The Silver Kiss

by Annette Curtis Klause

  Praise for

  THE SILVER KISS

  An ALA-YALSA Best Book for Young Adults

  An ALA-YALSA Quick Pick

  A School Library Journal Best Book of the Year

  A Booklist Editors’ Choice

  Winner of the California Young Reader Medal

  “A well-drawn, powerful, and seductive novel.”

  —School Library Journal, Starred

  “A mesmerizing first novel.”

  —Kirkus Reviews, Starred

  “Move over, Anne Rice.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Strangely persuasive … at once a grisly and graphic tale of monstrous death and a sweet and compelling story of love.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “There has never been a young adult novel like The Silver Kiss. It blazes a bloody trail in young adult literature—it is horrific, tender, poignant, and mesmerizing.”

  —Robert Cormier

  “The Silver Kiss is not only a marvelously grisly thriller with total credibility. It is also full of compassion—for monster as well as victim—which puts it in that rare category of works that includes The Bride of Frankenstein and Fade.”

  —William Sleator

  Other novels by

  Annette Curtis Klause

  Blood and Chocolate

  Freaks: Alive, on the Inside!

  Alien Secrets

  To LARRY CALLEN,

  who talked me into writing a novel; and

  TO THE TUESDAY

  NIGHT WRITING GROUP,

  who kept me going—you know who you are.

  Contents

  Introduction

  The Summer of Love

  The Silver Kiss

  The Christmas Cat

  Introduction

  When I was fourteen, I fell in love with a vampire.

  A new library had opened up in our neighborhood, and I met a friend there on Saturdays to talk about boys as well as books. In England at that time, there was no such thing as a young adult section. Once you felt you were too old to be seen in the children’s room, you were forced to scan the adult shelves, full of boring, monochromatic re-bindings and obtuse dust jackets which promised little to a teenage girl. It was a real chore to find something of interest and, unlike these days, there didn’t seem to be a librarian ready to make plausible suggestions. But I was on a mission, and it was in the adult section that I discovered my first vampire novel, The Shiny Narrow Grin by Jane Gaskell.

  The Shiny Narrow Grin was a real young adult book before that category existed; complete with a heartless teenage girl who had many problems, including selfish divorced parents, a clueless boyfriend called Fishfinger whom she treated badly, and a vampire who loved her because she was the shallowest person he’d ever met. At the end, the vampire came for her and asked her to join him. “Go with him! Go with him!” I whispered urgently, but the author never said what the girl’s answer was. It made me crazy!

  I had always loved monsters.

  When I was a preschooler, my father sat me on his lap and told me the plots of old horror movies about Dracula and Frankenstein. I knew all about Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, and Lon Chaney, Jr., before I ever saw any of their movies; and I knew about the monsters they portrayed long before I read books by Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley. It was delicious to be scared yet safe in my father’s arms. I might have been the only five-year-old in England who knew all about Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street. I carried that early enjoyment of monsters with me as I grew into a reader.

  The Shiny Narrow Grin was the perfect book for me. The main character wasn’t much older than I was then, doing things I would have loved to do, like hanging out at mod clubs in 1960s London, and there was a supernatural element to the story. I was smitten by the pale young man who appeared in a few suspenseful scenes, and became mesmerized by the whole concept of teen vampires. But the vampire wasn’t in the book enough. I wanted more! I fantasized about what happened after the book ended. I daydreamed about vampires falling in love with me. Finally, I responded in poetry—a pretentious, overwritten, dreadful sequence of poems interspersed with prose, called The Saga of the Vampire, scribbled down in a diary with a red cover. The story involved a human girl, strangely nameless, and two vampires—the good Simon, who loves her, and the evil Nick, who wants to destroy their love. Of course, Simon wins in the end, but he has to turn the girl into a vampire just like him to save her. “And they flew off together, two black shapes against the moon.”

