Blood Crescent

by S. M. McCoy

  “Stuff about why you have to lie about your age?” My mouth dropped open and I turned away so he didn’t see my shock. I was hoping it would come off as my snuffing him, but I feared it only came across as me acting my real age. Whatever that meant, why did it matter how old I was? My problems were just as important as if I really were eighteen years old.

  “I don’t lie about that.” Not really, I’d never really been point blank asked how old I was before. It was always assumed based on the fact that I had a job, lived with a roomy, certified in training silver-level techniques and some gold, that I was older than I was, because I had to be. Because I had no choice but to be older than I was, and for a time I was all right with that. Now I wanted to be selfish, now I wanted to be free from all the responsibilities I had to have for a bit, just for a short time before having to come back to reality that I had to be older than I was.

  “So, you didn’t just turn sixteen then?” How did he know any of this? Why did I even want to admit to him that I was sixteen? Part of me wanted him to help me. If he knew then maybe what? He would give me free coffee, save me from the serpents, and give me the time to understand my feelings for him? That I wouldn’t have to keep remembering what lies I told who? That the burden of knowing I was either dying or turning into a vampire would go away?

  That I actually had a choice to go back to being just myself, not having to act like an adult anymore? What did that even mean? I wanted everyone to take me seriously—wouldn’t my age change that? Would he believe me whether I was sixteen or eighteen that I was caught in a supernatural mess? Would that change anything? Or would I still be here, figuring out what I wanted, and whether I was still me anymore?

  “Technically?” I pressed my lips together to keep all my thoughts to myself. Pinning those questions into the wall, and leaving them unanswered. I didn’t realize how much even the idea of not telling him sent a burn through my whole body, like I was physically recoiling at the decision to leave him in the dark.

  “No, really.” He pressed further, and held out his hand like we had known each other for forever, sharing worse secrets about my conspiracies and my mother. My age was trivial comparatively. “I don’t trust you going to this event. Not right now. Not when I know he’s out there.”

  “Who’s out there?” I was fed up with the game now, I needed answers.

  But how was I supposed to trust anything he said was any less fake than the age on my work application, or my fake social security number to pass background checks, or even the fake smile I put on, as I looked into those patient blue eyes waiting for me to spin him more lies. Because I would. Lie to him.

  “I thought I would have time to explain this to you, but I don’t. I would travel the world with you, run away from the Council, and protect you from the guardians, but I can’t seem to press past the anxiety that you’re going to leave and I’ll never see you again. I have a very bad feeling about the invitation to a job so soon after you’ve given your address to a place that they would look for you.

  “He’s out there, and he’s been watching us. There’s too many people in New York, and it’s a perfect place for him to get to you.”

  “Who is him?” I growled back at him frustrated.

  “You know who.”

  “I can feel the shadows.” I felt my heart jump realizing what I admitted to him, that I didn’t admit to anyone else. I shook my head from the lapse in judgement—I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to say anything but the truth to him.

  “I want to find the stuff that my past is made of, wherever that might take me, even if it means leaving dancing, music, friends, or even a fine boy with big dreams. I’m not a fine girl and if disappearing is what I need to do one day, I’ve done it before and I’d do it again.”

  I looked up into the sky waiting for it to fall on me for basically turning down a fine boy from getting to know me when the door was wide open. I wouldn’t be able to leave him without his consent. That’s how close he was to me after only a year. I shared more with him than I shared with anyone else.

  He had to let me go for me to disappear without him. My heart throbbed, banging against my ribcage in protest. Don’t do this, don’t push him away. The pressure was building up, flushing my cheeks and threatening to spill over to burning my eyes. If it reached my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore, the water would defend me, and all would be lost. That was the first time I lied to him.

  He didn’t understand what it felt like to lose my mother before I could even remember her. And according to my dad she was still alive, somewhere? He didn’t understand what it felt like to feel your insides changing, and knowing it was either death or destruction of who I once was.

  I wasn’t stupid—some mothers didn’t want to be mothers, and maybe she was off somewhere living her life without me. But out of morbid curiosity I wanted to know what she did, who she was, and if I was anything like her. More importantly I wanted to know if the shadows were right, was it her blood in me that the Council wanted? I felt the pang of the loneliness wearing the necklace spun up inside of me. They wanted to answer my question, but I already knew the answer. She was at the center of all of this, and she had to know how to get me out of it.

  Victor spoke of the Council, and only the shadows had spoken of it before. He said he’d protect me from them, so he knew who “them” was. I panicked, and felt myself hyperventilating.

  If my mother was anything like me, did she have the same problems? Did the world fade away into the background, did food lose its taste, did time escape her, and if so did she struggle to find a reason to live?

  Why, if she was alive, didn’t she come back for me, before my dad went conspiracy theorist and sent me away? I shook my head, that was nonsense. Enough—I knew my dad wasn’t crazy, because if he was, so was I. I could hear the voices, like he did, haunting me and telling me they were coming for me. The necklace stopped those voices, but I didn’t know if I wanted that.

