Deadly Offer (3 page)

The vampire looked surprised. “You want details?” His teeth overhung his lower lip, shimmering like pearls, like Celeste’s hair.

“I don’t want details,” said Althea hastily. “Just—well—an overall picture.”

With a long bony finger, the vampire traced his lips, as if savoring something. How thin his lips were. How bloodless. Although actually he looked somewhat healthier than the last time Althea had encountered him.

Althea felt a little queasy. What could have made him healthy?

I did it, she thought. I actually gave a vampire his victim.

The air around her thickened. It crawled up her legs and crowded against her spine, and her heart, and her head. She could not see the air, but she could feel it, all woolly and damp, whispering,
That’s what you did. You are bad, you are evil, Althea.

She straightened her back and stiffened her jaw. I did what I had to, she thought. And Celeste deserved it. So there.

The dark drapery that seemed to be the vampire’s clothing shifted and swirled as if it were leaving. But the vampire stood still. The hem of his black cloth blew toward Althea. She stepped back, and the black cloth reached farther, trembling eagerly. The vampire collected it back and wrapped it around himself like a container. To Althea he said, “It was only necessary for Celeste to enter the path of my control. Once you and she circled the house, she was within my light path.”

“Light? You are dark. You are night.”

“It is in fact a dark path,” admitted the vampire. “I thought you would better understand a comparison to the rays of the sun.” He smiled again, his teeth the only bright thing on earth, those notched glittering fangs that—Celeste had known.

Had it hurt? Had Celeste understood? Had Celeste talked to the vampire? Did she know who had led her into the dark path?

Althea looked off to the side. It was dark this early in the morning. Frost sparkled on the ground. The hemlocks and firs were black as night. The moon was still visible. Stars trembled. There was no wind. The world lay quietly in the shadowy circle of the house and the trees.

“I was able,” said the vampire, his voice as wet and muggy as a swamp, “to migrate within Celeste’s boundaries.”

To migrate. It sounded like swallows and robins. It sounded rather pretty and graceful, an annual event.

She was very relieved. She had thought the word would be puncture, or stab, or even gnaw. But migration. That was peaceful. Perhaps Celeste had not even noticed.

Yesterday, Celeste had stayed on to have a Coke. Had admired Althea’s bedroom. Shivered at the spookiness of the Shuttered Room. When Althea drove Celeste home, Celeste had chattered about school, about boys and clothes. Celeste had not sounded like a girl caught in a dark path.

The black cloth escaped from the vampire’s twisted fingernails. Little threads from a frayed edge spun toward her, like a spider’s web, hoping to snag her. The fringe wove itself into more cloth, and grew in Althea’s direction.

Althea said slowly, “Am I in your dark path?”

“No. There are some people who are unreachable.”

He reached me pretty well, thought Althea. I gave him Celeste. What if she knows? What if she says so in school? What if she tells people?

“You opened the shutters, Althea. You and I, we are evenly matched. We are both in control, and both of us may go only so far. But Celeste, I fear, is in a different category.” He did not look as if he feared a thing. Or ever had. It was not fear that lined his lips, but hunger.

I’m not in control, Althea thought. If I were in control, I would have made myself popular the day high school began.

“So, after midnight,” said the vampire, his voice wafting past like fragrance, the sound of his pleasure like perfume, “I visited Celeste.”

Althea looked quickly down at the ground. It swayed. Or Althea did.

She reached out for something on which to steady herself, but the only object near her was the vampire. She yanked her arm back and shoved both hands in her jeans’ pockets. Then she spread her feet for a firmer stance. She was glad to be wearing a heavy jacket. Maybe they were evenly matched, but a few extra layers of protection would not hurt. She adjusted the collar on the jacket. Tucked it under her hair. Zipped the fat silvery zipper up to her chin.

The vampire laughed, and this time she did not turn her head away fast enough, and she saw his laugh, like the curve of the moon. A pale crescent of evil amusement. What have I done? she thought, wanting the wind to come up, the sun to rise.

The black drapery flew out behind him, like bat wings. He pulled the cloth back and went on laughing.

Her breath felt stale and used. It seemed to Althea that her own breath was her soul, rising up a sad and lesser thing than it had been.

