Rival (9 page)

Is this really how my mom wants me to
be? What she wishes her daughter were?

It's painful in its reality.

She knocks again, and I go to the door,
determined to confront her and demand she see me for who I am. And
this isn't it.

But when I open the door, her mouth
drops and her eyes tear up. She takes my hands in hers, looking me
over, and the words I want to say stick in my throat.

"You're so beautiful," she whispers. "I
wish your papa could see you now."

I don't think he’d like it any more
than I do.

"You're all grown up," she
says.

And that's the only upside
to this. After tonight, I can make my own decisions. But I don’t
mention that, and I don’t argue about the dress or the makeup or
the stupid heels. There will be plenty of time for confrontations
later. And I'm sure there will be some, because she does
not
want me to
Chase.

"Let's get this over with," I mutter,
brushing past her.

I really don't want to do
this.

I peek over the banister of the
u-shaped staircase to see what looks like all thirty-seven of my
relatives, mostly male cousins, spilling through the foyer and
further into the house.

Mom nudges me, so I start down the
stairs. The guests clap and whistle. My face feels like it's on
fire. The match earlier was nothing compared to the pain of being
the center of attention. Dressed like this.

Almost everyone hugs me. Erick and the
few cousins I'm closest to offer fist bumps, instead.

Somehow, I'm pushed and prodded all the
way through the house to a huge parquet dance floor in the
backyard. Beneath the massive trees that edge our yard—over-strung
with white twinkle lights until I'm sure you can see us from
space—are several tables topped with every kind of food you can
imagine. A massive white cake stands at the far end of the buffet
table.

I crane my neck, scanning the
dark-haired heads for Erick, but I’ve lost him in the melee. Nerves
have me jangling from head to toe. It’s much worse that the
nervousness I felt before my matches earlier.

A microphone squeals, and I jump.
People nearby laugh.

Several loud thumps mean someone is
tapping it.

"Thank you to everyone for coming." My
mom's voice comes over a speaker system I hadn’t known we
had.

Those near me move back, and I'm
suddenly in the middle of the dance floor, alone, feeling
conspicuous, like a spotlight is shining right on me.

"I want to wish my little girl—my
baby—a happy eighteenth birthday. I love you, sweetie."

My cheeks ache from the fake smile I've
got on.

A song starts playing.

"We'll do the traditional dance first,"
says my mom's slightly-disembodied voice.

My Uncle Felix appears out of the mass
of faces lining the edges of the floor. He reaches out for me.
Thank goodness my mom insisted on dance lessons.

"Happy birthday,
Mahal
," he says as he
loosely clasps me in the formal hold. The Filipino endearment
reminds me of my dad, and the moment I think of him, pain thrums my
heart. I miss him so much.

Uncle F sweeps me into a slow waltz,
smiling down on me.

The sudden tears clogging my throat
surprise me.

I don't know if my dad would've made me
go through all this. I do know he would've let me Chase, no matter
what.

But it's the comfort of his hug that I
miss right now. If he were dancing with me instead of my uncle,
this wouldn't be so terrible. We'd probably laugh about our two
left feet together.

I wobble in the heels as my uncle
passes me off to my mom's brother, a skinny man ten years her
senior who we typically see once a year at Christmas
time.

Everyone is watching,
silent.

I miss a step, and my uncle doesn't
notice. My misstep jolts me out of his hold, and I've messed up the
dance that was so important to my mom.

I can't do this.

He reaches for me, but I back away,
holding up a hand in front of me. "I'm sorry."

Before I can make a desperate escape
through the crowd, there's a loud crash of tinkling
glass.

The music cuts off.

And a female voice screams.

17 - Brett

I ride my motorcycle to Emily's mom's
mansion and have to park it close between two high-dollar sedans,
because the huge circle drive is packed.

I tug on the uncomfortable black
necktie and shrug my shoulders in the suit coat. It's not my usual
style, but Emily is worth it. Especially after what she did—what I
think she did, anyway—earlier this afternoon.

I hope she's not mad that I'm
here.

I pat the square, flat box I've got in
the breast pocket of my jacket. Still there. A perfect gift for
her.

I hope.

Lastly, I adjust the rose I've tucked
in my lapel. If Erick hasn't steered me wrong, I'm going to give it
to her on the last leg of the traditional dance and prove that I'm
the guy who has her heart.

My stupid stomach flutters
like a butterfly, like I’m some kind of chick.
Sheesh, get a grip, dude
.

No one seems to notice me as I slip
inside the front door. Everyone is following the crowd out the back
of the house into the yard, and I tag along, rising on my tiptoes
to get a glimpse of Emily.

A couple of people give me curious
looks, but no one questions me.

When we finally emerge onto a spacious
back patio, Emily stands alone in the middle of the dance floor,
looking lost.

Why isn't her mom out there with
her?

Then the microphone squeals and music
starts. A half-muscular, half-portly guy with a dark mustache joins
Emily and guides her into a slow waltz. At least I think it's a
waltz, but I'm not a dance aficionado, so I don't really
know.

Her eyes sparkle as they turn, but I
think it’s a trick of the light. She doesn’t look happy. In fact…
are those tears? I've never seen Emily cry, not even when her dad
died.

I want to rescue her, but I also know
how worried she was about getting this thing right for her mom. No
matter how much she protests, I know she loves her mom.

