Vampire Kisses

  “I don’t want money.”

  “Then what?”

  “That you promise…”

  “What, already?”

  “That you promise to stop calling me ‘Nerd Boy’!”

  There was silence on both sides of the door.

  I felt a pang in my heart. Guilt? Pathos? I guess I never realized that my little nickname could have been hurting him so much all these years. That I had already made his life a living hell.

  “Then what should I call you?”

  “How about my name?”

  “What would that be?” I teased.

  “Billy.”

  “Uh, well…okay. You give me the letter, and I won’t call you Nerd Boy—for a year.”

  “Forever.”

  “Forever?”

  “Forever!”

  “Okay. For…ever.”

  He cracked the door open and slipped the envelope out. He peered at me with his deep-brown baby-brother eyes.

  “Here. I didn’t open it.”

  “Thanks. You shouldn’t have made me chase you. I’ve had a long day!”

  “It’s only twelve o’clock!”

  “Exactly!” Now I had the red envelope safely in my hands. “Thanks, Nerd Boy.” I couldn’t help it. It was habit.

  “You promised!” he yelled, slamming the door.

  I knocked again. This time I felt the pain from the previous banging.

  “What, Witch Girl?” he yelled. “Anyone would be a nerd compared to you! Leave me alone and go back to your cave!”

  I found the door unlocked and stepped inside. It had been years since I’d been in his room. There were pictures of Michael Jordan and Wayne Gretzky on the wall and fifty billion computer games stacked on his floor and desk beside his computer. Nerd Boy was actually pretty interesting.

  “Thanks for the letter,” I said.

  He just sat mousing at his computer, ignoring me.

  “Billy!” I shouted. He quickly looked up, with shocked eyes. “I said, ‘Thanks.’ But I can’t hug you. We’ll save that for TV.”

  I threw myself on my bed, my black down comforter soft against my arms, and stared at the blank red envelope. It could say anything inside like: “Stay off our property or we’ll sue you and your parents.”

  But at least I had the threat safely in my hands.

  I gently opened the envelope, fearing the worst.

  It was an invitation! “Mr. Alexander Sterling requests the company of Ms. Raven Madison at his home December 1 at 8:00 P.M. for dinner.”

  How did he know my name? How did he know where I lived? And was this real? No seventeen-year-old guy in this town, state, or country invited girls over like this. It was straight out of some Merchant-Ivory–Emma Thompson movie where people have stuffy British accents and are sandwiched into corsets and never say the word “love.” It was so medieval, old-fashioned, out of this world. It was so romantic my flesh tingled all over.

  I looked at the envelope for any other message, but that’s all there was. It didn’t even say “R.S.V.P.” What nerve! He expected I would come, and he was right. I had waited for this all my life.

  15

  Gothic Guest

  I couldn’t tell my mother about my mysterious invitation to the Mansion. She’d say no, I couldn’t go. I’d say yes, I could. She’d ground me; I’d run away. It would all be very dramatic. I was certain nothing could stop me from going, until my dad dropped a bomb on the morning of December 1.

  “I’m taking Mom to Vegas tonight!” he said, pulling me aside. “It’s all very spur-of-the-moment. We’re flying out this afternoon.”

  “Isn’t that romantic?” My mom beamed, grabbing a suitcase from the hall closet. “Your father’s never done anything like this for our anniversary!”

  “So you’ll be in charge of the house and watching Billy,” my dad ordered.

  “Watch Billy? He’s eleven!” I yelled, following them into their bedroom.

  “Here’s where we can be reached if you have any problems,” he said, handing me a slip of paper with a phone number. “Your employment at Janice’s proved to me you can be responsible. We’ll be back tomorrow after dinner.”

  “But I have plans!”

  “So invite Becky over here tonight.” He tossed a hairbrush into his travel bag. “You’re always going to her house. But pick out a movie you all can enjoy.”

