think that you’re forced to drink, but actually you try to force the other
vampire to let you drink. It’s like how drowning people will pull down
anyone, even their mothers, just to get a breath of air.”
“Hm.” Shawn said, non-committal. “Has your husband ever tried to
bite you?”
“No!” she said quickly.
“Really? I don’t believe you.”
“Um. . . he did suggest it. But that’s because he doesn’t want me to
die, and he won’t if I don’t want him to.”
“How do you know he won’t?”
I wanted to rip Shawn’s throat out for suggesting such a thing–and
for sowing doubts in my mother’s mind. Couldn’t she see that he was
again trying to break Mom and Dad up? Matt was mouthing something
frantically and pointing to his eyes, so I knew that mine had gone wolfie
again.
“Andy loves me and he wouldn’t lie to me. You never got to know
him, aside from the physical assault.”
“I said I was sorry about that!” For an instant, he was angry, then he
began to wheedle Mom, saying insinuating things about her husband.
“Yes, I know that he loves you. But is it a disinterested love? Is he really
going to let you wither away when all he has to do is wait for you to fall
asleep, then bend down and do the deed?”
“He respects my wishes. He always has.” Yet she didn’t sound so
sure.
Shawn had caught up on it, too. “Has he been neglecting you lately? I
saw some definite tension there.”
“He’s been going out for walks a great deal–he can’t fly much now
that he’s sick. I think he’s. . . I think. . . I. . .” Her voice trailed off. “Yes?”
“I think he doesn’t want to be near me,” she whispered. “He won’t
say so, but he’s angry at my choosing death over a vampire life. He said I
should think of Dianne. I am thinking of her, but I can’t do it! I can’t!” “Ssh, there, there.” There was the sound of patting. Was he hugging
her? My muscles tensed.
“It’s just too much! Dianne’s suffering, and Andy’s being distant and
cold, and I have to carry a huge secret that’s eating me up from the
inside. I don’t know if I can handle it, I don’t I don’t I don’t. . .” She
began sobbing.
It was terrible hearing her cry, a sound I had heard entirely too often
in recent days. The pain it caused me had a quicker effect on my wolfears than a dozen foghorns. They shrank away to humanity, and my eyes
turned blue and teary. Before I knew it, Matt had his arms around me,
whispering in my ear.
“Whatever you heard, Dianne, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Just don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Or–or do cry, if it makes you feel better. Just. . . do. .
. something. . . argh. . . I really suck at this.”
I looked up at his blurred face and choked out, “We need to go before
they find us.”
Fifteen minutes later, the Spiralli patriarch and matriarch were
apologizing copiously for their youngest sons’ behavior, and asked the
Anghels if we managed to have a good time. Fortunately neither Mom’s
face or my face looked puffy by then. Mom said that the meal was lovely,
Dad complimented them on the décor, and I gave Matt’s hand a quick
squeeze. We had still not gotten past friendship, but it was a cozier
friendship that before I had entered his house. One good thing had come
out of that dinner, anyway.
When we were back into our house and had flicked on the lights, I
cleared my throat to cut the blanket of silence, thick as expired peanut
butter. “Can one of you please drive me to school at six on Wednesday?
Taylor and Matt are in the concert, and I want to support them.” “Certainly, dear.” Mom kissed me on the cheek. The spot burned. Dad sank into the easy chair. “We can’t make our next mortgage
payment,” he said, woodenly.
Mom and I both froze. “What?”
“You know how I self-published that one book of mine which sank
into the dark abyss of ignominy? We now have a choice between going
without heating for the winter, not paying for the house, or not taking
care of your upcoming medical costs.”
“Oh, Andy!” Mom brought her hands to her cheeks. She shook her
head, unwilling to hear more. “Let’s not talk about that right now. I’m
very tired, and I would like to take a shower and go to bed. Goodnight.”
She went up the stairs.
I looked back and forth from her path of retreat to Dad’s limp form.
He moved his lips slowly. “Out of the night that covers me, black as the Pit
from pole to pole-”
I tried to pull him to an upright position. “Next line, Dad, next line. I
thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.”
He gently pushed me away and sank further. “No. My soul isn’t
unconquerable, and I don’t think there may be any gods paying attention
to me.” Taking off his sunglasses and dropping them on the floor, he
gazed at me with his bloodstained eyes. “Do you consider me a failure,
Di? I don’t have a real job, none of my stories has ever been heard of, and
the only thing that I’ve done for your mother is kill her. If it wasn’t for
you two, I’d be better off dead.”
I couldn’t stand it any more, so I grabbed my father by his skeletal
shoulders and shook him hard. “Now, this may be rude, but listen to me!
You. Are. Not. A. Failure. You are a wonderful father, a considerate
husband, and simply the coolest vampire there ever was. Nat is nothing
compared to you! You’ve never, ever said a needlessly unkind thing to
Mom or me, and you’ve always tried to do what you thought was best
for us. Mom thinks that you’re avoiding her because you’re angry that
she won’t let you make her a vampire. I don’t understand why she’s not
willing, but it’s what she wants. She’s afraid that you might sneak up on
her and bite her anyway.”
