Almost Final Curtain (12 page)

Pulling out my phone, I caught up on the news. Taylor had left three texts, two of them about how surprised she was at Thompson’s singing ability and asking why I’d taken off so quickly last night. Apparently, a whole bunch of the usual theater types had met up at a fast-food joint that was open late to talk. There was a lot of speculation about who’d get cast, and I got so wrapped up scrolling through it that I nearly stumbled off the curb.

After I’d waited for the light to change and made my way safely across the intersection, I went back to my phone. A lot of people had sent messages saying how cool the duet had been, though Lane suggested that Thompson wasn’t a very believable Professor Higgins. He was more the Pygmalion in need of class. Despite my warming feelings toward Thompson, that one made me chuckle a bit. I returned a smiley face and an LOL.

I sort of secretly hoped for a text from Nikolai, but must have burned that bridge right to the ground. I did tell him we were off for good. There really wasn’t much point in trying to go back on that.

My coffee shop was in a mall. An unimaginative two-story brick building, it took up a quarter of the block. The largest, most prominent features were a faux-French restaurant that advertized “les hamburgers” in neon above the door to the outdoor patio, and a Birkenstock shoe store. I walked in through the glass doors near the restaurant and made my way up a short polished wood hallway to an atrium. A mother and her toddler sat underneath a skylight on a bench around a large stone fountain. I smiled at them as I passed.

The interior of the coffee shop was dark in comparison with the airy, spacious hall.
A vampire would totally dig this dim, cavelike atmosphere,
I thought. I ordered my drink from a perky brunette.

While I waited for her to make it, I flipped open my phone. I wanted to write to Nikolai, but I didn’t know what to say. Maybe I could just apologize for being rude and tell him I was interested in what he’d tried to say last night. That seemed good. I’d just opened a text message when the barista called my drink. When I checked the overhead clock, I realized with surprise how late it had gotten all of a sudden. Nik would have to wait. In fact, I should double-time it to the bus stop. Luckily, it was less than a block and a half away.

I stowed my phone, and quickly put a cover on the drink. As fast I as could without spilling, I made my way to where the school bus would pick me up. When I rounded the corner, I was grateful to see the grungy skateboarder that shared my stop still waiting—his board tucked casually under one arm.

He gave me the nod. You know, the barely perceptible head bob that said, “I acknowledge your presence so as not to be rude, but I am far too cool to converse with you.”

I gave him one back.

Turning to watch the street, I sipped my mocha. I didn’t expect to be required to do any other interaction, so I was surprised when he said, “Hey, you’re Ana Parker, right?” Before I could even agree that I was, he said, “You date Nikolai Kirov from Ingress, don’t you? You wouldn’t happen to know how I could score tickets to the show at the Turf Club?”

“We broke up,” I said, though I wouldn’t have had any advice for skater boy even if we hadn’t. The Turf Club was a seedy bar in the Midway neighborhood, and not a typical all-ages venue. Despite his attitude and edgy fashion, I didn’t think any bouncer would mistake skater boy for eighteen or older. He was gangly in that way of guys his age, and had an unfortunate eruption of pimples across his cheek.

“Oh, hey, sorry to hear that,” he said genuinely. “He seemed pretty cool at the assembly, but you know, musicians are always trouble.” He shook his head and flashed me a knowing smile. “Artists, eh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, and I couldn’t help but grin back. “You dated a musician?”

“Double whammy,” he explained, shaking his bangs from in front of his eyes with the memory, “drummer
and
sculptor. Super diva and moody as all get-out. And in the end, I was always second to that bitch, the muse.”

Okay, so he’d sort of lost me there at the end, but I found myself sort of fascinated. We’d stood together at this bus stop for years, and I could remember only one other conversation of this length in all that time. “How long ago was this?”

“A couple months ago,” he said. I don’t think I’d made any expression, but he reacted as though I had. “Yeah, yeah, I should be over it by now, I know, but artists ... they have this way of getting under your skin, don’t you think? It’s that avant-garde lifestyle, maybe. But I’m still hung up over him.”

Him?
This scary, grungy guy was gay? Cool. I nodded sympathetically. “Yeah,” I said. “I get that.”

