The Lost Girls

by Sonia Hartl

  It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. I’d lived through things he could only imagine, but because I was a teen girl, my experiences weren’t nearly as valid as his worldly perspective from a single classroom. “You stopped caring. That’s what I’m hearing.”

  “The kids stopped caring long before I ever did.” He gave me a sympathetic look, like I truly couldn’t understand, and tossed his latte in the nearby trash bin as he turned to go.

  “Bullshit.”

  He stopped, narrowing his eyes as he faced me again. “Bullshit? Forgive me, but you haven’t been a student for a long time. You have no idea what it’s like anymore.”

  “I know what it’s like to be sixteen because I’m always sixteen. I know what it’s like to be alone because I’m always alone. And I damn well know what it looks like when someone gives up on me before I have the chance to show them what I’m really made of.” I’d raised my voice to the point where a few people had stopped to stare. “It shouldn’t be up to the kids to care when faced with someone who’s already written them off.”

  When he didn’t say anything, I left. It wasn’t my job to make him a decent teacher again. I had bigger problems to worry about, finding someone to eat being at the top of my current priorities, but a piece of me hurt for his students. They deserved better than someone who had stopped seeing their worth.

  Out of respect for what he’d done for me when he’d been my teacher, I wouldn’t feed on him. But I’d considered it. Instead, I worked my way to the end of the street, which opened up to a large park with an amphitheater. A few people milled around the concrete steps while a terrible band played a cover of the Beatles’ “Let It Be.” I kept my eye out for the first person to look at me funny, but the guy who grabbed my butt would do. Peeking over my shoulder, I gave him a wink and expected that would be enough for him to follow.

  Guys like this were so predictable. It was almost too easy.

  I walked into the more heavily wooded area at the edge of the park. The fresh fall of leaves crunched beneath my feet. The air carried the smell of a world preparing for hibernation. I thought about running to let off some energy, knowing he would chase, but I ruled out that idea. He’d been drinking, and he was already half walking, half stumbling over the roots and forest floor’s growth. He’d probably break his neck if I made him move any faster.

  “What’s your name, honey?” He finally deigned to speak to me. The rough scratch of his voice made my skin crawl. “You here all alone?”

  “Do you care?” I asked.

  He chuckled, like I was just. So. Amusing. Once we’d gotten far enough under the cover of the trees, I turned to him. The gleam in his eye made my predatory pulse beat harder. The stress of everything I needed to do echoed in the pit of my empty stomach. I almost didn’t want to give this one the opportunity to run.

  “Why’d you bring me all the way out here, huh?” He stepped closer. His breath reeked of protein shakes and hard cider. I anticipated this one tasting like a hot-dog-eating contest.

  “I was hungry.” No point in lying. He’d be dead soon, anyway. “But I made an oath to myself a long time ago, so I’m going to give you two seconds to run.”

  He laughed. “That’s cute.”

  I closed my eyes and counted in my head. One Mississippi, two Mississippi. When I opened them again, he stood even closer. What a shocker.

  “One of these days, one of you will run and surprise the hell out of me.” I wrapped my hand around his throat and crushed his windpipe. “But today is not that day.”

  He ended up tasting like sugar cubes. The hard, grainy kind farmers fed to their horses. Not what I’d been expecting, but I’d had worse dinners. His legs scrambled against the dry forest floor, kicking up a river of red and gold leaves as the earthy aroma battled with the ripening scent of his death. Borderline poetic.

  I left his lifeless body in a heap with just enough of his own blood exposed to attract whatever prowled these woods. Animals would make quick work of the fresh meat.

  Licking my lips, I enjoyed the last of the sugary aftertaste as I slipped back into the crowd that had gathered in the park for more bad Beatles covers. Adults out on dates mixed with families with small children mixed with college students mixed with high school students desperately trying to pass for college students.

  A few older people had brought out lawn chairs, and they sat on the edge of the open grass field, exchanging gossip and people watching.

