Vampire Crush (21 page)

It’s a possibility. Caroline has been known to blow a year’s al owance on boy-induced shopping sprees. But usual y she takes yes-women and bag carriers. “Wouldn’t she have asked if you wanted to go?”

“My dad cut up my credit cards,” Marta says, shaking her head.

“I dated al the salespeople at Abercrombie and Fitch. I can’t show my face in there for at least another month,”

says Amanda. “Evelyn?”

“She didn’t ask me,” Evelyn says, looking up from putting on bubblegum lip gloss. “And that’s weird, because we were supposed to go together the next time and buy matching pajama bottoms for next Friday’s spirit day.”

Marta claps excitedly. “The ones with the pink bunnies?”

“Yes!”

“You should see mine—they are covered in broccoli and say ‘Eat me.’”

“Cute! Mine have monkeys!”

“Mine have whales,” I say to regain their attention, and earn three surprised looks. I wil not be sidetracked by pajama pants. “Cal me if you see her,” I say, and then stand there stubbornly until I’m sure that they’ve al programmed the number I give them into their cel s. As I walk back through the hal ways, I dig my phone out from the bottom of my bag. After a silent thank-you when it lights up ful y charged, I dial home. Marcie picks up on the third ring, and I try to keep my voice calm and level when I ask if Caroline has come home.

“She cal ed earlier and said that she was staying with Amanda. I asked if she wanted to pick up clothes, but she said that she would borrow something. She sounded upset,” Marcie says, and I can hear the concern through the crackle of indoor reception. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just leftover boy stuff,” I lie.

“Then why are you cal ing?”

One point for Marcie. “One of her friends said that she had forgotten something in her locker and I wanted to bring it to her.”

Marcie seems to buy it. After claiming that I have to get to the tennis match, I hang up and head to the side hal way, planning on doing a few laps to hunt for Caroline. I’m starting to feel sil y—she’s probably licking her wounds somewhere safe and warm and ful of attractive men. Worst-case scenario, I’l check the boys’ locker room. I’m passing the open, chemical-smel ing doors in the science hal when I hear a high-pitched giggle that I’d recognize anywhere.

“Neal, stop it,” Violet says, but it doesn’t sound like she wants him to stop anything. I run into a physics classroom only to walk in on Neal tickling Violet with a remotecontrol ed robot.

“Thanks for coming to the Robotics meeting,” he tel s Violet, who has leaned over to tap the robot’s head with a very curious expression. “I don’t know where Adam is. He told me that he would be here.”

“We should name him,” Violet says. She picks up a pencil and taps the robot on its shoulders. “I dub thee … Simon.”

“Simon? Did you just name my robot Simon?”

“What is wrong with Simon? It was my brother’s name.”

“I didn’t know that you had a brother.”

Violet looks down at her hands with a mournful sigh. “He is gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” Neal says, immediately contrite.

“It does not matter anymore. It was a long time ago.” She shoots him a suggestive look from beneath her lashes. “A long, long, long, long—Sophie!” she says when she spots me in the doorway. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you.”

“We got back early! And since I promised Neal that I would come to his Robotics meeting until he had more than one participant … What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my sister or Vlad.”

Neal stops twirling Simon in a circle. “I saw them talking in the middle of last period.”

My stomach lurches. “You did?”

“Yeah. I forgot my graphing calculator, and her locker is by mine,” he says. “You know, ‘Garvil e’… ‘Garrett.’ It’s the curse of alphabetical order.”

I try to keep the panic from leaking into my voice when I ask my next question. “What were they saying?”

“I don’t know. I tend to tune her out. Most of her interactions involve real y loud kissing.” He stops when he sees what must be my horrified expression. “Hey, it’s okay. It seemed to be a friendly conversation. I mean, at first she was mad, but then he stared soulful y into her eyes and then they walked off together.” Neal rol s his eyes, as if he hadn’t been doing his own soulful staring at Violet these past few weeks.