“Dawn is nearly here,” murmured the vampire. He gestured with a finger like foil toward the pink beginning of a new day. “Go to school, my dear. It will begin.”

“What will?”

“Being popular, of course. Isn’t that what you wanted?” His words were as whispery as the wind. His skin, the color of mushrooms, faded into the dawn. His black drapery vanished among the hemlocks. The air stayed thick and swampy where he had stood.

With difficulty she drew a breath. She tasted him and spat the air out, walking backward, covering her mouth, until she was near the garden where the air was fresher.

In the house, she had little appetite for breakfast. You did what you had to do, she told herself. And it wasn’t so bad. Celeste’s just going to be tired. And you—you get to be popular!

For so many months Althea had entered high school with her eyes lowered, her posture caved in, to keep from having to see that nobody saw her. Today she walked with eyes lowered and posture caved in because …
if they do look at me … will they know what I’ve done … who it is that I talk to in the dark … what I gave him?

“Althea!” cried a girlish happy voice.

Althea spun around as if being attacked.

“Althea, I love your hair like that,” said Becky gaily, catching up to Althea. “It’s all fluffy and kind of—I don’t know—sparkly.”

Becky. The best cheerleader. The one Althea most wanted to be liked by, and to be like!

Althea wet her lips with nervousness. “I was out early this morning,” she admitted. “The mist probably settled on my hair.”

“Up early?” asked Becky. “I’m always up early, too. That’s so neat to meet somebody else who does that. See, my parents always go for a prebreakfast run, down to the lake and back. Their circuit is five miles.” Becky beamed joyously. “Lots of times I go with them.”

How demented, Althea thought. Running, five miles on purpose, when you could be lying in bed? Althea struggled to return Becky’s exuberant smile.

“And why were you up early?” Becky asked.

Althea tried to think of an explanation, but nothing came to mind. “I really like the stars and the night sky,” said Althea. It sounded very lame. Even more so than running five miles.

She had scarcely noticed that they had been joined by Ryan. She was dumbfounded when Ryan said, “No kidding! I took astronomy last year, Althea, and I really got into it. You know that the night sky changes continually, so that the constellation you could find in March is not the same as the one you find in November.”

“You and your constellations,” said Becky indulgently. She gave Ryan a friendly poke. He tugged her ponytail back. “Althea doesn’t care about that, Ryan.”

“I’d like to learn,” said Althea. “I’m really quite ignorant. I just sort of go outdoors and stare upward. I don’t know anything, really.”

“Do you have a telescope?” asked Ryan seriously.

It had never crossed Althea’s mind to want a telescope.

“Because that tower room in your attic would be such an excellent location,” said Ryan. “I mean, you’re in a really dark part of town.”

If he knew how dark, he wouldn’t be so eager, Althea thought.

“No streetlights,” said Ryan, “no lights from all-night car dealerships, nothing to spoil your view of the stars.” He smiled at her. He said, “I have a telescope you could learn on.”

He’s suggesting that he could come over! Ryan! Ryan of the football team! At my house!

Becky, bored by stars, said, “Did you get that algebra, Althea? I thought it was really hard.”

Althea had forgotten that she and Becky were both in second-year algebra. Of course they never sat near each other. Becky sat with another cheerleader named Dusty. Normal people could not have nicknames like Dusty. They would get teased until they actually became dust, or lint, or other underfoot objects. Only a cheerleader could say out loud, with pride, “My name’s Dusty.”

Ryan said, “I could bring my telescope over. We could put it in the tower room.”

“The tower room,” Althea repeated. Her hair prickled. No, no, no! She could not ever have anybody in the tower room. The vampire was free, his dark path lit.

“The one with all the shutters,” Ryan explained, as if Althea were not familiar with it.

“Wouldn’t it be neat to have a slumber party in that tower room?” Becky cried.

Althea could not think. A slumber party. Oh, how she wanted to have a slumber party! A dozen girls all at her house, all laughing and happy and glad to be there.

But the tower room?

Becky locked arms with Althea. Together they headed for algebra. Ryan trailed after them, talking about telescopes and stars. Far down the hall Michael waved, smiling. Althea felt her popularity rising on that wave.

