“It’s pretty far away. Far, far away,” he said. His words slurred worse than her mother’s. He collapsed against her and buried a hand in her hair. “You’re pretty.”
“You’re pretty too.”
“My name’s Tim.” He turned and pointed to the name patch sewn onto his jacket. “See?”
“I see it.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sylvia. I don’t have it on my jacket, though.”
Tim’s eyes bulged just like when she entered the bar. “You aren’t Sylvia,” he said. “Sylvia is dead.”
“I think I know my own name. I’m not that drunk.”
The song ended and she guided him over to a booth in the corner to help him sit down. She could see tears in his eyes now. He shook his head. “You’re not her.”
“No, I’m not whatever Sylvia you’re thinking of.”
He touched her hair again. “You look just like her. The same color hair. The same eyes. You even have the same mole on your hand.”
Sylvia held up her hand to see the mole on her right index finger. “I think you’ve had too much to drink. You’re seeing things.”
“I think so.” He laughed at this. “I’m seeing ghosts now.”
“Hey, look, Tim, let me call you a cab—” Before she could say anything else, he pressed his lips to hers. She could have broken his grip—and his arm—if she’d wanted to, but she didn’t. Even with the sour odor of booze on his breath, there was something so tender, so loving about his kiss. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She thought for a moment maybe she could be his Sylvia.
She finally had to pull away when her phone rang. To her surprise it was Sophie on the line. “Sophie, what’s going on?”
“It’s Agnes. She took some of Mom’s pills.”
“What? Jesus Christ. Is she all right?”
“She’s getting her stomach pumped now.”
“Shit. I’ll be right there.” She hung up the phone and then put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you.”
“You too, ghost.”
Before she left, she put a twenty on the bar. “Get a cab for him.” She gave the bartender the address for the factory. She would have liked to go in there and have a look, but right now it would have to wait. She had to be a big sister right now.
Chapter 11
Since she couldn’t turn into a bat, Emma had to walk home. She had enough money in her purse to have taken the bus again, but she didn’t want to be in an enclosed space with a bunch of other people. A bunch of people filled with sweet, succulent blood.
For the same reason she kept away from main streets, to avoid a replay of what had happened with Megan—what had almost happened with Jim. She stopped for a moment to lean against a dumpster behind a gas station. If she hadn’t stopped herself, she would have sunk her fangs into Jim and sucked him dry like a box of fruit juice. This boy who had been so nice to her, who had kissed her so tenderly, and she would have killed him.
“I’m a monster,” she whispered and began to cry again.
She forced herself to trudge onward, not really sure what to do. As much as she didn’t want to be around people at the moment, she didn’t know where to go that might be safe. Home, she decided. She would go home and go to sleep and in the morning all of this would be a bad dream. After all, there was no such thing as vampires. They were just a myth, like werewolves and zombies.
Emma had only to put a hand to her teeth and feel the fangs there to know that vampires were real. She pulled at one of the snake-like fangs and hoped it would come out to reveal itself to be plastic. That didn’t happen; she felt a sting of pain run through her and stopped. The fangs were very real.
She didn’t understand how she could be a vampire. She had walked from home to the Plaine Museum this morning, in the sunlight. Weren’t vampires supposed to turn to ash in the light? Isn’t that why they slept in coffins in old castles? She had seen her reflection in the mirror as well—weren’t vampires supposed to not have reflections?
She wanted to believe maybe she wasn’t really a vampire. Maybe there was another explanation for it. But she had only to remember the taste of Megan’s blood, how it had filled her in a way no real food had, to know there could be no other explanation.
She was still engrossed in these thoughts when she heard a woman shout, “Hey, what are you doing out here?”
Emma turned to see a police officer across the street; she wore the same body armor and carried the same machine gun as the one she’d tried to get directions from earlier. The only difference was that this one wore glasses—and had breasts. The policewoman marched across the street towards her, the machine gun still at her hip. “I asked you a question.”
“I’m just going home,” Emma said.
“There’s a curfew for kids under eighteen.”
“I’m nineteen.”
“Sure you are.” The policewoman came closer, until Emma could see the name “Morgan” on her right breast. “You look about fourteen to me.”
“Fourteen?” Emma put a hand to her cheeks and expected to find pimples there. “I’m nineteen.”
“Yeah? Let’s see some ID then, kid.”
Emma was about to reach into her purse when Officer Morgan snatched the bag away. With her other hand she shoved Emma to the ground. Emma’s muscles tensed, prepared to launch her back to her feet, but she forced herself to relax. The cop was armed and she wasn’t.
Except that might not matter. Vampires were supposed to be immortal. Then again vampires were supposed to be afraid of sunlight and not have reflections, but those didn’t seem to apply to her. She decided not to test the immortality thing like this.
Officer Morgan rummaged through her purse and tossed the contents to the ground. “Nice lipstick. I think it’d look good on me.”
“Excuse me—”
The policewoman planted a boot on Emma’s back. “Shut up, punk.”
“I’m not a punk. I was just on my way home.”
