by Marta Acosta
He angled the beam of the flashlight on the uneven soil of the path. I stepped carefully in my high heels. The thick fog swirled around us. The wind grabbed at the ends of my cashmere shawl and the branches of the birches thrashed. Other than the porch light, the cottage was dark.
Jack walked with me to the steps of the porch. “Don’t you ever get scared out here by yourself?”
“You asked me that before.”
“I asked you if you got lonely, not scared. Different question.” He clicked off the flashlight and put it in his jacket pocket.
“There are worse things than being alone. There are real dangers and I’d rather be aware of them than oblivious, even when they frighten me.” We stood still, facing each other, and his face grew serious.
“You are a strange and remarkable little creature, aren’t you, Jane?” The wind whipped my hair across my face and Jack reached over to me and brushed my hair back. Then he held his warm palms against my cheeks. “You’re very fierce and very beautiful and very brave.”
My skin tingled all over, from the heat of the party and his hands now and the cold wind, causing such turbulent emotions and sensations that I trembled. The world beyond seemed to drop away: Jack and I were alone in this wood and I imagined it stretching on endlessly. There was only us, the rush of the wind in the swaying trees, and this black night.
For a brief moment, I imagined that if I took Jack’s hand in mine, we really would be in a place where the trees lifted their roots and danced in the night, a place where I really was fierce and beautiful and brave. The illusion was so overwhelming that long seconds passed before I could form a sentence. “Do you talk to Hattie this way?”
“No, only you, Halfing. You make me say foolish things. You make me think impossible things.”
“That’s why I never believe a word you say.”
Jack sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. “Here is a word you can believe. I found it for you, a word that’s like music. Susurration.”
“Susurration.” The word tasted like wind in my mouth.
“Aren’t you going to ax me what it means?”
I was so relieved he was openly teasing again that I played along. “What do it mean?”
“A whispering sound. Listen.”
We were silent, but the grove was not. The leaves rustled and sighed and branches crashed and creaked. Jack’s long curly hair flew in the hissing breeze and he looked half-wild, like he belonged here in the woods, and I thought of his song, of him running through the forest after his elusive Titania. I thought of him as Pan, the Greek god of music and love and the woods.
I became lost again, staring in his green eyes and listening to the wind swirling and eddying around us.
My thoughts and feelings were so unlike me that I wondered if the punch had been spiked. I stepped back. “Susurration. Thank you for the word and the ride. Good night, Jack.”
He gazed at me in such an odd way, as if he were seeing someone other than the Jane Williams that everyone else saw. “Good night, Halfling.”
I unlocked and opened the front door, and I flicked on the light before I stepped into the living room. I shut and locked the door, making sure I was safe from … I didn’t know. I peeked out through the front curtains. Jack stood at the edge of the path. He must have seen me, because he waved before walking away.
He looked so alone that I wanted to call him back. But his solitude was temporary and soon he’d be surrounded by all his friends at the party.
I was the one who was alone.
I unzipped the dress and hung it in the closet, and then placed my new heels neatly beside my other shoes. I put on a cotton tank and pajama pants. The mirror showed me a plain girl with smeared mascara.
When I went into the medicine cabinet to get facial cleanser, I saw the sunscreen there. I unscrewed the cap. It smelled like Lucky so I rubbed some on my skin.
I curled up on the sofa with a comforter because my thoughts were spinning in circles. I had a hundred questions, most of them beginning with why? Why, why, why, why. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but a banging on the door shocked me awake.
“Jane, let me in! It’s me, Lucky! Jane!”
I ran to the door and opened it. Lucky fell into my arms, drunk and laughing.
He felt her sharp kisses upon his white throat, and he knew that her lips were red. So the wild dream sped on through twilight and darkness and moonrise, and all the glory of the summer’s night. But in the chilly dawn he lay as one half dead upon the mound down there, recalling and not recalling, drained of his blood, yet strangely longing to give those red lips more.