  I heard it again, dreamwalker. I was forgetting something, something important; it had to do with my mother, my lost time, the way the world looked different, the way my wound wouldn’t fully heal, and why I was dying inside.

  “Until then.” He seemed to smirk at me, unsettling. “But what you should be wondering is how I know you’re lying.”

  And I did wonder.

  But if I cracked and asked, wasn’t that affirming his suspicions? Wasn’t that all they were right now? Otherwise why not out me and tell my boss, send the Child Protective Services on me, take away my rights and put them in the hands of a stranger.

  Unless he wanted something first.

  My question wasn’t just how, but why now, why tell me, what did he want? Because it certainly wasn’t just to whisk me away with him to travel the world, make babies, and live happily ever after. I wasn’t the girl he wanted to run away with. I couldn’t be.

  “Aren’t you…” …Lying to me as well? I thought.

  “Fair enough.” He nodded to me and went back inside the shop. He was most certainly playing a game with me, I just didn’t know the rules or aim. Part of me was pushing down the obvious, he was one of them, one of the shadows…

  Something about him was everything I wanted, nice, but there was something else there as well, mischief. Being cryptic gave me a bit of a thrill, but it was mixed with a heat that at that moment could only be described as rivalry, though that could easily change as information evolved.

  Let the games begin.

  “Have you had enough air yet?” Aislin burst through the door, too cheerful in my opinion. Like she had a shot too much in her coffee. Maybe a bit too much sugar?

  “Plenty, let’s get out of here.” I looked back at Victor, who was now holding the door open for Aislin.

  “To the city!” Zack hollered so that every person in town could hear his call to arms. Which at this point it would be a battle, getting through traffic at this time.

  I claimed the front passenger side this time.
I didn’t want to look at Miguel’s face or have his hands all over me during our extended car ride. Lucky for me he remained silent most of the way. I couldn’t say the same for Zack, he was always kind of a loud mouth ever since he started. He loved this job for the attention and the spotlight—it really did feel like being a famous movie star.

  People wanted to be you, they would watch your every elegant move on the stage. They love the feeling they get when they’re around you, they love the glamor and the expectation that they should dress up when they see you and you do the same for them, they love the parties, the attention; it was the middle-class escape into upper-class society.

  And we were it.

  The escape.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fortifying the Unreal

  We made it to an enormously tall building, well into the New York skyline. At the top, I’m sure that everyone felt like they could see the whole world. Taking the elevator, we went up several stories to arrive at our floor. By this time my arms were exhausted from holding those bags the whole way. The changing rooms were our first mark, then search for the man in charge. It didn’t take long; he was the guy mingling with one group then moving on to the next, always the good host. Tough being “that guy,” you have to be everywhere at once.

  He spotted us like an expert trained to search all exits, entrances, windows, people, and possibilities. If I didn’t know better—and maybe I didn’t—he was an Army vet who really did know how to read a room. He sped up his pleasantries with his current grouping to then come greet us. Even his haircut looked military. Horvat greeted us, and none so subtly flirted with Aislin.

  “I expect a dance from you later!” she called out.

  He turned, smiling at her, “Most positively. Do save me a dance after your show.” He glanced toward me. “I look forward to dancing with you as well.”

  I smiled and nodded in response. Of course, I got lumped in with the invite. I was looking forward to heading out afterward, not cozying up with the paycheck. Technically I still could, but it’s best not to fray new rope; never know when you’ll need it in the future.

  Could need a pull out of a situation or even a noose for any social enemies, better to have enough rope. So, I smiled and played the part. I was, after all, a professional ballroom dancer and that required acting. I had a role to play and everyone was my audience and there was no intermission or curtain drop until the end.

  There were tables everywhere surrounding the dance floor, each decorated with satin cloth and glass sculpture centerpieces. From the ceiling hung crystal chandeliers and low-hanging curtains of glass that shimmered in the light like thousands of stars. I approached one of the tables with the food and a cool breeze caressed my neck, prickling my skin. I could smell baked cinnamon apple in the air, both sweet and mouthwatering, but I didn’t see a pie on the table anywhere. That would be too homespun for this lot.

  As I turned around I heard a man’s voice ask, “May I have this dance?” His hand brushed coolly against my arm as he grazed past me. I shivered remembering his voice from somewhere before: “I’ve found you.”

  There was a second where our eyes met, and I slowly looked away. I made sure not to snap away otherwise it would have been too obvious that I was staring. But I couldn’t linger to get a deep look, or I would have been found out.

  It took all my control to keep myself from looking back. I breathed in slowly trying to keep the scent as long as possible before he drifted away. It smelled a hell of a lot better than the aftershave of Miguel; after being stuck in a closed-windowed car with him for hours, it was refreshing. But the association with being found by the same serpents who captured my mother was giving me an ulcer.

  Choking on the smug look of a man who obviously thought he was God’s gift, a masterpiece made from the ingredients of Heaven itself. His hair straight and wisped to one side was the color of clouds, white with a hint of a storm coming in at the roots. It had the disguise of sunshine but with a sense of impending rain underneath. I was sure that spoke to more than just his features. Long but soft edges and pale skin gave off an innocent angelic face.

