Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side

  He dropped Frank, who slumped forward, gasping for air.

  “I’m not fighting you.” Frank wheezed, rubbing his neck.

  “It will be a lesson, not a fight,” Lucius promised. “And when I am finished, you will not bother Jessica again.”

  I shared a worried glance with Jake, who stood by, silent, wary.

  “We were just goofing around,” Frank complained.

  Lucius glared, drawn up to his full six-foot-plus height. He seemed to fill the hallway. “Where I come from, causing a woman distress isn’t amusing. I should have made that clear the other day. I will not miss another opportunity.”

  “Where do you come from?” Frank challenged, puffing his chest, a little bolder now that he could breathe. “Some of us are starting to wonder.”

  “I come from civilization,” Lucius retorted. “You wouldn’t be familiar with the territory. Now pick up the books.”

  Frank must have heard the final warning in Lucius’s low snarl, because he bent and did as he was told, muttering the whole time. He shoved the books into my hands and started to slink away. Lucius grabbed him again. “You forgot to apologize.”

  “I’m sorry,” Frank said through gritted teeth.

  Lucius gave Dormand a little shove. “Now let’s go outside.”

  “Lucius,” I said, grabbing his arm. The muscles were rigid beneath my fingers. He’d destroy flabby Dormand, who couldn’t do ten push-ups if his life depended on it. “Stop it. Now.”

  Lucius stared down at me. “You are worth this, Jessica. He will not disrespect you. Not in my presence.”

  “You can’t do that here . . . not like that,” I warned. “This isn’t Romania.” This isn’t your family, with whatever brutal rules they enforced. “You’ve taken it too far.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. Then Lucius glanced at Frank. “Get out of here. And feel fortunate that you have a reprieve. Because you won’t get another, no matter what Jessica wishes.”

  “Freak,” Frank muttered. But he hurried into the crowd, which melted away behind him, leaving only Lucius, Jake, and me. Jake started to backpedal, too, but Lucius wasn’t quite finished.

  “I believe you two were engaged in conversation. Please. Finish.”

  “We’re done,” I promised, pushing Lucius away. He held his ground, without taking his eyes off Jake.

  “Is that true?” Lucius asked Jake. “Were you finished?”

  “I . . . we were talking about . . .” Jake shuffled, glancing at his feet. “Look, Jess, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “It’s okay, Jake, I understand. Please—you don’t have to say anything else.” The tears that had been forming in my eyes for about five minutes started to spill over.

  “Why is she crying?” Lucius demanded. “Did you say something to her?”

  Jake put up his hands. “No. I swear.”

  “Just go, Lucius,” I insisted.

  Lucius hesitated.

  “Please.”

  He met my eyes. I saw sympathy in his gaze, and that was probably the worst part of the whole day. A total outcast feeling sorry for me. “As you wish,” he said, and stepped back. But not before adding, “I’m watching you, too, Zinn.”

  “Hey,” Jake soothed when Lucius was out of earshot. “That was intense, huh?”

  I sniffled, wiping at my eyes. “Which part? When Lucius nearly killed Frank or threatened you?”

  “The whole thing.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. Frank’s a jerk. He deserved it.”

  “The whole thing is so embarrassing.”

  “Yeah. It kind of was.”

  “Don’t worry about the carnival,” I said. “It was stupid of me to ask.”

  “No, I was going to say yes.” Jake stared down the hallway in the direction Lucius had departed. “Unless you guys are . . . together or something. I mean, that’s the rumor. And Lucius seemed sort of . . . possessive, right there.”

  “No,” I kind of barked. “Lucius is not my boyfriend. More like a . . . an overprotective big brother.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t try to plaster me against a locker if we go, would he? Because I could take him, but having seen him in action, I think it would be a hell of a fight,” Jake said, only half joking, it seemed.

  “No, Lucius is harmless,” I fibbed. If you don’t count the fact that he thinks he’s a warrior prince representing a semicannibalistic race of undead bat people.

  “Then I’ll call you, okay?” Jake promised.

