I crossed the tiled brown floor and opened the balcony doors. There was nowhere to step out, just a railing. Clouds obscured the moon. I imagined the general standing in a nearby alley under this murky sky, his soldiers fanning out across the town. I imagined him sneaking up behind me, biting my shoulder, crunching my collarbone. I shuddered and closed the doors.
“I have to rest now,” Lucas said, sliding his sword back into its sheath.
“You can have the bed. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“Too much sun in the room,” he said. “I’m going to lie in the bathtub.”
He gathered his bag and headed to the washroom.
“Lucas,” I said.
He turned and I launched a pillow at him from the bed. “Here.”
He looked at the saggy feather pillow as if it was a contraption requiring instructions.
“Hey. What if I have to use the washroom?” I asked. As soon as I said it, I realized that I hadn’t felt the need in awhile.
“You’re dead. You have no bodily functions. The only thing you do that’s human is bleed.”
Chapter 17
I could not sleep. The sunlight streamed through the light curtains.
When I closed my eyes, I saw Noel. His crumpled, devastated body. His open, unseeing eyes on his detached head. You rescued me and in return, you died. I writhed with guilt and buried my face in my pillow.
From the room I was experiencing the life of the town. There were so many voices. Children laughing. Seagulls in the harbor. A man was dragging chairs across the road, yelling in Italian. A couple argued in shrill tones in a nearby apartment. And then there were the smells—baked goods, fish on a grill. Fresh linen. Cigarette smoke.
As the sun started to set, I perched on the edge of the bed and waited until Lucas opened the door.
“You didn’t rest. I heard you tossing all day,” he said. “It was annoying.”
Despite his angry tone, I was comforted by his voice. It was a respite from hearing my conscience.
“I couldn’t sleep. It was so noisy.”
He walked around to the other side of the bed and put his backpack and swords down. He looked at my pillow; it was spotted with blood from my tears. I quickly flipped it over.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened,” I said.
Ignoring me, he strapped his harness across his chest.
“I just feel sick about Noel and…”
His head snapped up. “Don’t,” he said.
“I’m sorry I…”
“I know you’re sorry. I don’t want to talk about it. Ever.”
I nodded and faced away from him. He doesn’t want to hear it, Zee. I felt selfish for trying to use him to alleviate my guilt. I searched for something else to say, but all of a sudden I felt drained. I leaned my elbows on my knees. My body felt weak, deboned. Does this mean I have to feed again?
“Do vampires drink vampire blood?” I asked.
“No,” he said, as if I had asked a stupid question.
“Oh, okay. I thought it might be like wine. You know, the older the better. Or like cheese,” I said.
He didn’t respond so I started to mutter to myself. “I’m going to miss cheese. Except blue cheese. That tastes like feet.”
“You’re a vampire now,” he said. “All human food is going to taste like feet.”
“Everything?”
“Hey, schoolgirl.”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I talk when I’m nervous or upset. My sister has diabetes so I used to tell her jokes to distract her from needles when we were kids. But even she thinks it’s annoying now.”
He snapped his fingers toward the door, which I took to mean that he wanted me to put on my shoes. I unlaced Jerome’s runners and wiggled my feet inside. As I was tying the bows, I heard the man downstairs greet someone. There was a pause. Then a crack. A rolling chair skidded across the floor.
“Lucas,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said.
He took my elbow and pulled me away from the door. I concentrated on the patter of feet, too light and too quick to be human, ascending the stairs in bounds. Two. There are two of them. Lucas handed me the backpack, which I slung both of my arms through. Affixing his swords to his body, he moved in front of me.
We should run.
The door suddenly burst in, splinters from the doorframe sailing onto the bed. Two statuesque figures stepped inside. One appeared as if he was on vacation, dressed in an orange Hawaiian-print shirt and khaki pants. The other vampire was wearing a black T-shirt over dark jeans and his brown hair was tied in a ponytail. In the dim room their eyes glowed.
The tourist began talking in Italian. Lucas answered in a monotone.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He says the Monarchy has put a reward on our heads. Me dead. You alive. He wants us to go with them.”
“What did you say?”
“Things that should not be repeated to a lady.”
“Let’s not cause a scene, huh?” said the vampire with the ponytail. He had an American accent. “There are humans everywhere. Just come with us. Nice and easy.”
Lucas reached over his head and removed his blades.
“All right. You want to make this difficult,” the American said. He lifted up the back of his T-shirt and pulled out a short, curved sword. With a flick his weapon opened into four blades. The tourist wielded a weapon in each hand. They resembled handsaws, but each had two blades attached to the handle so it looked like he had forks on the ends of his fists.
“Please,” I blurted.
The vampires charged at a blinding speed, fangs bared, weapons raised. The American with the four-bladed weapon reached Lucas first, raking the air where Lucas’s head was a fraction of a second ago. Lucas ducked and kicked him across the room. The American slammed into the wall, plaster crumbling around him.
