Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side

  Lucius kissed the top of my head, then, and I knew that the weight of our shared destiny would never be lifted from his shoulders. He could play at being a normal teenager, but it was just a short reprieve. Lucius Vladescu’s fate was tied up in scrolls and bound in genealogies and meted out with fists or worse. And I shuddered for him.

  I heard his footsteps move toward the door in the darkness, but he paused before leaving. “You really were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen tonight,” he said softly. “When I danced with you . . . and the sight of you leaving me, head held high, not looking back, as the crowd parted before you . . . No matter where you live or whom you choose to wed, Antanasia, you will always be royalty. And I will always recall the image of you this evening, just as I will always remember the way you wept for me as I lay broken downstairs. Those are two gifts you have given me, and I will carry them with me, for as long as I am able.”

  Lucius shut the door behind himself, then, and in spite of the sweetness and warmth of his words, I shivered in the darkness.

  Chapter 42

  IT TOOK LESS THAN a week for all hell to break loose after Lucius’s letter made its way to the countryside outside of Sighişoara, Romania.

  In the meantime, Lucius sucked deeply on typical American teenage life like it was a rich, red vein. He played hours and hours of pickup basketball, skipped school, and threw a party in his garage apartment that ended in a raid by the cops and a threat from my parents to deport him on the next flight to Bucharest. Faith was constantly clamped to his side like they’d been super-glued at the hip.

  And then Lucius, Mom, Dad, and I were all summoned to a meeting of the Elders, to be held in Lebanon County. They were all deigning to meet here, so serious was the crisis. There was no choice but to attend. At least, it didn’t seem like there was a choice.

  “I can’t believe they are meeting in a steak house,” my mother complained, reluctantly entering the Western Sizzlin’ on New Year’s Eve at the appointed time. “It’s like a slap in the face. They know we’re vegans.”

  “It’s a power play,” Dad agreed.

  “Please, just go along with it,” I begged. I sensed that things were going to be bad enough without Mom and Dad worrying about the menu. “They have a salad bar.”

  “Sulfites.” My father sniffed. “Preservatives.”

  Sometimes Dad missed the big picture.

  “We’re here for a meeting,” Mom told the hostess.

  “With a bunch of older . . . men,” I added. “They said they reserved a room.”

  Fear as raw as the steak in one of their freezers crossed the hostess’s face, but she managed a smile as she located three menus. “Come this way, please.”

  “Oh, shit.” I couldn’t help saying it as we entered the room.

  My mom clutched my hand. “It’s all right, Jessica.”

  But it didn’t look “all right” at all.

  For in the middle of a paneled chamber merrily festooned with cardboard cutouts of Santa Claus and elves and reindeer with glowing noses, thirteen of the most funereal old guys I’d ever seen were hovering over a circular table, stabbing at a massive platter loaded down with bloody, barely seared steaks. They were slapping bright red cow flesh onto their plates and not eating the meat. Just . . . slurping. At the juice. The blood that seeped out. Although the heat was cranked in that restaurant, the air was cold with their presence. And the smell of the blood . . . it prickled at my nostrils, seeped in through my pores, tickled my stomach.

  My parents clutched their own stomachs, and my dad started gagging a little into his fist.

  The oldest, scariest vampire glanced up from his feast reluctantly. He gestured to three empty chairs. “Please, sit. And forgive us for starting without you. We are famished from the journey.”

  Vasile. He had to be Lucius’s uncle Vasile. There was the vaguest resemblance in the facial features, and the same sense of controlled power. But the older Vladescu vampire lacked Lucius’s charm and grace and the wonderful glimmer of mischief in his eyes. Indeed, Vasile was like a tormented, deformed version of his nephew. Whereas Lucius’s power was beautiful to witness, tempered as it was with humor and even joy, Vasile’s was bitter and hideous. It made me half sick to think of Lucius—wonderful, funny Lucius—under this man’s control, feeling his fist. . . .

  “Sit,” Vasile ordered again. Even the arrogance—which had become one of Lucius’s most endearing traits—sat all wrong on the uncle’s hunched shoulders.

