“You mean lack of reflection.”
“No, this was when I was a teenager. Grandma used to think I was
obsessing over how I looked. I wasn’t, really. Just wondering who that face belonged to.” Dad’s idea of a heart-to-heart tends to be cryptic. I appreciated it, though.
“People were scared of me at school. I could see it. Today was even worse than the day before, because Hyun Young had to go to the library to finish a project with her group. Taylor didn’t come to the bus, so maybe she finally had a nervous breakdown.”
“What about Jessie?”
“Jessie won’t stand within clawing distance.”
“Ah.”
“Tammy’s back and she is avoiding me in a plague-like fashion. Me as the plague, I mean, not her, as much as she may resemble one.” I paused. “And I’d rather have all that than something be wrong with you.”
He smiled. “And that is how it will stay. I was just a little off-color, and this is simply to comfort your mother.”
“That almost rhymed and scanned.”
“That should be the building,” Dad said, pulling into a parking lot facing a five-story, nondescript brick artifice. “Ready to delve into the mysteries of demonic physiology?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Three flights of stairs and two doors, and we were there. The waiting room looked like one belonging to any clean, respectable clinic. There were two couches, a pile of National Geographics, and a heap of stuffed animals and plastic trucks in the corner. A woman sat there at the desk, reading Cosmopolitan. Dad cleared his throat. She nearly jumped.
“I have an appointment with Dr. Silver at seven,” he said.
She scratched her head. “You’re seeing Dr. Shades?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, that’s what we call him around here,” she said in a hurry. “He likes to wear sunglasses a lot, you see. Not that he isn’t good or anything, but he’s kinda. . . peculiar.”
“There are more peculiar people out there than you would ever know, Miss. Do you have us listed?”
She consulted a clipboard. “Are you Mr. Anghel?”
“Yes.”
“He’s still busy. Please wait for a few minutes.”
I was already sitting with my nose buried in an article about nomadic Nepalese honey-gatherers. From the corner of my eye, I could see the receptionist looking Dad up and down, eyes the size of dinner plates. A smirk tugged at my lip.
“Mr. Anghel,” she said, trying to sound sexy, “may I ask what your first name is?”
“Ferdinand.” He was scribbling in a notebook and paying a little under a third of his attention.
“That is so cool. Sounds all exotic and stuff. I’m Lia. Is that your little sister there? It’s so sweet of you to come with her.”
“Mmm.”
She seemed disappointed, and tried again. “Not many people come by here at night. You don’t look sick, though.”
“It’s just a checkup.”
I remained silent, feeling gleefully evil.
“I haven’t seen you around. . . are you free today?” The blonde beast was persistent; I had to give her that.
No answer. Looking over Dad’s shoulder I could see he had gotten a new idea and was miles from everything but the words on the paper.
“Do you go to college here? I’m a junior. This is my first office job.”
Something from the workaday world pulled Dad out of his creative trance. He hadn’t heard a single thing she said, and was completely unaware of the pitiful attempts at flirting. “Oh, Miss, I forgot to mention that my daughter has an appointment as well. I’m getting incredibly absentminded lately.”
Studiously, I kept a straight face. “It’s okay, Dad,” I said, sweet as saccharine. “Happens when you’re forty.”
Now the woman had a look that just barely stopped short of homicidal. “You should be able to see the doctor now. Number thirteen, on the left.”
“Is there something wrong with her?” Dad asked me as we walked down the corridor.
“Would you believe me if I said she was hitting on you?”
“Don’t be silly.”
Door number thirteen opened into a dim room, and a man who looked to be in his early thirties poked out his head. I could see why the receptionist called him peculiar. To start with he had taken off his sunglasses, making the red irises visible. His hair was also red, though a more orange than crimson hue. Considering most redheads appear anemic anyway, the vampire version couldn’t go much further. The only obvious difference in complexion was that he didn’t have freckles. Compared with the average population, particularly our dear U. S. of Obesity, he was positively anorexic, but next to Dad, he appeared well fed. In all this wasn’t too unusual to me, since I saw a vampire every day. Call me a conservative, but I was struck more by his orange shirt and the carefully pointed spikes in his hair than by anything physical. Also, I had never seen anyone, vampire or no, with such an enthusiastic grin.
