The Girl With Crooked Fangs

by Amy Cross

  “We have to leave,” he said finally.

  “John -”

  “I had a body on my slab yesterday,” he continued, “with two puncture wounds.” He touched the side of his neck, indicating the spot where Michael Daniels had been bitten. “I persuaded myself that I was wrong, that I was being paranoid, but deep down I knew...” He paused. “I have to pack up and get Isobel out of this town.”

  “There's no need to overreact just yet. The Sentinels are -”

  “I'm not overreacting,” John continued, heading over to the table in a state of panic. “Florida. That's another place where vampires are rarely found. I'll take her to Florida, we'll start again and -”

  “John, just calm down and -”

  “She's sixteen years old!” John shouted, stepping closer. “She's not prepared for any of this, and I'm not going to let her get hurt by those... things!”

  “Those things?” O'Malley asked. “You act like you're not still one of us, John. Get your teeth fixed all you like, but you're still a vampire. How do you deal with the blood situation, anyway? Do you...” His voice trailed off, before a faint smile slowly crossed his burned lips. “Well, now I understand why you opened a funeral parlor. I guess with all those bodies passing through, you have a nice little supply of reasonably fresh blood to keep your urges satisfied, and no-one pays any attention. Pretty smart, my friend.”

  “I'm not your friend,” John sneered, “not anymore. I left that world behind.” He took a deep breath, running through the outline of a plan in his mind. “I can get everything packed by this evening. I can make up an excuse for Isobel, she won't like it but she'll just have to accept my decision. We can be on the road by eight or nine tonight, and then once we get to Florida we'll -”

  “You can't leave Sobolton, John.”

  “You can't stop me.”

  “But the Sentinels can.”

  John opened his mouth to argue, before pausing.

  “Like I said,” O'Malley continued, “there are three Gothosian Sentinels guarding the perimeter of the area. They're not going to let any vampire in or out of Sobolton, not until they know that the situation has been resolved. I was given special clearance to come in, but that was a one-off. Call it a case of looking out for an old friend. I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  “Tell them who I am,” John replied. “Tell them it's safe to let me leave.”

  “Given the nature of the situation, they won't listen.”

  “Tell them about Isobel, then! Even if I have to stay, Isobel must be allowed to get out of here! She's a child!”

  “I'm sorry, John, but until they know more and deem that the threat is over, the Sentinels won't let either of you out of here. Or me, for that matter. It's a total lock-down, John. That's how serious things are. The vampire they tracked to Sobolton... Whoever it is, it's someone very powerful, and no-one wants to risk losing track of him again. The Sentinels will finish their mission here, one way or the other, but they won't involve you or Izzy. All you have to do is keep your heads down, not draw attention to yourselves, and trust that the Sentinels know what they're doing. They don't give a damn about you. With a little luck, it'll all be over in a day or two.”

  Heading over to the table, John took a seat and put his head in his hands.

  “I tried to warn you,” O'Malley pointed out. “I tried calling and emailing. If you'd responded earlier, there might have been time for you and Izzy to get out first.”

  “I just wanted to protect her,” John replied. “I didn't want her to ever face any of this.”

  “Her biology -”

  “I know that!” he hissed. “I know she'll have to learn some of it, but I wanted to keep her away from the rest! I wanted to keep her away from the violence and the pain and the misery!” He paused. “And I failed. I failed miserably.”

  “You didn't fail, John. You just set yourself an impossible task. Vampires always -”

  “I failed!” he hissed. “I failed every promise I made to her after her mother died!”

  O'Malley paused for a moment. “You tried to do something no vampire has ever managed before,” he said finally. “You tried to hide from the rest of the species, and you pulled it off for a long time but... You knew something like this would happen one day, John. You knew Izzy would learn the truth eventually. It can't be stopped. It's part of her. Either you tell her, or she'll have to find it out for herself. And if she has to do it herself, it's gonna be a lot more messy.”

  He paused for a moment, waiting for a reply.

  “And you might have to tell her all of it, John. Even the part you swore you'd keep secret forever.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hurrying along the corridor, trying to get to her next class as quickly as possible, Izzy spotted Rita up ahead. Her initial instinct was to apologize for being so rude earlier, but after they made eye contact Rita quickly turned away and disappeared into the crowd. She was clearly not in the mood for a chat. By the time Izzy got to the junction, she realized Rita was already gone.

  Sighing, Izzy figured she'd burned that particular bridge before it had even been built. Still, she guessed it was probably for the best. The last thing she wanted was -

  Blood.

  Turning suddenly as a group of girls slipped past, Izzy was momentarily filled with an all-consuming yearning for blood. She could smell an iron tang in the air, and she could almost taste blood in her mouth, but not her own blood.

  Someone else's blood.

  She watched the girls for a moment before focusing on one of them in particular.

  Violet Hayes.

  It was Violet's blood she could taste, and it seemed to be everywhere. The mystery was not that blood was now filling her senses, she told herself, but that everyone else around her seemed so utterly oblivious. It was as if suddenly a cloud of blood spores had burst from Violet's body, trailing behind her.