  Still, we obeyed and sat. The hostess handed us menus. She looked at us with pity, like we were hostages.

  “Will you be having . . . ?” She gestured toward the meat pile, clearly not certain what to say. “Or should I get a waitress?”

  “Just three salad bars,” Mom ordered for us all, handing back her menu. I could tell she was struggling to maintain her composure in the face of the carnage.

  I glanced around the table.

  There was one empty chair. I wondered if Lucius would even show. And then the door opened, and he entered. I had half expected him to wear his old clothes—the velvet coat and black pants—but he wore jeans and his Grantley sweatshirt. I kind of sensed he was drawing a line in the sand early. A defiant line. But he moved around the table, politely shaking hands, one by one. “Uncle Vasile. Uncle Teodor.”

  Each vampire would pause in his consumption of blood just long enough to shake hands before falling back upon the feast. Lucius sat down, winking at us. But I could tell he was nervous.

  “He’s scared of them,” Mom whispered in my ear.

  “Me, too,” I agreed. “Do you recognize any of them from Romania?”

  Mom nodded, just slightly. “I seem to recall one or two . . . but it was long ago.”

  “Eat,” Vasile urged, jabbing his fork toward us. “Then we’ll talk.”

  My parents decamped for the salad bar, and I followed. But not without looking back over my shoulder at those steaks with more than a little awful desire. The odor of the blood . . . it was so heady in there. In spite of my fears for Lucius—and for all of us, really—that smell drew me. I felt guilty, feeling desire at such a dreadful moment.

  When we returned, it was quite obvious that we had interrupted an intense, if quiet, discussion. The platter was heaped with sucked-dry steaks, the individual plates pushed away. All heads were turned toward Lucius, who sat stock-still. His eyes darted toward us. “Must the Packwoods be here?”

  We stood clutching our salad bowls, waiting for the verdict. I don’t know what we would have done if Vasile had told us to leave. But he didn’t.

  “Yes,” he said. “They must remain.”

  We put our bowls at our place settings, and the sound of their thumping echoed in the suddenly silent room. Pulling out our chairs, we sat.

  “Eat,” Vasile directed again.

  Even the salad dressing seemed to stick in my throat, so I took a few token bites and pushed my bowl away.

  The vampire on my right leaned toward me. No longer hunched over a bloody steak, he could have been any businessman out for dinner. And yet, there was something different about him. Something menacing in his eyes. So these are the Elders. . . . “Are you not hungry?” he asked in a thickly accented voice.

  “No,” I said, forcing myself to meet his black eyes. I would not flinch or show fear. Are these really my people? My kind?

  “They are done,” Vasile announced, standing, after my parents had pushed their bowls away, too. “I will do the introductions.”

  He went around the table, but I immediately forgot all the names. I was too busy watching Lucius. He looked like a condemned man waiting for the electric chair in the company of his executioners and wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  Vasile sat, folding his long body into the chair like some sort of human accordion. He tented skeletal, knobby fingers, tapping the fingertips together. “What are we to do with these young people?”

  “Not young people,” Lucius interrupted. “Just me. This is about m
e.”

  “Silence,” Vasile hissed, head swiveling toward Lucius.

  “Of course, sir,” Lucius conceded.

  Vasile glared at my parents. “You know that Lucius has decided, in some sort of fit of independence”—he spat the word—“that he will no longer abide by the pact.”

  We all nodded.

  “Lucius has advised of us of his decision,” Dad spoke up. “And we support his choice. He is also invited to stay with us for as long as he wants.”

  “You ‘support his choice’?” Vasile thundered, incredulous. “You support his insubordination?”

  “Look, Vasile,” my father began. His voice cracked, and he had some spinach stuck in his teeth, but I was proud of him nonetheless. “They’re just kids.”

  “I don’t know that term,” Vasile said.

  “Kids. Young people. Teenagers. Why not just let them be . . .”

  Vasile pounded the table, and a few dry steaks tumbled off the pile. “Let them be?”