  When I was fifteen my family moved to Washington, D.C., and right before we left I did a terrible thing, especially for a future librarian—I went to the library and checked out The Shiny Narrow Grin so I could bring it with me. How could I leave it behind? (Karma has since caught up with me, however, as librarians tell me repeatedly that mine are among the books most often stolen from their libraries.)

  I continued to read, read, read, and didn’t much worry that in the fantasy and science fiction I liked the most, the characters were usually adult and male. My love of books led me to earn an English literature degree in college; then, having no idea how to get a job with that, I decided to enroll in graduate school to become a children’s librarian. I didn’t know that there were books written specifically for teenagers until I came across them on my graduate school reading lists—books by people such as Robert Cormier, William Sleator, and S. E. Hinton. Wow! Look what happened when I wasn’t paying attention! I made up for lost time and gobbled them down.

  After graduate school I became a children’s librarian, but I also continued to write. I had some poetry published in a few small magazines, many of them science fiction oriented, and I began to write short stories, which were rejected when I submitted them. After a while, I realized that my main characters all seemed to be teenage girls. I thought about those great young adult books I had discovered. Maybe I should be writing for teenagers. With that in mind, I signed up for a local conference on writing for children and teens organized by the Children’s Book Guild of Washington, D.C.

  At the conference, I took a class with a wonderfully helpful writer named Larry Callen. Soon after, I received an invitation from him to join a writing workshop that he taught. It was in that group, which met in a church, that I first shared with a wider audience my short fantasy stories, in which teenage girls often met with untimely ends. Larry never flinched, although I could tell he was highly amused sometimes at my take on fiction; instead, he shared his great insight into the writing process and incredible knack for homing right in on the problems of a story. He could point out these problems so gently and positively that you never, ever felt criticized or slighted. I learned so much from him.

  As people dropped out and the writers’ group eventually disbanded, Larry invited me to join another, more established group that met much further away. The problem was that I didn’t drive back then and didn’t know how I could attend these meetings at night and get back home at a reasonable time. Larry had the solution: he would pick me up from work and take me home after the meeting. Wow! He had that much faith in my writing.

  It was Larry who said to me on one of those rides home after writing group, “Annette, your short stories are not short. You want to write a novel.”

  “Nooooooooo!” I protested. “Novels are long. I’ll never finish!”

  And it was Larry who refused to let me weasel out of doing it.

  But what could I write a whole book about? What did I like when I was fourteen or fifteen? I asked myself. That’s when I remembered those vampire poems. I rummaged through some boxes until I found the old red diary; then I sat on the floor to eagerly read The Saga of the Vampire from start to finish. Oh my God, the poems were dreadful, but when I’d finished
cringing and laughing hysterically, I stole from myself.

  I told Larry my idea of a romance between a girl and a vampire, and he asked me, “What would make a teenage girl so lonely and isolated that she would be susceptible to the charms of a vampire?” That was a great question! After I thought about it for a while, I decided that a dying mother and a friend moving away were both perfect answers, and then I discovered that these subplots lent all sorts of shadings to Zoë’s relationship with Simon. Many times since, I’ve found that in answering a question about a character, I’ve enhanced the plot. Much of my writing process is asking and answering questions.

  Larry Callen and my writing group gave me advice every step of the way as I was writing The Silver Kiss, and I enjoyed reading the story aloud to them chapter by chapter. I was so excited about it that I even wrote on the bus going to and from work, and when Larry picked me up each week for the writing group meeting, he often found me on a bench outside my library, hurrying to finish another chapter so I could read it that night.

  When I had finished The Silver Kiss, Larry asked his own editor to read the manuscript. I was thrilled that Larry had so much faith in my work. I was even more thrilled when that editor phoned me up. A real editor phoned me! It wasn’t to buy the manuscript, however; it was to give me some advice.

  “You’re really inside the head of that vampire,” she said. “I can really feel where that vampire is coming from. It’s the teenage girl you need to work on.” She paused, then laughed. “I don’t know what that says about you.”