  The scene reminded me of a puzzle I’d done once. I’d bought it during a rare bout of homesickness because it reminded me of this place. Music nights in the fall had been a Big Deal when I went to high school, and it made me oddly happy to see some things hadn’t changed.

  In the middle of the park, drawing a small crowd, was Parker. She waved her hands in the air, whipping around like she was trying to dance but had never quite learned how. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a smile. It was so awful it had crossed over to adorable.

  She stumbled over her own feet and swayed to the side. That’s when it hit me that she wasn’t exactly sober. People elbowed one another and laughed as they pointed at her when she stumbled. I wanted to snap their necks. When she tripped over a loose stick, I rushed forward to grab her before she took a header into the ground.

  Her soft brown eyes were hazy and unfocused as she looked up at me. “I knew you’d be the one to catch me if I fell.”

  Then she turned her head to the side and vomited into the grass.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’ll be quiet if you just let me lie down.” Parker weaved into me, then veered to the edge of the sidewalk. “Don’t make me go home.”

  “You’re not going home. I’ve got you.” It was like trying to navigate a raft over white water. I’d direct her left; she’d veer right. I’d lean right; she’d keep going. “How did you end up in the park? Did you go there with friends?”

  She let out a loud, snapping laugh, like lightning cracking across a stormy sky. Full of just as much turmoil. “It’s funny how you think I have friends.”

  It really wasn’t that funny.

  “How did you get the liquor?” The only access I’d had to liquor in high school had been through Stacey, and I didn’t really count those three sips we took from her mom’s vodka.

  “Stole it from my mom.” She hiccupped. “She brought the bottle home to celebrate, drank half of it, and passed out. I stole the rest and just kept walking.”

  “You walked all the way over here?” Parker lived on the west side of Glen River, which was a minimum of ten miles from here, if not more.

  She shook her head. “Uber. Can I lie down now?”

  I’d seen the public-service movies in health class. If she fell asleep, she’d choke on her own vomit and die, at least if the movie was to be believed. “Just a little bit farther now.”

  Hauling Parker around made me very glad I’d never managed to get drunk. I had terrible impulse control while I’d been sober. I could only imagine the horrifying things I would’ve let Elton talk me into if I’d barely been able to walk.

  I dragged her around the corner, where she attempted to run headfirst into a stop sign, then helped her navigate the stairs beside the meat market. Halfway up to the second floor, she wanted to stop and rest. I rubbed her back while she hung her head between her knees, but she didn’t throw up again. Finally, we made it to the front doorstep. Ida’s finished brain project greeted me. She’d cut a face into it and hollowed out the inside, where a small candle burned, lighting up the toothy grin. It slightly resembled a blobfish. I hit the door with my elbow in order to keep Parker upright.

  Ida flung open the door, carving knife pointed at my chest. “Oh. It’s just you.” She dropped her arm and stepped back to let me in.

  “What is this supposed to be?” I poked at the blob with the toe of my shoe.

  “Brain-o’-lantern.” Ida grinned. “Something cute for the kiddies if we get any trick-or-treaters this year. What did yo
u do to Elton’s latest victim?”

  “I didn’t do anything to her. I found her in the park this way.” I flung Parker’s body forward, and Ida scooped her up on the opposite side. Parker managed to do a great imitation of a corpse as we dragged her into the living room. “This is so far above my pay grade.”

  “You worked at Taco Bell,” Ida said. “Everything is above your pay grade.”

  Rose came out of the bedroom, her black-and-white-striped rockabilly dress swishing around her knees. “Oh my God. You killed Parker.”

  “She’s not dead.” I let go of her once I was reasonably sure she could stand on her own, and she promptly tripped over the coffee table and fell face forward. “Yet.”

  “Hello? Is someone there?” Rose’s bedframe thumped the wall while the guy she brought home begged for mercy. “Help me. Please.

  I think she’s going to hurt me.”

  I rubbed my temples. “Did you have to bring home another kill?”