“Where were they going?” I ask.

“Um. To make out?”

“Where?”

Neal is starting to look nervous. He fiddles with the remote control, causing Simon to twirl in a confused circle. “I don’t know,” he says, uncomfortable. “Where do people usual y make out?”

“I don’t have time for sarcasm right now, Neal.”

“But I real y don’t know!”

I turn to Violet, unable to hide my panic.

“I wil go find the others,” she says. “They should be at home now.”

“I’l come with you,” Neal says, but Violet waves him back into his seat.

“Stay with Simon. This is a family matter.” When he protests, she stares into his eyes. Neal’s shoulders slump and he turns around to fiddle with a few loose screws.

“Violet!” I scold. “I’ve never seen you do that.”

She looks at me, innocent as a cartoon bunny. “What? We need him to stay! And the magazines said that we are al owed to use our feminine wiles. I do not understand your qualm.”

I doubt
Seventeen
would include vampire mind-control under the “feminine wiles” umbrel a, but now is not the time. When she flounces away, I try not to worry that the cavalry is skipping.

I start to search for Caroline in earnest. Vlad disappeared with her in the early afternoon—too early for the direct sun not to drain him—so it would have to be somewhere in the building, somewhere removed and isolated. I check the auditorium, thinking that he could have her holed up backstage, but the heavy red curtain is open and a group of students is taking advantage of the unoccupied stage to practice choral parts for
High School Musical
. Next I scope out the band hal way, but it is brightly lit and fil ed with the sounds of tortured trombones and tubas. My search of the locker rooms—girls’ and boys’—turns up nothing other than a surprised and shirtless Danny Baumann who says, “Yo, South America. You’re kind of freaky, aren’t you?” and pats my dazzled head before he leaves.

Think, Sophie. Think.
If he disappeared with her before fourth period, he had to take her somewhere that would have been empty since approximately one o’clock. That nixes al the rooms of the front office and the teachers’

lounge, and the library would have at least had the librarian and a few indentured study hal ers. Al that’s left is the cafeteria, and when I think about it, it makes sense. Today was not a Student Council day, and so it would have been free of any desperate souls doing their best to pad their col ege application. The cafeteria ladies clear out midafternoon, and so it may be the one place in the school that would have been empty when Neal says they disappeared. Heart pounding, I start to run, taking the corners so fast that I’m lucky the hal s are deserted. I burst through the doors and into the closed-down cafeteria, my footsteps echoing across the checkerboard tile. The fluorescent lights are off, and while the safety ones hanging near the front flicker dimly, the entire back half of the cafeteria is shrouded in darkness. To the front is the alcove that contains the lunch lines and, beyond that, the swinging doors that lead to the kitchens. Is it my imagination, or is there a light on behind those nautical peepholes?

As if in answer to my question, a sound rumbles up from behind the doors.
This is it,
I think, and I take a deep breath. Then it occurs to me that if Vlad does have Caroline tied up next to the instant mashed potatoes, I have no intel igent plan of action.

A weapon, I can at least find a weapon.
But what? The cafeteria switched to plastic utensils long ago. And anyway, should I be looking for something wooden? More and more, my question-and-answer session with James is proving to be woeful y inadequate. Next time I am in a room with any vampire—one that does not harbor violent and/or marital feelings toward me, of course—perhaps I should spend less time crushing on them and more time asking them to list their weaknesses.

Ignoring the escalated
bump-bump
ing of my heart, I spot a cart of washed dishes next to the back wal and rush to inspect it. After a moment of deliberation, I grab the wooden spoon and a knife and do my best to file it into a point. Two thousand years of folklore can’t be that wrong, right? And besides, at the luau showdown, Vlad chased after Nevil e with a shattered piece of door. He doesn’t seem much for meta jokes.

