Drain You (23 page)

I wondered how long we should wait before leaving. Until the entire house was roaring maybe? Longer? At some point soon, neighbors would notice, 911 would be dialed, fire trucks would arrive. I knew we needed to be gone by then. But Naomi was spellbound, engrossed in what we had created. What we were destroying. She never took her eyes off the fire, not even for a second. Not even to share a surreal high five, a humble victory dance, some small moment of bonding. She was rooted to the ground, her face lit up, drinking it in. It was sort of like we were watching
Jurassic Park
again, only way weirder and more illegal. I stared at her staring at the fire, trying to remind myself that it was really, truly over. Then Naomi’s face went white, her eyes went wide, she said, “Oh my God,” and stumbled back a few feet.

I turned toward the house and saw what she saw. Stiles. Standing in the living room. Looking like he always looked: shiny black hair, cold gray eyes, purplish lips. Seething with hate. His eyes pierced directly into mine, never blinking. Then he moved toward the window and reached his right hand out, pressing it against the glass, his five fingers a pentagram of pale skin. Stiles was dying
again, and he knew it. He just stood there glaring at us, his face occasionally obscured by black plumes of smoke. Then he walked away, back into the house, out of sight.

I grabbed Naomi’s hand, and she clasped fingers with me. We took another step back together. The fire roared.

Naomi’s other hand was over her mouth. She made noises, not words.

“Did you see Sanders in there?” I asked, frantic.

“What?” Her face was still blank, her gaze still frozen on the spot where Stiles had stood, where his hand had left no mark on the glass.

“Sanders. Did you see him with Stiles?”

“What? I—I don’t think so.”

“Is he in there? He’s in there, right?”

“Where else could he be? Of course he is.” Naomi nodded. She kept nodding and nodding. “He’s in there.”

I was about to turn and drag Naomi down the driveway, but suddenly there was a loud banging sound. Stiles had slammed open the door and was standing in the doorway, smoke streaming out, staring at us. For once his clothes were actually messed up, dirty from the smoke and soot, and his hair was out of place, sticking up, not plastered and perfect. The mask was off. This was what he was. Mouth half-open, eyes lifeless and bitter, head slightly lowered like an angry animal. Just some predator.

The fire was raging all around him, but he didn’t move. It was a duel without weapons. A silent showdown. We were only fifteen feet away, but the sun was out so he was stuck, stranded in the doorway, inferno on one side and sunshine on the other. We were burning. He was burning. And in the bedroom, still asleep or passed out or hopefully already dead, Sanders was burning too. He just had to be.

The smoke grew denser, billowing out into the California air, adding to the smog. The flames crackled and popped as they consumed the roof and the walls. A window somewhere shattered from the heat. Naomi squeezed my hand. And a single low guttural growl ripped through Stiles’s mean teeth. He felt it for real. He was mortal again.

Then, strangely, he seemed to calm down. His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. It was the freakiest thing I’d ever seen. He held the expression for a minute and then turned and slammed the door.

Neither of us spoke. The whole house was dissolving in a web of red and orange and yellow flames, the sky darkening with huge clouds of choking smoke. This was the end.

“We should go,” I said.

Naomi pulled her hand from mine and slipped it into the pocket of her sunflower print dress. “Yeah.”

It was hard to take our eyes off the blaze, but finally we did. We walked side by side up the driveway toward the street, saying nothing.

Then out of nowhere Naomi said, “I know what James would’ve given up. I mean, I could guess.”

“What?”

“His spot at the school.”

Then James could stay. He wouldn’t have to go back east.

Naomi looked at me out of the corner of her eye, and my face must’ve looked too blissed, too blessed. “Now he doesn’t have to give it up, though. That place is the best thing for him, for all of us.”

Maybe.

“Have you ever thought about the future?” Naomi asked.

James. Whit. James. “Sure.”

“Like how this will all end for you?”

“What do you mean?”

She caught my eyes. “Are you going to become one too?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” It was sort of true. I sort of hadn’t.

“Better start,” she said.

“Yeah.”

Naomi was done here. The gasoline was gone. The
lighter was in her pocket. She was walking away from it all, at the end of the driveway, already climbing on the bike, ready to go home.

But I wasn’t quite ready yet. I wasn’t bored with this yet. Whatever. Okay.

Cover art © 2012 by Francesca Bortoli

Cover design by Michelle Taormina