F. Marion Crawford, “For the Blood Is the Life” (1911)
Chapter 19
“Jane, you’re awake!”
“I am now,” I said as I helped Lucky inside and he collapsed onto the sofa.
He smelled of beer and cigarettes. He slurred when he said, “Why’d you leave?”
I sat on the chair facing him and crossed my arms over my breasts. “You should know—you were there. Or you were until you walked away.”
“That’s because Jack could handle it. Stupid Sage, what a wannabe.” He made a scoffing sound and began coughing.
I went to the kitchen, filled a glass with tap water, and carried it to him. He swallowed several gulps. He tried to set down the glass on the coffee table, but missed. Before it hit the floor, before it even sloshed over, he caught it. He put it down more carefully. “Jane, come over here.”
I sat on the far side of the sofa. His hair was tousled and the different shades of gold, honey, and amber caught in the soft lamplight. His cheeks were flushed and his lovely lips were slightly open. Even drunk, Lucky was dazzling.
“Janey, are you mad at me?” When he took my hand, I jerked away even though all I wanted was his touch.
“You completely ignored me.”
“I said hi. You saw how they can be.”
“Yes, but I don’t care what they think!”
“I do, and I’m protecting you.” He leaned toward me. “I’m protecting us.”
“There is no us. I don’t even know what you want from me.”
“I’ll show you what I want.” He fumbled with his jacket and brought out a gold penknife, similar to Hattie’s.
I jumped off the sofa and skipped back, out of his range. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Don’t be scared, Janey. I only want to have a blood oath with you. It’ll only be a drop or two.”
“Why?”
“To seal us, Lucky and Jane. You can even do it yourself, if it makes you feel safer. Come here, baby.”
I wanted there to be an us.
“Don’t you trust me, Jane?” He held out the knife and said, “Here, take it.”
I wanted to trust him just as I had wanted to believe that there was nothing between him and Catalina. I sat beside him and accepted the penknife. “What do you want me to do?”
“Prick your finger. That’s all.” He held my forefinger steady.
I counted silently to three and jabbed the point of the knife into my fingertip.
He squeezed the flesh until a bead of shiny crimson blood welled up.
Lucky raised my finger up and into his mouth, biting down on the nick and pressing his tongue against it. I dropped the knife on the coffee table as he sucked. I gasped and his arm went around my waist and jerked me hard to him. My body thrummed with desire, and a moan came from low in Lucky’s throat.
After minutes, he let my finger slide out of his hot, slick mouth. “Jane, you’re delicious.” His eyes shone with excitement.
He picked up the knife again and then pulled me so easily that I nearly flew off the sofa. “Come on.” He led me to the bedroom, turned on the lamp by the bed, and dropped the knife on the bedside table. He yanked off his jacket and dropped it on the floor.
He caught my hand as he fell back on the bed, seeming huge in the small room, and he drew me down on the mattress. When he rolled o
n top of me, I savored the crushing weight of him, the solidity of his body. I thought that now he might kiss me, but his mouth never went to mine.
His face tucked in toward my neck. His warm lips were on my throat, at first nipping gently, in a way that made me crazy with desire for more. I wanted his hands to caress me, to taste his tongue in my mouth. I wanted him to hold my face in his hands and to gaze into my eyes like … like …
And then Lucky bit harder.
I shoved his chest. “No, that hurts!”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. He propped himself up on one elbow and placed his broad, sweaty hand palm down above my breasts. I waited for his fingers to move under my clothes, but he only said, “You’re as small as a bird. I can feel your heart pounding.”
He stroked the inside of my arm, making my whole body quiver. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.
“No.”
“It’ll nick for only a second, a small cut. I need you so much, Jane. Can’t you tell how I need you?” His lips went to my inner arm and his nips were gentle but urgent. My skin flushed and my breathing quickened. “Won’t you let me have a few drops?”
“Why? Tell me why?”
“I like the taste. I need the taste. It’s my strangeness and I can’t share with anyone but you. It’s what we have. It’s our secret, Jane.”
