"Which we already know. . . " Jessica prompted him by making the "speed up" motion.
"-anyway, today I re-registered, and one of my new classes is-well, last year I took a class called The Writing Sampler-and this year I want to focus on the bio class. "
"-logy or graphy?" I asked, having trouble seeing where this was going.
"Oh. Biography. "
"Is that the one where you write your life story?" I asked, delighted. Yes! Something to keep him busy, and off of me! And off Sinclair's radar, best of all. "What a great idea, Jon! You've lived an incredible life and you're, what? Fifteen?"
"Twenty," he said thinly. "And a biography is when you write about someone else. "
"Uh-oh," Jess muttered.
"Oh. Then-oh. Oh! Uh. . . " I blinked rapidly and tried to keep my mouth from popping open. "Well, that's. . . really flattering. "
"I think it'd be a great project. "
"Jon, you can't write about her and then show it to all your little school chums. We're trying to keep a low profile, here. "
"Oh, I know," he said with painful earnestness. "I already told my instructor-"
"You did what?" we screamed in unison.
"-that it was fiction. A fake biography about a fictional character. He loved the idea. "
Then he's missing the point of the class, I thought but didn't say.
"I mean, come on, you guys. Who'd take it seriously anyway? 'Oh, here's a biography tell-all of a vampire who lives here in the Cities. ' Of course he's going to assume it's a fake. In fact," he added proudly, "he can't wait to read it. Said in twenty years of teaching no one's come up with that idea before. "
"You didn't come up with it, either!"
He ignored her and looked at me. "So will you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Tell me the story of your life. "
I opened my mouth.
"No," Jessica said.
I looked at him.
"No," Jessica said. "Bets, I'm doing you the hugest favor of your life here, right now. No. I'm saving you so much trouble right now. From people. You know. No. "
Jon glared at her. "It's not up to you. "
"Isn't there a combine you should be changing the oil on?"
"Isn't there a benefit you should be chairing?"
"Come on, guys," I said automatically, thinking.
I knew what Jess was getting at; she was implying that Sinclair would totally flip his gourd. As he sort of had when I told him Jon was staying with us. What could be worse than that?
Aw, Sinclair wouldn't mind. He had more important things to worry about than Jon's schoolwork. Frankly, with vampires like Marjorie running around town, I was kind of surprised he even noticed Jon was here.
And Jon looked so adorably hopeful, so rumpled and sweet in his jeans and yellow "Luke, I'm not your father" T-shirt. And bare feet! My God, you could practically see the straw sticking out of his hair.
"Welllllllllll. . . "
"No. "
"Maybe we could try it," I said. "Just to see how it goes. Maybe a couple chapters. "
"Nooooooooooooooo!" Jessica yowled.
That's when Sinclair walked in. "What is going on in here?" Chapter 16
"Jon wants to-"
"That was rhetorical; I heard the discussion on the way up the stairs. " He strode into the room, put a hand on Jon's face, and shoved. Jessica darted to the door and actually had it open in time for Jon to stumble through it. She took one look at Eric, said, "Good night, guys," and went through the door herself, at a slightly more dignified speed.
"Sinclairrrrrrr!" I yowled. "You can't go around manhandling my friends that way. No wonder he doesn't think I should marry you. "
"I know exactly why the infant thinks I shouldn't marry you. " He had his back to me, staring at the shelves full of CDs. He'd been sleeping in here for a couple months, but he had yet to move any of his own things in. All his suits and underwear and toiletries (if a vampire needed such things) were in his own room down the hall.
Why had I never wondered what that meant before? That he came to fuck and then left? Unlike me, Eric could move around all day, provided he stayed out of direct sunlight. So I figured, anything was an improvement over all the fighting and massive sexual tension we'd always ever known. And because I assumed after the wedding we'd share a room, not just a bed.
I'd assumed other things before. About Eric. And been wrong.