“Mr. Anghel? Ferdinand? I can call you Ferdinand, right? I’m so glad you came!”
“Hello, Dr. Silver.” Dad couldn’t help grinning too. It was infectious.
“I told you last time, I’m Nat and only Nat. Nathan if you insist. And is this the lovely young lady you spoke of?”
I looked around me. “Nope, don’t see her anywhere around here.”
Nat laughed. “Pleased to meet you, Dianne, though sorry for the difficulties that made you seek medical attention. Oh, please come in. Do you mind if I keep the lights down? It’s so much more comfortable that way, but for human eyes I’m not sure.”
“I’m used to it,” I said, following Dad in. He pulled up a chair and I perched on the table, dangling my legs. No lights were on in the room, just the windows open for the streetlamps to shine in. At first, I could make out only silhouettes. A moment later, I could see the glowing eyes of the two vampires, which was mildly disturbing. A minute more and I could see the orange shirt.
“Can I ask you something?” I began while he rummaged for a form.
“Sure. The name is Dianne, right?”
“Right. Are you really allowed to work in an outfit like that?”
Though I couldn’t see anything of my father but his eyes and profile, I could imagine his face. “Dianne Cassandra, this is not a time for smart remarks.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I had a nice white professional coat, but it was a bit too warm and dull.” He sat down on a wheeled chair and began filling out a form. “This is the slip for new patients,” he explained. “Shall I start you a file?”
“Yes please,” Dad said. “Do you know anything about werewolves, Nat?”
“I’ve seen movies, but other than what you told me I haven’t known any real ones. Sorry. But I can do the usual tests—height, weight, blood pressure, heart rate, reflexes, hearing, eyesight—and maybe we can do some experimentation on how the shape shifting works.” He put on his stethoscope.
“I’m happy to start there,” I replied.
“I could do a blood test too, but you’d have to fast for twenty-four hours first, and I’m not sure it would do us much good besides getting both your father and me salivating. Aw c’mon, Ferdinand, don’t look at me like that. You have to admit you would.”
With a combination of ordinary professionalism and bright chatter, Nat did all the tests that constitute a thorough check-up. Disappointingly, everything was completely normal. An hour or so later, he stopped.
“I’m sorry darlin’. I’m not seeing anything here.”
“Hmm.” I mumbled. “I wish I could figure out how I do the stupid shape-shifting. Mom says when she does it voluntarily on twenty-nine nights out of the month, she just kind of thinks it. Thinks wolfy thoughts. I tried that. I watched some documentaries. I even read The Call of the Wild and brutally ripped apart my dinner before eating it.”
“So that’s what you were doing,” Dad mused.
“And I asked Dad about how he does it, and
he says it’s a muscular thing. It’s like how he lifts one eyebrow, because he has control of a muscle there that most people aren’t aware of.”
Nat nodded. “It’s kind of a clenching feeling, except you do it all over.” He demonstrated by turning into an orange-brown bat, which somehow had a miniaturized stethoscope around its neck. When he changed back, Dad and I were still laughing.
Eventually I became serious again. “The only two times it worked was because of extreme emotions. The first time I was really, really mad, and the second I was frustrated and confused. They were only partial changes too. I guess there would have to be a major catastrophe for me to completely transform.”
“Don’t worry about not being able to do it here. On the bright side, you are otherwise completely healthy and quite fit.”
“I do track and field.”
“That would explain it. It’s good to have normal checkups too, you know. You can come back anytime. This is a lot more fun than the influenza people I saw all day.” The vampire doctor swiveled his chair around. “Now, Ferdinand, I believe it is your turn.”
