Blood Type

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Blood Type Page 6

by Melissa Luznicky Garrett


  I sprinted down the hall and into the bathroom, barricading the door behind me. The knock came a few seconds later. I raced toward the tub and turned on the water as high as it could go.

  “Sorry, but I’m a little indisposed at the moment!”

  “Blake Edwards Ehlert,” my mother said, pounding on the door with each word. “We need to talk. Right now!”

  I cringed. It was bad enough my parents had named me after some movie director who not only happened to be dead, but also a man. Fortunately, no one except Olivia and Zach knew my middle name. Everyone else just assumed my parents were cool and trendy, which was so not the case.

  “What? I can’t hear you,” I said, climbing into the tub and sinking below the quickly rising water.

  “I said we need to talk, Missy! You have some explaining to do, and you’re being rude!”

  She must have been really mad. Mom only ever called me ‘Missy’ when she was furious.

  I nudged the spigot with my toe as hot as I could stand it. I needed this bath to last as long as possible, because that was one conversation I was not looking forward to having.

  Unfortunately, the water didn’t stay hot forever and eventually I had to get out. Also, my fingers and toes looked alarmingly like raisins.

  Mom was in my room, waiting to ambush me when I got back. She still had on her nice slacks and heels, one leg draped over the other and bobbing up and down in an expectant manner.

  “Since I doubt you’re actually sick,” she said, “I didn’t go to the trouble of preparing your soup. You can fix your own dinner tonight.”

  I removed the towel from my head and let my wet hair cascade down my back. I opened the top drawer of my vanity and rummaged for the wide-tooth comb.

  “Whatever.” I gathered the bulk of my thick and unruly hair in one hand to begin working out the tangles from the ends up. It was a job.

  “Don’t be like that, Blake. You know I don’t like when you use that word or tone of voice.”

  I had to consciously repress the urge to say whatever again. “I’m sorry.”

  “And can you please look at me when I’m speaking to you.” It came out as an order; not a question.

  I turned around so I was at least facing her, but very passive-aggressively gave my hair the better part of my attention. “I suppose you want to know what happened with Zach.”

  Mom uncrossed her legs and raised her eyebrows. “I think that’s the logical place to start.”

  I shrugged. “We broke up.”

  She sighed loudly. “I gathered that. What I want to know is why?”

  I rolled my eyes and went back to my vanity for the bottle of moisturizer. I had just had a variation of this same conversation with Zach and Olivia. I was not going to rehash it again with my mother, of all people.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. All I did was tell him I need a little space to think things over. He understands.”

  Mom laughed, but it wasn’t a funny, ha-ha sort of laugh. “He understands? Helen told me Zach’s been in his room crying since this afternoon. Crying, Blake!”

  I very uncharitably thought it wasn’t my fault that Zach was being overly sensitive. “I’m sorry that I hurt his feelings,” I said as I rubbed moisturizer onto my arms. “But we’ve been together since freshman year, Mom. Haven’t you ever considered that I might want to date other guys?”

  Her eyes widened. “Is there another guy?”

  I slammed the bottle on the vanity. “Holy biscuits, Mom! Why does everyone think there’s another guy?”

  “Well is there?”

  I went to my walk-in closet to hunt for my slippers, but more so my mom couldn’t see the guilt I knew must be written all over my face. “I am so not talking about this,” I said as I disappeared between the racks of clothes.

  “Is there?” she repeated, with more insistence this time.

  I leaned against the wall where she couldn’t see me and took a deep breath.

  “Blake. Answer me.”

  I shoved my feet in my slippers and charged back into my room. “So what if there is? What’s the big deal?”

  Mom reeled back as though I had slapped her. “What’s the big deal? I’ll tell you what the big deal is. There’s a boy with a broken heart, for one. For another . . .” Her face crumpled and she took a moment to compose herself, as though she might be the one to start crying. “For another, I already put a down payment on that wedding dress you liked.”

  My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it. “Have you completely lost your mind? I am seventeen years old, Mother. I have no plans to get married anytime soon. We looked at dresses on a lark, as a,” I flailed my arms as I struggled to find the word, “a mother-daughter bonding experience. Or whatever it was.”

  “I thought we had fun together.”

  “That’s just it, Mom. It was only for fun.” I put my fingers to my temples and began massaging in small circles. “I really need you to get out of my room before my head explodes all over the place.”

  “We’re not done tal—”

  I stamped my foot and leveled my gaze at her. Then I went to my bedroom door and yanked it open, making a sweeping gesture toward the exit. “We are done. We can talk about this later. I really do have a headache, so I would appreciate it if you left me alone now.”

  Mom got up, all the fire having gone out of her. She smoothed the palms of her hands down the front of her slacks. “All right. If that’s what you want.”

  I closed and locked the door behind my mother’s retreating form. Then I crossed my room and opened the balcony doors to allow the fresh summer air inside. There was still a bit of light left to the day. I dragged a chair out to my private balcony and sat down, willing the sun to set on what had been one of the longest, and strangest, days of my life.

  October 27

  John took a deep breath, his shoulders heaving up and down. “Ian did. He’s the one who sp—” He took another breath. “He’s the one who thought my life was worth saving.”