Dad looked stunned. “She thinks that? You know I would never even
pinch her if she asked me not to!”
I let go of him. “Yes, I know that. But she doesn’t. Let her know! Do
something romantic for her! So you gave her AIDS. It wasn’t your fault.
You’ve given her plenty else that has made her life worth living. Wake
up and smell the plasma, Dad! No more moping. You and I are going to
sit down, brew some blood and chocolate, not get the mugs mixed up,
and plan a way to show Mom how much we love her and are behind
her, no matter how sick she is and what her decisions are.”
“Dianne, I. . .”
I shook my head vehemently. “No ifs, ands, or buts. We are going to
save your marriage, make Mom happy, and that’s final!”
For a moment Dad just stared, jaw slack and hands in midair. Then
he grabbed me in a bear hug that nearly crushed my ribcage. “I love you,
Dianne!”
Chapter Fourteen
Love Me
It took Dad and me four days to formulate and carry out our scheme, enlisting the help of some neighbors along the way. Dad fitted easily into the crack between our bedraggled couch and scuffed white wall. For me it was a tight squish, but I managed it.
“I’m nervous,” I whispered. Dad slid h
is arm over and draped it onto my shoulder. “That was a wonderful thing you started, Dianne. I never told you how proud of you I am.”
I smiled, and then tensed. “I think I hear the car.”
The two of us held our breath as Mom’s weary footsteps reverberated in our ears. By now darkness came early in the evening, and the living room was black and empty. Mom fumbled for the light switch, calling out, “Dianne? Are you there?” When she flicked it on the room was not flooded with light, since Dad and I had unscrewed and unplugged everything except for one bulb that gave off a dim glow. Mom looked around, sighed, and sat down on the couch disconsolately. She buried her face in her hands and began to cry quietly.
At that moment Dad emerged silently, wrapping his arms around Mom and kissing her on the cheek. She turned around and gasped in amazement.
That was my cue. I turned on the CD player I had placed on the floor next to me, and the house filled with the jangling introduction of Coldplay’s Yellow, which was Mom’s and Dad’s favorite romantic song from their dating days.
“Andy. . .” Mom asked, trying to pull away, but unable to, since Dad had tenderly and firmly encircled her waist. “I don’t understand.”
“We wanted to show you how much we love and admire you,” he replied. “Care to dance?”
She looked up at him, relief brimming in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. “So you’re not angry with me?”
Dad took one of her hands in his and placed the other on her hip, beginning to slowly move around the living room. “I never was.”
I stole out from my cramped hiding place, struck a match, and lit candles around the first floor, paying special attention to a candelabrum on the dining room table. When the song ended, Dad gave Mom a kiss on the lips, the sweet kind, not the gross face-sucking kind.
“I’m sorry for avoiding you when you’ve been needing me most, Selene,” he explained, leading her over to the dining room. “It was because I was weak. I still am. Seeing you worn out and dying because of me, and my neither being able to help or at least suffer with you—I couldn’t bear it. It was very selfish of me, especially my coercion.”
He went down on his knees. Dad’s very traditional in his romance. “Will you forgive me?”
Mom pulled him up and hugged him, their two frail forms interlocking. I couldn’t restrain myself and joined them. We made a supernatural sandwich with a mother—not a werewolf right now, but a mother—as the filling. I sneezed and we parted, laughing.
“You two planned this?” Mom asked, drinking in the dining table with her gaze. Dad had bought two bouquets of irises, Mom’s favorite flower, and we had garlanded Mom’s chair with the purple blossoms to make a flowery throne. On the wall hung a poster of the three of us curled up together on the couch, superimposed over a picture of a silvergray wolf howling at the full moon. The photo was mine. I had found the wolf picture on the Internet, and Matt helped me put the pictures together and print it out on several sheets of paper to put together, making one beautiful mural.
Spread out on the table was a meal for two: Thai beef salad, green curry, and papaya salad, with jasmine rice. Mom loves Thai food but doesn’t know how to make it, and our budget was so tight that we couldn’t afford to eat out except for on my parents’ anniversary.
We had this tonight because Taylor’s mother had lived in Thailand as a child and was an excellent cook. She knew Mom was sick, but nothing more, and had generously whipped up the dinner for Mom and me.
Grinning for the first time in at least two weeks, Dad poured out some wine for him and Mom from a bottle that Grandpa Davidson gave them at their wedding. Dad can drink some beverages, just not anything foodlike—smoothies, shakes, and chocolate are out, and soda was too sweet. Instead of slurping blood from a mug as he usually did, that evening Dad sipped his meal with a soup spoon from one of our few unchipped bowls. It looked like gazpacho and was a nice gesture of normality.
“Do you like it?” I asked Mom.
She did not need to say anything, for she was both beaming and sniffling with feeling. Silently she reached out and grasped Dad’s hand…I somehow don’t think that Dad did much writing that night.
**** Though immensely satisfied with how my parents’ affairs of the heart, though not of the immune system, had turned out, I still wondered and wished that mine would be sorted out. When the next evening, the night of the high school performing arts concert, dawned— or maybe I should say “dusked”—I was tense enough to be used as one of Matt’s violin strings. I carefully chose what I thought would be an attractive, yet unpretentious, outfit. After much more deliberation than I had used when choosing a dress for Homecoming, I settled on stonewashed jeans, a plain green peasant blouse, a pearl-gray jacket, and a silver necklace and earrings.