  After I got over the disappointment and thought about what she had said for a while, I realized she was right. In a sense, the problem went way back before The Silver Kiss, back to those first poems in which both the vampires had names but the girl was nameless. It was the vampires who had always fascinated me. Even though I had patterned Zoë a little bit on me, I had spent more time creating Simon.

  I set to work reading everything I could find about characterization. I inhaled what other writers said about how they made their characters come alive. I made a huge list of things to think about based on everything I read. Then I spent a year revising my manuscript, trying to apply everything on that list to Zoë.

  Finally, I returned the manuscript to that editor, but she sent me a form rejection letter—“Sorry, your book doesn’t meet the needs of our list at this time.…” Argh!!!!

  But she had done me a huge favor. She’d made me think about how to create characters, and The Silver Kiss and every book since was strengthened because of it. I put away that list, and I have never used it again.

  Larry and my writing group encouraged me to keep on sending the manuscript out, which I did—with no luck. However, assuming one has written something good to begin with, personal contacts can be important. And it turned out that being a librarian played a large role in helping me become a published author. I had reviewed books for School Library Journal for quite a few years and had written a couple of articles for that magazine. During the time I was sending out The Silver Kiss to publishers, I received a letter from the SLJ editor I had worked with. He said he was now at Delacorte Press but would like to keep in touch, because the publisher liked to hear what kids were asking for at the library.

  Hmmmm! I thought. Little does he know—I have a manuscript! I sent him a very tentative and apologetic letter asking if he would look at my book. He was kind enough to agree. (Years later, much to my amusement, he told me my letter was the wimpiest letter he had ever read and he’d been certain he would hate the novel.) Not long after I sent him the manuscript, this editor called me up at work. Ahhhh! He’s such a nice guy, I thought. He’s called me in person to let me down gently.

  I picked up the phone in the staff room at my library and he said, “Annette, we loved your book. We want to publish it!”

  I’m sure they heard me scream in the library and beyond.

  That was one of the most exciting moments of my life. It ranks up there with Christmases as a child and falling in love with my husband. I mean, how often do your dreams come true?

  And secretly, inside, I nudged the phantom of the fourteen-year-old girl I had been and sent her a message back through time—Hey, we made it! We did it!

  I have a confession to make here—yes, I admit it: the poem toward the end of The Silver Kiss is a slightly revised version of one of those original poems. I couldn’t resist.

  I also included other things from my real life in the book.

  There was an old abandoned car on the vacant lot behind my grandparents’ house—a bomb site left over from World War II. We local kids used to stop and climb over that car on our way to school. I don’t remember what year or make it was, but I remember it had running boards so it had to be old even then. That car surfaced eerily in The Silver Kiss as the abandoned car Simon inscribes with the blood of the young thug.

  The leather jacket that Simon takes from one of the boys is based on a real jacket that I own. A biker gave it to my closest sister when she ran away to California as a teenager. I borrowed it from her when she returned, and never gave it back. I let Simon borrow it from me.

  But the dying mother isn’t mine. My mother is still very much alive, thank goodness, and no one I know has gone through the experience of losing their mother to cancer while I’ve known them. I guess I made that experience very real to some people, however, because more than once I have been asked if my mother died of cancer, too.

  Empathy is important in writing: being able to put yourself in someone else’s place. If you understand human emotions, you can imagine how your character would feel. But you also draw on what you know—yourself. This isn’t as limiting as it sounds, because you have many different sides, and people in your life see you in different ways. There are enough layers of you to be all sorts of people. Most of my main characters have me in there somewhere. The Silver Kiss was written for my lonely fourteen-year-old self, who fell in love with an imaginary vampire, and both Zoë and Simon have aspects of the quiet, shy, alienated girl I was back then.

  I have received many letters over the years asking me why Simon had to die, and why Zoë and Simon couldn’t stay together. That’s what I had wanted for the characters in The Shiny Narrow Grin, so I understand. That’s why the vampire and the girl lived happily ever after at the end of The Saga of the Vampire. When I started writing The Silver Kiss, I still wanted an ending like that, but as the book became a reality, I realized that to be true to the emerging message that death is a natural part of the cycle of life, I had to let Simon go and let Zoë find the strength to go on.