“Yeah, and what were you doing out so late? Watching the stars?”
“I was on a date.”
“Oh, I see. How much did he pay you?”
“Pay me?”
“I doubt it was much. Junkie trash like you are pretty much a dime a dozen.”
Emma’s face turned warm while she lay on the sidewalk as she began to understand what the policewoman meant. “I’m not a prostitute.”
“Not dressed like that.” Officer Morgan finally found Emma’s ID card. “Emma Jane Earl. Age nineteen. Well, isn’t that great? Your story checks out.”
“Does that mean I can go?”
The boot lifted from Emma’s back. “Sure, honey. Just don’t let me catch you on my beat again. Got it?”
“I understand,” Emma said as she scrambled to pick up her meager possessions. Finally she got to her feet and faced Officer Morgan for a moment. The policewoman had her hair back in a ponytail so that her neck was exposed. A neck that looked so pale and vulnerable compared to the rest of her armored body. She could probably grab Officer Morgan and bite into her before the police officer could raise her weapon. It would serve her right for being so mean.
“You got a problem, kid? I said to get lost.”
This snapped Emma out of it. Officer Morgan might not have been very nice to her, but that didn’t mean she deserved to have her life drained from her. “I just wanted to apologize.”
“Yeah, fine. You apologized. Get out of here.”
Emma nodded and then walked away as quickly as she could.
***
She made it the rest of the way home without incident. She passed a couple more people on the street, but no cops. Thoughts of devouring them rose in her mind, but she managed to fight these off, to keep herself under control. As she climbed up the fire escape, she felt another urge when she saw a little girl asleep, a stuffed bear clutched to her chest, her neck perfectly exposed. It would be so easy to slip in through the window, s
neak up on the girl, and then bite her throat. The girl’s blood would probably be even sweeter than Megan’s, almost pure.
Emma shook her head and forced herself to climb up to her window. She stuck her head inside and made sure Becky or Jim wasn’t there. The bed looked untouched since she’d snuck out with Jim a few hours ago. With a sigh of relief, Emma climbed into bed. She pulled the covers up over her head. Sunlight hadn’t really bothered her this morning—though now that she thought of it, her eyes had stung when she went outside—but maybe now that her vampirism had become more apparent it would.
She had nearly fallen asleep when she heard a rustling. At first Emma thought it was the wind, but then it came again, more distinct this time. It wasn’t the wind—it was someone laughing. “Jim?”
“No, I’m not your boyfriend,” a voice hissed.
Emma peeled the covers back and fumbled to find her glasses. The glasses didn’t help much, as there wasn’t anything to see, only a shadowy form that was vaguely female and a pair of glowing red eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m your mother.”
“No you’re not.”
“In a way, I am. I created you.”
The woman opened her mouth to display a pair of white fangs. Emma put a hand to her neck. “You made me a vampire?”
“Very good. At least your brain hasn’t completely turned to mush yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I stand corrected.”
“What do you want with me?”
When the woman grinned, the horrible fangs glinted at Emma. She put a hand to her own mouth, to feel her identical set. Did her eyes glow red too? “No, your feeble eyes are just the way you remember them. You’re just my pet.”
“You can read my mind?”
“It’s not hard. Your mind is so simple.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“You were stupid enough to walk right into the trap I set.”
Emma touched her neck again and tried to feel the holes. “How?”
“That’s not important.” The shadowy form drifted over to the foot of the bed; it seemed to pass through the bed. The red eyes burned from just a foot away from Emma. She pressed herself against the headboard and tried to muster the courage to shout for Becky. “Go on and call for Becky. You think a fat waitress can do anything to me? But it might be amusing to watch her try. Maybe then we could share in her blood.”
“I’d never do that. Not to Becky.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s wrong. It’s evil.”
“You’re so naïve. Do you think you sucking Becky or Jim or Megan dry is any different than going to a restaurant and ordering a steak? Everyone feeds on the living to survive.”
“But not living people.”
“Most people aren’t much smarter than cows. Look at your friends. None of them will ever amount to anything.”
“That’s not true. They can be whatever they want.”
“Only as long as I allow it. They’re pawns—just like you.”
“I’m not your pawn. I’m not going to become like you.”
The shadow drifted closer; a ghostly hand touched Emma’s hair. “Sooner or later you’ll have to give in. You’ll have to feed. Maybe it will be Jim or Becky or some stranger, but you’ll have to kill someone if you want to survive.”
“No. I won’t do it. I can’t kill anyone.”
“Of course you can. And you will, when you get hungry enough.
“No,” Emma said with less certainty.
“You can feel it already, the hunger. The longing for their blood. It’s only going to get worse. And when it does, the beast will become stronger. All those rules, all that morality, will fade away. Then you’ll be just like me.”
Emma swatted at the woman, but her hand went through her shadowy body. There was nothing Emma could do then but pull the covers back over her head; she trembled while the woman’s laughter echoed in her ears.
***
When she felt someone shaking her, Emma whimpered, certain the woman with the red eyes would finish her off now. She remained curled up into a ball even after she felt the covers pulled away from her. She began to shiver then not only from fear but the cool air from the open window.
