A Beginner's Guide to Fangs

by Matthew S. Cox

  Sophia points at me. “Sarah can make me forget it if I get bad dreams.”

  “No way, kiddo.” I hold up my hands. “You guys are off limits to the weird stuff.”

  Anxiety in Mom’s posture fades. “All right.”

  Soon, we’re all on the couch, except for Sam, who’s in his room upstairs with his friends. Sophia insists on planting herself between Dad and me. She’s wearing her new nightgown, some amazingly soft felt-like material in pale pink. She’s also painted her nails a blinding shade of fuchsia. Sierra, not a fan of frilly, is swimming in her Adventure Time PJs. She’ll probably be able to wear them until she’s fourteen. If she jumps too hard, those pants are falling straight off her.

  Dad approaches The Archive, what he calls his shelf full of eighties movies. With the exception of foreign films, I think he’s got everything produced from 1980 through 1990 in there, even the obscure ones like Strange Brew and Buckaroo Banzai.

  Once he finds the DVD, Dad loads it up and our enormous television comes to life.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” says Dad as he resumes his place on the couch.

  “What’s it about?” asks Sophia.

  “Vampires,” I say. “But they’re the bad guys.”

  “But you’re not a bad guy.” Sophia grins.

  “Some vampires are.” Sierra shifts to lean against Dad.

  It sounds weird to say, but I’m glad Bree blindfolded my sister when she kidnapped her. That spared Sierra having to see what remained of Scott. The memory of that makes me shudder. I still can’t believe I ripped his head off. That should’ve been way beyond my tolerance for disgusting, but I was so damn pissed off at the time. Looking back at it, I almost find it funnier than gross, especially how he wobbled while carrying his detached head off into the woods.

  Wow, my life has gotten weird.

  We settle in, all absorbed by the movie―even Sierra.

  “Maggots, Michael,” says the film vampire.

  “Eww!” Sophia squeals and buries her face against Dad’s arm at the close up of writhing maggots in the Chinese food box.

  “Did he change them into maggots?” asks Sierra.

  “No, it’s a mind trick.” Dad pauses the movie, then tickles Sophia. “He’s making Michael think he’s been eating maggots.”

  Sierra leans forward to peer around Dad at me. “Can you do mind stuff like the maggot thing?”

  “I dunno. Never tried. Next time we get Chinese, I’ll try it out.”

  Mom grimaces. “Perhaps something a little less nauseating? Like making your father see my sweater as green instead of blue.”

  Hmm. I grin.

  “Dad?”

  He looks at me. “Yes, dear?”

  “Mom’s wearing a green sweater, right?” I give his brain a little poke.

  Dad shifts his attention to Mom. “Yeah.”

  “It’s blue,” says Sophia. “Mom’s wearing a blue sweater.”

  “Gotta be a trick of the light.” Dad reaches over and tugs at the sweater. “Looks green to me, like that Jeep you used to drive when we first met.”

  Mom laughs.

  “Wow.” I grin. “I have fully programmable parents.”

  “Wait, did you…” Dad stares at me. When I think about canceling that mental implant, he blinks and does a double take at Mom. “Cripes. It is blue.”

  Sophia goes pale. She looks up at me, seeming likely to throw up at any moment. “Please don’t make me see gross stuff when I’m eating.”

  “Cross my heart. I won’t.” I ruffle her hair.

  “If you mind control any of us without permission, you’ll be grounded for thirty years,” says Dad with a straight (mostly) face.

  “Thirty years?” I stare at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Well…” Dad waves about randomly. “It’s relative to your new relationship with time.”

  I laugh.

  “Dad?” calls Sam from the stairs above and behind the sofa. “Daryl stopped up the toilet again.”

  Mom facepalms. “That’s the second time today. The boy’s not human.”

  “What do they feed him?” asks Dad with a chuckle. He scoots forward to get up, but pauses, looking at me. “Hey, since you can hold your breath for infinity… would you mind dealing with that?”

  I groan. “Yeah, sure.”

  We stand at the same time.

  “I’m kidding,” says Dad. “I got it.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Wright!” yells a boy, probably Daryl.

  Dad heads upstairs. “It’s all right. These things happen.”