  “Great.” I smiled then, almost forgetting that I’d just been crying.

  Jake started to walk away, then hesitated. “Jess?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you asked me.”

  “Me, too,” I said, silently thanking Mindy and her faith in Cosmo and horoscopes as I turned away, grinning.

  Lucius was waiting for me outside the school, sitting on a low brick wall near the entrance. When he saw me, he hopped down and held out his hands for my books like he always did when he managed to track me down after school.

  “We missed the bus,” Lucius pointed out. He didn’t sound disappointed.

  “We can walk to Mom’s office. She’ll give us a ride.” Grantley College was just a few minutes from the school.

  “Excellent idea.” Lucius fell in step with me, and we headed toward the campus in the cool mid-autumn late afternoon. After a few moments of silence, he pulled a crisp linen monogrammed handkerchief from an inner pocket in his coat, handing it to me. “Your face is tearstained.”

  “Thanks,” I said, accepting the handkerchief. I wiped at my cheeks and blew my nose. “Here,” I said, handing it back.

  Lucius held up a hand, cringing. “You keep it. I beg you. I have others.”

  “Thanks.” I wadded up the handkerchief, trying to stuff it in my pocket.

  “My pleasure, Jessica.” Lucius’s gaze was trained far-off, his tone distracted. About a block later, he advanced slightly ahead of me, walking backward, bent over, searching my face. “That boy . . . that squatty Zinn . . .”

  “What about Jake?” It was my turn to look away, focusing down the oak-lined street.

  “He’s . . . he’s someone you’re honestly attracted to?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, shrugging, kicking at a fallen acorn. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean . . .”

  “Well, you’re accompanying him to this gala everyone’s talking about—”

  “It’s a carnival. Like a party in the gym. Not a ‘gala.’ Nobody says ‘gala.’ At least nobody at Woodrow Wilson.”

  Lucius frowned. “Gala, carnival . . . regardless. You’re courting?”

  Is that hurt in Lucius’s eyes? Or just the usual darkness? “It’s just one date, but yeah, I guess so,” I admitted, not sure why I suddenly felt guilty. I had no reason to feel guilty. Just because Lucius believed we were engaged didn’t make me a cheater, for crying out loud. But he kept staring, so I added lamely, “I hope that’s not a problem. What with the pact and all.”

  “I just find it hard to understand.”

  “What?” This I had to hear. “I thought you knew everything.”

  “He didn’t even defend you.” Lucius rubbed his chin, genuinely confused.

  I got a little defensive myself, on Jake’s behalf. “Here, women defend themselves. Men don’t have to fight for us. I told you—I can handle Dormand.”

  “Not the way I can on your behalf. Not the way Zinn should have. Like it or not, you are bound by gender. You can swat at the fly, but I could crush him. Any honorable male would have stepped up.”

  “Hey,” I protested. “Jake has honor.”

  “Not enough to protect you.”

  “Oh, Lucius,” I groaned. “Jake thinks you went totally overboard—and he’s right.”

  Lucius shook his head. “Then he didn’t see your face.”

  I didn’t quite know what to say to that.

  We resumed walking in silence, Lucius reining
in his big stride to match mine. He seemed even more distracted than before, a big frown on his face.

  We passed through the gates to the Grantley campus, heading toward Schreyer Hall, where Mom’s office was. Suddenly Lucius brightened. “You do drive, don’t you? Have a license?”

  “Well, yeah, sure. Why? Where do you want to go?” The blood bank?

  “I think I would like to buy some jeans,” Lucius announced. “Perhaps a T-shirt. And they’re very rigid about wearing certain shoes in the gym. My Romanian soles break some sort of rule. Apparently I need shoes with a ‘swoosh’ on the side if I’m to continue playing basketball.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “You want to buy regular clothes?”

  “No, I want to update my wardrobe in line with cultural norms,” he corrected. “You do know how to get to these famous ‘outlets’ I hear so much about, right?”