I approach the swinging doors with as much stealth as I can manage. Pressing my ear against it, I listen for furious whispers or the struggle shuffle, but only hear a steady, persistent dripping and the low buzz of a running dishwasher. I nudge it open with my toe and peek inside—it is empty except for gleaming sinks, long metal counters, and a few large pots that must be the source of the school’s mystery chili. The light I saw comes from the two windows across the way. In a flash, I realize that there’s something else I should be noticing. The light is pale and gray. There is no sun.

Sliding across the tile, I go to the window. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I can hear the tinny drops of rain hitting the aluminum sil . They could be anywhere. Caroline could be anywhere. I tel myself to calm down, but my chest is constricting so fast that it is difficult to think rational y. He is using her as bait, so he wil not want to kil her. He stil thinks I’m his ticket to the Danae, so he won’t want to kil me, either. This wil be fine—I just have to keep moving.

My next step should be to see if Vlad’s car is stil here. Tucking the spoon down my shirt and into my waistband, I jog back to the swinging doors. In my rush, I hit them with an ungainly smack and wince. When I open my eyes, the twin forms of Devon and Ashley are standing in front of me, side by side like a double statue. The low light plays tricks with their features, giving me the eerie sensation that I am looking at one face, one body, split in two by a magic trick gone horribly wrong. They move forward in grotesque tandem.

I stumble backward through the doors until my tailbone hits the hard edge of a metal counter. It vibrates beneath my fingers, setting off a high hum that competes with the rhythmic thumping of the dishwasher, which is sounding more and more like the rush of blood now pounding in my ears. “Where is my sister?” I ask as my hand searches for the reassuring hardness of the spoon’s handle. They step into the light. First I see their square chins, then their lips, leeched of color and drawn into a flat line, and final y, their eyes. They are just as dead as usual—four shiny black buttons.

“I said, where is my sister?” I ask again.

The one on the left lifts his arm, and for the first time I notice that he is clutching a crumpled piece of paper. When I make no move to grab it, they step forward again. Realizing that they wil not move until the delivery is complete, I flatten the note against the counter. A line of flowers and hearts dances across the top. There is only one person I know who has the guts to turn in decorated assignments. The paper is Caroline’s. The handwriting is Vlad’s. Who the dark red smudge—blood?—at the corner belongs to is anyone’s guess. I feel like throwing up as I begin to read.

Sophochka,

I would be most delighted if you

would join me at our special place in

the forest—your sister is already

here and very eager to speak with

you. However, please make haste. I

fear I am impatient for your company,

and night is coming fast.

With warm regards,

Vlad

I wad the note up into a bal and throw it toward the twin who carried the letter. He doesn’t even flinch. It bounces harmlessly off his chest, which does nothing to make me feel better or scare away the tears that are threatening. Leaning back, they beckon toward the exit in an eerie parody of an opening door. Inching forward, I start to move past them, only to feel two strong hands clamp around my arms and lift me up.

“Let go of me, you twin freaks! I’l go with you,” I yel as they drag me across the hal way and through the darkened gym, empty now that thunderstorms have cancel ed al the practices and meets. We are moving faster now; the bleachers flash past to one side as we head to the exit that leads to the athletic fields that lay in back of the school. One second we are in the gym that smel s of sweat and baby powder, and the next we are outside in the wind and stinging rain, trudging across the muddy soccer field as we approach the thick block of woods from the side. The ground squishes with each step, and a crack of thunder splits the dark sky overhead as drops soak my shoulders and back. The front of my shirt is stil dry, and I pray that it wil stay that way so as not to expose the spoon I’ve stashed. If we’re being entirely honest, a wooden spoon is a sucky secret weapon, but for the moment it is al that I have.

We hit the line of trees, plunging us into even deeper shadow. Devon and Ashley cut through the brush as though it is nothing, but branches whip across my face. Every so often my feet scrape hard against the ground, jarring my ankles and making me feel so shaken and battered that I don’t register that we’ve reached the clearing until they throw me to the ground. I manage to catch myself two seconds before my nose hits the sopping layer of rotting leaves, but my hands sink beneath me. I tug them out of the mud and then scramble to my feet, whirling around just in time to see Devon and Ashley’s eyes focus on a spot behind me.