We shared a smile of understanding that lasted until the bus pulled up with the warm hiss of brakes and the smell of diesel. I made a friendly motion to let him go first, but with the arrival of the bus, his face hardened. He gave me the “Loser!” snarl as he pushed past me.

I stared after him for a second, shocked at the change. I guess we could commiserate about boyfriends at the stop, but once at some semblance of school, clique boundaries couldn’t be transgressed.

Whatever,
I thought with a shrug, and stepped up into the bus.

The driver frowned at my mocha, but I defiantly cupped my hand over the cover and made my way to an open seat. When the bus didn’t start up immediately, I thought for sure he’d make a scene and make me dump my drink somewhere. Although where I’d do that, I didn’t know. Apparently, neither did he, because the bus started up with a frustrated groan.

Settling in, I surreptitiously sipped my mocha and tried to wake up. I blinked sleepily and allowed the strobe of sun and trees to mesmerize me. A soft tap on my shoulder broke my reverie. “Ana? Ana Parker?”

I swiveled on the slick plastic seat to see who wanted to know. It wasn’t anyone I immediately recognized. He had the nervous/eager expression of a freshman, and a tween pop-starinspired bowl cut that nearly obscured his eyes. “Uh, yeah?”

“I was at auditions last night,” he said. “You were super. I’m sure you’ll get a part.”

His gushing both embarrassed and flattered me. A blush rose, tingling my cheeks. “Oh. Thanks,” I murmured.

The kid seemed inordinately pleased at any kind of response. He nodded enthusiastically, but then his expression twisted into a frown. “Man, it was hard to go on after you guys. I totally flubbed—I was so nervous.”

“Sorry,” I said somewhat distractedly, remembering everything that had happened afterward. Had Elias stolen the artifact yet? Was it still safe? How cranky was my dad?

The freshman must have noticed my nervousness, because he bobbed his head apologetically. “You must have a lot on your mind, huh?”

“You have no idea,” I told him with a smile I hoped softened any unintentional rudeness on my part. Did he look like the type to watch the morning news before school? Or to follow a local station’s Twitter feed? I decided to ask, anyway. “Uh, you didn’t happen to hear anything about the History Center this morning, did you?”

“The what?”

Yeah, I should have predicted that response. “Never mind,” I said, and turned back to face the front. I was grateful to see we were turning in front of the school so I didn’t have to explain my sudden interest in some dorky museum.

 

 

The weirdest thing I saw all day was Thompson holding court with a bunch of theater types at lunch.

Like a king, he sat in the center of the long foldout table. Lane and some of the other people I knew, even some of the out-of-my-league seniors, crowded around him. They hung on every one of Thompson’s utterances. He waved for me to join him when I passed by with my tray of cafeteria food—another thing moms were good for, nagging me to pack a sack lunch—but I couldn’t violate my pact with Bea.

Since first grade, we’d vowed to always eat together so neither of us would have to be the lone class weirdo. Even when we were fighting, we sat together. Our being the only True-Witches-in-training for so long isolated me to the point that I didn’t really have a lot of good friends. So Bea and I were kind of stuck together, no matter what.

Besides, I was glad for the excuse. Given how embarrassed I was with the attention of one freshman on the bus, I didn’t think I could handle the adoration from people I considered colleagues.

So I shook my head at his questioning eyes, and jerked my chin in the direction of my usual table. Bea looked surprised when I set my tray down opposite from her. But if anyone had the skinny on what was up with Nikolai and his hunter status, it would be her.

“You sure took off fast last night,” she said brightly, as if pretending we weren’t fighting would get her off the hook. “You missed some fun.”

I leaned in slightly and lowered my voice, ignoring her attempt at small talk. “Did Nik kill somebody? Or did he quit? He told me he’s no longer an apprentice.”

Bea’s dark eyebrows shot up. “He’s exaggerating,” she sniffed. “He
thinks
he’s graduated, but it’s not official.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Did he just wound someone or something? How is there a gray area in hunting?”

Bea glanced around behind her. She spotted one of my grungy honor guard—or maybe just one of the skanky kids, it was impossible to tell—at a nearby table. “I’m not really sure. Have you talked to him about this?”

