Team Human (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Jumping to Conclusions?

I
wasn't sure Kit had heard any of what Anna and I had been talking about until we told the others good-bye and Kit insisted that he had to walk me home or Francis would make him memorize more books of etiquette.

I might have dangled my hand sort of invitingly in the space between us, but he didn't take it. He was staring straight ahead, as if he found the sidewalk really interesting and possibly a little bit upsetting.

“Your friends seem cool,” he said. “Ty mentioned you guys often have a pickup soccer game in the park on Sundays.”

“Come along,” I said, and when Kit smiled faintly, I winked. “I'll kick your butt as well as Ty's. Be a pleasure.”

“It's a date,” said Kit. I thought about objecting, but who was I kidding? It was a date. “Your friend Anna,” Kit continued after a pause. “She has it pretty rough. I didn't know—I didn't know your detective work was about something so serious.”

“How do you mean?” I asked warily.

“Well,” Kit said, “her dad's gone, after doing something massively uncharacteristic, and he's just been texting since he left.”

He glanced at me, as if for confirmation. Of course he would have the same suspicions I had. It was obvious, wasn't it?

“What if Dr. Saunders has amnesia?” Kit asked.

I stared at him. Okay, we didn't have the same suspicions.

“No, I'm serious,” he continued. “What if Dr. Saunders had head trauma and when he came to he didn't know who he was, but Rebecca Jones was there to tell him who he was and how he hated his family and loved her—pretty convenient, huh? And that's why he's abandoned his family even though it's totally out of character. Dr. Saunders doesn't know who he is!”

I didn't say anything.

“Makes sense, doesn't it?” Kit said, waiting for me to be impressed by his crazy theory.

“Um. Amnesia?” Not rolling my eyes took all my concentration. “What made you think of that?”

“I saw this excellent show all about it. There was this one guy who stood up too fast in the kitchen, whacked his head into a cupboard door, and didn't know who he was for six months! And then there was this woman who was hit by a car on the way to her own wedding, and when she got her memory back it was three years later and she was living in a hut in Alaska. Apparently it happens all the time.”

“I guess we can't discount it,” I said to be kind. I wondered what show Kit had been watching.
Days of Our Lives
? “But, um, I don't think he's in a hut in Alaska. Besides,” I said quickly when Kit started to protest, “how does that explain how strangely Principal Saunders has been behaving?” I took a breath. “I think Anna's dad may have been kidnapped—”

“Kidnapped? By Rebecca Jones?”

“Yes. And that's why Anna's mom is behaving so weirdly. She's being threatened.”

“By Rebecca Jones?”

“That's my theory, anyway. It seems more likely than amnesia.”

“Amnesia is way more common than you'd think,” Kit said. “It happens all the time on TV shows. But either way, don't you think we should we go to the police? I could ask my mom to look into it? She would, you know. We know she's interested in the case.”

“But what if it's exactly what it looks like?” I asked, suddenly unsure. Was what I was thinking any more likely than amnesia? “Dr. Saunders had a midlife crisis and ran away with a beautiful vampire, and his wife is miserable. She really loved him.
Loves
him. Could be that both our theories are nuts.”

“Beautiful crazy vampire,” Kit said. “You heard what Mr. Wasserman said.”

“If he has amnesia, why is he texting his wife and daughter at all? If he's been kidnapped, why hasn't Principal Saunders gone to the police?” I asked.

“Because she doesn't want her husband killed?”

“Thin. Very thin. Principal Saunders can't believe that Rebecca would ever give him back,” I said. “The vampire is nuts. Principal Saunders would go to the police. Besides which, Rebecca Jones didn't sound like a criminal mastermind.”

“I guess not,” Kit said. “It's horrible to think that a vampire would do something like that.”

“Vampires do all sorts of horrible things,” I said.

“As do humans,” Kit replied.

“Right. Sorry. Dr. Saunders running away without saying good-bye, without letting his daughter know how much he loves her—texts don't count—that's really horrible.”

If he'd done it.

Someone else could have used his phone. Someone else could have sent those texts.

But if he hadn't, if my theory was true, then Principal Saunders was being stupid. She'd always been so sensible: She'd know the only thing to do was go to the police.

Love made you do dumb things, though, I mused, thinking of Cathy. Maybe we were letting our imaginations run away with us. Especially Kit. Amnesia? Seriously?