Dad was going to go to the concert with me, since Mom got tired very easily now and needed her rest. She looked much happier than she had before, though, and came to give me a hug as I stood in the foyer, waiting for Dad to get ready. When her skin touched my necklace she breathed in sharply and jumped back. There was a red mark on her neck.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were wearing silver?” she reproached me.
I gave her another hug, careful to keep my jewelry away from her. “I’m so sorry, Mom, I forgot.” It’s a little known fact that not only are silver bullets the only thing that can kill a werewolf when in their lupine form, but silver will burn werewolves no matter what shape they are in. Thus Mom could never eat at very fancy restaurants without wearing gloves. It was one reason I was glad to be a shapeshifter rather than a werewolf.
Dad looked rather dashing in his crisp crimson long-sleeved shirt with a black tie and trousers. “You look like you’re going on a date all dressed up like that, Dianne,” he commented as we stepped outside.
“In a way I feel like I am,” I murmured, too softly for him to hear, opening the car door, and slipping inside.
It was deplorably easy to find a parking spot, and the audience wasn’t even halfway full in the cafeteria. I am no artist, but it still saddens me how people’s interest in the arts is declining. I like to think of myself as a patron.
The band played first, then the girls’ choir, of which Taylor was a member, followed by the jazz band, then the mixed choir, and finally the orchestra. Though impatient for the orchestra to hurry up and let me see Matt, I did find the music stirring. The girls’ choir sang an eclectic mix— ”I’ve Got Music in My Soul”, Chicago’s “He had it Comin’” with various girls having short, murderous solos, and ending with “How Can I Keep from Singing?” a traditional Irish ballad led by Taylor. It was a complete surprise to me. Her voice was gorgeous, full, and rich, and I wished I had brought a big bouquet of flowers to give to her.
Dad hadn’t brought his sunglasses since that would look too weird, and had his eyes shut almost the whole time. I didn’t know whether that was because he found the music sublime or because the light was too strong for him—or if he had fallen asleep. The first option was more pleasant, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and didn’t ask. He had looked tired, but again, happier than before.
Throughout the performance I was intensely annoyed by five whiney voices behind me, gossiping about who broke up with whom and how, “My God the conductor’s hot, isn’t he? Too bad he’s a teacher.” Finally my irritation reached the point where I turned around to see who it was.
Tammy and her entourage of her new boyfriend, Demetrius, and three female friends were there, applying makeup to prostitute proportions and constantly giggling (not the boyfriend, no matter how funny that would have been). When my eyes met Tammy’s, she snapped her rouge container shut and her face hardened as much as it could under the weight of all that powder. I could see that she had put on even more than usual to hide the scar my claws had left on her cheek.
“What are you doing here, freak? You better not try to hurt me again, because my boyfriend will break your arm.” Tammy instinctively put a hand to her face as if to pr
otect it.
Her boyfriend put an arm around her and scowled at me. “You’re not wanted here, Angel.”
I raised an eyebrow. “To start with, it’s AHN-ghel, not AIN-jel. I hope the concept of pronouncing my last name property doesn’t overtax your feeble brain capacity. Secondly, do you realize how pathetic it is to be scared of me when it’s five against two? Finally—”
One of the BBQs, an anorexic-looking Hispanic girl named Jennifer, butted in. “Who’s the two? You’re alone.”
“My dad happens to be sitting right next to me,” I said, speaking each word carefully and deliberately. I really needed to take my frustration out on someone, and every day since I slapped Tammy had made me hate the popular crowd even more. They had turned all my tenth-grade friends against me, had ostracized me while I was trying to deal with Mom’s death sentence and her fights with Dad, and now they were ruining my concert!
Dad sat up and turned to me. “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”
Tammy’s boyfriend began to laugh. “That’s your dad? He looks like a bunch of toothpicks painted white and taped together! Hahahaha!”
The other kids joined him in his snickers, disregarding the parents who were glaring at them for being so noisy. My vocal cords were shifting into a wolf’s; my breaths were becoming deeper and more like growls with every second. Dad was rubbing my shoulders, whispering in my ear. “Calm down, Di. It’s okay. There’s no need to get upset on my behalf. I don’t mind it at all. You don’t need to mind. Don’t change. Calm down. Don’t change. . .”
The wild animal inside me was taking over despite all my attempts at calming down. My tormentors were so busy mocking us that they didn’t notice that my hands were growing blue-gray fur. I wanted to rip them, bite them, devour them—
A sudden, piercingly sweet strain of music shocked me back into myself. I looked at the stage and Matt was there, caressing his violin strings the way I had fantasized about him touching me. My chest ached with the delicate strength of his notes, calming the beast that had threatened to consume my reason. No one else existed in the entire room, just him and me. I felt as if, somehow, that piece had been written and was being played only for me. In this eternal moment it was a love song, the most wondrous piece of classical music I had ever heard.
Bite Me Page 10
