Fanged

  ***

  Around eight-thirty, I pull the car into the parking lot of a roadside diner. We’ve been moving all night. Madelyn and Damian slept in the backseat, but I stayed awake and drove. It’s not like I need sleep every night.

  We managed to get out of Madelyn’s neighborhood without getting caught by her parents. Lucky for us, her father has sleep apnea and between his sleep machine and her mother’s earplugs, Madelyn’s parents didn’t hear a thing.

  The outside of the diner is done in scuffed chrome and the building’s oblique shape makes me think of an alien landing gone horribly wrong. A collection of rusty, dirty-looking cars and a number of motorcycles are parked haphazardly in back and out front. A few semi trucks loom over the roofs of the other cars. It occurs to me just how out of place my sleek black Lexus is here. Through the diner windows, I can see a few scruffy bikers with pot guts and black leather leaning on the front counter while a waitress with a coffee pot in one hand and a cigarette in the other casually stoops toward them to replenish their cups.

  Humans seem to find that brown stuff appealing, though I can’t imagine why.

  The musty smells of diesel, spent cooking grease, cigarettes, and machine oil drift through the air vents of the Lexus. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. I hope Madelyn has a strong stomach. I certainly wouldn’t feed on anything that came from this place.

  Uncle Devin’s work took him, and by extension me, into plenty of filthy cesspools. I’ve learned to tolerate them. But I’ve never liked them.

  I put the car in park and glance to the backseat.

  Damian shakes Madelyn awake. She groggily yawns and rubs her fists against her eyes. She’s the only person I’ve ever seen who actually does that.

  “Come on, Lynn,” Damian coaxes, opening the side door of the car.

  It’s a cloudy October day and there’s a slight chill as Damian steps out. Madelyn shudders, but I hardly notice the draft. Humans, with their higher body temperature, are so much more sensitive to the cold.

  Madelyn gets out after Damian, then glances back at me. “Aren’t you coming?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll be back in about an hour,” I say.

  “Where are you going?” Madelyn’s face is one of confusion.

  Must she know everything? “To get food,” I reply, blinking at her with irritation in my amethyst eyes.

  She blinks. “But we’re at a…”

  I heave a sigh of frustration that drowns out the rest of her sentence. “Not human food, Madelyn.”

  Madelyn’s mouth parts and she lets off a soft “oh” before Damian swings the door shut and ends the conversation.

  I watch until the two of them slip inside the diner hand in hand before pulling out. It strikes me how Madelyn, in her pink hoodie and faded jeans with sneakers, and Damian, in his dark jeans, starch-white shirt, and designer jacket, stick out in this place like two sore thumbs.

  I glance down to my own clothes. Long-sleeved black sweater, knee-length dark flared skirt with a fuchsia floral print, and suede ankle boots. I probably stick out, too.

  For a moment I stare down at the large, grayed, gaudy silver cross that hangs just below my throat. I’ve never really been one for religion, but I’ve worn this cross since the day I got it.

  It’s the only piece of jewelry I’ve brought with me and I realize I should’ve brought some of the pearls or sapphires my father gave me for my sixteenth and eighteenth birthdays. Money’s going to be a problem soon. In addition to the few thousand dollars we snitched before we left, me and Damian both have credit cards, but we can’t risk using them and letting our father know where we’ve been.

  I groan and thump my forehead against the top of the steering wheel. There’s so much crap we’ve got to get sorted out. Right now we’re just focused on keeping Madelyn safe. First things first, I’ve got to get food for me and Damian. I saw a sign for a hospital a few miles back and I think that’s the perfect place to start.