Vampire Crush(39)
Author: A.M. Robinson

"I didn’t leave," I say, even though I’m pretty sure I did.

"It was right when we started. I remember." Something warm has crept into his eyes. There’s a brief second where my body feels carbonated, but then I think I hear the burst of Vlad’s laughter above the din, and it reminds me that no matter how much we skip down memory lane, the cold truth is that we are still at odds. I can’t keep doing this; it’s distracting, and it only makes me want things that are impossible.

"I have to go," I say and head down the stairs. He calls out behind me, but I’ve already squeezed between a girl in a nautical-themed suit and a senior wearing a kiwi wrap over her black string bikini. I dart through a doorway on the right, where raucous shrieks mark the hub of the party.

The room’s high ceilings and large windows make it a coveted living room, or at least it was once. Between the shuffling feet of party guests, I catch glimpses of the dark, couch-shaped patches where furniture must have once protected the burgundy carpet from decades of sun. The cream wallpaper is stained along the top border, and in many places it curls at the edges. A tattered Victorian couch sits in the corner, covered in gray velvet and missing a few buttons, and folding refreshment tables are set up at the far end of the room. The Hawaiian theme isn’t going to win any decorating contests; the room looks more like Dracula’s dungeon than a balmy island getaway. A limp sign, with ALOHA written in crooked yellow letters, wilts over the punch bowl, and a few dejected leis hang off the ornate chandelier that hovers above the sea of bobbing heads. Ambiance is obviously a low priority when you have young girls to kidnap.

I make my way to the refreshment table, trying to figure out my game plan as I go. Avoiding Vlad’s notice is priority number one, although I still need to keep an eye on him in case he targets anyone in particular. And then there’s the little black book. Now that I’ve infiltrated his home base, there might be a chance to get my hands on it.

I pick up a flimsy paper plate and survey the meager offerings. Not surprisingly, vampire catering leaves something to be desired. Generic cheese puffs lie scattered around a bowl of congealing ranch dip that still holds the shape of the can it came from. The carrots should be a safer option, but instead of being cut into stick form, someone has sliced them into tiny coin-sized discs. How appetizing. I pick up a carrot medallion and start to nibble, swiping a cup from the leaning tower to my right and heading toward the punch. It looks orange, sugary, and unnatural – normal enough. I’m tentatively ladling some into my glass when someone comes up beside me.

"Yo, Soph, what’s up?" Neal Garrett says, resplendent in neon green swim trunks. He grabs a cheese puff and pokes it into the ranch dip. "Cool party, huh?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I came with my girlfriend," he says proudly. After checking to make sure no one’s listening, he leans down to whisper, "We’re playing hide-and-seek. She’s kind of bad at it, though, so I thought I’d take a breather and let her think that it’s taking me a long time." He pauses. "What are you doing here? You never struck me as the party type."

"It’s a long story."

"I’ve got time," Neal says. "I’m counting to ninety-one thousand."

I open my mouth to tell him that it’s not important when I spot Violet charging toward us angrily. She’s not wearing anything so revealing as a bathing suit, but she’s gotten into the spirit of the evening by wrapping a flowered sheet around her body like a toga. It makes her stumble a little as she bears down on us. Neal yells her name, his voice a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

"What are you doing?" he says. "You’re supposed to be hiding!"

"I was sitting in that dusty old cupboard forever," she pouts.

"The cupboard in the study? But you hid there the last time! And the time before that."

Violet shrugs; I’m not surprised that her favorite part of hide-and-seek is being found.

"Is the cupboard upstairs?" I interrupt.

"Sophie!" she cries, delighted. "I thought you would not come." When she notices that my eyes have slid to where she has looped an arm through Neal’s elbow, she giggles. "Oops," she says. "We have been keeping it a secret, but you can be the first to know. Neal and I are courting."

"Congratulations," I say, my stomach sinking. A serious talk about not turning one’s boyfriends into vampires is on the horizon, but right now I need to focus on Vlad. "Can I, uh, play hide-and-seek with you?"

Violet lights up. "Of course!" She orders Neal to start counting again. "And this time I won’t be in the cupboard," she says, and then grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd.

When we reach the top of the stairs, D’Ashley stands, an efficient sentry. Violet slips beneath his arm without hesitation, but when I try to do the same, I feel the heavy weight of his hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, do let her in, Ashley. Neal is probably at fifty by now!" she yells and follows it up with a kick to the shin. Clearly disgruntled, he lets me pass, and I am plunged into the darkness of the hallway.

Chapter Thirteen

Violet’s eyes adjust to the gloom far quicker than mine, or at least I assume so because she’s running down the hallway while I’m still clutching at the wall. "I am going to hide in the cupboard," she says excitedly before dashing into what must be the aforementioned study.

Dust pervades the air, and I try not to cough as I grasp the handle of the door closest to me. Apart from a few scattered drop sheets that lie wadded in the corners, the first room is empty. The second turns up more dust bunnies, and the third is filled with a collection of tattered couches and armchairs that were most likely granted a last-minute reprieve from the garbage truck. They are arranged in a cheery circle, almost as if the vampires spent their evenings in discussion. An old TV is pushed to one side, and beneath it are stacks of DVDs. Unable to resist, I sort through them to find that Vlad has amassed every high school comedy imaginable, from John Hughes to 10 Things I Hate About You and beyond. This is what he was using as research to infiltrate our high school? That almost frightens me as much as anything else.

It strikes me that I haven’t come across any beds, and I don’t find any in the fourth and fifth rooms either, although clothing hangs in the closets: velvet for Violet, knee-length skirts for Marisabel, and a row of white shirts for Neville. I realize that I never asked James if he sleeps. I hope so; the image of him sitting alone in his old bedroom, awake, all night every night, makes my throat constrict. No wonder he didn’t want to go home that night, I think, and I feel a rush of overdue guilt.