Lucas warded off several blows from the tourist. As the tourist tried to stab his head, Lucas took a few steps back, cornering me against the wall. The blades flew over Lucas’s shoulder and sliced off a lock of my hair. I whirled away and jumped onto the bed, the springs squealing. The tourist tried to get Lucas with an uppercut, but when Lucas brought a sword down to stop the blow, his blade got caught between the tourist’s prongs. With a twist of his wrist, the tourist sent Lucas’s sword flying. It stuck, quivering, in the balcony door.
The American scrambled to his feet. I snatched a lamp from the nightstand and hurled it at the American’s head. He shielded his face, the porcelain exploding on the back of his fist. I threw the other lamp at him. He caught it and broke it in his hand. Growling, the American rushed at me.
I screamed. All of a sudden, I heard the whistle of a blade. The American also heard it but too late. He turned and Lucas’s sword stuck itself in the center of his skull.
Unarmed, Lucas ducked and wove, the tourist’s knives skimming his body. As the tourist thrust his weapon at Lucas, I gasped. Lucas grabbed the tourist’s arm, bent it in, and pushed on the vampire’s elbow, causing him to stab himself in the chest. The tourist screamed. Lucas spun and kicked him in the face.
The American was staggering around the room, the sword bisecting his head, the handle level with his eyes. Lucas yanked his other sword from the balcony door and faced the American.
“I’m going to need my weapon back,” Lucas said.
Snarling, the American ripped the sword from his head, blood pouring down between his eyes, chunks of his scalp torn away. The sword clattered to the floor by the bed.
“I’m going to skin you alive,” the American said.
“Come and try,” Lucas said.
The American gnashed his teeth and attacked, brandishing his weapon in front of him. One of his strikes gashed Lucas’s right shoulder. Lucas grimaced and switched his sword to his left hand. I rolled off the bed and grabbed Lucas’s other sword. Surprised by its weight, I pointed
it at the two vampires locked in combat. As I danced around them, Lucas ducked under the American’s blades and shoved him at me.
The force of the American’s body drove me back against the wall. He cried out. Cool liquid spilled over my hands. I looked down and the American was impaled on my sword.
“Oh my God,” I blurted. I had the ludicrous urge to apologize. I let go of the sword and the American fell over like an oak tree. On his descent Lucas took off his head.
Then he pulled his sword from the torso, gave it a flick to remove the blood, and jammed both of his blades back in their sheaths. Behind him the tourist had risen.
“He’s…” I started.
Lucas picked up the American’s weapon and flung it across the room. It flew like a frisbee and lobbed off the tourist’s head. A spray of blood coated the wall.
“…coming,” I said.
“Are you all right?” Lucas asked.
I was panting to try to calm myself and my eyes were so wide they hurt.
“I said, are you okay?”
I nodded. My hands were crooked like claws and the American’s blood dripped off my fingertips.
“I’ve never stabbed someone before,” I said, sounding like a robot.
“You did all right.”
His shirt was ripped at the shoulder. “You’re cut,” I said.
“Healed already,” he muttered, crossing the room.
I followed him, tiptoeing around the body parts and wiping my hands on my shirt.
“Who were they?” I asked.
“Mercenaries. More are coming.”
He threw open the balcony doors.
“We’re going to jump to that roof there,” he said, pointing.
I looked at the rooftop terrace across the street.
“Seriously? Is that really necessary?”
“Yes.”
He jumped onto the two-inch-wide balcony railing and stood balanced. He held his hand out for me. There is a theme here: I’m always climbing up something or jumping out of windows. I took his hand and he hoisted me up. Holding him, I found that I could maintain my balance. Or not.
“Whoa!” I said, teetering forward.
“Stand up straight,” he snapped.
I righted myself. “Sorry. I don’t normally do this.”
“Listen to me. Bend your knees and jump on three.”
“Wait. Is it three and then jump?”
“One, two, jump.”
“What if I don’t make it?”
“You’ll break your face on the ground. So be sure to make it.”
Great. I inched my feet further apart and bent my knees.
“One, two,” he counted.
“Three!” I yelled.
We both leaped from the balcony.
Chapter 18
Lucas and I crossed the town by hopping across rooftops. After the first two jumps I stopped closing my eyes. Each time I launched myself across an empty space and landed on my feet, the thrill pushed out the fear. Soon we plotted different paths. Lucas preferred to catch things with his hands—railings, storm drains—and swing his body like a monkey. I was much less graceful, crashing into planters, somersaulting and rolling down steep roofs. But I didn’t care. It was like I could fly.
Lucas was a few buildings ahead. He stopped and waited until I saw him and then he pointed down.
“What?” I mouthed.
Then he stepped off the edge. When I reached the spot where he had disappeared, I looked four stories down and Lucas was pulling a man out of a small blue car. The man was wearing all white so Lucas looked like he was tossing aside a ball of paper.
“Hey!” I said. I hopped off the edge without thinking. I no longer feared the fall. With my arms extended like wings, I waited to reach the road. I hit the cobblestone hard, my hands slapping the ground. Wincing, I dusted them off and approached the car.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Get in,” he said.
“You can’t just take this man’s car,” I said. Lucas was already in the driver’s side, adjusting his seat. The man clambered up from the sidewalk and began to shout in Italian.
“Get in the car,” Lucas growled.
I opened the door and climbed inside.