  My mom laid a hand on my arm. “Yes,” she added, bravely. “If Lucius has decided that he wants out of the pact . . . Well, it was all very long ago, and he’s a young man. You must see that it was ridiculous to expect these two teenagers to fall in love and marry just because of a decree.”

  I glanced toward Lucius. His eyes were on Vasile.

  “Love?” Vasile barked. “Who said anything about love? This is about power.”

  “It’s about kids,” my father contradicted. “Lucius is seeing a young woman, and Jess is getting ready for college . . .”

  Clearly, my dad had spilled a ton of beans. At the phrase “seeing a young woman,” Vasile popped out of his chair and spun around on Lucius like a snapped whip. Lucius flinched, as if the whip had caught him a good one across the cheek.

  “Courting?” Vasile roared. “Outside of the pact?”

  “It’s my choice,” Lucius said calmly, using his favorite new word. “Jessica was amenable to the pact, but I have chosen otherwise.”

  Somehow, even though I knew he was protecting me, the words stung. Still Lucius didn’t look at me.

  At some silent cue that I missed completely, four senior vampires rose and the next thing I knew, Lucius was standing, being ushered away. One of the older vampires had draped his arm around his younger relative’s shoulders, but I knew that Lucius was not about to get a kindly lecture from a well-meaning uncle.

  “Where are you taking him?” Mom demanded.

  “It’s fine, Dr. Packwood,” Lucius reassured her. He shook off his relative’s containing arm, as though he preferred to go to his doom with dignity. “Please. Don’t become involved in a family affair.”

  “Lucius, wait,” I cried, rising from my chair.

  He turned to me, just for a second. “No, Jessica.”

  A huge lump clogged my throat as they grabbed him again and shoved him toward the door. Four against one . . . cowards.

  I tried to follow him, but Mom pulled me back. “I don’t think so, Jessica. Not now.”

  “Sit down, please,” Vasile added, voice oily. “Even if you were to follow . . . well, you couldn’t find him. He is perfectly safe with the family.”

  “I think we should go,” Dad said, rising. My mom and I followed his lead.

  “This is not over,” Vasile said, pointing a skeletal finger at all three of us. “Lucius will return with a different mind-set. And you will not go back on your promise.”

  Mom bristled. “My daughter will not do anything against her will.”

  “Her will is to marry him. She is destined for him. She knows it. To use your parlance, she loves him.”

  Dad looked at me. “What is he talking about, Jessica?”

  “I don’t know,” I stammered.

  “I saw her, when Lucius was led away.” Vasile laughed. “Being raised among humans has made her so transparent.”

  “We’re leaving.” Dad grabbed my arm.

  “Good night, for now,” Vasile said. He bowed slightly to me.

  As we made our way past the vampire clan, edging around the circle of the table, I felt something pressed into my palm. The move was so quick, it was like a magic trick. Somehow I had the good sense not to yelp. Glancing back, I caught the eye of a vampire I hadn’t really noticed before. He was a little heavier than the others, and a little shorter, and his skin was a shade pinker. His eyes harbored a hint of amusement, and when I met his gaze, he placed a finger to his lips, clearly signaling that we now shared some secret, and winked at me. I didn’t wink back.

  I held on to the slip of paper until I got all the way to my bedroom, and opened it with fingers that fumbled with impatience. It was a note:

  DON’T LOOK SO SCARED YET. ALL IS NOT LOST. YOU SEEM LIKE A NICE GIRL. VASILE IS JUST OVERBEARING. ALWAYS FULL OF HIMSELF. MEET ME TOMORROW AT THAT NICE PARK WITH THE STREAM. SAY TENISH? I’LL BE IN THE GAZEBO. AND LET’S KEEP THIS BETWEEN OURSELVES, EH?

  YOURS, Dorin

  Chapter 43

  MY MOM CAME INTO my room around midnight. “His light hasn’t come on yet.”

  “You’re watching, too?” I’d been staring out the window, watching the garage.

  “Of course.”

  I tore my eyes away for just a moment. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “You knew about how they beat him, didn’t you?”

  Mom pulled the curtain back farther, joining my vigil. “I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected . . .”