Dad and I switched places, though when he was on the table he lounged back more than I had. “There’s nothing really wrong with me,” he said. “I’ve just been rather lethargic lately and Selene was worried.” “So am I,” I interjected.
Our rather unorthodox doctor listed while Dad related what had happened the previous night with his attempt to fly. “That’s all,” he finished.
“No,” I said, “it’s not all. He’s been going to bed early, and he prefers the coffin again now.”
“Hey! I like them myself,” his fellow vampire said.
“But are you married?” I asked.
“Dianne. . .” Dad found me exasperating.
“I see your point,” said Nat.
“And there’s the migraines and the inability to dent the countertop.”
Dad sounded strained. “Fine. So there have been several factors. I am still unconvinced that an immortal can catch anything serious.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but real vampires aren’t immortal.”
“Really?” He sat up. “That’s great! I was worrying about outliving Selene and Dianne and Dianne’s great-grandchildren and eventually having to stake myself out of loneliness.”
“Wow. Never met a guy with a death wish like yours. But I don’t have a family, so maybe I can’t relate. You probably will outlive them anyway. Vampire lifespan seems to be a couple centuries, depending on the circumstances.”
“No offense,” I said, “but I always thought you guys were undead.”
“Have you seen The Princess Bride?”
Dad gave him a look. “Are you saying we’re mostly dead?”
“How did you know the quote? Somebody watches a chick flick more than he’d like to admit.”
“I have a teenage daughter. Now explain how semi-life works, please.”
Nat’s voice slid into lecture mode. “The misconceptions that vampires don’t breathe, have no pulse or circulation, and can survive in a weakened state without sustenance—all these stem from an extremely slow metabolism. I mean, if you were really dead, where did she come from? It’s really, really slow. You miss the pulse if you’re not patient enough. It’s quiet too. Sometimes just a thin layer of clothing can muffle it. Allow me to demonstrate.”
He walked over to me and put the stethoscope on my chest, handing the earphones to me. “Nice, normal pace,” he continued. “Lub-dup, lubdup, lub-dup. Care for a listen?”
“No thanks. Not that I’m not pleased with Dianne’s possession of a normal pulse, of course.”
“Dianne, sweetheart, come here for a sec. Ferdin, could you take your shirt off?”
“What?”
“For the pulse.”
“You didn’t make Dianne take hers off.”
“I didn’t think it would go over too well with you, considering I look a third of my age and you might think I had ulterior motives. It’s fine to do that when you’re just a doctor, but I’m looking for family friend status here. Besides, I told you. . .”
I couldn’t keep myself from interrupting. “You’re ninety?”
“Ninety-nine. I don’t like having these secrets any more than your family does, but you must admit that looking like this when you’re planning your centennial is pretty sweet.”
“There’s always compensations,” Dad said. “Does that mean I have to respect you now, because you’re nearly sixty years older than me?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
With Nat’s guidance, I tried to listen to Dad’s heartbeat. Nothing could be heard. There was not a sound at from the chest or at the wrist. Dad tried himself to no avail.
“All right, you win.” I wondered how the receptionist would have felt about this, though I didn’t think there was anything to drool over. Vampire chests are only appealing if you don’t mind seeing lots of ribs. Especially only if said vampire is not your father.
Finally Nat managed to locate a beat. The rhythm was an achingly slow and soft dup. . . dup. . . dup. I had to strain my ears for each feeble thump (the ears stayed human this time), but it was there.
“I concede the point as proven.” Dad reached over for his shirt, but Nat stopped him.
“Just a moment. What are those scars?”
I couldn’t see them in that light, but apparently the vamps could. “Which ones?” Dad asked.
“All of them. The one at your stomach looks pretty purposeful, but some of the others are haphazard.”
My dad must have decided there was no point in evasiveness. “The haphazard ones are from the only time I bit a human. He deserved it, too, for beating me over the head and trying to hurt Selene. That was how Selene and I found out about each other’s powers, dealing with some muggers in the park.”