  I gasped, jamming one finger against Lucius’s chest. “Wait right here. Don’t move. I’ll ask Mom if we can borrow the van.” This I have to see.

  What in the world would Lucius Vladescu deem normal? And more importantly, how would a tall, imperious Romanian accustomed to wearing tailor-made black pants look in a pair of jeans?

  Chapter 16

  “HONESTLY, I DON’T KNOW how some of these stories got started,” Lucius complained, adjusting the van’s radio, probably looking for Croatian folk music but settling for classical on the public station. “Hollywood, I suppose.”

  I flipped to a pop station, just to irritate him. “So you don’t think you can change into a bat?”

  Lucius turned down the music and shot me a look that said he was insulted. “Please. A bat? What self-respecting vampire would transfigure into a flying rodent? Would you become a skunk, even if you had the ability?”

  “No, I guess not.” I braked for a traffic light. “Maybe once, just to see what it was like.”

  “Well, vampires cannot transform into anything.”

  “How about garlic? Does it repulse you?”

  “Only on someone’s breath.”

  “And stakes? Can you be killed with a stake?”

  “Anyone can be killed with a stake. But yes—that one is true. In fact, a stake through the heart is the only effective way to destroy a vampire.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  “To save you time, I will add that we do not sleep in coffins. We do not sleep upside down. We, quite obviously, don’t disintegrate in sunlight. How could one live a practical, useful life that way?”

  “So far, being a vampire sounds pretty dull if you ask me.”

  “At the risk of raising a bad subject—and again, my apologies—you didn’t seem to think my fangs were dull the other evening. In fact, you reacted quite strongly to their sharpness.”

  And to the feel of his hands, his body . . . Don’t go there, Jess. “How did you do that? Did you have, like, a set of plastic teeth in your mouth?”

  Lucius shot me an incredulous look. “Plastic teeth? Did they look plastic?”

  “No,” I admitted. “But dentures look real.”

  “Dentures.” He snorted. “Don’t be absurd. Those were—are—my teeth. That is what vampires do. We grow fangs.”

  “Do it now then.” I steered the van onto Route 30, navigating traffic.

  “Oh, Jessica . . . I don’t think that’s wise while you’re driving on a busy road. You quite panicked the other night.”

  “You can’t do it, can you?” I challenged. “Because it was a stupid trick, and you don’t have your props.”

  “Don’t provoke me, Jessica. Not unless you really want me to do as you ask. Because I can, and I will.”

  “Do it.”

  “As you wish.” Lucius turned toward me, bared his teeth, and I nearly ran off the road. Lucius grabbed the wheel, swerving us back into place.

  “Holy shit.” He’d done it again. He really had. I slid my gaze over, cautiously. The pointy teeth were gone. It’s a trick. A trick. I wouldn’t fall for it. Teeth were covered with enamel, one of the hardest substances in the body. Enamel couldn’t shift or change. It was impossible, at the molecular level.

  “You really must get used to that,” Lucius chided.

  “Do you buy the trick at, like, a magic shop?”

  “It’s not a trick. Please stop using that word.” Lucius drummed his fingers on the VW’s vinyl passenger seat. I could tell he was getting frustrated again. “Vampiric transformation is a phenomenon. If you’d read the book I provided—”

  I groaned. “Oh, god, that thing.” My unwanted copy of Growing Up Undead was still under my bed. I kept meaning to throw it out but somehow never got around to it. I didn’t want to think about why.

  “Yes, ‘that thing,’” Lucius said. “If you’d read the guide as you should you would know that male vampires gain the ability to grow fangs at puberty. It happens when we’re exceedingly angry. Or . . . aroused.”

  “So you’re saying ‘fangs’ are like an—” I started to say “erection” like I said it every day of my life. But the truth was, I had never said that word out loud, and discovered that I couldn’t do it then. But Lucius understood.

  “Yes. That. Precisely. Often kind of a tandem effect, if you understand my meaning. But it gets easy to control with practice. And women can grow fangs, too, of course.”

  “So why can’t I do it if I’m supposedly such a big-time vampire?” Sooner or later, I would confound him with logic.