“I am so pleased that you could join us, Sophochka,” Vlad says. He is perched on the rotting picnic table, his black shirt molded to his chest. As I watch, he crosses his legs and brings his hands to rest on the bump of his knees.

“Where is Caroline?” I rasp, searching the clearing frantical y. Nothing. I stand up and turn in a circle, peering through the gaps in the trees. The rain has turned everything misty, creating a wal of fog that prevents me from seeing beyond this tiny bubble of space. Vlad waits for me to stop twirling before casual y leaning to the side to reveal Caroline’s slumped figure tied to a tree with a bright pink neon cord. Her head hangs forward, her curly blond hair veiling her face.

“Is she … ,” I start, the dawning horror feeling like ants crawling up my skin.

“Oh, she is not dead. I just did not want to listen to her for one more second—she knows quite a few curse words. What is a ‘lametard’?”

“Let her go,” I say. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“She has everything to do with this,” he snaps. “If you would have but given me a second chance to court you, I would not have needed to resort to such drastic measures. But you have made it clear that you have no intention of doing this the civil way, and I do not have time to overcome your stubbornness or endure your public insults. I have tired of this place,” he says, springing off the picnic table with an agile hop. “Here is what I offer. You agree to become a vampire and marry me now, and I release her. She might wonder why she has a sore neck for a few days, but otherwise, she wil remember nothing.”

My eyes fly to Caroline. “You didn’t … ,” I start, but I see how his gray eyes are sparkling; I see how there is color in his cheeks.

“Oh, I did not make her a vampire. Just a beverage. After al , it has been such a very long time since I indulged in fresh human blood,” he says. Reaching out, he runs one cold finger down my cheek and then traces the crescent of skin exposed above the col ar of my T-shirt. “Usual y I have difficulty pul ing back. But then I remembered that I needed her to get to you.”

I slap his hand away without thinking.
How about we not
antagonize the crazy vampire who holds your sister
hostage, okay, Sophie?
Swal owing, I try to keep my voice calm. “I thought that you needed witnesses.”

“We have them,” he insists.

“Who? Squirrels?”

“No, of course not,” Vlad says. “Sometimes your humor is inappropriate. I was speaking of Devon and Ashley.”

“They hardly talk!”

“I admit that they are not ideal, but you have left me with little option. Stil , just to al ay your worries …” Walking over, he pats one of them on the cheek. “Come, Ashley, say hel o to Sophochka.”

Ashley opens his mouth and emits a dusty grunt.

“A word,” Vlad insists, but I don’t hear whether or not Ashley speaks because Caroline is stirring. I need to distract him.

“Okay,” I say, and then repeat it loudly to cover up her groan.

Vlad turns to face me. “‘Okay’ what?”

“Tel me more about what wil happen when we are Danae,” I say, moving to the side so that his back is completely toward Caroline, who is now blinking as though trying to focus.

He smiles. “I suspected that you were not nearly as indifferent as you claimed. I am sure that they wil reward me handsomely. A real house, for a start—they are said to have thousands across the world. And then perhaps a position of some import.”

Caroline is now ful y awake and staring at us with wide, horrified eyes. Holding her gaze, I telepath a plea for her to stay stil . It fails. She begins to wiggle, and while she may be tied to the tree with a jump rope, Vlad did not count on cheerleader flexibility. However, there is no such thing as cheerleader stealth. In order to mask the rasping sound of her movements, I step closer to Vlad, checking to see if Devon and Ashley have noticed her. Nope. Their expressions are stil Grade-A vacant. Stil …

“Vlad,” I say sweetly. “I do not like them watching us. It’s creepy.”

