Never Bite a Boy on the First Date (13 page)

O
ne of the things I like about living in Massachusetts is that it starts getting dark pretty early in the fall. I was able to head over to Rowan’s at seven o’clock that night, surrounded by shadows.

His house wasn’t exactly the Gothic vampire mansion I’d been picturing. I don’t know, I guess I’d imagined him living somewhere like Stephen King’s house, with gargoyles and a tall spiky fence out front. But instead I found a small, kind of sad-looking ranch house, all on one level with tiny square windows, and a lot of gray concrete visible around the drab beige siding. An unmarked police car sat in the driveway.

It occurred to me for the first time that if Rowan was a vampire, then surely the rest of
his family was, too. It would be tough for parents not to notice that their kid suddenly had developed fangs and a really serious blood fixation. Rowan’s dad certainly knew
something
was wrong with his son, if his behavior at the crime scene had been any indication.

I had debated changing my outfit, but I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard. Besides, I hoped that cheerful sunflower earrings would send a “nonthreatening!” message to Rowan’s parents. Or his vampire family, or whomever I was about to meet in there. As I pulled open the screen door and rang the bell, I wondered if this was a bad idea. If they were vampires, and they thought I was onto Rowan, what might they do to me?

Too late. The front door swung open. Rowan’s dad was standing there, still in his police uniform.

He stared at me with the same spooky expression Rowan had, like I was wearing a garland of skulls around my neck or something.

Evidently brilliant conversational skills, such as the ability to say
hello
, ran in the family.

“Hi, there,” I said with a wide smile.
Look
how harmless I am!
“Are you Rowan’s dad? I’m Kira. He said I could stop by—I hope I’m not interrupting dinner or anything.” I peered at his face, but there weren’t any telltale bloodstains around his mouth.

“No, we—no—who did you say you were?”

“Kira. Kira November.” I stuck out my hand but he didn’t move. “Rowan and I go to school together and I’m new and he’s been so nice and I hardly know anyone so it’s great to have a friend—” I figured if I babbled, that would help fill up all the awkward silence.

“Rowan has a friend?” This came from a new voice, as a pallid, wispy middle-aged woman appeared behind the policeman. “Oh, hello, dear,” she said over her husband’s elbow. “Albert, don’t be rude. Come on in, sweetheart.”

Hmm. Someone hasn’t been trained in anti-vampire protocol
. “Thanks, ma’am,” I said as she tugged her husband aside so I could edge into the hallway. Rowan’s dad was frowning at me in a way I don’t like to be frowned at, especially by police officers.

“Rowan!” his mom called. “Your friend is here!” She patted my hand. “Rowan never gets
any visitors. He’s always been a quiet boy, but ever since we moved, it seems like he’s always locked up in that room of his.”

“Donna,” said Rowan’s dad in a low, warning kind of voice.

Rowan appeared from a room at the end of the hall, like a spectral wraith rising from the mist. He’d taken off his hoodie, and his pale, skinny arms stuck out of his T-shirt. His hair was mussed and he looked sleepy, as if he’d just woken up.

“Do you know this girl?” Rowan’s dad asked sternly.

“Albert!” said Rowan’s mom.

“Yeah,” Rowan said, combing his hair with his fingers. “We’ve been hanging out. So? Isn’t that what you want for me? A normal life?”

Albert’s smile was strained. “Perhaps now isn’t a good time,” he said to me.

“It’s a fine time,” Rowan said. “Kira, come see my room.”

I sidled nervously toward him. “Er…nice to meet you,” I said to Rowan’s parents.

“You too, dear,” said Donna.

“Keep the door open!” Albert barked as
Rowan led me into his room. Okay,
that
wasn’t sinister at all.

In response, Rowan slammed the door behind us. “I hate him,” he said. He leaned on the door like he was listening to see if his dad would keep fighting. But there was no further sound from the other side.

I was sort of hoping for a nice, obvious coffin in the middle of the room, but there was nothing like that. There wasn’t a real bed, either; instead a twin mattress lay in the middle of the floor, covered in tangled black sheets with a threadbare, blue plaid blanket crumpled on top and one flat pillow at the end. Rowan stepped around me and shoved the mattress over to the wall, shaking out the blanket and covering the sheets with it.