  During the break, Sierra runs to the downstairs bathroom while Sophia goes to make popcorn. After a few minutes, Dad returns, and we resume watching the movie. It’s kinda cool in a campy sort of way, even if the vampires are portrayed as more monstrous than people.

  Sierra looks up at Dad. “If you kill Dalton, will Sarah go back to normal?”

  “Umm.” He makes a face at me.

  “I don’t think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as half vampires.” I shrug. “Besides, that mirror stuff and the garlic are total made up stories.”

  “So what’d you think?” asks Dad, smiling in anticipation.

  I grin back. “It was actually kinda cool… except for the mullet.”

  “Oh, everyone had mullets in the eighties. Well, most of the guys anyway.” Dad laughs.

  “Did you?” asks Sierra.

  “Nah. Your grandparents wouldn’t let me grow it out.” Dad runs a hand up over his hair, which isn’t all that long. “If they saw it like this, they’d call me a long-haired hippie.”

  Okay, so it’s like super cheesy, but I kinda liked spending time with the family watching a movie. “You know, I kinda missed movie night.” As soon as I say it, a pang of sadness stabs me like a wooden stake. It might be uncool to ‘hang with the fam,’ but I’m going to need these memories to last a really long time.

  Dad gestures at The Archive. “We can certainly bring that back.”

  “Do we have to watch old stuff all the time?” asks Sophia.

  “Of course not.” Mom yawns. “Next time, you pick the movie.”

  I picture myself sitting on a random couch somewhere, flanked by two elderly women and an old man: my siblings. Right as I start to get sad, my brain slaps VR goggles on old-lady Sierra and covers elderly Sophia with cats. Yeah, she’s totally going to be the crazy cat lady obsessed with unicorns. And I can picture Sierra sitting in a room at the nursing home startling the other residents whenever she screams ‘bullshit’ at a video game. That’s probably how she’s gonna pass away too, having a heart attack from getting mad at her PlayStation 20.

  The thought started off depressing as hell, but I burst out laughing―which of course gets everyone looking at me like I’ve gone nuts. No way am I gonna let my family rot away in a place like that when they’re old. I’m a vampire, dammit… if I wanted to, I could make myself rich pretty easily. I don’t need rich, but I’m not above using my talents to live comfortably and take care of my family. Then again, who knows what the future will bring. Sophia might get married and have a dozen kids and be well loved and cared for. Sierra’s either going to live in a trailer and work at Burger King her whole life―or get a job for the NSA. Then again, maybe she’ll hit her teen years and suddenly realize boys exist.

  Argh. So many what-ifs.

  “You okay, Sarah?” asks Dad.

  I shake off the heavy thoughts and smile. “Yeah. Fine. Just having one of those moments when I’m too happy.”

  “Too happy?” asks Mom.

  “Yeah.” I cross my fingers. “You know, you’re feeling too happy, so the Universe must take measures to correct that and something invariably goes wrong.”

  “Bite your tongue,” says Dad.

  Sophia gasps.

  “It’s only a figure of speech. Nothing’s going to happen.” Mom yawns. “And on that note, I think I’m going to bed.”

  My thoughts drift back
to the guy at the carnival who’d been following me. Maybe that’s why I’m on edge. Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling there’s a pretty good chance something unpleasant is coming my way soon.

  Debut

  5

  After the movie, I head down to my room and stare at my computer screen, trying to figure out what to do with myself all night. There’s always video games. I kinda like them, but I’m nowhere near into them as much as Sierra. Dad sometimes jokes that Mom made my sisters by taking a clone of me and dividing her in half.

  I’m right about in the middle between the two of them with Sophia on the extreme girly end and Sierra on the other side. It wouldn’t be accurate to call her a tomboy―she has her occasionally girly moments―but she’s all about video games and fighter jet models and stuff like that. And she hates dresses. I think Sophia would blow a gasket if she ever got forced to wear pants. The frillier, the better as far as she’s concerned.

  Sometimes I embrace the fancy; sometimes I like the plain. Most of the time lately, I do the sweat pants thing. It’s not like I have to dress up to sit around the house.

  My iPhone tweeps with a text message.