He looks over me to bark at the twins. “Turn away,” he orders and they dutiful y turn to face the trees. When he turns back to face me with a smug smile that says, “Look what I can do,” I ask him what kind of position he could have.

“I do not know,” he says. “I have always wanted to be a judge. High Examiner Vlad Mervaux. Yes, that has a nice ring to it.”

“You would make a wonderful judge,” I lie, noticing that Caroline is almost free. His face moves even closer, so close that I can see the darker ring of gray in his eyes. Picking up my hand, he runs the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. “You know, you are not entirely without hope. We wil work on the clothing.”

Be still my beating heart
. Now that Vlad is so close, I can no longer see Caroline. I hope that when she is free, she runs. Just runs. Then when I am sure she is safe, I wil make my move with the spoon.

Al this talk of social-climbing has made Vlad amorous. He moves forward, trying to press up against me, and I instinctively back up until I hit the hard trunk of a tree. His features have relaxed, and now he sizes me up with a gaze that lingers like a lazy drawl. The sound of the rain dribbling its way down through the canopy of leaves drowns out almost everything else. So many things are rustling that it’s difficult to figure out if one of them is an escape rustle. I brace myself against the tree, digging my fingernails into the bark as I lift my heels to sneak a surreptitious look behind him.

But I am not stealthy enough. His eyebrows quirk downward, signaling suspicion, and his head begins to turn. I have to stop him. But how?

Darting forward, I grab his cheeks and pul him toward me. Before I can give him the kind of sexy, diverting, cheek kiss that wil go down in the annals of seductress history, he turns his head, forcing his mouth against mine. His lips are cool, wet, and slightly … tangy. Oh. Oh. Gross. My fingers clutch his shirt, not because I’m in danger of melting into a puddle of goo, but because it helps keep me from slapping him away when his lips begin to move sluggishly. Caroline better be running like the wind right now, the wind. Suddenly our teeth bump and scrape. He bites my lip, sharp as a bee sting, and I gasp. Rearing back, I dart to the side without thinking—not being familiar with the ins and outs of demonic make-out sessions, I am determined to evade whatever “move” this heralds. I turn, ready to defend myself or make excuses. For a few seconds my brain refuses to process the evidence in front of me. When it final y sinks in, I only wish that it were a hal ucination. Caroline has wrapped herself around his back, her tan legs clamping around his waist as she hits him over the head with a branch. Her hair sticks to her shoulders and back in long, wet strands, and I can see a raw, bloody gash on the left side of her neck. The rain has exposed patches of skin beneath her white T-shirt.

“Stay away from my sister,” she shouts after a series of zinging swaps to his neck. “And never bite me again.
Gross
.”

Vlad could toss her off him with very little effort—of that I’m sure—but right now he seems too stunned. The crook of Caroline’s elbow is a surprisingly effective blindfold. He stumbles forward with his arms extended, Lurch-like, before hitting a tree. Growling, he reaches behind him, grabbing Caroline by the neck so hard that she actual y squeaks.

“Hey! Let go of me. And cut your nails every once in a while, freak. You real y are a—,” she begins, but then starts to choke. Vlad is squeezing.

Stealth and seduction have failed. Time to move on to plan B: a ful -frontal, last-ditch, completely insane attack. As Vlad holds Caroline up like a chastised kitten, I grab the handle of the spoon and pul it out. He is not looking at me, just smiling as she squirms. With painful slowness, he begins to turn in a circle, showing off his catch. A crack of thunder splits the sky overhead as I rush forward, holding the spoon aloft with both hands and yel ing nonsensical obscenities at a
Braveheart
decibel.

His eyes widen when he sees me pounding toward him, and he drops Caroline, who hits the ground rol ing. I touch his arm for one whole second before he captures my wrists and rips the spoon from my grasp. I hear a snap and the vibrating zing of something lodging itself in a far tree. Grabbing my neck with one hand, he pins me to the ground, my head twisted to the side at an odd and painful angle. I watch as his other hand darts out and captures Caroline’s ankle. He drags her across the wet ground, turning her so he is holding us side by side so we are facing each other. For a few seconds she coughs and splutters, her eyes closed. When she opens them, they are a bright, feverish blue.