“You’re going to hell,” I said.
“I knew that a long time ago,” he said, putting the car into gear.
I dropped the backpack at my feet and slumped in the leather seat, my arms crossed.
“We’re dumping the car in Rome. The guy will get it back,” he said, playing with the dials as the car rolled down the street.
“What are you looking for?” I asked. He ignored me so I asked again.
“I’m trying to turn the headlights on.”
“It’s on the other side. That’s the indicator.”
“That’s strange,” he muttered to himself.
“When was the last time you drove?”
“Awhile ago.”
“What’s awhile?”
“I don’t know. A decade or two.”
Lucas pulled the car onto a main road. The car smelled like wet dog and lemon air freshener. I rolled my window down and leaned my head out to feel the wind on my face. It reminded me of soaring through the air. A van beside us blared its horn, startling me. I suddenly realized we were drifting into the van’s lane. Lucas jerked the car back into his own lane. Flashing us a rude gesture, the driver pulled ahead.
“Do you want me to drive?” I asked.
“No.”
“I don’t mind. I love driving.”
He hunched over the steering wheel. “Why? What’s wrong with my driving?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you want to get out and walk?”
“No.”
“Then keep quiet.”
Twenty minutes clicked by and I fought the urge to turn on the radio. Lucas kept flicking his eyes up to the rearview mirror.
“Do you think we’re being followed?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
After another twenty minutes he relaxed against the seat cushions. One of his hands fell away from the steering wheel and into his lap.
“Those vampires back there had the craziest weapons,” I said.
“We have a lot of innovative tools for beheading.”
“What about guns with silver bullets? Would that slow them down?”
“Silver bullets? We’re not werewolves.”
“Werewolves are real too?”
He glanced at me and then did a double take, seeing my bewildered face.
“Yes,” he said, watching my eyes widen. “They hang out with Santa and the Easter Bunny.”
I remained frozen for a moment and then pushed his arm.
“Hey, I’m driving,” he said. He turned away from me to check the left lane over his shoulder but not before I caught a subtle smile on his face. It was gone so quickly that I wasn’t sure if I had seen it at all.
A few minutes passed. “So, they’re not real, right?”
***
All of a sudden, Lucas was tapping my leg and the car was no longer moving. My head snapped up and I rubbed my mouth with the back of my hand to make sure that I hadn’t been drooling.
“What happened?”
“You nodded off.”
He had parked in a dimly lit alley. He leaned over and pulled back the zipper on his bag. Rummaging inside, he took out two silver packages and handed me one.
I squeezed the squishy foil pouch.
“What is this?” I said.
“It’s blood.” He unscrewed the plastic cap on the top of the package.
“It even comes in convenient travel-sized containers,” I said. “Vampires think of everything. Where does this blood come from? Are blood banks like your grocery stores?”
“Stop talking,” he said.
I watched him put the pouch to his lips.
“What are you looking at?” he said after swallowing half the bag.
“It just looks…weird, y
ou drinking out of that thing.”
“What?”
“I just thought vampires would look, you know, vicious while drinking blood,” I said. “You look like you’re in kindergarten with your juice pack.” I regretted it when I saw his face.
“Shut up and drink your juice. You’re tired because your body is still adjusting to being a vampire. Maybe if you stopped flapping your mouth so much, you’d conserve some energy.”
I unscrewed my cap and took a modest sip. Soon I was tipping it upside down and sucking at it greedily. So thirsty. The liquid burned going down. I pressed the bag between my fingers like a child finishing the last drop of her freezer pop. Blood dribbled down my chin.
“Hey schoolgirl, wipe your face,” he said. “Let’s go.”
We climbed out of the car and trotted down the road. The people around us moved so slowly, as if they were swimming against the air. A trio of young women in short skirts and sparkly, oversized jewelry wobbled by us in stilettos. Their competing perfumes—one citrus, one floral, and one vanilla-laced—assaulted my nose. One of the women was so tanned she looked like she was wearing a crinkled, orange clay mask. The other two held each other and laughed joyfully, mouths open, strings of saliva between their lips. I felt a pang of longing. A week ago I had walked these streets, hoping that Ryka might come visit me. This could have been us.
The girls followed Lucas with their eyes, whispered in Italian, and giggled.
“What did they say?” I asked.
“Things that should not be repeated to a lady.”
I rolled my eyes.
All of a sudden we heard shrieks and the screech of tires. Behind us the tanned girl punched the hood of a car that had almost hit them as they crossed an intersection. They shouted, their arms flapping and heads wobbling like chickens. The driver shook his fist out the window and jutted out his lower jaw. He then began typing feverishly on a BlackBerry while using his elbows to steer. His car rolled up beside us and I could hear the hurried clicking. It upset me that he had so little concern for others, for their delicate lives.
“I can’t believe that guy was texting while he drove and almost ran those girls over.”
“He was what?”
“He was using his phone when he should be paying attention to the road. That is so dangerous. I hate when people are so careless that they…”
Lucas moved to the edge of the sidewalk and reached through the driver’s window. He snatched the BlackBerry and tossed it over his shoulder. The driver was so stunned that it took him a second before he slammed on his brakes.