  “Becky? That’s the only friend you think I have? Like all I do with my life is watch TV?”

  “Paul, should I take this?” my mom interrupted, holding a red strapless dress.

  “I’m sixteen, Dad. I want to go out on a Saturday night!”

  “I know,” my mom said, placing a pair of red stilettos in her bag. “But not tonight. Your father’s just surprised me! He hasn’t done that since college. Just this once, Raven, then you can have all the Saturdays you want.” She kissed me on the head, not waiting for a response.

  “I’ll be calling in at midnight sharp,” my father warned, “just to make sure you and Billy are getting along and that my tennis racket is still in the closet.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to throw a wild party,” I said angrily.

  “Good, I might have to use the house as collateral at the blackjack table.”

  He went into his closet and pulled a jacket out. I went into my room and pulled my hair out. In all the seventeen years my parents had been married, my dad had to pick tonight to surprise my mom?

  It was seven-thirty that night when I broke the news to Nerd Boy—rather, Billy Boy. I was wearing my Saturday-night best: a black spandex sleeveless mini-dress with a black lacy undertop that peeked through, black tights, unscuffed combat boots, black lipstick, and silver-and-onyx earrings.

  “I’m going out tonight.”

  “But you’re supposed to stay here.” He ogled my outfit like a protective father. “You have a date!”

  “I do not. I just have to go.”

  “You can’t! I won’t let you. I’ll tell.” Billy Boy would have loved to stay by himself, but he loved his sudden power over me more.

  “Becky’s coming over to hang with you. You like Becky.”

  “Yeah, but does she like me?”

  “She loves you!”

  “Really?” he asked, with crush-boy eyes.

  “I’ll ask her when she gets here. Becky, do you love my little eleven-year-old brother?”

  “Don’t! You better not!”

  “Then promise to behave.”

  “I’m going to tell. You’re leaving me! Anything can happen. I could be on the internet and meet some crazy psycho woman that wants to marry me.”

  “You could only be so lucky,” I said, looking out the window for Becky.

  “You’ll get in so much trouble!”

  “Quit being a baby! Show Becky your computer games. She’ll go mad over that alien spaceship stuff.”

  “If you leave, I’ll call them in Vegas.”

  “Not if you value your life. I’ll tie you to that chair if I have to!”

  “Then do it, ’cause I’m going to call!” He ran for the cordless phone.

  “Billy, please,” I begged. “I really need to go. Someday you’ll understand. Please, Billy.”

  He paused with the phone in his hand. He had never heard me beg him for anything, only threaten.

  “Well, okay, just make sure you’ll be here by midnight. I’m not going to pretend you’re in the bathroom.”

  For the first time I can remember, I gave my brother a hug. And I gave him a real hug, a Ruby squeeze-hug, the kind that lets you really feel the other person’s warmth.

  “Where’s Becky already!” he yelled, now playing for my team. “You need to leave!”

  Suddenly the doorbell rang and we both flew down the steps. “Where were you?” I asked.

  Becky sauntered in with a box of microwave popcorn. “I thought you said eight.”

  “I have to be there at eight!”

  “Shoot, and I thought I was early. Ta
ke the truck,” she said, handing me her keys.

  “Thanks. How do I look?” I asked, modeling my outfit.

  “Wicked!”

  “Really? Thanks!”

  “You look like an angel of the night,” my baby brother added.

  I glanced in the hallway mirror and smiled. It might be the last time I would actually be able to see my reflection.

  “Have fun, you two, and take good care of Billy, okay?”

  “Who?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Billy. My brother.”

  They both laughed. I grabbed my jacket and flew out of there like a bat.

  Some hideous Dullsvillians had spray-painted GO HOME FREAKS! on the crumbling brick wall by the Mansion gate. It could have been Trevor. It could have been anyone. I felt an emptiness in my stomach.

