At First Bite (9 page)

“I know what you are,” I repeat, my palms growing clammy. “I saw you drinking Sanga! backstage last week. And,” I go on, dropping my voice to a whisper, “I know what you did. To Paige. To the surfer. To Mr. Bernal. Did you really think you could get away with it?”

Boom.

Bomb dropped.

I stare right into his brown eyes, silently daring him to lie or run away.

Marc doesn’t flinch. Instead, he shrugs. And says:

“I know what you are, too. But I also know you’re not a Dark One. Neither am I. So why don’t we put our heads together and figure out who is?”

The hallway seems to tilt and wobble. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and I take a few steps back from Marc, almost crashing into the headless mannequin.

“How — how long have you known?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “As soon as I saw you that day on the beach. Only a vampire would burn that badly, and that quickly. The same thing happened to me the day after I became full-fledged. SPF 75 is my friend.”

I can’t speak. My deepest, darkest secret is no longer a secret. I came here to catch Marc off guard, but he’s somehow turned the tables on me.

“I knew for sure, though,” Marc goes on, his eyes sparkling, “when I saw the Sanga! cooler in your bag
at lunch. Remember? The time you almost tore off my arm trying to get the bag away from me?” He flashes me a grin, but I don’t smile back. “I need to get one of those smaller coolers. I store mine in the prop closet. No one’s ever seen me with it … except for you, of course.”

I study Marc’s face. I knew he was a vampire. But to hear him speak all these words — Sanga!, sunscreen, full-fledged — is startling and strange. I think back to all our previous interactions, my brain spinning. The beach, the cafeteria …

“Does Sasha know?” I whisper.

“No. I never told her my suspicions about you,” Marc replies swiftly, and I exhale with relief. “But she knows about me, of course.”

I feel my eyes widen. “She does? I thought we’re not supposed to tell — you know, regular people. About us.”

Marc shrugs again. “Sasha’s my twin sister. She’s an excellent secret-keeper. I’d trust her with my life.”

I shake my head, thinking of Dylan. I can’t imagine sharing this secret — or any secret — with him. Or my mom. Not to mention Eve or Mallory.

No wonder I’ve been feeling so lonely lately.

“What about Gordon?” I demand, and Marc shakes his head.

“It’s tough, not being able to tell him,” he says, a little sadly. “But he’s so into his computer programming stuff. I don’t think he even notices that I never want to iChat anymore. Or that I can smell what’s for lunch before we even walk into school.”

Like me!
I think. I suddenly get the strangest sensation that someone, at last, understands me.

Hold on. What am I
thinking?
I narrow my eyes at Marc. I can’t let my guard down.

“Okay. You trust Sasha. But why should I trust
you?”
I challenge. “Why should I believe you when you say you’re not a Dark One?”

Marc holds my gaze, his expression serious. “There’s no way I could be a Dark One, Ashlee,” he says quietly. “My mother is on the Council, here in Los Angeles.”

“She
is
?” I ask, blindsided. “You mean … your mom is a vampire, too?”

Marc nods. “She was really surprised when I got invited to the initiation ceremony in New York. Even though my skin had been getting cold and my teeth had been hurting since I turned twelve.”

“Doesn’t vampirism usually skip a generation or more?” I ask, thinking of my great-great-grandmother from Transylvania.

“Yeah, but not in our case,” Marc replies. “And having a vampire mom sure makes the whole transition process easier, I’ll tell you,” he adds, his expression brightening. “I don’t even need a mentor, since she fills that role. I think Sasha and my dad are a little jealous, to be honest.”

I can’t conceive of it. A family where vampirism is out in the open, where bat-shifting can be discussed at the dinner table. I have a million and one questions for Marc: What he thought of the initiation ceremony. Whether he has problems bat-shifting. What a typical day at the Hirsh home is like.

But I need to stay on topic.

“So, if your mom is on the Council,” I say, trying to piece everything together. “She’s, like, hunting Dark Ones? Or she’d know if you were one?”

“Have you read the Handbook?” Marc asks.

“Some of it,” I reply defensively, tossing my hair. “I didn’t really have the time before, and then I misplaced it in my room —”

“Anyway,” Marc interrupts, fighting back a grin,
“if you had read it, then you’d know that Council members are routinely investigated by the Vampire Disciplinary Committee. It’s to make sure no one in their families — or they themselves — are Dark Ones. So, you see, even if I
tried
to be a Dark One, my mom would get thrown off the Council … and I’d be grounded for eternity.”