He seemed so vulnerable and his desire was overwhelming. It surrounded me like fog so impenetrable that I couldn’t see anything but the desire. “Please, Jane, please.”
“Okay,” I said, and closed my eyes.
I flinched as the knife pierced the tender skin on the inside of my elbow. Lucky latched his mouth over the cut.
Outside the wind grew loud, howling through the trees, and branches lashed against the cottage as Lucky sucked at the wound, opening the cut more with his perfect white teeth, his persistent tongue pushing into me.
I wove my fingers into his thick golden hair and when he shoved his body against me, I could feel his excitement, but Lucky’s lust was for my blood. I tried to take pleasure from the strength of his body, from the fact that he was here now with me, Jane Williams, instead of any other girl. But the sharpness of his teeth made me squirm, and the trees beat so violently against the windows that I thought the glass would shatter.
I wanted to block out everything outside this room and this moment. I pressed my face against his shoulder. I tried to touch inside his shirt, but he shoved my hand away and sucked harder at the cut.
Then Lucky groaned and shuddered. When he raised his head from my arm, blood was smeared on his lips. He licked at them with his red-streaked tongue. Then he laughed wildly. “That was incredible!” His eyes were half-shut, like a cat dozing off. He rolled onto his back, crowding me against the edge of the bed, and passed out.
I eased off his shoes and his belt and covered him with a blanket. I thought I’d never seen anyone so perfect. I stroked his hair and traced my fingers along his cheek. The wind had died down and the trees made a sad, low shush-shush-shush.
A buzzing woke me about four A.M. I found Lucky’s phone in his jacket pocket and Jack’s picture was on the screen. He was probably wondering where his brother was, and I didn’t click on the video because I didn’t want him to see me like this. “Hi, Jack. It’s Jane.”
“He’s with you? Let me talk to him,” Jack said sharply.
“He showed up and he’s sleeping now.”
“I can’t believe you let him in. I thought you were smarter than that.”
“He’s my friend.”
“What kind of a friend? The kind who blows you off in public and then shows up for a … whatever. Why are you letting him use you, Jane?”
“It’s none of your damn business, Jack, how I choose my friends and what I do with them.” I felt myself flush with anger and something that felt like shame.
Jack was silent for a moment. “Let him sleep it off and I’ll cover with my parents.” He hung up without saying good-bye.
I thought of snooping through the phone, but Lucky had said he needed someone to trust. As I stretched to place the phone on the bed table, I saw the ugly red-purple wound on my arm. It was mostly bruising, but there was the bright red ragged edge of the cut. I went to the bathroom, washed the cut, and dressed it with a Band-Aid.
I returned to the bedroom and slipped under the blanket beside Lucky. I was too shy to put my arm around him, so I let my leg lie against his. Then I clicked off the light and listened to his steady breathing.
* * *
I woke to see Lucky sitting on the bed beside me. My blanket had fallen down to my waist.
“Morning, Jane.” He was fresh and bright-eyed even though he’d had only a few hours’ sleep.
“Morning.”
He pushed the strap of my tank off my shoulder. “What’s this?” He touched my scar and I jerked away.
“I had an accident when I was little.” I pulled the blanket up to my neck.
“It’s not that bad. You should see my friend Brad’s leg. Crashed into a rock snowboarding and needed forty stitches. Now that’s something.” Lucky put on his jacket and shoved his phone in the pocket.
“Jack called while you were sleeping. He said he’d cover to your parents.”
“Thanks. But don’t answer it again. I’ll handle my calls.”
I shrugged. “Whatever. Jack doesn’t like our … our friendship. He knows about your secret, doesn’t he?”
Lucky took my hand and stretched out my arm, looking at the bandage. “Hope I wasn’t too rough. I got carried away.”
“Have you done that with anyone else? Anyone here?”
“No, but I’ve thought a lot about it. Maybe I mentioned something to Jack about wanting to do it.” He put down my arm reluctantly. “I gotta go. I can’t wait until the next time.”