  ‹Where are you?›

  Hmm. I don’t recognize the number, so I reply with: ‹Who is this?›

  ‹Aurélie. You were supposed to be here at ten.›

  Dammit! I totally forgot. Tonight’s that… thing. “Shit.” ‹Crap. Sorry. Family stuff. I’ll brt. What should I wear?›

  The giggle I imagine her making echoes in my head. ‹It does not matter. Come nude if you want. I have a dress for you already picked out.›

  Thanks but no. I’ve already exceeded my lifetime minutes for running around outside without clothes. I glance down at my Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt, grey sweat pants, and bare feet. If she’s got a dress picked out for me, that probably means shoes too. Screw it. ‹OMW›

  I skip socks and rush upstairs. I’m moving so fast, when Dad emerges from the ground floor bathroom, he appears to be walking in slow motion. I weave around him and race over to the front door in seconds. He doesn’t scream in alarm until I’ve already got my sneakers on and I’m outside. Once I’ve gotten enough altitude to feel safely out of general eyesight, I shoot Dad a text apologizing for nearly crashing into him.

  After pointing myself toward Seattle, I lean into my flight, pushing myself as fast as I can. Wind goes down the neck of my T-shirt, shocking me with cold. It’s annoying more than anything since frostbite won’t really do much to me. In the midst of contemplating immortality and feeling weird about it, the air blast gets into my sweat pants and rips them down. They wind up trailing off my sneakers like one of those banners small airplanes drag across the sky for a second before the 140 MPH wind yanks them clear off. My pants flutter downward, leaving my underwear on public display.

  “Eep!”

  I circle back and dive in pursuit, catching the drifting fabric before flying too close to the ground. Hanging in midair, I scramble back into them, fighting to get them on as fast as possible, but my sneakers have other ideas. The harder I pull, the harder the fabric gets stuck on rubber soles. I’m certain my face is as red as a fire truck. Eventually, I pull them back where they belong, and for the rest of my flight to Seattle, I keep a death grip on the waistband.

  Argh. The relationship between my wardrobe and flying is starting to really piss me off. Dresses and skirts suck, because of flap-up issues, and apparently, sweat pants like to come off entirely. I grumble for a moment, but my need to hurry soon distracts me.

  Aurélie laughs at me when I walk into her penthouse. “My dear you look so… ordinary.”

  “It’s called comfortable.” I sigh. “I’m sorry. I totally forgot this was like my debutante night.”

  She glides around me. “Oh, the event is not for you. It occurs once a month, though they sometimes skip them.” She tugs at my shirt. “Come then, let us attend to your gown.”

  I’m about to ask if she really expects me to change right in front of her, but something about her presence pushes my embarrassment aside. I strip to my underwear, draping everything on the little divan beside me.

  “She tsks at me. Those common smallclothes won’t do. Put them with the rest of your common things and I’ll find you something more appropriate.”

  It isn’t until I’m standing in front of her stark naked that I feel a little conspicuous. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m not far from the same bed she and my best friend Ashley spent almost two hours in doing things to each other.

  Aurélie orbits me, rubbing her chin.

  “Hope this isn’t going to get weird,” I say, adding a nervous chuckle. “At least, any more weird than it already is.”

  “When I was your age, I had a full staff who attended me in the bath and helped me dress. You Americans are so fixated on nudity equating to sex. So stodgy.”

  “Well, you did do it with my best friend.”

  Aurélie caresses my cheek. “She is quite energetic. But I do not prefer women. And our relationship is of an entirely different type.”

  Well, that’s something. She’s giving off maternal vibes more than checking me out. But more than simple vibes waft off her though. Something is keeping me from freaking out while she measures every inch of me with her eyes. I’d feel super awkward being nude in front of my actual mother. Or maybe I’m still standing here calmly because this woman is not my mother. Suppose I’ve wound up somewhere between adopted daughter and cute kitten plucked off the street. Seeing as how Dalton didn’t really teach me much, lost kitten about sums me up. Though, to be fair, he only bailed because I wanted to go home to my family. If I’d ‘stayed dead,’ I probably would’ve wound up moving in with him.

  “Wait here a moment.” Aurélie glides across the bedroom to one of five massive wardrobes, all painted white with gold trim.