Becky said, “We don’t have cheerleading practice today. You want to come over to my house, Althea?” Becky plopped down on the first available seat—not her usual seat near Dusty. “I mean, first we’ll go to Mickie D’s, of course, and meet everybody, but then we could go over to my house.” She yanked Althea down next to her. Becky got a teasing, provocative look on her face. “Ryan lives next door,” she said, as if making an offering. “We could play telescope together.”

Ryan heaved a great sigh. He had followed them into algebra. Althea was confused. Ryan didn’t have algebra. He was a year older. He had trigonometry. Why was he accompanying them here?

“My telescope, Becky,” said Ryan, although he was facing Althea, “is not a toy. Although I am sure Althea and I can think of plenty of games to play.” He winked at Althea.

Ryan had winked at her. Michael had waved at her. Becky had sat with her. Althea didn’t care what had happened to Celeste. She would never care. She winked back at Ryan.

“You’re sick, Ryan,” said Becky. “Get out of here, you’re annoying the algebra class. Go to your silly trig.”

Ryan grinned. “I’m not sick,” he told Althea. “I’m a very interesting person. So. Are you coming to Mickie D’s, Althea?”

She nodded, and he nodded back, and that was heaven. She burned with joy; she felt like a house on fire. When the algebra teacher called on her, she had the right answer; and when Becky made a joke, she had a quick laugh.

I’m here, thought Althea. I’m where I deserve to be.

Among friends.

B
UT BEFORE MCDONALD’S CAME
music. Chorus was another high school group that had not turned out the way Althea had expected. She was one of sixteen altos. She had not made friends. She yearned to sit between two girls, both of whom would talk to her; instead she sat on the end of a row, sticking out into the room, next to one girl who never turned her way. Sitting on the end gave her a good view of the curved sections and the friendships other people had made.

I could sit in the middle, she thought. With a popular alto on my left and a cute baritone on my right. She steeled herself. She moved sideways over bookbags and shoes. She said to the alto, “Mind if I sit here?”

The alto beamed at Althea. “Sure! That’ll be a nice change.”

And Dusty, whose seat it usually was, said, “Oh, good, I’m sick of being suffocated in the middle of the pack. Thanks, Althea.”

She sat in the center. One of the crowd. The laughter and chat wrapped her up like a blanket hot from the dryer. She giggled with the boy on her right. He said, “I’m really sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

“Althea.”

“What a cool name. I never heard it before.” He smiled. “Althea,” he repeated.

Before she could ask his name, the music director whacked the top of his stand with his long white stick and, in his martial-arts way, began warm-up exercises.

How special her voice sounded from the middle. Being an alto wrapped her in companionship; the boy’s voice an octave lower added a dimension to singing she had never known. For the first time that year, the director met her eye, smiled, and nodded at her.

She felt like an opera star.

The director cut them off. In the silence before he gave more orders, Celeste entered the music room. Her sparkling eyes were dull. Her golden hair was limp.

There were three steps down because the room was designed for tiers of singers or instrumentalists. Celeste stood at the top. She shifted her load of books to her other side for better balance. Celeste felt her way down one step, panted slightly, and rested before taking the next step.

“You’re late,” said the music director sharply.

“I’m sorry.” Celeste looked foggy. “I’ve felt sort of slow today.”

“I am not interested in excuses,” said the director irritably. “You are late. I do not tolerate lateness.”

Celeste shuffled down another step.

The boy next to Althea muttered, “This is a cheerleader? No wonder we don’t win any games.” He rolled his eyes as Celeste tried to focus on the final step down. “Want a cane?” he said cruelly.

Althea no longer wanted to know the boy’s name. She no longer wanted to know her own name. What have I done? she thought. Celeste was just supposed to be a little bit tired. She hardly even looks alive!

Althea tried to breathe for Celeste, to suck in rich clear oxygen that would energize her. But Celeste did not breathe deeply. Celeste stumbled and dropped her books.

The music director sighed hugely, exaggerating patience with this idiot who could not even cross a room. The girl who took attendance said dryly, “While we’re waiting, Celeste, I’ll make announcements. Think you can find the soprano section by then?”