  “I didn’t know we were going to have company.” Rose looked between Parker sprawled out on the floor with her mouth hanging open, and her bedroom, where the guy she tied up continued to scream and beat against the wall. “Hold on.”

  Rose disappeared behind the door. The cries of the guy she brought home became more insistent and louder as he pleaded for his life, with real fear in his voice. Rose’s low murmurs sounded soothing as the guy’s voice became more muffled, as if he had a pillow over his face. With a final thump, he went eerily quiet.

  Parker lifted her head. “Who turned off the music?”

  “I like her.” Ida grinned. “She’s fun.”

  “Yeah. A great time.” I grabbed Parker’s arm and helped her to the couch. She slumped to the side with her eyes closed, and I poked at her, pulling up her eyelid. “You have to stay awake, okay? No sleeping.”

  “Did you give her a concussion?” Ida grabbed Parker, who put up zero resistance, and twisted her neck from side to side as she examined her head. “I’m not seeing any bumps.”

  “She’s drunk. Won’t she choke on her vomit and die if she goes to sleep?” I asked.

  Ida let out a barking laugh. “Where do you get your information?”

  “Health class,” I muttered.

  “Oh, man. No wonder Elton keeps enrolling in modern high school. That’s hilarious.” Ida shook her head. “Lay her on her side, and let her sleep it off. She should be fine.”

  “I chloroformed the guy.” Rose came out of her bedroom and licked blood off the end of her finger. “I couldn’t resist having a little nibble, and he’s delicious. French toast and fresh strawberries. Have you killed Parker yet?”

  This night was testing what little patience I had left. Keeping in mind what Ida had told me about upsetting Rose, I took several deep breaths, counting to ten before I responded. “Why would I kill her if we’re trying to protect her?”

  “I don’t care if she lives or dies, so long as she doesn’t become a vampire.” Rose shrugged. “Anyway, I’m not super hungry, so you’re all welcome to the guy in my room.”

  “Wait.” I held up a hand. “You don’t care if she lives or dies?” For some reason, this personally offended me, even though I didn’t typically care much for the living, either. “Why not just kill her, then? Why go to the trouble of being friendly with her?”

  “Don’t kill me. I probably taste like cheap vodka,” Parker slurred from the couch where she was half asleep with one arm flung over her head.

  She was a pretty cute drunk. I had a feeling I’d be one of those messy drunks who ran naked in the streets before collapsing in a puddle of my own tears. I swept a loose piece of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She shivered, and a liquid warmth pooled in my stomach. Rose and Ida gave each other a look I didn’t appreciate.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” Rose said.

  “I hope this isn’t going to be a problem,” Ida said to Rose.

  “It shouldn’t be,” Rose said.

  Their coded communication had me gritting my teeth. I stood in front of them both with my hands on my hips. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

  “Forgive us,” Rose said. “I assumed you knew we were discussing you and Parker. Specifically, you liking Parker.”

  Why was that even a discussion? “So? Ida said she likes her too. What’s the big deal?”

  “You like her, like her,” Ida said.

  Oh.

  “I do not.” The denial came quickly. Too quickly, from the way Ida raised her eyebrows. “I think she’s a nice girl, and funny, and I relate to her a lot. That’s all.”

  “Sure.” Ida smirked. “Whatever you say.”

  “It’s fine if you like her.” Rose’s expression softened as she squeezed my shoulder. “My last relationship was with a mortal girl I’d met in New Orleans, and she’s not the first mortal I’ve been attracted to over the years.”

  “Not me.” Ida waved her raised hand like class was in session and she really wanted an A in Not Sleeping with Mortals 101. “I’m still figuring myself out. And since I have all the time in the world, I’m in no rush. I don’t think I’m sexually attracted to anyone, but I’m romantically attracted to the idea of someone I haven’t met yet.”

