Blood Vivicanti (9780989878586) (3 page)

I could smell grease on the
roller coasters, and I could smell arcade tokens touched by
countless fingers, and I could smell the milky sweet scent of
children sweating out sugar. And I could smell a million other
scents.

I could see fathers digging
deep into pockets to give begging kids coins for games, and I could
see boyfriends winning girlfriends massive stuffed animals, and I
could see vendors sneakily skimming pocket change off the top of
the amusement park’s profits. And I could see a million other
sights.

My photographic memory saw
and heard and remembered everything. Every scent, every expression,
every stitch the crowd wore, every laughter bubbling up from their
throats – my mind cataloged all of it efficiently.

I also noticed someone
watching me.

He looked like a man on the
outside. He was tall and lean, middle aged, dark brown hair down to
his chin, mustache, goatee, and redness around his eyes. I’d never
seen someone so hungry, angry, alone, and tired.

His name was
Lowen.

I called him The Dark
Man.

You could call him my Jean
Valjean, my Lex Luthor.

Beside him was my bread and
my kryptonite. Her name was Nell.

I recognized her instantly:
She was the girl who had been kidnapped from my fifth grade
class.

Lowen had been her
kidnapper, and she had been with him for all those terrible years,
although I did not know that right then.

I would learn that when
Nell tricked me into drinking her black blood.

Nell looked like a girl.
Sometimes she acted like one too. She was petite like me. Her skin
was very white like mine, but mine is snow-white porcelain, while
hers was pale and sickly.

Her features were sunken.
Around her eyes were dark rings, like two hollows. Her lips were
blue, as if she had fallen into a frozen river and
drowned.

That night, her black hair
was short and cut across her chin. She wore a black shirt, black
Converse high-tops, black knee-high socks, and a short
skirt.

She could have been
adorable. But she looked like a twisted version of the girl I had
been only a year earlier, a girl defeated by life and
loneliness.

Yet the more I recognized
her, the more she was unrecognizable. She was no longer the young
victim from fifth grade. To me, she was now only known as
the Pale Girl
.

Lowen the Dark Man had
almost no scent at all. No sweat. No pheromones. The faint scent I
caught of him was an odd mixture of Tennessee whiskey and Franken
Berry cereal.

Nell the Pale Girl smelled
like death.

Lowen never looked at her.
He was leering at me. He never spoke
with
her, only
to
her, the way my parents used to
speak to me.

His voice was deep and
gruff. “you’re right. She is powerful. But our plans have
changed.”

Nell had a new
task.

The Ferris wheel swung me
up and away. For a second I lost sight of them. Lost all sense of
them too.

When the Ferris wheel
looped back around, I sensed that they had gone.

I got off the ride and
searched for them in the crowd. But even their scent and sound had
vanished entirely.

At that time, I didn’t
think too much of it. My mind was on Theo.

The old man was much
happier now. He walked his dog back to his car with a lighter
step.

Theo wondered off. He liked
being alone after drinking blood, especially if the Blood Memories
were the kind he really enjoyed, the kind that made him not merely
remember, but also think.

He was off to journal about
his experiences. He’d never journaled before. The old man’s Blood
Memories were showing him the importance of keeping a journal. It
helped him work out the problems of his mind. It helped his heart
fondly recall good times. The old man had much wisdom to share with
Theo. His Blood Memories were a good choice.

Theo left me. I didn’t see
him for the rest of the night.

I walked along the beach
alone. I let myself be hungry. The pain of hunger was better than
the pain of heartache.

The rollers of the Pacific
Ocean crashing on the shore sounded like a pride of lions
roaring.

The storm was coming
closer.

I’d never swum before. I
didn’t know how to swim. I had to plunge into Theo’s Blood
Memories. He knew how to swim. His Blood Memories gave me the skill
to leap into the ocean.

I swam out to the storm. It
was miles out to sea. I swam faster than fish and sound.

The storm was loud and
violent and wonderful. The giant waves were like muscles. I let
them lift me up. It felt good to be lifted up. I let them slam me
down. It felt good to be slammed down.

The power of the waves
thrust me far underwater. For a moment I wondered if I would drown.
But being a Blood Vivicanti meant that water would never drown me
again.

The pressure in the depths
of the ocean felt good. It was the most powerful hug I’d ever had.
And I needed a good hug right then.

I let myself be picked up
and thrown down numerous times. I let myself be hugged by the
mighty black sea. Down in the deep, the solitude was perfect. I was
alone with the ocean. She was with me.

Too bad I couldn’t stop
thinking about Theo.

I swam back long before the
storm reached the shore.

I had hunger for food and
blood. But I had no appetite. The thought of maintaining myself
sickened me.

Why had Theo gone off? Had
I done something wrong?

I was in
torment.

My whole being yearned to
be satisfied.

I took a cab ride back to
the mansion that night, all the way from the coast to the mountains
ringing the desert valley. The ride took over three
hours.

I loathe LA
traffic.

I could’ve run that
distance six times if I’d had the energy. Wondering about boys was
new and enervating, and I didn’t like it.