Oh.

Slowly, I drop my arms, but I remain a safe distance from Marc.

“If that’s the case,” I say, still suspicious, “why did you come to the cafeteria late the day Mr. Bernal was attacked? And then, you were sick on Friday, but you got better on Saturday,
right
after that surfer was attacked on the beach! It all made sense —”

Marc holds up his hands to stop me. “I was drinking Sanga! here, backstage, the day Mr. Bernal was attacked,” he explains. “That’s why I was late getting to the cafeteria. As for being sick, I happen to get over my colds quickly. Good immune system, I guess.” He laughs, and I can’t help but think he looks sort of cute when he does that. Ugh.

“Hey,” he says, another grin tugging at his lips. “Did you know I was better on Saturday because you saw me at the Apple Store?”

“I — um —” I fidget, biting my lip and blushing. “Possibly.”

Marc’s face lights up, and he laughs again. “No way! You were that bat, weren’t you? I guessed it when I saw you standing outside the store afterward!”

I glare at him, hating how my cheeks are burning. “Okay. Fine. I was that bat. You must be very
proud
of yourself for figuring everything out.”

Marc shakes his head. “I wish I were better at figuring stuff out,” he says grimly. “Then I’d know who was behind all these attacks.”

There’s a beat of silence, and finally, I take a tiny step closer to him.

“All right … so you’re not a Dark One,” I grudgingly admit. “But you must know a lot about them from your mom, right?”

“Dark Ones are tricky,” Marc replies, furrowing his eyebrows and looking as thoughtful as he did back in the costume room. “They move around a lot, from country to country, or city to city, so it’s hard for Council members to keep track of them. Also, they recruit new Dark Ones often, so a vampire who may have been totally ordinary before will suddenly, and without warning, start a series of attacks.”

“Which sounds like what’s happening now,” I supply. Marc nods.

It’s totally weird to be standing backstage with him, talking about all the things that have been haunting me lately. At the same time, though, it feels … good. Like I can finally confide in someone. Who knew it would be Marc?

“At the beginning of January,” Marc explains, “rumors started going around that there were Dark Ones in Los Angeles. But now the Council knows it’s true. There have been other attacks, too. My mom told me about one in Pasadena and another in Burbank. The local news will report it, but not much else gets done. We need to put a stop to this, before more people get hurt.”

Marc sets his jaw, looking determined. I can’t help thinking that he
is
cute, maybe even cuter than James Okada. But then I push the thought aside.
Focus, Ashlee.

“Well, what’s the next step?” I whisper. “I can try to call my mentor and get some answers, but —”

Before I can finish, the bell rings.

Right. We’re in school. It’s the end of lunchtime, and we have to get to class.

Marc seems to be processing the same thing. He blinks and glances back at the prop closet. “I should grab some Sanga! real quick,” he says. “But listen — Ashlee — let’s talk about this more.” His cheeks turn red, and he ducks his head. “Would you, um, want to come to my house after school?” he asks.

I hesitate, fiddling with my new bracelet. On the one hand, I’ve found a vampire my own age who could help me solve the Dark Ones mystery. On the other hand, going to Marc and Sasha’s house would mean that I was, like … a friend of theirs. In their group. All my hard work to fight my way into the popular crowd would be a waste. And while I’m on shaky ground with Carmen and Wendy right now, I can’t throw in the towel yet. Not when I’ve made so much progress.

“I’m … I’m not sure,” I finally respond, torn. “I’ll think about it.”

Disappointment flashes across Marc’s face, and he shrugs. “Okay. But I don’t think it’s safe to talk about it in school anymore,” he adds. “So text me or e-mail me if you have any updates. All my info’s on the school directory.”

“Same here,” I say. Conflicting emotions battle inside me, but the late bell is about to ring. So I turn toward the wings.

“Ashlee?” Marc calls, and I look back at him. “Don’t worry,” he says, and gives me a charming half smile. “I won’t tell Sasha or anyone else — about you. I promise.”

And then we’re off in opposite directions, two vampires with a lot on our minds.

I can’t get to sleep that night. I call Arabella (no answer), and even call Eve and Mallory. I’m not sure what, if anything, I’m going to tell them, but they don’t pick up, or call back. Typical. Then, while pacing my room, I spot my Handbook, wedged between my recently arrived dresser and the wall. I grab the book and climb into bed with it.