“Yeah. And depressing.”

“It's hard to accept it's true. But Occam's Razor says—” I began.

“The simplest explanation is usually the right one,” Kit completed. “But crazy Rebecca Jones turning kidnapper is an explanation too. So is amnesia.” He saw the look on my face. “Okay, possibly not
as
likely. But if my mom thought there was something fishy going on …”

“I hope I'm not right,” I said. “With or without his memory, I hate the idea of Dr. Saunders being held prisoner by a crazy vampire.”

“Me, too,” Kit said. There was a long pause. “I hated hearing all those things Mr. Wasserman said, about vampires getting botched surgeries to let them laugh and committing suicide.”

He shuddered and hugged himself reflexively, as if he was cold. The boy who lived in a chilly vampire house.

It occurred to me that like Adam's patients, Kit's samples were skewed. Vampires who lived in the Shade tended to be older and more traditional. They were successful, established vampires who had adjusted well. Kit didn't know any badly adjusted vampires. This must've been the first time he'd faced the downsides of becoming a vampire.

I wanted to hug him.

Kit shoved his hands in his pockets. “I should get going. But I had fun.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, looking at his pale, strained face. “Loads of fun.”

Kit made a crooked attempt at a smile. “Well, some of it was fun. And—I'm sure you're going to find out what happened with Dr. Saunders. So,” he said.

“So,” I said.

He looked at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me.

I suppose technically he did. He leaned forward and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

Yes indeed. The I-think-of-you-more-as-a-maiden-aunt kiss.

“I'll call you,” Kit told me. “I've got a lot to think about.”

A peck on the cheek? I nodded and turned away. My throat felt tight. “I'll call you”? I knew what it meant when a guy said that.

Ryan had said that he needed time to think about how things were going, and that he'd call me, the day before he hit on Cathy at a party I hadn't been invited to.

I felt a bit disgusted with myself feeling blue about the fact that Kit wasn't going to call, when something else Kit had said was much more important.

His mom thought something fishy was going on. She'd interviewed Adam Wasserman too, after all.

Francis had chosen our school, out of all the schools in New Whitby, to attend. Principal Saunders was terrified of Francis. Francis had asked me not to discuss him with Principal Saunders.

Francis was on record as having written several volumes of his magnum opus already. Francis had a plausible cover story to be in school.

Francis lived in a shade with a vampire cop. Was Camille secretly investigating what had happened to Dr. Saunders? Was Francis her man on the inside?

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Desperately Scandalizing Francis

A
t school the next day I was in the worst mood in the history of bad moods. I went to my locker, not because I needed a book but because I wanted to stand in the hall, stare into my locker, and brood.

I'd realized that our conversation with Adam Wasserman hadn't gotten me any closer to knowing what had happened with Dr. Saunders. Had he just left Anna and his wife? Or had Rebecca Jones kidnapped him and was she now terrifying Principal Saunders while Camille investigated the whole thing by placing Francis at Craunston High as her spy?

Francis would be the worst spy ever.

It was entirely possible I was crazy. Or at least the worst amateur detective ever. Was Kit's theory really that much worse than mine? Maybe amnesiac Dr. Saunders was now living off kelp and whale meat in Alaska.

On top of that, Kit had broken up with me. Not that we had been together or could ever have been together, what with his desperate need to become an eternal member of his shade.

I'll call you
. Yeah, right.

He hadn't even said why. Was I too human for him? Too bossy? Had he lied about liking our kiss? He'd pecked my cheek last night. A mere peck!

Ugh.

“Are you all right, Mel?” Principal Saunders asked.

I started. “Just lost in thought!” I said, extremely relieved she couldn't read them.

“And late for class, it would appear.”

“On my way, sorry!”

I so wished that I hadn't told Kit my Dr.-Saunders-kidnapped theory. It had been bad enough thinking it myself. Now, thanks to Kit, I couldn't
stop
thinking it. But every time my brain went there, I started to imagine all the awful things that crazy vampire Rebecca could be doing to him, and my thoughts recoiled, going into painful spirals and heading toward a headache.

Stop it, Mel, I told myself. There was another explanation that made perfect sense: Dr. Saunders ran off with Rebecca Jones. Love makes people crazy. Look at Cathy and Francis. She was going to change species for a guy she'd known for less than a month! Love made people deranged.