There were more windows than I’d expect in a vampire’s room—three of them—but I remembered that tall, thick hedges grew at this end of the house, probably blocking all the light even if Rowan hadn’t kept his shades drawn. I also noticed that two of the shades were taped to the window frame with thick black duct tape. Keeping out the tiny slivers of daylight?

A chest of drawers stood on the same wall as the closet door, which was ajar, but it didn’t look like Rowan used either one very much, as clothes were strewn across the plain beige carpet and piled high on the wooden chair next to the desk. I was actually surprised to see so many clothes; from what I’d seen of Rowan so far, I thought perhaps he owned only one pair of black jeans, one black hooded sweatshirt, and an assortment of dark T-shirts. But from here I could see at least three pairs of black jeans, so I suppose that was reassuring.

The walls were covered in photographs, all of them stuck up with jagged scraps of more black duct tape. I looked at them while Rowan tossed his clothes into the closet.

Lots of pictures of the moon; thankfully, no human corpses, although there were a few close-ups of roadkill that I could really have lived forever without seeing, thanks very much. Several shots were of blurry backgrounds through windows and rain, so all you could see were the drops of rain on the glass with fuzzy shapes behind them. There were
no photographs of Rowan or his family—or any people, in fact.

“Where are all the sunny shots of the Golden Gate Bridge?” I asked with a smile.

He squinted at me. “What?”

“None of these look like San Francisco,” I said, pointing to the photographs. “Didn’t you take any pictures while you were living there?”

He ran his fingers through his hair again. “Uh, no. I didn’t feel like it.” He sat down at his desk and moved his mouse to wake up the screensaver. I noticed that he had a solitaire game up on his computer, which seemed a little lame.

I turned around and saw that he had a black sheet pinned over something on the back of the door. “What’s under here?” I asked, going to lift it up.

“Don’t!” he snapped. I froze, and he took a deep breath. “Don’t do that.”

“Okay.” I took a step back. “Why?”

“It’s a mirror,” he said. “I just don’t like mirrors.”

Oh, RRRREALLY?

Part of me wanted to whip off the sheet and see if I could see him in the mirror. That would answer the whole vampire question pretty definitively. On the other hand, if he
was
human, and he realized that he couldn’t see
me
…that would take some explaining.

“What’s wrong with mirrors?” I asked, sitting down on the mattress, since there wasn’t anywhere else to sit. I leaned my back against the wall and rested my elbows on my knees.

“I don’t like looking at myself,” he said, clicking on the solitaire game.

“You should,” I said. “You’re totally cute.”

He tilted his head slowly at me. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

Yeah, most likely because you’re also weird as all get out
. “Well, I’m very observant,” I said, crossing my ankles and leaning back on my hands. “I also observed that your dad is kind of scary. Did you know that?”

Rowan made a little growling noise in his throat. “He’s a jerk. He doesn’t trust me. He says he does, but he treats me like a dangerous animal.”

“That sucks,” I said, studying his profile as
he stared at the computer screen. “Why is he like that?”

“He’s a cop, I guess.” Rowan shrugged. “He has a pretty strict idea of right and wrong, but I think it’s kind of messed up. I can’t do anything without getting this
look
from him, like he has no idea who I am. Whatever.”

“Does he know anything about Tex’s murder?” I asked. “I mean, since he’s a cop.”

Rowan snorted. “He won’t talk about it. Thinks it’s bad for my head. He’s one of those people who doesn’t understand.” He gave me that sad look again. “Not like you.”

“I only talked to Tex once,” I said. “My brother Zach and I were at my locker, having a fight—that happens a lot. And Tex came up to us and poked Zach’s shoulder and said, ‘Is this punk bothering you, little lady?’ and Zach was like, ‘Don’t even bother, Tex, she’s a frigid—’ and then I kicked him in the shins and he fell over and Tex was like, ‘Dude, your sister is hot but scary,’ and Zach was like, ‘Tell me about it,’ and I was like, ‘You two should just date each other; you’d be a cute couple,’ and Tex was like, ‘Aw, but the ladies would be so disappointed.’
And that was it. I don’t know, he seemed doofy, but not as obnoxious as some of those guys.”