  Tapping my foot, I nervously glance around at the fancy furnishings, feeling vulnerable. I swear, this whole vampire thing is not for anyone with body image issues. The bed’s an explosion of white and pink frills, and she’s got over a hundred dolls arranged around the room. Some of them look older than the United States. Sophia would utterly lose her mind if she ever saw this place.

  Aurélie returns, handing me silk underthings in pale pink. “Those should fit you. The dark red isn’t quite right.” She grins and flicks a finger at my chin. “Mon petit Innocent.”

  I waste no time putting them on. Back and forth, Aurélie drifts from me to the wardrobe, with a whole host of various pieces of clothing I don’t even know the names for. A tiny plain dress, then a longer plain dress, then a fancy skirt. The whole thing is some elaborate gown, but the bodice part isn’t even attached to anything―she has to pin it on with literal pins. When she finishes, I wind up staring at this Disney Princess in a full-length mirror who kinda resembles Sarah Wright. The ensemble is mostly white with pink roses here and there, plus trails of pearls dotting the darker cream lines that form the ‘stems.’

  Holy crap. This dress has to cost more than most cars. I’d say it’s comfortable, but I’d be lying. Calling it ‘not uncomfortable’ is closer to the truth. At least she skipped the corset, not that I need to breathe, but my body keeps doing it, part of that whole Innocent thing.

  Last, she offers a choice of shoes. One pair is pearlescent white, the other pale rose pink.

  “Oh, screw it,” I say. “Might as well go with the pink ones. I’ve already turned the girlie dial up to eleven.”

  She spends a few minutes fussing with my hair. Considering her arms have become a blur even to my enhanced senses, it’s probably equivalent to an hour or more of work. By the time she’s done, I’ve got this crown braid thing going on and I smell like an apricot vanilla air freshener.

  I’m totally channeling Sierra at the moment. How she felt in her Girl Scout uniform is exactly me right now. This outfit is way extra. In fact, this might be too much girly for even Sophia to tolerate. Oh well. Much like neither me nor my sisters dared protest Mom�
��s decision to do the Girl Scout thing, I’m not about to do anything to offend an older-than-hell vampiress who’s decided to take me under her wing.

  Aurélie gives me a sly, girlish wink as if in response to that thought gliding across my brain.

  “I’m surprised you’re not making me wear elbow gloves.”

  She dangles a set of white gloves from her fingertips.

  I hang my head, but obediently hold out my arms. “You’re taking this beyond Disney Princess. I don’t even know what to call this.”

  “Adorable,” says Aurélie.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I get the sense the dolls are watching me. Great. I meet the crazy cat lady of vampires, only it’s dolls not cats, and I’m next.

  Aurélie bursts into giggles.

  “You are reading my mind…”

  She snugs my left glove on, fusses at my dress, and gives me a final nod of approval. “It is more that you are broadcasting than I am trying to listen. And no, my little friends are simple dolls. I am not trapping souls.”

  “That’s reassuring.” I eye one of the dolls that appears to be staring at me. “Though that black-haired one is creepy.”

  Aurélie winks. “I said I am not trapping souls. Not that souls have not been trapped.”

  I gawk at her.

  She giggles. “Oh, ton visage! Précieux.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask.

  “The look on your face. Precious.” She fake-pinches my cheeks. “Some may be haunted, but I do not think any dark magic happened. I could not stand such things in my presence if that were the case, though I do believe Daphne is jealous.” Aurélie crosses to that doll and whispers to it in French.

  I hope she’s messing with me and isn’t expecting the doll to respond. If that thing moves, I am so out of here.

  “Very well. Are you ready?”

  “Think so. Do you have a guy with a hand truck to transport me to the car?”

  She tilts her head in confusion.

  I take a few steps around. “It’s hard to move in this thing.”

  Aurélie laughs.

  On the way down the elevator, she tells me all about the dresses she used to wear as a mortal. From the sound of it, this one’s basically the ‘sweat pants and T-shirt’ of super-fancy gowns. That is to say, comfortable. Of course, comfort is a matter of relativity. I’m either going to turn heads or get laughed at. And forget sneaky. Moving in this thing sounds like an army of field mice having a battle royal in a box of tissue paper.