I was so relieved I wasn't in love with Kit. That jerk.

I confess I did not take in much in trig or bio. Cathy was, of course, in all those classes. We always took the same classes. She wasn't paying much attention either, which was very unusual for her. She seemed to be reading a book under the desk. I'd never seen her do that before.

We exchanged “hi”s and “how are you”s but that was it. It felt like I was already losing her.

At lunch instead of joining us or going off with Francis, Cathy squeezed his hand, smiled meltingly at him, and then headed for the library. Francis, shockingly, did not join us either. Anna, Ty, and I were getting used to each other's company without Cathy. They were good friends to have, and it was especially lovely having Anna back, but I was starting to really miss Cathy. Since we were little we'd practically lived in each other's back pockets.

“So,” Ty said, as soon as we had all gotten our lunches and acquired a table. “This Kit guy. Kind of cool. I suppose.” He paused so I could contemplate how he, Ty, was much cooler.

“You broke up with me, Ty,” I said.

Ty coughed. “That's got nothing to do with anything. I was saying I like your new boyfriend.”

“He's not—” I began. I wasn't going to tell them the barely begun friendship had come to an end. “We only just met.”

“Do you like him?” Ty asked. “Not that I care.”

“I do,” I said, because it was true. Even though it didn't matter anymore. “Not that I care that you don't care. Though you clearly do care, and I don't care about that, either.”

“Well, I don't care that you don't care that I don't care. In fact I'm glad. Because, um, if I was seeing someone that I liked, I'd want you to be happy for me.”

“Are you seeing someone?” I asked, pretty sure he wasn't. “Not that I care.”

“You two are making my head hurt,” Anna observed. “I like Kit. He's cute and he's funny. We can't all have living families.” She smiled to show she was joking.

“Aunt. Vampire,” Ty said, but he was smiling and clearly not offended. “I'm sure she'd love to meet Kit.”

“Cathy's been a bit odd today,” I said to change the subject.

If Kit had been my boyfriend, or even potential boyfriend, which he'd made clear last night he wasn't, it was a pretty short relationship. Not my shortest—at four days, Ryan was the winner and still champion on that front—but still pretty short.

“She's reading every book in the library about vampires, zombies, and transitioning,” Anna said. “Preparing herself. She's turned it into her Local History major assignment. A history of the transitioning process in New Whitby.”

I admit I was a little jealous. How did Anna know that and not me? It must have shown, because Anna shrugged and said, “I've been in the library a lot. So has Cathy.”

“Of course. Typical of her to turn the whole thing into an assignment. I bet Kaplan was thrilled.”

Anna smiled.

“I can't believe she's really going to do it,” I said. “Do you think they'll give her a license?”

“Don't know,” Anna said. “I've never known anyone who transitioned before. Who's even tried to.”

“My aunt transitioned so long ago, it's probably not how they do it anymore.” Technically Ty's aunt was his great-great-aunt. “But I could ask her about it if you like.”

“Thanks. Can you imagine Cathy not laughing?” I asked.

“I kind of can, actually,” Ty said. “She's not that much of a laugher. Not like you or me or—”

“Cathy laughs!” I protested, trying—and failing—not to think of Adam Wasserman's words about the kind of person who made a good vampire. “She has a sense of humor!”

“She does,” Anna agreed. “But I don't think of her as a laughing person. Not like you, Mel. She's more of a wry smiler. With a very low-key sense of humor.”

“Right,” Ty said. “That's exactly it. Kind of like Francis.”

I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying that she was
nothing
like Francis. But was that true? They did seem to be sharing several private jokes already.

I had a sinking feeling that Cathy could tick the three boxes Adam Wasserman said were essential for successful vampire transitioning: not much of a sense of humor—it was true that she wasn't a big laugher; strong reason to become a vampire—true love (I didn't think it was enough of a reason, but Cathy certainly did); being more in love with death than life—I wondered if thinking an early death was romantic counted as being more in love with death than life. Cathy had long been obsessed with Thomas Chatterton, John Keats, Wilfred Owen, Sylvia Plath, and Anne Sexton. All of them died young and wrote loads of death-obsessed poetry. But Cathy had never said that
she
wanted to die young. Was being obsessed with death the same thing as wanting to die young?