“Come on, kid. I don’t have time for this,” Becky said.
Emma looked up to see her friend already dressed and made up for work. She turned back to the clock and saw it was five minutes to eight. “Oh no. I’m going to be late.” She rolled out of the bed and searched through the piles on the floor to find her shirt and pants. She should have washed them yesterday, but she didn’t have the money to go to a laundromat. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?”
“I’ve been trying to wake you up for a half-hour now. I was about to get a bucket of water to dump on you.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to getting up early.”
Becky’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Emma. “Did you sleep in your glasses?”
Emma put a hand to her face and realized she hadn’t taken the glasses off after the incident with the shadow woman. “I must have forgot.”
“You look like shit. Did you get any sleep last night?”
“A little bit. It’s hard adjusting, you know?”
“Yeah, right.” Becky folded her arms across her chest. “You went out with that Jim guy, didn’t you? Even after you promised—”
“I didn’t promise.” She didn’t have time to move before Becky had somehow darted across the room to grab her arms. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for track marks.”
“Track marks?”
Becky ignored the question; she brought her face close to Emma’s and squinted at her. “Your nose seems clean too. What was it: X? ‘Shrooms? Clear liquid?”
“What are you talking about?”
“What kind of drugs were you and Jim doing?”
“None.”
“Oh, so you were just drinking then?”
“No!” Emma sighed. “He bought a Coke for me. That’s all.”
“Probably laced with something.”
“No. Why are you acting like this? I didn’t do anything!” Her mind flashed back to the alley; she thought of when she grabbed on to Megan and put her teeth to Megan’s neck—
Emma shook Becky’s grip off and then ran into the bathroom. She opened her mouth wide to stare at her teeth. They looked perfectly normal now. She touched one of her incisors just to make sure it wouldn’t come off to reveal a fang.
She sagged onto the toilet and put both hands to her head. Had she dreamed the whole thing? Maybe Jim had slipped her some kind of hallucinogen that had caused her to think she was a vampire. No, Jim wouldn’t do that. He liked her. They had kissed. The bartender might have put it in there. She thought of the bartender’s reaction; he had called her a “narc.” He might have put something in there just to teach her a lesson.
That meant all the rest of it hadn’t been real. Her thoughts about biting Jim, the scene with Megan in the alley, the encounter with Officer Morgan, and of course that shadow woman with the red eyes had all been figments of her imagination. They were just a hallucination, a delusion. She wasn’t a vampire. Those didn’t exist.
“Emma, what’s going on? What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there was something in that Coke.”
“I told you not to go to that party. You never listen to me.”
“I’m sorry.” Emma stood up to give her best friend a brief hug. “I’d better get ready to go. I don’t want to be late.”
She didn’t have time for a shower, so she sprayed on some of Becky’s perfume and then pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail so it might not look so greasy. Then she slipped into her work clothes; she remembered to wear the long-sleeved white shirt beneath her blue one so none of her tattoos showed. She didn’t want to incur Leslie’s wrath again.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Beck
y held out a paper plate with a bagel on it. “We’d better get moving,” Becky said. “You can eat on the way.”
Emma followed Becky outside; her eyes stung from the bright sunlight. She should really remember to get some sunglasses. Maybe the gift shop would have some. She took a bite of the bagel. Her throat tightened; she gagged on the chunk of bagel. Emma forced it down. She was normal. Perfectly normal, just like everyone else. She heard the shadow woman laugh again even as she thought this.
Chapter 12
Tim didn’t know how he got back to the factory. The last thing he could remember, he was at some dump of a bar with Sylvia. They’d shared a few shots of tequila and then he’d made an ass of himself when he tried to dance with her. From there everything became hazy, though he felt certain they had kissed. Or maybe he just dreamed they kissed. Maybe he dreamed the whole thing.
He remembered he had woke up on the loading dock of the factory to the smell of diesel fumes and the rumble of engines. He groaned at the sight of two more trucks loaded with materials for his project. Renee’s handiwork no doubt. Did she have to schedule the deliveries so damned early?
As he signed for the items and instructed the crews where to unload, he wished Renee were here. Try as he might, he couldn’t master her imperial bearing around the delivery crews. It was probably because she was a spoiled rich kid while he was a mere grease monkey. It was a lot more difficult to boss around people at the same level as you in the social hierarchy.
He hadn’t seen what had become of Renee. He’d been at work when the cell phone she’d bought for him vibrated to indicate he had a text message. “Cops R Here,” Renee had written. “Ill handle. CUL8R.” He’d needed a full minute to decipher the last part of the message before he realized she meant, “See you later.” Despite that he knew most everything about machines, he’d never spent enough time socializing to pick up slang like that. And of course in prison they didn’t let you text message.
When he went outside later, he found the cans of paint on the sidewalk. Those same cans sat now on a worktable for future use. To paint the prototype would be the last step—first he had to make sure it worked. The materials Renee had ordered for him should be the last he would need to get the prototype created.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis Page 153