  I guess the Sterlings didn’t get many visitors—there was no buzzer on the gate. Was I supposed to wait there, or climb over? But then I realized the gate was open. For me. I walked up the long driveway, looking at the curtained attic window, hoping I would be able to finally see it from the inside.

  Anything could happen tonight. I really didn’t know what to expect. What would we be eating for dinner? What do vampires eat anyway?

  I gently rapped the serpent knocker.

  The huge door slowly opened and Creepy Man greeted me with his crackly smile.

  “So glad you could come,” he said in his thick European accent, straight out of a black-and-white horror flick. “May I take your coat?”

  He took my leather jacket somewhere.

  I stood in the hallway, peering for signs of anything that seemed threatening. Where was my dinner partner anyway?

  “Alexander will be joining you in a few minutes,” Creepy said, returning. “Would you like to sit in the drawing room until he comes down?”

  “Sure,” I agreed, and was led to a huge room next to the living room. It was decorated simply with two scarlet Victorian chairs and a chaise longue. The only thing that didn’t look dusty and old was the baby grand piano in the corner. Creepy Man left again and I took the opportunity to snoop around. There were leather-bound books in some foreign language, dusty music scores, and old crinkly maps, and this wasn’t even their library.

  I caressed the smooth oak desk. What secrets lay inside its drawers? Then I felt that same unseen presence I had felt the last time I visited the Mansion. Alexander had come into the room.

  He stood, mysteriously handsome. His hair was sleek and he wore a silk black shirt hanging over black jeans. I was anxious to see if he was wearing the spider ring, but he held his hands behind his back.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I was waiting for the baby-sitter,” I confessed.

  “You have a baby?”

  “No, a brother!”

  “Right,” he said with an awkward laugh, his pale face coming to life. He was even more handsome than Trevor but didn’t come off as self-assured, more like a wounded bird that needed to be held. As if he’d been living in a dungeon all his life and this was the first time he’d seen another human. He seemed uncomfortable with conversation and chose his words carefully, as if once spoken he might never get them back.

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he began. “I was getting you these.” And he timidly held out five wildflowers.

  Flowers? No way!

  “Those are for me?” I was completely overwhelmed. It was like everything moved in slow motion. I took the flowers from him, softly touching his hands in the process. The spider ring caught my eye.

  “I’ve never gotten flowers before. They’re the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.”

  “You must have a hundred boyfriends,” he said, glancing down at his boots. “I can’t believe they’ve never given you flowers.”

  “When I turned thirteen my grandmother sent me a bouquet of tulips in a plastic yellow pot.” As dumb as it sounded, it was better than saying, “I’ve never gotten flowers from my hundred boyfriends, because I’ve never had one boyfriend!”

  “Flowers from grandmothers are very special,” he replied strangely.

  “But why five?”

  “One for every time I saw you.”

  “I had nothing to do with the spray paint—”

  Creepy Man appeared. “Dinner is ready. Shall I put those in some water, miss?”

  “Please,” I said, though I didn’t want to part with them.

  “Thank you, Jameson,” Alexander said.

  Alexander waited for me to exit the room first, straight out of a Cary Grant movie, but I was unsure which way to go.

  “I thought you’d know the way,” he teased. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Sure, anything.” Wait a minute—anything? So I said, “Actually, water will be great!”

  He returned a moment later with two crystal goblets. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I’m always hungry,” I flirted. “And you?”

  “Rarely hungry,” he said. “But always thirsty!”

  He led me into the candlelit dining room, dominated by a long uncovered oak table set with ceramic plates and silver utensils. He pulled out my chair, then sat a million miles away at the other end of the table. The five wildflowers stood in a crystal vase blocking my view.

  Creepy Man—I mean, Jameson—wheeled in a creaky cart and presented me with a basket of steamy rolls. He returned with crystal bowls filled with a greenish soup. Considering the number of courses, the slowness of Jameson’s service and the length of the table, we were guaranteed to be here for months. But I didn’t care, I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.