Worst things first. "You're being a big baby about this. You were a jerk about him staying with us for a while--"
"We are not the Super 8 Motel. "
"Says one of the three people who moved in without paying a dime for the place! Or asking me! I at least sold my house for the down payment. "
"It is childish to pretend it's the same thing," he sniffed. "I was the king, moving to an appropriate domicile to be at my queen's side. Jon is sniffing up your back trail like an addled bull in the pasture. "
Wow. He was really mad. The farm metaphors only came out when he was superpissed.
"Eric, he's, like, twelve years younger than I am! I'd never go out with someone like that. "
He turned away from the wall of Cool. His night attire, I couldn't help but notice, was exceptional: black silk pajama pants. And nothing else. I wished we could quit arguing so I could see if his nipples tasted as good as they looked. "You're sixty years younger than I am. "
Nipples be damned! "What?"
"I said, you're sixty years younger than I am. "
" Wh-buh-" I honestly never thought of it in terms like that anymore. I used to, when I was a brand-new vampire and he wanted me to choose between him and Nostro, but then I chose, and it's never come up since.
Unless Sinclair thinks it's time to make another choice. . .
"Look, Eric, you're just being. . . " I napped my hands helplessly. "Well, weird. You're being weird about this. It's you I love. Not Jon. Not Nick. "
His eyes narrowed. "What does Nick have to do with anything?"
"I'm just saying! Everyone's so concerned about my love life, nobody's listening to me, to what I want. It doesn't matter how many Bees or cops end up living here; it doesn't change how I feel about you. I made my choice, you're who I want to be with. You! The sneakiest, creepiest, studliest guy I've ever known. "
He unclenched a bit. "I suppose I must take that as a compliment. "
"I don't care how you take it, but be nicer to Jon. Stop shoving him around; it just showcases your-I can't believe I'm using this word in reference to you-insecurity. "
"That term is exactly why I haven't yet brought up the subject of your new sleepwear. "
"What?" I spread my arms, like Christ on the cross. "You think I'm insecure and that's why I wear this stuff? You're on drugs! Don't you think the dots bring out my highlights?"
He grinned, started to say something, but then cut himself off and turned back to the wall of Cool.
"How have I not noticed these before?" he asked.
Because we appeared to be done fighting, I didn't say anything, but boy, I was thinking plenty. Like: well, if you came here for anything but sex, you'd probably notice all sorts of cool things.
"Various Hits of the Eighties. Cyndi Lauper. " Sinclair was flipping through the top shelf of CDs. "Greatest Hits of Duran Duran. All Dance Hits of the Eighties. Eighties, Eighties, Eighties. More of the Jammin' Eighties. Madonna: True Blue. The Pet Shop Boys. The Beastie Boys. "
"What can I say? I'm eclectic. "
"Yes. Eclectic. That wasn't the word that sprang to my mind, I admit. "
"Don't tell me you're one of those music snobs. " But of course, he was. Nothing in his car but Rachmaninoff.
"No, no. The wedding's off. "
"What?"
"I said, you have to take that off. "
"Oh. " Weird vampire hearing. It was either really good or really bad. "Okay, okay. Do you want to bor
row-"
"No!"
"All right, don't yell. " I moodily started unbuttoning my flannel top. "And stop pushing Jon around, I mean literally pushing him. How'd you like it if he put his big ole farm boy mitts on your face and shoved?"
"I would love that," Sinclair replied with scary sincerity.
"Is that the stench of a dead goat I smell, or your testosterone? Cripes, throttle back. Besides, you're missing my point. I'm in here with you, aren't I? I don't go to Nick's place or climb into Marc's bed-I notice you're not weird about Marc-"
"Is that supposed to be a joke? I'd be infinitely more worried about Marc if we were the same suit size. "
Hmm, good point. Moving on! "Maybe one of my undead superpowers is to make gay people straight, but I don't see you worrying too much about it. "
"No," he agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed and drumming the fingers of his left hand on his right knee. "I don't worry too much about it. "
"Right!"