  “Ian.” My voice choked out in a hoarse whisper. I cleared my throat, trying to regain my crumbling composure. Of all the vampires . . . I should have guessed. “And how is the little leech these days?”

  John reached for my hand under the blanket and squeezed. “Very sorry for what he did.”

  The tears spilled over onto my cheeks and I rubbed my dripping nose on the edge of the blanket. “Not half as sorry as I am.”

  “Blake—”

  I turned on him. “If you care so much about me, why is he still around? Why haven’t you gotten rid of him?”

  John closed his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head, the muscles of his jaw working as he thought how to answer. Finally, he met my eyes. “Because I can’t, Blake. He came to me for help. I’m all he has now.”

  Based on what John had just told me about vampires, it didn’t take long to figure out what he meant. “Because it’s illegal,” I said, using his word, “to take someone’s blood against their will. He’s in trouble.”

  “It’s regarded as base and crude; something only the lowest of the low do. It’s happens,” John conceded, “but troublemakers don’t go unnoticed for long.”

  “You said he came to you for help. What he did to me, has he done that before?”

  John’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “The last one wasn’t as lucky as you.”

  I gasped. “Lucky? Lucky!”

  John put his hand against my mouth. “Shh! Keep your voice down.” He glanced around and, satisfied no one was paying any attention to us, said, “Ian created me. We share a bond unlike any other, even though he drives me crazy half the time. What did you expect me to do, turn him away? They’re looking for him in New York. If he shows his face back there, he’s as good as dead.”

  I shoved his hand away. “And why aren’t they looking for him here? Doesn’t anyone in your world care about what happened to me?”

  “No one knows what he did.”

  I clenched my teeth until my jaw hurt. �
�I don’t care if he’s the one who created you, John. The fact remains he’s dangerous. At the very least he should be . . . locked up, or . . . institutionalized, or . . . whatever it is you guys do to miscreant vampires.”

  My wild gesticulations managed to attract the attention of an older couple walking by just then. John cupped his hand under my armpit and stood, yanking me to my feet alongside him. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  I yanked my arm free and took a step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  “Is everything okay?” asked the woman, approaching us with caution.

  “Leave,” said John in a tone I had never heard him use before. The couple walked away at once, no questions asked and without another look back.

  I watched them disappear and then shoved the jacket at his chest saying, “Here. You can keep this. I don’t want it. And I definitely don’t want your help.”

  I pivoted on my heel and started making my way back to my car, but John grabbed my arm again before I’d managed to make it even five feet.

  “You don’t know what they do to vampires like him, but I do. And he doesn’t deserve it.”

  I stopped in my tracks, spinning to face him. “He doesn’t deserve it? What do you mean, he doesn’t deserve it?”

  “It was my fault for not having enough of a supply in the house. His needs are much greater than mine. He didn’t know what he was doing when he attacked you. He wasn’t in control of himself.”

  An angry flush rose in my cheeks. “And you think being hungry makes what he did to me okay?”

  “No, of course not,” John said. “It’s only that . . . he’s not bad. Most of the vampires who attack people are scum. They have no moral compass. But he does!”

  I held up my hand to stop him. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re telling me there are vampires with an actual moral compass?”

  He gave me a look as though my words had personally wounded him. “Blake, they can’t find out.”

  July 29

  Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries invaded my dreams that morning. I burrowed further under my down comforter and pulled the pillow over my head, wishing that the idiot calling at such a god-awful hour would hang up already and let me get some sleep. The music cut off finally, and I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter with the hope of falling back to sleep.

  I had just started to drift off when the ringtone blared again. I groaned. “For the love of . . . Shut up.” Then realizing the only way to make it stop was to just answer the darn phone, I threw back the covers and fumbled for the cell on my nightstand, nearly dropping it.

  “Ehlert residence.” My voice came out gravelly and deep with sleep. I cleared my throat and tried again. “How may I help you?”

  My parents had drilled the greeting into my head when I was five years old, seeing as how lots of prospective clients called for my mom, and it had become an automatic response to putting the phone to my ear. Only belatedly did I remember I had answered my personal cell and not the family landline.

  “Is this Blake?”

  I looked at the clock and did a double-take at the time. Had I really slept so long? Surely it couldn’t be almost eleven! My head swam as I tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I combed my fingers through my hair, preemptively working out the tangles before my morning shower.

  “This is she. Who’s calling?” In my sleepy haze, I didn’t recognize the voice.

  “John Kelly. Have you forgotten about me already?”

  My eyes widened. As if. When I didn’t answer right away he said, “I bought you lunch. I took you home. We shared one hell of a kiss. Any of that ring a bell?”

  I stood up at once, nearly falling over when the blood drained suddenly from my head. Yesterday had seemed like a dream. A nightmare, actually. Or at least the part where I broke up with my boyfriend did. I sank back to the bed so that I wouldn’t inadvertently knock myself unconscious by fainting.

  “John. Hi. Of course I remember. How did you get my number?”

  “You programmed it into my phone. Remember?”