  Almost in a daze, Izzy began to follow the girls along the crowded corridor. People were chattering and talking all around, but all Izzy could think about was the need to get closer to Violet, to smell her blood more strongly, to taste the blood and drink it in. She was vaguely aware that she kept bumping into some of the other pupils, and she heard a few of them telling her to watch where she was going, but she no longer cared about any of that. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on the back of Violet's neck and followed the group of girls through the next door, into the changing room adjacent to the school's gym.

  “I hate this time of the month,” Violet muttered as she dropped her bag onto one of the benches. “Why the hell do we have to do stupid gym stuff anyway? What's the -”

  Spotting Izzy, she suddenly stopped and frowned.

  “What do you want?” she continued as Izzy stepped closer. “Do you even have gym right now, or are you just following us?”

  “She's probably following us,” suggested Annabel, one of the other girls. “Like a dork.”

  As she got closer, Izzy realized the sense of blood was becoming much stronger. At first she looked at Violet's neck, sensing the throbbing jugular veins filled with rich, beautiful fluid, but after a moment she glanced down as she realized that the real blood stench was coming from another part of Violet's body, almost as if -

  “Woah!” Violet said, holding a hand out to keep Izzy from getting any closer. “Have you ever heard of personal space, bitch? What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

  Blinking, Izzy realized she'd been in some kind of trance. She stepped back, barely able to remember how she'd ended up in the changing room in the first place, although she could still smell blood in the air and she felt her heart pounding with...

  With what?

  Desire?

  Hunger?

  It was more a mix of the two, a powerful need to get closer to Violet.

  A craving she couldn't hope to deny.

  “What are you doing?” Violet asked, her eyes filled with a sense of disgust. “Even for a freak, Izzy, you're being extra freaky
today. What's wrong, have you turned lesbo or something?”

  Annabel giggled.

  Izzy opened her mouth to reply, but for a moment she didn't really understand what was happening. She'd never felt such a powerful hunger before, and she could already feel herself slipping back into the daze. Instinctively, without really noticing what she was doing, she took another step closer to Violet, while trying to -

  “Knock it off!” Violet hissed, pushing her hand away.

  Startled, Izzy realized that somehow her hand had briefly rested on Violet's shoulder. She didn't remember putting it there, as if she'd lost a few seconds from her memory. Still, as shocked as she felt, she could already sense herself slipping back into the daze.

  “Seriously, Farmer,” Violet sneered, “you're being super mega weird right now!”

  “Just let me come closer,” Izzy heard herself saying, even though she had no idea why. She tried again to step toward Violet, and once again she was pushed back. “What's wrong with you?” she asked. “Why can't I just come closer?”

  “Because you're being a freak!” Violet said firmly.

  “She's being more than a freak,” Annabel added. “She's acting like a total psycho.”

  “Just let me try it,” Izzy whispered, trying yet again to approach Violet. “I smell the blood. I want the -”

  “Go to hell!” Violet yelled.

  Shoved back yet again, Izzy tripped this time and began to fall. She tried to steady herself, but her foot caught on a bag and she slammed down, bumping her chin against the side of a bench and then landing hard in a heap on the floor. Letting out a gasp, she instantly felt a burst of blood in her mouth, along with a sharp flash of pain. As she began to get up, she felt with her tongue and realized that the inside of her lip was gashed, having apparently snagged against one of the two sharp little teeth that were still emerging from her gums.

  Wincing with pain, she swallowed the blood in her mouth and then turned to find the other girls all staring at her. Some of them were smiling nervously, while others seemed totally disgusted. A few more had entered the changing room, too, and were staring with a mixture of shock and amusement.

  “Sorry,” Violet said darkly, “but you had that coming! What the hell's wrong with you?”

  “I didn't...” Pausing, Izzy realized that the taste of her own blood had somehow woken her from the daze. She stepped back, bumping against one of the lockers, before mumbling something about a mistake and then hurrying back out into the corridor.

  Tasting more blood, she made her way to the bathroom. She couldn't help noticing that people were looking at her, and when she reached up and touched her chin she found that a dribble of blood had leaked from her mouth.

  By the time she reached the bathroom, there were tears in her eyes and she felt as if the world was spinning.

  ***

  “So now,” Mr. Marsh continued, stepping back from the chalkboard and turning to look at the class, “can anyone tell me about the Whigs. What was their aim? Why did these particular people join together as a political party, and what did they want? Any time we study history, we have to start by asking what did the people we're studying want. Any takers?”

  As she heard someone near the front offering a tentative answer, Izzy focused on slowly driving the pen lid into the palm of her hand. She'd already managed to pierce her skin, and a few dribbles of blood had run down her flesh, but now she needed to dig deeper, to really gouge at the meat underneath and cause herself more pain. She didn't enjoy the pain, but she'd found that it was the only thing that made her feel as if she was really herself again. Every time she stopped, even just for a moment or so, she felt a rising tide of hunger rippling through her chest.

  And the need for blood.