  “Lucius said they hit him again, and again, and again.” When I said those words out loud, my already intense fear spiked close to panic.

  “I told you that the Vladescus had a reputation for ruthlessness, and Lucius was raised to be their prince,” Mom said, releasing the curtain. “I’m not surprised to learn that his childhood was not happy.” She sat down next to me on the bed and kissed my forehead like she used to do when I was a kid scared of thunderstorms. “But Lucius is strong,” she reminded me. “Try not to let your fears run away with you.”

  I could tell she was jumping to conclusions, though. Just like me. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

  “He will.” She hesitated. “Jess . . . do you really love him?”

  I was spared having to answer when a light flicked on in the apartment above the garage. Air came whooshing out of my lungs, and it felt like I had been holding my breath for hours. I didn’t wait for Mom. I just tore out of the room, my bare feet flying through the frozen yard. I didn’t care how cold it was.

  I found Lucius in the cramped garage bathroom. He was shirtless, bending over the sink, washing his face. He heard me enter but didn’t turn around. “Go away.”

  “Lucius, what is it?”

  He remained bent over. “Leave me alone.”

  I edged closer. “No. Turn around.”

  “No.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Mom padded up behind me. She patted my arm, then moved toward Lucius in the same quiet, nonthreatening way I’d moved toward Hell’s Belle on that awful day.

  “Lucius,” she soothed, placing a hand on his back. I recognized that gesture from when I was a child throwing up. Lucius’s muscles rippled, shuddering.

  It struck me that maybe, just maybe, he was crying. Or trying not to. Really hard.

  My mom bent down near Lucius, pushing back his black hair. She straightened, addressing me. “Jess, go get the first aid kit, under the kitchen sink.”

  “Mom . . . is he okay?”

  “Just go, Jess,” she said calmly.

  I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with Lucius.

  “Now,” she urged.

  “Yes, Mom.” I paused at the door, looking back, and saw that my mom had folded Lucius to herself, her arms wrapped around him. He was shaking. Convulsing. She was stroking his hair, talking to him softly. That’s why my mom had sent me. She knew Lucius wouldn’t want me to see him breaking down, perhaps under the pressure of the first motherly touch he’d ever known. Closing t
he door quietly, I obeyed her and ran back to the house.

  I returned with the first aid kit, followed by my groggy father, who was still struggling to tie his robe around his waist, even as he was halfway up the stairs.

  By this time, Lucius was lying on his bed, my mom sitting beside him. She snapped on the bedside lamp as I handed her the first aid kit. Lucius turned his face to the wall, but I could see that he was badly battered. His lip was split, and dark bruises were forming beneath his eye and across his cheek. His nose looked a little crooked.

  “I’ll get a cold washcloth,” Dad offered, making himself useful.

  “I’m fine,” Lucius insisted. But he winced when Mom dabbed at his broken lip with alcohol.

  “You are not fine,” Mom said.

  “Not my best year, eh?” Lucius joked bitterly. “At least the horse didn’t know what she was doing.”

  Dad sat down, too, at the foot of the bed. He absently clutched the washcloth like he didn’t know what to do with it now that he’d brought it. “Lucius, what happened?”

  Lucius didn’t respond.

  “Lucius,” Dad prompted again. “Tell us.”

  “Jessica should go to bed,” Lucius finally said, face still to the wall. “It’s late.”

  “I want to stay.”

  “You’re a child,” Lucius said. His voice was rough. Distant. “You don’t need to be privy to all this.”

  My parents glanced at each other, and I realized that at that very moment, they would judge whether I really was still a child.

  “Jess can stay if she likes,” Dad finally said. “This affects her, too.”

  “I’ll be gone in the morning,” Lucius promised. “It won’t affect any of you any longer.”

  “You will not go anywhere,” Mom said, taking the washcloth from Dad and cleaning some blood from Lucius’s cheek. She gently turned his face toward her, and I saw the damage full-on, for the first time. Although the room was dim, I could tell that the horse had spared the rod, to use Lucius’s term, compared to his “uncles.” My stomach tightened with anger and sadness.