“They’re all the same,” Rowan said. “Meatheads. You only need to get shoved into a locker by one of them to know what they’re all like.”

“Did Tex do that to you?” I asked. “Shove you into a locker?”
Was that your motive…for MURRRRRDER?

“Nah,” Rowan said. “He hit me with a volleyball a few times in gym, that’s all. But only ’cause I was there and it was easy. I don’t think he knew I was alive. If you asked him who I was, he wouldn’t have a clue.” I listened for undercurrents of bitterness in his voice, but I didn’t hear any. Either they weren’t there, or he was a good actor.

He swiveled around to look at me. “I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re thinking. I like being invisible.”

“I guess it’s useful for a photographer,” I said, waving at the wall.
And also for a vampire
.

“Want to see my poem?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a locked metal box. He turned it away from me so I couldn’t see the
combination as he opened it. I spotted several papers inside, but he quickly pulled out the top sheet and closed the box with a snap. He spun the lock and hid the box inside his desk again.

“Here,” he said, coming over to the mattress. He sat down beside me and handed me the poem. His sleeve brushed my bare arm, and our knees were practically touching.

The poem covered both sides of the page. As one might expect from an epic titled “Blood,” it was written in red ink with splotches everywhere, and it was mostly long, scribbled lines about how red and warm and sticky and hot blood is.
Um, gross
. Nothing about how blood tasted, though, I noticed. But it did feel like it had been written by someone who’d been close to a lot of blood. There was a line that went “blood, blood fiery against my fingertips.” Boy, his dad would not be pleased if he found out Rowan had literally gotten Tex’s blood on his hands.

“This is really—” I started to say, but suddenly Rowan leaned over and kissed me.

I guess I should have expected that. This is what happens when you flirt with boys,
especially unstable boys. And I
was
interested to see if his fangs came out while he was kissing me.

But on the other hand, it was really awkward. He kind of missed my mouth at first, and then he tried to pull me around to face him, and then he was leaning into me too much and I didn’t have anywhere to put my arms to support myself. It was wicked uncomfortable. Plus he almost immediately tried to stick his tongue between my teeth, which is a kissing technique I’ve never fully understood, frankly.

And I couldn’t help thinking about Milo and Daniel, and how I’d much rather be kissing one of them. It was bad enough to be flirting with two guys I really did like; adding in Rowan suddenly felt like cheating. This murder investigation stuff was
complicated
.

“Hey, wait,” I said, putting my hands on his chest and pushing him away. “This is a little fast for me.”

“But I thought you liked me,” Rowan said. He put his hand on my knee and leaned in again.

“Yeah, well,” I said, dodging, “but we just met, and—”

His hand gripped my knee surprisingly tightly. “Oh, God,” he said. He let go of me all at once and buried his head in his hands. “I’m an idiot. I ruin everything.”

“No, don’t say that,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Suddenly the door flew open and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Rowan’s dad glowered down at us. All I could think was
Thank God he didn’t walk in one minute earlier
. Although I imagine we still looked pretty suspicious, side by side on the mattress like that.

“I think you’d better go,” he said to me.

“DAD,” Rowan said angrily.

“It’s okay. I’ve got stuff to do,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “See you Monday, Rowan?”

He scowled at his bare feet and didn’t answer.

Albert followed me down the hall to the front door. As I reached for the handle, he stopped me with one hand on my elbow. It was a gentle grip, firm but not scary. I looked at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About Rowan, I mean. I hope you won’t think—I hope you’ll be kind to him. He’s having a rough time right now, and he
sometimes says things he shouldn’t.”

“It’s okay,” I said awkwardly.

“Just don’t believe everything he says,” Rowan’s dad went on. “If he sounds like he’s talking crazy or anything—I mean, you let me know, all right? If he says anything that sounds weird, or if he talks like he did anything crazy, or anything like that. Don’t take him seriously.”

I didn’t know who was more spooked, me or poor old Albert. I glanced over his shoulder and saw another mirror in the living room, over the fireplace, also covered in a black sheet like a shroud.

“I’ll let you know,” I said. “He seems all right to me.” Well, apart from the corpse pictures and the overall moodiness and the potentially being a vampire, anyway. “Maybe a little sad.”