Vlad pinches our chins and jerks them upward so we are forced to stare into his enraged face. My legs are trapped beneath his body, and my hip begins to throb. When I struggle, he presses down until I cry out in pain.

“You thought that you could trick me?” he asks. Caroline starts to cry. Our hands are trapped between our bodies. I wiggle a pinkie finger, trying to find hers to tel her that I am here, that I understand. That I know what I have to do.

“Let her go and I wil become a vampire,” I say. At least then I wil be an even match for him.

“And?” he says.

“And I wil marry you. You wil be a Mer—” I pause as something strikes me. “Wait a second, if you turn me into a vampire won’t I be an Unnamed? So then when we marry you wil just be Unnaming yourself again,” I say, and then I realize that al I’m real y doing is undermining the only reason he has not to kil us.

The eagerness in his eyes dims a little, and I start to worry. It’s occurred to him, too. “You are human but you are already Mervaux,” he says tightly. “The Danae wil understand that you are an exception to the rule. A wormhole of sorts.”

Caroline suddenly stops sobbing. “It’s a
loophole
, idiot,”

she sniffles. I have never been more proud of her in my life.

“Shut up!” Vlad hisses. “If you say one more word then I wil —”

“Do we have a deal?” I ask to draw his attention back to me.

His eyes narrow, and I feel a surge of hope—and a surge of fear.
Oh God, I am going to have to go through with this.
I shut my eyes, ignoring the rain on my face as I try to think of the best strategy. Just because I give in now, it does not mean that I have to give in forever. I wil stil be me, just fangy. I can stil fight him. I can stil stop him. And if not, I wil stake myself.

When I open my eyes, Vlad is tilting his head to the side as if weighing his options. “Fine,” he says and then releases our necks. “But if you do not keep your word, I wil find her and kil her. And everyone else that you love.”

We struggle to our feet, Vlad watching me warily al the while, as if I might bolt. Even if I was free to, I don’t think that I could. My legs are shaking so violently that I nearly col apse. Caroline is now standing with one hand to her wounded neck. Something is sticking out from beneath her foot, angled up from the pressure. It is half of the broken wooden spoon.

Caroline and I have never seen eye-to-eye on anything, have never been able to read each other’s minds, but now I imagine little brain waves wiggling their way from my mind to hers, tel ing her to find a way to give me the piece of wood beneath her foot.

“You need to go,” I tel her. “But give me a hug first.”

Beside me, Vlad rol s his eyes and then sets to studying his fingernails. “Make it quick. I am eager to be done with this,” he says as Caroline starts to step forward. I lift my fingers to tel her to stop and then make a point of flicking my gaze down. She stops, her mouth forming a little “O.”

Before her face can give anything away, I wrap my arms around her shoulders. Suddenly she lets out a wail and drags us to the ground.

“Oh, stop. You are always so overdramatic,” Vlad says as Caroline fakes heaving sobs, al the while wiggling the spoon out from beneath her foot. She yel s at him to shut up, even while she’s tucking it in my waistband. The point where it snapped is sharp, shardlike. After she is sure that it is concealed by my shirt, she stands up and backs away.

“I’m sorry for not believing you,” she says and starts to cry anew. “I’l come back.”

“Don’t. Please.”

“But what wil I say?”

“You’l think of something.” I manage to offer her a grim smile. “You’re good at that. It’s okay, Caroline,” I say. “I swear. Go.”

She remains stil for one final second and then takes one step backward, and then another, and another. I watch her vanish into the wal of woods, listening to her footsteps dwindle as she gets farther and farther away. The tip of my makeshift stake digs into my side, but I don’t mind the pain. The pain is hope.