  “It’s Hungarian goulash,” Alexander stated as I nervously stirred the pasty soup. I had no idea what—or who—was in it, and as Alexander and Jameson waited for my reaction, I realized I’d have to taste it.

  “Yum!” I exclaimed, slurping down half a spoonful. It was way more delicious than any soup I’d ever eaten from a can, but one hundred times as spicy!

  My tongue was on fire and I immediately chugged down my water.

  “I hope it’s not too spicy,” Alexander said.

  “Spicy?” I gasped, my eyes bursting. “You’ve got to be joking!”

  Alexander motioned for Jameson to bring more water. It seemed like an eternity, but he returned with a pitcher. Eventually I got my breath back. I didn’t know what to ask Alexander, but I wanted to know everything about him.

  I could tell Alexander had fewer friends than I. He seemed uncomfortable in his own skin.

  “What do you do all day?” I inquired like a TV reporter breaking the ice.

  “I wanted to know the same thing about you,” he offered.

  “I go to school. What do you do?”

  “Sleep.”

  “You sleep?” This was major news! “Really?” I asked skeptically.

  “Is there something wrong with that?” he said, awkwardly brushing his hair from his eyes.

  “Well, most people sleep at night.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “True…”

  “And you’re not either,” he said, staring at me with his soulful eyes. “I could tell when I saw you on Halloween dressed as a tennis player. You seemed a little too old to trick-or-treat. And you had to be different to think that was a costume.”

  “How did you get my info?”

  “Jameson was supposed to return the tennis racket to you but gave it to a blond soccer player who said he was your boyfriend. I might have bought the story if I hadn’t seen you smack his hand and drive off without him.”

  “Well, you’re right, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s a totally lamoid jerk at school.”

  “But fortunately he also told Jameson your name and address to back up his story. That’s how I knew how to find you. I didn’t think I’d find you exploring the house again.”

  His dreamy eyes stared right through me.

  “Well…I…”

  Our laughter echoed in the Mansion.

  “Where are yo
ur parents?” I asked.

  “Romania.”

  “Romania? Isn’t Romania where Dracula lived?” I inquired, hinting.

  “Yes.”

  My eyes lit up. “Are you related to Dracula?” I asked.

  “He never came to a family reunion,” he teased in an anxious voice. “You’re a wacky girl. You certainly give life to Dullsville.”

  “Dullsville? No way! That’s what I call this town!”

  “Well, what else could we call it? There isn’t any nightlife here, is there? Not for people like me and you.”

  Nightlife. People like me and you. You mean vampires, I wanted to say.

  “I preferred living in New York and London,” he went on.

  “I bet there’s a lot to do there at night. And a lot of night people.” Just then Jameson came to take the goulash away and served us steak.

  “I hope you’re not a vegetarian,” he said.

  I peered down at my dinner. The steak was medium rare, more on the rare side, as the juice spilled onto the plate and into the mashed potatoes.

  He was so mysterious, and funnier than I could have imagined. I was under his spell as I peered at him through the flowers.

  “I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” I said. He watched as I took a bite. “Yum, once again.”

  Suddenly he looked at me with sad eyes. “Listen, do you mind—”

  He picked up his plate and walked over to me. “All I can see are the wildflowers, and after all, you’re much prettier.”

  He set his plate next to mine and dragged his oak chair over. I thought I would faint. He sat smiling as we ate, his leg softly touching mine. My body was electrified. Alexander was funny, gorgeous, and awkward in a sexy way. I wanted to know his whole life story. No matter how many years he had lived, seventeen or seventeen hundred.

  “What do you do at night? Where else have you lived? Why don’t you go to school?” I rattled on suddenly.

  “Slow down.”

  “Um…where were you born?”

  “Romania.”

  “Then where’s your Romanian accent?”

  “In Romania. We traveled constantly.”

  “Have you ever gone to school?”

  “No, I’ve always had a private tutor.”

  “What’s your favorite color?”