  “Okay.” I hadn’t expected to talk about all this, but it didn’t surprise me. A lot of vampires left heterosexuality behind, much like exercising for fun, an appreciation for abstract art, and all those other things mortals lied about enjoying. Sexuality became much more fluid when you had an eternity and no longer felt obligated to conform. “Since we’re sharing, I’m bisexual, but I’ve never been with anyone except Elton.” I hated that I felt the need to overexplain myself, as if my identity was a dress that made me feel cute, so I had to downplay it by explaining how I got it on sale. If something felt good and right to me, I protected it the only way I knew how: by acting like it didn’t matter so no one could hurt me with it. “That doesn’t mean I’m into Parker, for the record.”

  “Who you’re into isn’t ever a factor.” Rose squeezed my hand. “There isn’t a litmus test or a certain number of boxes you have to tick. How you feel and who you are is yours. It’s not for anyone else to decide or question.”

  The tightness in my chest eased. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d become until I rolled my neck and felt the muscles unclench. Like I’d been waiting years for someone to say my feelings were important. I’d been alone for a long time before Elton ever left me.

  “We get you.” Ida dipped her chin in acknowledgement.

  “And we never really intended to kill Parker, if you were worried about that,” Rose said. “If we did, Elton would just find a replacement and turn her before we could do the ritual. But we wouldn’t be mad at you if you turned her after this was all over.”

  “Or killed her,” Ida said. “I’m not believing for a second she tastes like vodka.”

  “No one is killing or turning Parker.” I looked at the couch, where she breathed evenly, her long eyelashes pillowed on her cheek like inky trails of stardust … which was a perfectly normal thing to think about a friend. Fuck. “I want her to live and have a future beyond her high school years. The way we never got a chance to.”

  “Then we need to get those heirlooms,” Rose said. “The quicker, the better.”

  The next morning, after Rose finished off the French toast guy and disposed of him in the dumpster at the end of the alley, I decided to wake up Parker. We didn’t have any aspirin or glasses for water in the apartment, so I ran down to the pharmacy and grabbed what she’d need. According to health class, hangovers were worse than death.

  Rose and Ida didn’t give me any more grief over my feelings for Parker, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t entirely ready to examine those yet. Yes, she was beautiful, fun, and I enjoyed her company, and if Elton hadn’t currently set his sights on her, I might’ve considered her a nice distraction from everything else going on. But I couldn’t affor
d to catch feelings for a mortal. Feelings for other people always ended up making me careless with myself.

  I nudged Parker, and her lashes fluttered. Thankfully, she didn’t puke again. I didn’t have a lot of experience in babysitting drunk people, so I stayed in the living room, keeping one eye on my book and one eye on her, to make sure she didn’t choke in her sleep.

  Ida called me creepy. But I wasn’t watching her sleep because I lacked boundaries; I was just trying to make sure she didn’t die in the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake. Even though Ida had assured me that my health class had been—and I quote—scare-tactic bullshit.

  She was alive at the start of Prohibition and still had strong opinions on the matter.

  “Good morning.” I pushed the bottle of water closer to the edge of the coffee table. “You’re alive.” I cringed as she peeled open one lid, revealing a bloodshot eye. “Sort of.”

  “How did I get here?” She sat up quickly and immediately clutched her head. “Oh, God. Everything hurts. Please don’t tell me I showed up on your doorstep last night. I barely remember leaving my apartment.”

  “No, I found you in the park. You were … I’m not sure if I can call it dancing, exactly, but you were flinging yourself around to music.”

  “I’m never drinking again.” Pressing her palms into her eyeballs, she moaned. “How can my mom stand that stuff? I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

  “I’m sorry?” My mom hadn’t been a drinker, so I wasn’t familiar with these types of family issues. Ida said no bright lights or loud noises, so I kept the curtains closed and tried to keep my voice down. “What, uh, prompted the bottle stealing?”

  “She said we’re moving again.”

  “What?” My heart raced. On one hand, it would get her away from Elton. On the other, we’d just started to become friends, and I didn’t have many of those. “How soon?”