Chapter Five is called
Dark Ones: An Ongoing Problem.
It confirms what Marc said: that Dark Ones like to lure ordinary vampires into their sinister fold, and that Council members and their families are watched closely, to be sure they haven’t gone over to the Dark side. I also learn that Dark Ones don’t plan
out their attacks in advance: They strike whoever happens to cross their path when they’re hungry. Humans who might already be bleeding are especially vulnerable to attack.

Dark Ones do not kill their victims or turn them into vampires,
I read as I slide down under the covers, shivering.
But their fangs release a poison that leaves those who are attacked in a frozen stupor. It usually takes the victims several days to fully recover.

I think of Paige, lying in the local hospital. According to the whispers swirling around that afternoon, the substitute nurse decided to send her there. I wonder if she’s come out of her stupor yet. Has she made the connection between her attack and Mr. Bernal’s? Or maybe Carmen and Wendy — who no doubt have stopped by with flowers and candy — told her their theories about me. I wonder if a doctor or nurse on call noticed the similarity between Paige’s wounds and those of the surfer.

And I know it’s less important than catching the Dark Ones, but I can’t help wondering how Paige’s absence will affect the play.

The next day, at rehearsal, I get my answer.

Mr. Harker asks the cast and crew to gather around. We all oblige, everyone’s face taut with
worry. (Except for Gordon’s; he’s probably thinking about programming.) I’m careful not to make eye contact with Sasha or Marc. Whenever I saw Marc today, I was tempted to tell him that I found my Handbook or ask him if he had any new thoughts on the attacks. But then I’d remind myself of my popularity goal, and I’d glance away.

As far as I can tell, Marc has kept his promise: Sasha hasn’t said anything to me. I suspect she — like many of my other classmates — thinks I’m so traumatized from finding Paige that I don’t want to talk much, period.

“As you know,” Mr. Harker begins solemnly, “Paige Olsen suffered a terrible accident on Tuesday.”

At this, Carmen bursts into tears and Wendy wraps her in a hug. I see Sasha rolling her eyes, and I resist the urge to do the same.

“According to her doctors,” Mr. Harker continues, “it will take some time for Paige to heal. She will most likely be too weak to participate in the play.”

Carmen lets out a sob. “Then we should cancel it!” she declares.

Mr. Harker gives her a cutting look. “We will do no such thing,” he tells her. “As I well remember from my childhood days as an actor,” he adds, a note of
pride creeping into his voice, “the familiar expression was, ‘the show must go on.’ And it must. Principal Anderson even feels the play will boost the morale of the student body.”

Too bad the play’s about vampires,
I think. I hear Marc cough, and I’m positive he’s sharing that thought.

“Unfortunately, we didn’t cast understudies,” Mr. Harker says. “So we need someone to step up and fill Paige’s role. Someone who can learn her lines quickly and, ideally, looks the part….” His eyes drift over to me, and my whole body tenses up.

No, no, no.
Anyone but me. Carmen and Wendy are practically baring their teeth at me, silently daring me to volunteer myself. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.
Why
did I critique Paige at that rehearsal? Why couldn’t Sasha have said something, too? She hadn’t been a fan of Paige’s performance.
“I just want to speak her lines
for
her,”
she had whispered to me.

Wait.

That’s it!

I excitedly lift my hand, and Carmen and Wendy gasp.

“Yes, Ashlee?” Mr. Harker says.

“I’d like to nominate Sasha Hirsh for the role,” I announce.

More gasps from the crowd.

Mr. Harker raises one eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“She knows all the lines,” I explain, and glance over at Sasha, who is staring at me, openmouthed. “She has a loud — well, good voice for the stage. She may not look like Vera in the movie, but that doesn’t matter. She’s — she’s really pretty,” I add haltingly. But it’s true. In a way, Sasha’s crazy fashion sense, combined with her looks, makes her much more unique and interesting than … well, than Paige.

Carmen and Wendy gawk at me. Marc grins and shakes his head. And Sasha looks the most stunned of all. I can understand. I haven’t been exactly friendly to her. Of course, I’m only suggesting that she play Vera to save my own skin. But it’s a little rewarding to see her eyes start to shine.

“You make a convincing case, Ashlee,” says Mr. Harker. “I’d be all for it, but Sasha is indispensable as our stage manager. Who can fill in for her?”

Now it’s my turn to gawk when Wendy speaks up.

“I can,” she says. “Being prop master isn’t all that demanding, so I have extra time. Sasha can explain the basics to me. All I need is the headset, right?” She looks sort of psyched at the prospect of getting
to boss people around. Carmen blinks at her friend, clearly unsettled by this turn of events.