"Also, you are not undressing nearly quickly enough. "
"And I'm not in the Bee's bed, wherever that one even is-"
"Second floor. Third one down the hall, right side. "
"See? I should be worried about you sleeping with him, you're so obsessed. "
"Territorial," he conceded. "Not obsessed. "
"But it's you I want to be with-did we not figure this all out in October?" I waved my arms, which, as I was unbuttoning, napped like a clothesline in a windstorm. "It's your voice I hear in my head, nobody else's. That should prove you've got nothing to worry about. "
"What?" Oh, fuck. Chapter 17
"Now, don't freak out. " Stupid, stupid! I'd meant to tell him, but not like this. I was thinking more along the lines of giving him a giant cookie frosted with "I can hear you in my head, lover!" Maybe for Valentine's Day. Twenty years from now.
"What did you say?"
"Okay, it's like this. " I hurried over and sat beside him on my-our!-bed, and flung my arms around his shoulders, which wasn't unlike hugging the big oak tree in the backyard. "When we make love, I can hear what you're thinking. It's in my head. "
Nothing. He sat stiffly, like we were playing statues.
I hugged harder. "And the thing is, I've been trying to figure out the right time to tell you, and there just never was one. But now that I see how insec-how worried you are about our houseguest, I figured it would be a good time to prove my love and how much we are meant to be together because in my whole life and death, I never heard anybody in my head, ever, not one time. "
If anything, he got stiffer. "You hear. Me. In your. Head?" he asked carefully.
"Yes. But only during lovemaking. Never before and never after. I mean, I have no idea what you're thinking right now. Although, uh, I can probably figure it out. "
"For. How. Long?"
"Since that time in the pool-the first time. And right up until. . . well, earlier. In the parlor, after Margaret left. "
"Marjorie," he corrected automatically. He pried my hands off him and pulled my arms away.
"Don't be mad," I said, probably the stupidest line ever, right up there with, "she didn't mean anything to me. "
He left.
I sat there and stared at the open doorway. Okay, I knew he wasn't going to take the news well, and I told him in a shitty way. At least I hadn't told him out of spite. But still-he'd had no prep at all. And now he had left, walked out.
I got ahold of myself. I wasn't going to sit on the bed cowering and waiting for him to come back and yell at me, or possibly throw a credenza at me. I jumped to my feet and ran to the door. . . where I promptly smacked so hard into the returning Sinclair I hit the floor like a backhanded pancake.
"Damn," I gasped. "You must have really tooled up those stairs. "
"This is no time for one of your amusing pratfalls," he snapped. He stepped over me (he didn't even help me up!) and dropped something big on the bed, something that gave off its own dust.
I was totally horrified to see it was the Book of the Dead.
"Get that thing off my sheets," I ordered. "I just got those last week at Target! They're flannel!"
He ignored me, bent over the book, and flipped through it. Finally (a miracle with neither a table of contents nor an index) he got to the yucky nasty page he wanted, straightened, and pointed.
"What? You want me to. . . forget it, no way. I'm done with that-hey!" He'd crossed the room in a blink, seized my arm, and dragged me over to the Book. "Okay, okay, don't pull. These are new, too. "
I bent over the horrible, horrible thing, written in blood by an insane vampire who could see the future. And never spell-checked, I might add, just to add to the overall fun.
"Okay, here we go-here? Okay. 'And the Queene shall noe the dead, all the dead, and neither shall they hide from her nor keep secrets from her. '" I stood up. "Right, so? We figured that's why I can see the ghosts and nobody else can. "
"Keep reading. "
"Eric-"
"Read. "
I hurriedly bent back to the homework from Hell. " 'And shalt noe the king, and all the king's ways, for all their reign o'er the dead, and the king shalt noe hers. ' There, cheer up!" I straightened (please God, for the last time. . . no more reading tonight). "See? I know your ways, and you know mine. So. . . I mean, this is deeply meaningful because. . . "
"As you said. You can read my mind during. . . intimate moments. "
"Yeah," I nodded. "I told you that. Remember? Told you? As in, didn't keep it a secret?" For more than eight months? Shut up, brain.
"I cannot read yours," he pointed out.
"Yeah, I figured," I confessed. "I tried to sort of, uh, feel you out a couple times. But I didn't get anything back. "
He just stared at me. I knew that look: penetrating and faraway at the same time. There was some serious thinking going on behind those black eyes.
