell rings?” he said in his snotty, superior older brother voice.

  “I’m coming,” I said, rolling my eyes before I hurried after him.

  Tuesday grew even more special because Brett Patterson, my crush since sixth grade, walked with me from my first-hour class to my second-hour class.

  “Did you get the homework done for American Government?” Brett asked, shaking a lock of his mussed hair out of his face.

  “Um, no,” I said, giving him my brightest smile. “I always finish those worksheets right before lunch.”

  “I know, right? They’re so easy,” Brett laughed. “So, how’s Fran?”

  “She’s good. She’s getting ready for the Halloween dance. I think someday her student council responsibilities are going to drive her over the edge.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes it’s hard to think that Fran, the same Fran who ate peanut butter and pickle sandwiches in second grade, is our student council secretary,” Brett said.

  “Especially considering our class size. When we were in elementary school, there were only thirty of us. Now there’s like…four hundred?” I said, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  I was so wrapped up in my conversation with Brett that I almost missed someone calling my name.