At least I’d forgotten my lunch on pizza day. They even had pepperoni, my favorite. I picked up the slice and bit into it, thoughtfully, grateful Bea didn’t have a quick answer. There was hope Nik hadn’t completely gone to the dark side yet. “Kind of. We ended up having a fight, so I don’t really know what this game changer of his is.”

“He’s got some crazy plan, all right,” Bea said. “I didn’t understand much about it either.”

I stared at her pointedly. It seemed to me that she knew more than she was saying.

She did another quick survey for eavesdroppers. I couldn’t help but check too. “Okay,” she said, leaning across the table. “The only thing I know for sure is that it’s illegal.”

“More illegal than murder?”

Bea’s lips flattened into a thin line, and I realized I’d blurted my true feelings out again. She clucked her tongue dismissively. “Look, Ana, it’s not like he’d get arrested for staking some demon nobody knows exists. No, I mean something really serious.”

Okay, that pissed me off. I stood up, my whole body shaking. “
I
know Elias exists. It’s serious to me.”

I guess I must have shouted that last bit, because a hush fell over the cafeteria. Bea’s eyes darted around wildly. She put up her hands as if in surrender. I could see her heartbeat pulsing against her collarbone. The smell of her fear, like something sour and tangy, hung in the air between us. I could even hear the rasp of her breath, and her whispered words sounded too loud against my sensitive eardrums. “Hey, it’s okay. Relax.”

Relax? I felt the opposite of agitated; I was cold and certain and utterly deadly.

Oh. My eyes had changed.

The entire lunchroom was staring at me too. Fortunately, Bea and I always took a table closest to the main hall. I faced away from the majority of the crowd. In my heightened state, I sensed the growing discomfort.

I ignored them. Focusing my rage at Bea, I said firmly, “Why does everyone forget that I’m half demon? Vampires are my people.”

“So are witches,” Bea snapped. Her voice was steady, but my amped awareness caught the nervous sweat that prickled her skin. “But that’s not convenient, is it? Especially when you’re so busy playing ‘pity the poor victim.’”

My jaw popped with the speed with which my fangs descended. I had to clench my fists to keep myself from launching across the table at Bea. I was so intent on controlling my reaction that the approach of the lunchroom monitor nearly took me by surprise. I barely had time to avert my eyes and keep my mouth shut. “Is everything okay here?” she asked.

Holding back the urge to say no, I stared sullenly at a shiny white pair of women’s Nikes. I knew instantly it was Ms. Knutson, the women’s tennis coach and freshman-English teacher. To her question, I shrugged. Bea made some excuse I didn’t hear, though I felt the thrum of her magic hit my solar plexus like the beat of a big bass drum.

“Well, all right, then,” was Ms. Knutson’s dreamy, disconnected response. She walked off without further ado. As Bea’s spell permeated the cafeteria, the murmur of normal conversation slowly returned to the room.

“You told me once that you didn’t want to take sides—vampire versus witch—but you have,” Bea said. “Look at yourself, Ana. You’re one of them. A hundred percent.”

It was impossible to deny her accusation with my cat-slit eyes and fangs hanging out everywhere, but my shoulders stiffened anyway. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

“I think you do,” she said, crumpling her paper bag and standing up. “I think you like being a vampire with your superpowers and tragic history. You’d rather push all of us away, even Nikolai, than face the truth.”

The sting of her accusation caused my resolve to crumble. My fangs slid back into their hiding place. Still, I wasn’t ready to back down entirely. “You talk tough, but it’s not like the coven accepts me. What am I supposed to do, stand by and ignore all the threats against my people?”

“‘Your people,’ O wise and powerful Princess Ana? See what I mean?”

“Actually, I don’t. It’s not like vampires are out hunting witches on a regular basis.”

Bea laughed, but it had a hard edge. “Wow. You really are completely out of it, aren’t you? Why do you think they’re called vampires and not just demons?” I had no immediate answer, except a frown. So, very slowly, as if explaining to a small child, she said, “Because they drink blood.”

Oh, and here I thought she was going to actually tell me something I didn’t already know. Though I hadn’t tasted much outside of the one lick of Thompson’s cheek, Elias told me about that. I put my hands on my hip, and I could feel the sharp edges dulling as my eyes returned to normal. “Duh, Bea.”