Not that I wanted to calculate Cathy's chances of a successful transition.

I didn't want her to attempt transition at all.

The bell for the end of lunch sounded, and I grabbed my bag, got up, and trailed off to class. I walked so slowly that by the time I got to within sight of the classroom, the corridors were deserted. At least they were until Francis turned the corner.

“Francis!” I called out, not as quietly as I should have.

He strode toward me, his ever-so-perfect and ever-so-expressionless face not displaying annoyance, even though I knew he must be annoyed. I'm sure real ladies didn't raise their voices.

“Miss Duan?”

He
was
annoyed. Normally he called me Melanie.

“I need to talk to you,” I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the girls' room. Now, no way was I stronger than Francis, but he was a gentleman who would never throw off a lady's guiding hand, even a lady he didn't entirely consider to be one.

When I let go of his arm, he smoothed out his sleeve as if attempting to erase all Mel contamination.

“This is the ladies' powder room,” he said, eyebrows rising in the vampire equivalent of total horror.

“The girls' bathroom, yes, where we go to—”

“I am quite aware of the personal business which ladies conduct here,” Francis said. “The question is, Why am I here?”

“Because what I want to ask you is, um, confidential and everyone's in class.” I waved at the row of empty stalls. Francis did not follow the direction of my arm. Apparently gentlemen did not look at the empty stalls in the girls' bathroom. “No one will hear us in here.”

Francis's posture was even more ramrod stiff than normal. He was clearly torn between being scandalized and being forced to accept a sort-of lady's confidence.

“Please proceed with haste,” he said, and forgot himself to such an extent that he added another “Please.”

“Are you here to investigate Principal Saunders?”

For a moment Francis looked almost uncertain. “But you know I am,” he said at last.

“No, I don't.”

“Then pray tell, Miss Duan, why you claimed you had such knowledge? You threatened to reveal the undercover nature of my endeavors here!”

“I didn't!” What was Francis talking about?

“You informed me that you were aware of the true reason for my sojourn at this fine establishment.”

Fine establishment? Did he mean this school? Apparently he did. “Yes,” I said. “To write your book. You thought that I … Oh.” But of course his secret hadn't been the book. Cathy knew about it. The school knew about it.

“This is most perplexing,” Francis said at length, which I thought was Francis-speak for “What the hell is going on?” Typical Francis, not even making it a question.

Since it wasn't a question, I didn't have to answer.

“Isn't it?” I said sweetly, and cut to the chase. “What's going on with Principal Saunders? Her husband didn't really run away, did he?”

Francis was still for a moment, sky-blue eyes scanning my face. I tried to keep my face as expressionless as his.

Stupid vampires. There's a reason it's illegal for them to play poker.

“Miss Duan,” Francis said carefully, “I am not about to reveal the true nature of my investigation here.”

“Are you working for Camille?”

“I can only repeat: I am not about to reveal the true nature of my investigation here,” Francis said firmly. “It is unfortunate that you're aware that there is such an investigation. I shall ask you—and this is for your own good—to put it from your mind and cease to interfere.”

For my own good, like Francis's leaving had been for Cathy's own good. Look how that had turned out!

I resisted the impulse to kick Francis in the shin and instead tried for an ingratiating smile.

“C'mon, Francis. You can tell me.”

Francis looked—well, to use his own words, I believe he looked most perplexed. (It was possible that I had never smiled at Francis before.) Then he looked cold and decided.

“I most assuredly cannot. And now, if you don't mind, I am late for my class. As I believe you are also. Good-bye.”

Francis left so quickly, there was no time to beg him again to change his mind. A breeze in my face was all that remained of Francis's unspeakable presence in the ladies' powder room.

I'd been all set to tell him of Anna's suffering and how he could help her.

I leaned back against the sink. At least now I knew for certain that there was an investigation.

Oh, poor Dr. Saunders and Principal Saunders. Could my kidnapping theory really be true? How was I going to tell Anna?

Francis's being involved in the investigation meant Camille must have been the one who sent Francis. Camille must know, or at least suspect, something. I had to find out what. Anna had a right to know. Which meant I had to talk to Camille. She was a mother. She would understand that Anna needed help.

She was also the mother of the boy who'd just dumped me. And a scary vampire cop who moved so fast she became a blur.

Piece of cake.