“Lucky.” I paused and then said carefully, “Do you think you’re a vampire?”
“A vampire? The undead kind that sleeps in coffins and is hundreds of years old?” His laugh seemed forced. “No, I don’t think I’m a vampire. Do you think I’m a vampire?”
“Of course not, but I thought you might believe it. You always wear sunscreen and…”
“Multispectrum sunblock, not sunscreen. I sunburn worse than an albino.”
“Did you get the idea from the stories your mother teaches?”
“Jane, it’s a total turnoff when you bring up my mother. This is between us. I thought you liked it, too.”
“I like being with you, not the hurting part.”
“We’ll figure out a way so it doesn’t hurt, so you can enjoy it, our secret.” He walked out of the room.
I followed him to the living room. I wanted him to kiss me good-bye at least, but he patted my head. “Later,” he said, and left.
I went back to bed and raised the comforter over my head because I wanted to think over every second of my night with Lucky, from the moment he’d stumbled into the cottage to the way he’d told me he needed me, to the heat of his mouth on my arm.
One thing I’d learned going from all my foster homes: everyone had secrets that they hid. Some were dangerous, while others were silly. Lucky hadn’t hurt me, not really. He hadn’t done anything without my permission.
He’d heard vampire stories all his life and he’d wanted to experience the power and sensuality of taking another’s blood.
And, of all the girls at Birch Grove, Lucian Radcliffe had chosen me. He’d trusted me alone to understand his strangeness. I wouldn’t betray him.
“Arrayed in humble weeds she offered herself as a domestic to the consort of her beloved, and was accepted. She was now continually in his presence: She strove to ingratiate herself into his favour: She succeeded. Her attentions attracted Julian’s notice; the virtuous are ever grateful, and he distinguished Matilda above the rest of her companions … yet she wished not for Julian’s person, she ambitioned but a share of his heart.”
Matthew Gregory Lewis, The Monk (1796)
Chapter 20
&
nbsp; Mary Violet called and invited me for a “post-soiree shenanigans review” with Hattie and Constance. I dressed in my cargos and a long-sleeved shirt that covered the Band-Aid on my inner elbow. I put my library books and borrowed clothes in a tote, and walked through the cool morning mist thinking about Lucky.
I daydreamed while Mary Violet gave a detailed recitation of clothes, hookups, and mishaps, and Constance and Hattie sent texts and pictures to their friends.
“Here’s a nice pic of Lucky.” Constance handed around her phone to show us. I wanted to ask her for a copy of it. “You left too soon, JW. Even though everyone’s saying that Sage was her usual odious self.”
Hattie said, “I can’t believe I wasn’t there when Jack shamed her.”
“Jane, you should have yanked her hair out,” Mary Violet said. “The boys are crazy for catfights.”
The image of Jack standing up to Sage intruded on my thoughts of Lucky. “Yeah, Jack was kinda cool stepping up like that.”
“He’s such a beast when he’s playing,” Mary Violet said. “Not glamorous like Lucky, but he’s totally the business. That song he wrote for Hattie was sooo romantic!”
As the others gossiped, I rubbed my thumb across the inside of my elbow, feeling the bandage under the fabric and the ache of the wound. After breakfast, Mary Violet walked me to the front door. “You should stay and do your work here. I’ll tell you more about last night.”
“There is something I want to know. Well, two things. Did you tell Catalina my nickname?”
She blanched and said, “No, never! I promised you and I keep my promises.”
“I’m sorry, but … she called me a little mouse.”
Mary Violet’s pale eyebrows knit together. “Maybe she was referring to the story of the city mouse and the country mouse since you’re new here. What’s your other question?”
“What did the king’s fool do in Shakespeare?”
“The fool is the only one who’s allowed to tell the king the truth about things, but he has to do it in a joking way. He’s protected by the king unless he goes too far and then he’s exiled to some godforsaken place. Why?”