  She couldn't explain it, but somehow she could smell blood in the air, all around. Then again, maybe smell wasn't the right word, it felt more like the blood was calling to her, demanding her attention. Somehow the pores of all her fellow students seemed to have opened a little, allowing the deep, rich aroma to rise and fill the room. The scent from some students was much stronger than from others, and Izzy had begun to notice that everyone seemed to have their own distinctive, individual blood-strain. Amanda Silk at the next table along, for example, smelled a little weak, almost anemic, while Thomas Dodes at the table in front seemed to have blood that was somehow...

  Extra-rich?

  Extra-tasty?

  Lacking the vocabulary to really describe the differences, Izzy was left to focus on the unlikeliness of the fact that she could sense the blood at all. She felt that perhaps she was imagining the whole thing, that something else was very wrong with her, but she was also terrified that if she let the hunger become too strong, if she let it run amok through her body, she might end up doing something she'd regret. It was hard enough to stay seated and ignore her impulses, and she was genuinely scared that at any moment she might lunge at someone at a nearby desk.

  Hence the pen lid, the pain from which was just enough to keep her thoughts focused so that she wouldn't lose control.

  Just enough.

  Almost not.

  And maybe soon, perhaps -

  “Gross,” Amanda Silk whispered suddenly.

  Turning to her, Izzy realized she'd been spotted. Amanda was staring at the cut on the palm of her hand, although Izzy quickly turned it away from her.

  “You're gross,” Amanda hissed with a grimace. “And so emo.”

  Izzy looked down at her hand, annoyed at having been called out but still determined to keep the hunger under control. Already feeling herself slipping into the daze again, she quickly dug the pen-lid into the wound.

  “Amanda,” Mr. Marsh called out, “you seem to have something to say. Why don't you tell the rest of the class why the Whigs were so opposed to the policies of President Jackson?”

  As Amanda struggled to find an answer, Izzy took a deep breath and dug the sharp pen lid deeper and deeper into the palm of her hand. The pain was working for now, keeping her other impulses under control, but she felt certain that sooner or later she'd have to find some other way to hold the hunger at bay. Then there was the pain in her gut, which was still gnawing away at her even though it had been relatively quiet all afternoon. Something was wrong, she knew that much, but finally she told herself she could handle it alone. She'd always prided herself on having iron will-power, and she figured this was simply another test.

  All around her, however, the scent of blood was getting stronger and stronger in the air. So strong, in fact, that she could almost see its wispy cotton strands floating in the air.

  And she could hear the blood, too. Like a dull, throbbing song, rising up from the bodies of everyone else in the classroom. Threatening a rush.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hey, John!”

  Almost leaping out of his skin, John spun around and saw to his horror that Doctor Natalie Laine was making her way along the driveway. A moment later, he realized she was dressed in normal, everyday clothes, as opposed to the lab coat she'd always been wearing during their previous meetings.

  “Sorry,” she said with a smile as she reached him, “I didn't mean to startle you.”

  “You didn't,” he replied, turning and looking into the back of the empty hearse for a moment, before slamming the door shut. “I was just... dusting...”

  “How's it going with Mr. Doe?”

  He turned to her. “Who?”

  “The burned corpse you picked up last night,” she continued. “I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't just drop by like this, but I was on my way home after working a double-shift at the hospital and I realized I'd forgotten to give you the turning docket.” Reaching into her pocket, she took out a folded sheet of yellow paper and held it out for him. “I know it's not strictly necessary, but you might have trouble at the crematorium without it. You know how officious they can be sometimes.”

  Taking the document, John gave it a quick look before folding it and slipping it into his poc
ket.

  “So now you have it,” Natalie said with a faint smile.

  “Now I do.”

  “Which is how things should be.”

  “Indeed.”

  An awkward silence fell for a moment, as they each waited for the other to say something. After a few seconds, however, the silence was broken by a sudden whirring sound from inside the house.

  “Is that...” Natalie frowned. “Is that an ice-cream maker?”

  “It is,” John replied, trying to hide his irritation.

  “Is Izzy inside?” she continued with a smile. “I haven't seen Izzy in -”

  “It's just a friend who's visiting,” he added, interrupting her before checking his watch and seeing that Izzy was thirty minutes late. “Although Isobel is due home from school very soon. She's usually extremely punctual.”

  “Sounds like a typical teenager,” Natalie replied, before rolling her eyes. “Not!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It was a...” Her voice trailed off. “It was a joke.” Now she was the one checking the time, suddenly filled with a sense of awkwardness. “Maybe I should get going...”

  “Undoubtedly,” John replied, unable to hide a sense of relief. “I mean... I'm sure you have plenty to be doing.”

  “I think I just need to sleep mostly,” she said with a sigh, before tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Plus, I still haven't found anyone to take that second opera ticket. Anyone'd think I've got the plague or something, but I just can't get anyone to come with me. Maybe I smell bad. I don't smell bad, do I?”

  “Did you try the internet?” he asked.

  “I did. I put up a quick profile on a dating site. I got lots of...” She paused, with a hint of discomfort in her eyes. “Photographs. From men. Interesting photographs. Magic Flute puns. Nothing that really suggested an interest in opera, though.”

  “Well, perseverance is the key to many things in life,” he pointed out.

  “It is,” she said, nodding sagely. “Certainly. I couldn't agree with you more. Gotta keep... trying...”