So I wait.

When she stumbles out of the dance, I
will the old dude with her—another uncle?—to swing her into an
exaggerated twirl, like it was planned.

But he doesn't.

And she starts to panic.

And that's when everything goes
wrong.

Beside me, something big crashes
through one of the picture windows.

In the glow of the twinkle lights, a
dude lands in a crouch in the middle of a million shards of glass.
I see the glistening fangs and the sharp planes of his face, and my
heart starts pumping.

It's a monster, just like the one that
attacked Emily in the parking garage.

Another crash, another window broken,
another person…monster…coming through it.

Someone screams.

Another monster climbs out of the
house. Through the windows, I see more shadows moving inside. More
monsters?

And a ton of guests out here. Sitting
ducks.

How did they get in? Did they walk in,
just like I had?

Several of the men, Emily’s relatives,
seem suddenly armed. Knives? Like they expected this? Ignoring
their fancy suits, they launch themselves at the
monsters.

At least the monsters don't seem
particularly interested in the women. There are only a few, Emily's
mom included.

I run toward Emily and her mother.
"This way," I shout as more monsters pour out of the house into the
yard.

I motion Emily's mom and the other
ladies around the side of the house, where I know there's a side
door. Maybe they can run to the vehicles in front. Anything is
better than being back here.

I turn back to the fight. The monsters
don't seem to be paying attention to me. One has made its way out
on to the parquet floor with Emily, though, and that's a
mistake.

No one hurts my girl.

Remembering how powerful the things
were in the parking garage, I glance around for anything I can use
as a weapon.

There's a buffet table between me and
the dance floor. I rush to it and find a large carving knife and a
long steel rod like chefs use to sharpen their knives. It's not
ideal, but it'll do.

"Emily!" I shout.

She is in the tail end of a spinning
kick that sends the guy she's fighting backwards several steps. Her
head whips my direction, and I see the momentary surprise on her
face before I toss the knife to her.

She catches it out of the air, by the
handle, and uses the momentum to drive it into the guy's face.
Blood spurts, and he goes down.

I'm rounding the table to join her when
someone rushes me from the side. I get a glimpse of razor-sharp
fangs, and it's enough for me to duck and throw my shoulder toward
the thing. It wasn't expecting it and tumbles over me.

I bring the makeshift steel weapon down
and slice it into the guy's gut. A mortal wound.

I stand up, bringing the bloody weapon
with me, but the guy roars and rolls over, then pushes to his hands
and knees.

What. The. Heck.

"Brett!"

Emily rushes to me, seems to register
than I'm motionless with shock, and stabs the guy through the back
of his ribcage.

He collapses on his face, and this
time, he doesn't get up.

"What are you doing here?" she asks,
panting with exertion. She’s lost the high heels, which explains
how she was able to do that roundhouse kick.

Two more monsters come at us. I jerk my
chin over her shoulder and we rotate to face them,
shoulder-to-shoulder.

"Did that thing just get up? A wound
like that would've killed a…" I roundhouse the approaching dude,
and he goes sideways. "…a human."

"Head or heart," she says, grunting as
she punches into the guy's gut. "They heal quickly, sometimes
within seconds. You've got to give them a wound they can't heal
from."

I kick mine backward, but I
know it's coming back. "What
are
they?"

There's a short hesitation, then,
"Vampires.” She sticks her knife right into the guy's face. He goes
down.

Seriously?

There's no time for disbelief. Someone
shouts from the other side of the yard.

The things are swarming the men. It's
not looking good.

"Did you see my mom?" she
asks.

"Sent her around the side of the house
before it really started. They didn't seem to be interested in her
or the other women."

I finally get a clear shot and thrust
my makeshift stake into the vampire's chest. He freezes and falls
to the ground.

I try to pull Emily back away from the
chaotic struggle in front of us. They don't seem to see us here
between the food tables and the side of the house.

I really don't want her hurt, and those
things are evil.

"Let’s call the cops," I
say.

She shakes her head, turns, and bolts
toward the house, where the open back door and windows gape, dark
and malicious.

18 - Emily

"Emily!"

Brett protests but follows me into the
house.

It's weirdly quiet away from the noise
of the fight.

Those are my uncles and cousins out
there, fighting for their lives. I saw plenty of knives, but I'm
guessing most of my family are only lightly armed. They came
expecting a party, not a fight.

And if I don't help them, they could
lose their lives.

I head straight for my dad's training
room, not bothering to flick on any lights. Brett
follows.

"Anybody behind us?" I can't hear
anything over my pounding heartbeat.

"I don't think so."

My bare feet slap against the wood
floors in the hallway. I got rid of the shoes first thing, afraid I
was going to break an ankle trying to fight in those
heels.

We reach the training room, and this
time I do flip on a light. I go right for the rack of swords.
They'll do the most damage and give my uncles and cousins the
longest reach. I know my dad had a whole arsenal of guns, but I
don't have time to hunt down the key to the gun safe. I can only
hope the vamps aren't armed.

"Nice hairdo," Brett says as he joins
me.

Even amidst all the chaos, my face
flames. "It's not my usual style," I mutter. Then, as I hold up two
deadly blades, I see that he's in a suit. What is he doing here
anyway? There isn't time to find out.