  That’s the funny thing about books: you can plan them all you want, but writing is still mysterious, and once the words start to flow and the characters breathe, the story can end up quite differently than you thought it would, and things surface that you don’t even realize you are writing about at the time. It was my husband who pointed out that the antagonistic relationship between Simon and his brother bore some resemblance to the relationship between me and that sister with the leather jacket—though I swear I never staked her—and it wasn’t until the third or fourth draft of the book that one of the most obvious things occurred to me. Zoë is the Greek word for “life.” How did I manage to give Zoë the perfect name without consciously thinking about it?

  This first book of mine has been successful beyond my wildest dreams. The Silver Kiss earned wonderful reviews, won awards, has been taught in schools and colleges (sorry, kids), and has even been produced onstage in Japan with an allmale cast. (That one’s weird.) The book started my publishing career with a bang. I am constantly amazed and thankful that it is still in print after all these years.

  I still receive letters and e-mails about my book, but I don’t think anything could top the excitement I felt at the very first fan letter I received, in which a girl declared, “I, too, would surrender my neck to Simon.”

  Yessssss! That’s what I wanted people to feel. That’s what it was all about.

  So h
ere, for all those girls who wanted to know more about Simon and Zoë, is a new edition of The Silver Kiss that includes two bonus stories about what happened to Simon before and what happens to Zoë after. I hope you enjoy them. And for those of you who are meeting Simon for the first time—surrender your neck.

  Annette Curtis Klause

  THE SUMMER OF LOVE

  IT was the summer of 1967, the Summer of Love, the newspapers called it, and I wandered the streets of San Francisco with the most plentiful source of food around me since the day I’d died. Runaways from all over the country were lured here by the dream of freely offered sex, plentiful drugs, and rock ’n’ roll on every corner; and layered over the gray, workaday city was a multicolored party that seemed to exist in a parallel world. I walked that world.

  I was almost a happy man, if a three-hundred-year-old vampire could ever be called happy. This is what I call fast food, I thought. These children knew no fear. Strangers were their friends. All they needed was love. They slept in doorways, in the parks, and in “liberated houses” that held dozens. How easy it was to slip in next to a girl drunk on cheap wine and take my own wine from her rich, young veins. It was fortunate that the drugs they imbibed had no effect on me, else I’d have been staggering around half-blind all the time. But my unnatural body screened all chemicals out that didn’t nurture it, and in these good times I pissed a red stream of waste maybe twice a week.

  Love, love, love. How meaningless it was to me. My own loved ones were centuries dead, and I, forever trapped in-between, frozen in the form of a youth not yet twenty. What did I care of love? The ones I’d loved had always abandoned me or betrayed me. I wouldn’t be what I am except for one I loved. Yet, in this city of love, I could go anywhere—join in parties, hang out at those spontaneous park festivals called be-ins, wander nighttime concerts—and all welcomed me. If I didn’t tell my name, no one pressed me; if I lied, no one cared. I had friends everywhere, and still no one knew who I was. “Who’s that pale dude?” I’d hear a boy say as I watched my menu sway to the music, the colored lights dancing on their faces. “What’s the name of that cute blond?” a girl would whisper to her friend, winding her fingers in the layers of beads around her neck as if they were in my hair. But they never found out, not even when I sweet-talked one of those yearning girls out under the stars and lulled her into a sparkling silver trance of ecstasy, my fangs firmly planted in her neck. I was gentle with them, let there be no mistake in that, and I tried very hard to leave a drop of life in their veins so they would see the dawn, but I could not make friends with those I hunted—the thought repelled me. I didn’t take the pills they gave me, and I turned down the weed they offered in hand-rolled, smoldering cigarettes. “I prefer to drink,” I’d explain if I had to.