  But Lucius shot right back, “Women have to be bitten first. I need to bite you. It’s a great privilege for a man to be his betrothed’s first bite.”

  “Don’t start that betrothal talk again,” I said seriously. Spotting the first entrance to the outlet mall, I made a quick turn. “Not even joking. We’re done with that.”

  Lucius tilted his head. “Are we done with it?”

  “Yes.”

  I pulled into a parking spot. “How about mirrors? When you try on clothes, will you be able to see yourself in a mirror?”

  Lucius rubbed his temples. “Have you taken basic science at Woodrow Wilson High School? Do you know the principles behind reflectivity?”

  “Of course I do. I’m the one who actually believes in science, remember? I was just joking.” I yanked the keys out of the ignition. “So let’s recap. You can’t change into a bat, you don’t dissolve in sunlight, and you’re visible in mirrors. What can vampires do? Why’s it so awesome to be one, then?”

  “What would be so wonderful about dissolving in sunlight? Or not being able to look in a mirror and judge if you’ve dressed yourself properly?”

  “You know what I mean. You keep saying vampires are so great. I just want to know why.”

  Lucius’s head dropped back against the seat. He stared at the shag carpet on the ceiling of the van as though begging for patience or guidance. “We are only the most powerful race of superhumans. We are physically gifted with grace and strength. We are a people of ritual and tradition. We have heightened mental powers: the ability to communicate without speech when necessary. We rule the dark side of nature. Is that ‘awesome’ enough for you?”

  I grabbed the door latch. “So why drink blood?”

  Lucius sighed deeply, opening his own door. “Why is everyone so obsessed with the blood? There’s so much more.”

  I dropped the subject. I’d sort of became distracted, anyhow, now that we were about to go shopping. “So where do you want to go first?”

  Lucius came around the front of the van and placed his hands on my shoulders, pointing me toward the Levi’s outlet. “There.”

  Five stores and about five hundred dollars later, Lucius Vladescu looked almost like an American teenager. And, I had to admit, a hot American teenager. He wore a pair of 501s even better than his black pants. And when he put on a loose white untucked oxford shirt—having decided that a T-shirt would be a bit too Real World/Road Rules Challenge for Romanian royalty—well, the effect was pretty nice. It didn’t seem embarrassing to be with him. Not at all. Mi
ndy would probably pass out, literally, when she saw him.

  “So how about getting rid of the velvet coat?” I asked.

  “Never,” he replied.

  So much for not being embarrassing.

  We were walking toward the car, juggling all our shopping bags, when Lucius stopped short and grabbed my arm, dropping a bag.

  I turned. “What?”

  He was looking in the window of a store called Boulevard St. Michel, an upscale boutique with very, very expensive clothes. The kind of clothes that rich women wear to cocktail parties. I’d never been inside. For one thing, my dad didn’t believe in dry cleaning, because of the “perc emissions” that messed up the environment. And for another, I couldn’t afford one shoe from Boulevard St. Michel, even at outlet prices. Not even after a whole summer slinging burgers at the diner.

  “What are you doing?” I followed his gaze.

  Lucius kept staring at the window. “That dress—the one with the flowers scattered across the bodice—”

  “Did you just say ‘bodice’?”

  “Yes, and skirt—”

  “The dress with the V-neck?”

  “Yes. That one. You would look lovely in something like that.”

  Lucius had officially fallen off his already cracked rocker. Not only did he think he was a vampire, but now he believed I was some sort of thirty-year-old cocktail-party attendee. I laughed out loud. “You really are crazy. That’s designed—and priced—for women who do things like go to, I don’t know, symphonies or something.”

  He shot me a look. “What’s wrong with the symphony?”

  “Nothing. Except that I don’t go. I mean, can you see me in that at 4-H? I bet it costs a mint, too.”

  “Try the dress on.”

  I pulled back. “No way. I am one hundred percent sure that they don’t like teenagers in there.”

  Lucius scoffed. “They like anyone with enough money.”