  The eyes are the windows to the truth, as some say. And in this case, I think they were right. There was hardness to those eyes, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He scared me.

  I didn’t have time to analyze strangers when I had my mother to find, or at the very least a relative that could help me navigate the world I’d been plunged into. All the while, this impending doom feeling of knowing if auras were real, then I was going to die very young, but at this point I didn’t know if that meant I was changing or actually dying.

  As that vile wolf in sheep’s clothing passed me, he picked up the hand of a possible victim. She was beautiful and slender, like a model, and was wearing a long black dress with sequin accents on sheer overlay.

  Or maybe she only seemed beautiful because it’s the stereotypical beautiful that women have been made to believe in. She was runway-model skinny, like the skinny clothing designers go for because they are literally a hanger frame for beautiful pieces of art. Without any Photoshop she looked that way, which made even my proportions feel like fat was oozing from my sides, and I considered myself…average. Her hair was shiny, healthy, not a strand out of place. It probably only took her two seconds to get ready, I-woke-up-like-this look; I could imagine her saying that to him as they laughed near the hors d’oeuvres.

  Then again…

  I might just be jealous of the dress. It was designer…it had to be.

  Aside from the woman, that voice seemed vaguely familiar, like I’d heard him somewhere before. Maybe I was relating his voice to something I’d heard in my nightmares.

  Men like him needed to be kept at great distances. I’d heard the cuter they are, the more vicious. A flash of Victor’s face came to mind. There were exceptions to every rule.

  I’d only fallen for the trap once. Miguel seemed like a nice enough guy when I was fourteen, until he wanted more than I could give him. In his defense, being a seventeen-year-old man came with wants any normal sixteen-year-old girl would gladly throw themselves into with an attractive dancer. Problem was, I wasn’t sixteen then.

  Fool me once, shame on you.

  Fool me twice, shame on me.

  “I would love to.” Her voice was surprisingly shy compared to what I might have expected, the way she carried herself was as if she were a movie star, and the way she sounded was like she was on her first audition.

  I could barely hear the words coming out of her mouth over the music, and I wasn’t far away now. Just on the other side of the table, cautiously looking anywhere else except at them. The little shrimps slathered in butter sauce were strange, like fingers clawing the serving bowls for dear life. I glared at the little creepers until I heard his voice again. I couldn’t help but look up.

  “Excellent.” He took her hand and as they headed to the dance floor I shifted my gaze as to not seem as if I was a secret agent observing a terrorist before he planted a bomb.

  Yet that’s exactly what I was doing. And he was exactly that, luring that shy model into his perpetual self-destruction.

  But while I was expertly avoiding their notice, out of my peripheral vision, I noticed something odd.

  No, I was wrong. Definitely wrong. The world didn’t revolve around me, but let’s say it did, for a moment. I could have sworn as he twirled her on the floor, he wasn’t looking at her.

  If only for a second, he was looking at me. Which was ridiculous, of course, why would he be looking at me?

  Unless he realized I was looking at them? No one would have noticed, especially when being preoccupied by a model. I’d had enough of this, whatever this was, why did I have to analyze everything? I was finished; I was going to head outside for some air before the routine.

  “Enough of the music and hobnobbing?” A man followed me from behind, and continued, “I thought I would escape the social scene myself, though sometimes the outside is never quite as refres
hing as you hope.” He paused then added, “But sometimes it’s better.”

  “No, I like the music. I can hear it just as well, out here.” I shifted away, not taking the time to look at who it was and stared at the traffic down below. All I could see were the blurs of white and red. Most people left things alone when you didn’t look them in the eyes. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact.

  Hopefully he caught the hint and found his own corner of solitude. Some men didn’t have good radar for who wanted attention and who didn’t.

  “You look so much like her, you know?” He didn’t leave. I reached for my necklace and patted around my neckline, finding nothing.

  I heard him sigh before he inhaled noticeably to continue. But before he could utter another consonant or vowel I heard footsteps. He probably heard them too. A cool breeze tickled my nape. It was to be expected, considering how close it was getting to that time of year again.

  I turned around in preparation to leave and I was alone. The guy disappeared on me. He must have caught the hint, but I was confused—had he been talking about my mother?

  I didn’t have to think about that wormhole for long before a couple came walking around the corner.

  That couple.

  The model and the wolf.

  I had to leave. Well I was leaving anyway, this wasn’t awkward at all. Okay maybe a little. When you observe someone, and you get caught doing it, it’s a little unnerving. Just a little.

  But as soon as I saw his eyes, I was frozen leaning against the balcony railing.

  I didn’t have to leave, I was here first. I turned around and continued what I was doing previously, staring at the roads and buildings. I had every right to stay and observe aimlessly. Why couldn’t people just let me observe in solitude?

  “Why did we stop dancing?” she asked him meekly.

  I kept my gaze away, intently staring out at the building across the way.