"Eric. . . "
He took a step back.
"Okay, you're mad. I don't blame you; it was a rotten way to find out. Only, I knew you'd be like this! That's why I was scared to tell you!" Worst. Apology. Ever!
"I am not mad," he said.
"Eric, you're the one I want to be with. "
"The Book begs to differ. "
"Jeez, we've only been together for two months. . . we've only known each other since April. Give me time to 'noe your ways,' dammit, and you need time to noe-know mine. Just because you can't-you know. Just because you can't right this minute doesn't prove anything. And I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to. "
"I understand," he said with horrifying distance, "why you could not. "
"Eric, you're the one I'm marrying!"
"I'm the one you keep changing the date on," he said. "Perhaps because you have realized I am not your equal? Being a soft-hearted wretch, I can see why you would not be up to the task of telling me face-to-face that your feelings had changed. "
"That has nothing to do with it!" I screeched. "Oh my God, did you just call me a wretch?" A coward, too! He'd turned telepathy into an excuse to postpone the wedding?
Men! "How you could jump to a conclusion like that?"
"Yes, you are correct, it is simply a wondrous coincidence. "
"I'm just disorganized, moron! It's not a personal observation! See, see? This is why I didn't tell you, I knew you'd freak out and get pissed. "
"I'm not pissed," he said coolly. And. . . he didn't sound pissed. He didn't sound like anything I could figure. I didn't know whether to run and put my arms around him, or jump out the window and get away from him. The four feet between us yawned; it could have been the edge of a cliff. "I'm. . . surprised. "
He was a liar, that's what he was. Finally, I recognized the emotion. I'd never seen it on his face before, so no wonder it took me a few minutes: it was fear.
Not for me. I'd seen that before, plenty of times. No, this was something else.
He was afraid, all right.
Of me. Chapter 18
Dear Betsy,
I'm a new vampire (I was attacked and killed by another vampire while I was on my senior class trip, eight years ago), and I'm not sure exactly of the protocol now. Things were different under Nostro, but I'm not sure how things are with you. There's a girl in my life I "see" once in a while, and she lets me bite her, but she thinks it's just part of fun. Sometimes I'll make friends with a new girl and bite her a few times, too. It's hard because I have to feed every day, but I don't want to kill anyone. Do you have any advice?
Chewin' on 'em in Chaska
Dear Cheivin':
Well, you've got the right idea, anyway. Don't kill them, not any of them, if you can help it. They can't help being alive any more than you can help being dead. I try to go out and bite bad guys. . . you know, someone who's trying to drag me into a dark alley to "meet" his friends, someone I catch breaking into my car. . . like that. I feel like they got punished for whatever felony they were attempting, and I got to eat. Try that for a while and see how it works. If you ever meet that special someone, you could tell her your secret and maybe she could help you out. Also, as you get older, you won't need to feed as much. Cheer up. This, too, shall pass.
"It's pretty good," Jessica said. "Because the newsletter is new, I guess you had to make up the first few questions?"
"Yeah. "
"Well, pretty soon you'll start to get real letters, so that's okay. But this isn't too bad. "
I started to cry.
"Jeez!" Jessica said, putting the paper down and hurrying over to me. "I had no idea you were such a touchy edit! It's great, it's really great for your first time. Lots of-uh-lots of good advice. "
"Sinclair moved out of my room," I sobbed.
"Well, honey, I don't know that he ever actually moved in. "
I cried harder.
"Uh, sorry. Did you guys have a fight?"
"A big one. The worst one. "
"Worse than when you thought he was putting the moves on your sister?"
"I wish that's what it was," I wept.
"Okay. Is it something you can tell me about?"
"No," I sobbed. Sinclair's humiliation was still fresh; the last thing I was going to do was spread it around.
She had poured a fresh cup of tea for me-we were in the kitchen-and now sat down in the chair next to me. My feeble letter lay on the table between us. I'd been desperate to distract myself from the fight. Thus, Dear Betsy.