  I smacked my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Right.” Then I reached for the glass of water on my nightstand and downed its contents in three large gulps. Unable to think of anything else to say, I unfortunately said the first thing that popped into my head. “So why are you calling?”

  “Ouch,” John said, feigning hurt. “And here I was about to compliment you on your impeccable phone manners. I thought we had a fun time.”

  “We did. Honestly, I had lots of fun.” I got up and began making my way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. “It’s just that,” I said, peeking into my parents’ room as I passed. Their bed was already made and the room tidied, although that was nothing unusual. Their room was always tidy. But you could’ve heard a pin drop it was so quiet.

  “It’s just that what?” John prompted.

  “It’s just that I have a boyfriend. Or, had a boyfriend.”

  “Well if it’s the past tense we’re talking about,” John said, “I don’t exactly see what the problem is.”

  I’d momentarily given up using the bathroom and was already on my way down the stairs, intent on finding out where my mom and dad were. They usually reserved Sunday mornings for sipping espresso, eating croissants from the expensive bakery around the corner, and reading the paper with the voices of NPR droning on in the background. But I couldn’t hear anything but my padding footsteps and too-loud voice as it echoed off the walls.

  “The problem is that I broke up with Zach because of you,” I said, without really thinking about what I was saying. I cringed and slapped the palm of my hand against my forehead again. What was my problem?

  “You broke up with your boyfriend because of me?” John said, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice. “You flatter me, Miss Ehlert.”

  “Yes, well.” My parents were definitely not in the living room or kitchen, but I did find a note tacked to the fridge. I scanned the sparse wording: Tried to wake you. Dead to the world. Gone to brunch. Be back later. Mom.

  My mother wrote in fragments only when she was angry, which obviously meant she must still be holding a grudge against me for breaking up with Zach. Good grief, I thought. You’d think I’d ruined her life, or something.

  “I’m sorry. What was I saying?” I said into the phone, my attention momentarily distracted.

  John laughed. “I’m not entirely sure. Listen, how about I swing by and pick you up? We’ll go for a drive. You sound like you need to get away.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Come on,” he coaxed. “All you have to do is say the magic words: I would looove to go out with you, John.”

  A voice in my head screamed that I was making a huge mistake, but there was an even louder voice screaming at it to shut up. The truth was I wanted to see John again.

  “I would looove to go out with you, John.”

  John laughed. “Good. Then get ready. I’ll be there in forty-five.”

  The phone went dead in my hand, and I stood there staring at it like an idiot. “Forty-five minutes,” I said, looking at the clock. I took off at a jog down the hallway and back up the stairs, my sock-clad feet slipping on the hardwood floor. “I can do this.”

  Thankfully I had washed my hair the night before; it usually took close to an hour just to blow my unruly mane straight. But I hopped in the shower for a refresher, and to shave my legs and underarms. Then I cleansed, exfoliated, buffed, moisturized, and plucked until there was not a smudge of oil or unwanted hair anywhere on my body.

  Standing in front of my closet in nothing but my bra and panties, I searched for the perfect outfit that would show off the lean muscles of my arms and legs. Being a cheerleader had its perks, and a great body happened to be one of them.

  Not knowing what John had planned for us, I opted for a pair of mid-thigh khakis and a melon-colored top to accentuate the seasonal darkening of my olive complexion. It was a on
e-sleeved blouse that left a shoulder bared, with a subtle ruffle running the length of the diagonal neckline. “Very feminine, and not at all slutty,” Olivia informed me when I’d held it up for her approval in the department store. I dressed up the outfit with a pair of small diamond studs and matching bracelet.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about my hair in such a short amount of time. I had let it air-dry after last night’s soak, which meant it was a mess of dark curls this morning. Given that John had already seen it at its worst yesterday after getting drenched in the lake, I thought it didn’t really matter. I scooped the bulk of it up in to an intentionally untidy knot, leaving a few wispy tendrils to frame my face. It was the best I could do in such a short amount of time.

  My stomach growled just then, and I remembered I had eaten nothing for dinner the night before. I shoved my feet into a pair of sandals and then rushed down the stairs to the kitchen for a banana and a glass of orange juice.

  I had just finished brushing my teeth and was applying the last of my makeup when the doorbell rang. My heart skipped a beat, and my palms seemed to instantly sprout a leak. I took a deep breath, checked myself in the mirror one last time to make sure I looked okay, and then answered the door.

  “Z-Zach,” I stuttered, too shocked at seeing him to say anything more. In my hurry to get ready for my day out with John, I hadn’t spared Zach a single thought. And considering how we’d left things the night before, he was the last person I expected to see.

  Zach held out a bouquet of sunflowers in front of him. “Hi Blake,” he said, a hint of wary shyness in his voice. “These are for you. You look really nice, by the way.”

  He looked mostly good himself in tan shorts and the navy polo from Banana Republic that my parents had given him for his last birthday. And yet his normally expertly styled hair was a bit disheveled, and his eyes were red and grainy looking, like he’d been up half the night.

  I took the flowers from him and laid them on the table just inside the foyer. “Thanks, Zach. They’re really pretty. But, um, what are you doing here?”

 

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