“Did you drink much of his blood?”
“Not enough to kill or turn him, but it was fairly substantial. Why?”
“Nothing. It’s just good to know when we’re talking about your physical condition. And the neat one?”
“Let’s just say that Selene’s ex was particularly vindictive.”
It was easier to take Nat seriously now that we knew he was much older than he appeared. “Okay, you can put it back on now. I’ve been beaten up a bit too over the years. Have you sucked down anything for a while?”
“Not for thirty hours. I wasn’t hungry and thought you might need me to be on an empty stomach. Uh, Di, don’t tell your mother, please.” He buttoned himself up as he spoke.
“That’s good,” said the doctor, turning back to the drawers full of tools. “I will need a blood sample from you. It’s possible that you might have gotten our equivalent of food poisoning. Vampire metabolism is so different from human that the most bacteria and viruses can do is general weakening. Even if you had cancer or something, that would just shorten your life to a lethargic two hundred years.”
That changed things a bit. “Cool,” I said. “I suddenly feel better.”
Now Nat was holding a syringe connected to a little bag. “This may be difficult.”
“Especially since I don’t bleed,” Dad commented dryly.
“In the past sixty years I’ve discovered that our blood coagulates extremely fast and flows slowly. You have to have a major stab wound for anything to come out. So sticking this in your arm won’t do the trick. We need a major artery. What do you prefer: just above the heart or right at the jugular?”
“Um. . . .”
“Neck then, if that’s okay with you. Don’t worry; vampire blood doesn’t interest me at all. Too processed.” Nat stood behind Dad, putting a right hand on Dad’s shoulder. I noticed for the first time that Nat was a lefty. Reflected light from the needle hit the white skin, and I could make out two tiny round marks from more than eighteen years ago. I shivered.
The patient shut his eyes “Forgive me. This brings back memories.”
“I agree.” Then the point sank in, the needle filling
up with blood more black than it had a right to be. When Nat had a decent amount, he laid it down on a small hot plate. “Have to keep it warm or else it’ll solidify.”
Dad’s hand was clutching his neck, covering the bleeding jab. “It’s so dark.”
“Yes.” Nat got a box of band-aids and took them out, holding them like a deck of cards. “Would you like plain peach, stripes, polka dots, or Winnie-the-Pooh?”
“Just plain.” He stared at the red palm for a moment, then stole an apologetic look at me before he licked it.
“I think Winnie-the-Pooh suits you better. Let’s see about your reflexes.”
Chapter Five
Tell Me
It would take a few days for us to get the analysis results. Usually this sort of thing would take longer, but Nat said we were first priority. Good-guy vampire solidarity, I guess. Meanwhile, Dad continued getting up later and later and getting more aches and pains. Mom had gone into overprotective mode, warming up blood for him and forcing him to drink it. I stayed healthy and kept smiling, but felt increasingly blue.
Feeling abandoned by everyone else was no picnic either. Taylor remained loyal, but that didn’t help during classes. When we had to pick lab partners in Physics, I was the odd one out. The sinking sensation you get when you look around and see that nobody wants you, and that the two people forced to work with you are resenting it all the while, became entirely too common.
“Do things get any easier next year?” I asked my eleventh grade friend one day on the late bus. My detention time had been duly served, so I went back to track on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That day we had to high jump, which left me disgruntled and bruised. I didn’t like any sport with complicated technique. It’s hard to mess up when running. That weekend I’d had a couple of races, but Dad was in no shape to even think about sitting in the sun. At least I got third place in the four hundred meter dash.
Taylor was struggling with her gargantuan backpack, trying to shove her choir folder in without bursting the bag. She stopped and gave me look that clearly said she would not dignify that with a response. “Okay, it doesn’t get easier. I was talking social life, though. Are people still going to be so mean and clique-ish next year? Or is it cliqueoriented? Clique-y?” Now I was babbling. “I’m starting to get desperate for company.”
Bite Me Page 3