Besides, my mind was racing
faster than I ever could.

To pay the cabbie I pierced
his throat with my tongue. I let my delicious venom seep into his
veins. He’d never had a better night in his life.

Good for him.

I didn’t want his Blood
Memories. I spit out his blood.

It left a bad taste in my
mouth.

I didn’t see Theo until the
next day.

The morning sun felt too
bright for me.

Theo and I almost collided
on the stairwell. He didn’t seem very different. He smiled at me
like nothing was wrong. “Ms. Crystobal is making pancakes this
morning.” Theo loved pancakes.

I didn’t meet his eyes.
Couldn’t.

He could see I hadn’t fed.
My porcelain skin had lost some luster. Only a Blood Vivicanti
could see it. I looked a little paler, sickly, like that girl who
was following me, Nell.

Theo took my hand. “Let’s
get you some sugary good fuel for the day.”

His invitation was all I
needed. Instantly I seemed to snap from my heartsick
feeling.

He led me down to the
kitchen. I followed. I was good at following.

His words, his touch – they
were hope. Hope eased my mind. Hope was invigorating.

I used to be very good at
hoping.

Breakfast was amazing. I
didn’t realize I was so hungry. I wolfed down a stack of pancakes
soaked in butter and maple syrup.

But the urge for blood was
more intense. I would have to feed that day. Just a
pint.

Wyn came into the kitchen.
He was reading
The New York
Times
. He folded the paper and set it
neatly down.

Ms. Crystobal served him
his usual coffee.

Wyn studied Theo. “Do you
like your new memories?”

Theo chewed and nodded a
mouthful of food.

Wyn sipped his coffee. “I’m
going to miss your violin playing.”

Theo smiled wryly. He spoke
through his full mouth. “Me too.”

Wyn studied me next. He
could see I hadn’t had any blood. He wasn’t displeased, just
analytical.

“
Didn’t find anyone you
liked?” he asked.

I shook my head. I didn’t
look at Theo.

Wyn could tell that
something was bothering me.

The three of us ate
breakfast together in silence. It wasn’t as lighthearted as usual.
Our conversations felt forced.

Theo was lost in
thought.

Wyn explained that he would
be researching for the rest of the day in the library. Theo said
he’d join him.

Beta followed
Alpha.

Where did I fit
in?

Breakfast finished. Theo
and Wyn left.

I was about to follow them,
but Ms. Crystobal grabbed my hand and held me back. She studied my
eyes intently. Her expression had changed. No longer sour or
impatient. I saw concern in her features, and anger too.

Her voice had a pitch of
aggression. “Did anything unusual happen last night?”

I looked at her sideways.
“Out of the ordinary for a Blood Vivicanti?”

“
Did you see anyone
strange?”

I didn’t think to mention
Lowen or Nell. My mind was fixed on Theo. He was acting strange. I
didn’t like his new Blood Memories.

Ms. Crystobal stood a
little closer to me. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Doors open
all the time. Some open because of good choices. Some open because
of choices that are not so good. Be careful about which door you
choose to go through.”

I was more surprised that
she had said so much to me. It was the most I’d ever heard her say.
What she was saying didn’t quite sink in at that time. I assumed
that she was speaking figuratively.

Wyn and Theo spent the rest
of the morning in the library. Wyn was cross-referencing astrology
with exobiology.

Later I learned the truth:
He was trying to mentally dissect the Red Man, the source of the
glowing violet blood.

Theo read an old manuscript
in Latin. Then he wrote in Latin in his journal. He hadn’t been
able to read Latin before the old man’s Blood Memories.

I wondered if I’d have to
translate it for him once his Blood Memories faded and he forgot
his new ability.

Me helping Theo was a nice
fantasy.

I tried to read a book. But
no books could hold my attention.

So I decided to wander
around Wyn’s mansion.

I let myself get as lost as
I felt.

The mansion was enormous.
There were twists and turns every which way. It felt a little like
the Winchester Mystery House.

I came upon one hallway I
hadn’t seen before. It led into darkness.

A little ways down the
hallway, sensory lights flickered on.

The floor was black marble,
polished and glossy and bright.

With each step down the
hallway, more sensory lights flickered on, marking my
progress.

The smell of fresh cut
flowers was all around me.

The last sensory lights
flickered on at the end.

Against the back wall was a
white marble sarcophagus, like the kind from ancient
Rome.

Fresh arrangements of
lovely flowers surrounded it.

Around the base were small
figures carved into the stone. All of them were of the same woman.
Each figure displayed the woman doing different works of kindness.
Aiding the infirmed, nurturing children, consoling the sorrowful,
and giving food to the hungry.

One small carving of the
woman depicted her playing the violin.

Atop the sarcophagus was a
life-sized figure, also carved into the stone. It was the same
woman. Only this time she wasn’t working at all. She was sleeping
peacefully, turned on her side, the way she must have slept in
life. Her cushion and pillow had been carved with astounding
finesse. They looked soft and very real and comfortable. She looked
real. She looked soft, as if she might wake up at any
moment.