Blood and Chocolate (10 page)

14

When Aiden called the next night he had bad news. “Don't tell anyone,” he begged. “They'll never let me live it down. Guys don't get grounded.”

Oh, yeah,
Vivian thought.
Like, who am I going to tell?
She didn't imagine she'd see the Amoeba without Aiden to take her out with them. “How long?” she asked.

“Until I can get my mother to tell my dad to lay off.”

How can he allow them to restrict him like that?
Vivian thought.
What was wrong with him?
No one could cage
her
up. “That's awful,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

“Paint my room, supposedly,” he answered. “Dad's stacked a pyramid of cans outside my door. He said twenty-five coats should do it.”

“What about work?”

“Oh, he's got that timed.” Aiden's voice was brittle. “I can go to work but if I come home five minutes late he's phoning the courts to have me officially declared an uncontrollable minor.”

Vivian wasn't sure what he meant, but the threat sounded terrible. “Can he do that?”

“God knows, Viv, but I don't feel like testing him. I thought he'd lighten up when he retired from the army. Fat chance. Sometimes I wonder if he wasn't blown up in Vietnam before I was born and they sent home a robot replica.”

Vivian chuckled. “That would make you a cyborg.”

“Huh?”

“Half human, half robot.”

Aiden let out a delighted yelp of laughter, but it was cut short by someone calling out to him in the distance. “Gotta go. Parents home,” he said, and Vivian found herself holding a dead line.

 

Vivian was surprised when Bingo showed up at her door that evening.

“Thought you might like some company since your boyfriend's in the slammer,” Bingo said.

“How did you know?” Vivian asked.

“I phoned up to see what was on for the night and his old man told me,” Bingo replied. “Well, actually,” she continued, “what he said was, ‘He's not spending any time with you weirdos until he cleans up his act.'”

Vivian laughed. She recognized the tone of voice. “Want to come in?” Thank goodness Esmé was at work. She could trust Rudy to be a gentleman.

Bingo poked her head through the door and looked around. “Neat house, but I got Jem in the car and a stack of videos. Wanna come to my place and OD on popcorn?”

Vivian hesitated. She wouldn't have Aiden to hide behind. What if she didn't know how to join in? What if she made a fool of herself?
But this is what you wanted, you coward,
she told herself. She ignored the flutter in her stomach and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. I'd love to.”

“There, I told Jem you'd come,” Bingo said triumphantly.

Vivian wondered why Jem had thought she wouldn't. “Let me grab my bag,” she said.

Bingo's parents were home, which explained why the entire Amoeba hadn't descended. “I told them it was their duty to go out so I could throw wild parties, but they wouldn't listen,” Bingo said as she led the way upstairs to a small room that had been turned into a den for her use.

“Bingo's lair,” said Jem, snapping his skinny fingers.

“Mom said she understood my need for privacy, but she was damned if I was going to entertain boys in my bedroom,” Bingo explained as she flopped onto an overstuffed couch. “Put that one in,” she ordered, jabbing a video at Jem, who almost dropped the popcorn but obeyed slavishly. “As if I couldn't do the same things she worried about in here,” she said to Vivian, and winked.

Vivian began to think she needn't worry about keeping up her end of the conversation, but what did Jem feel about her coming along? It soon became clear, however, that Bingo and Jem were merely buddies.

The movie was wonderful—a real grade-B, drive-in clunker—and Bingo and Jem immediately began a sarcastic commentary on what was happening. “Hey, man, I'm having a bad hair day,” Jem said in a falsetto as a zombie with clumps of hair missing shambled across the screen.

“I may be the president of the Hair Club for Zombies,” Bingo added, parodying a well-known TV commercial.

“But I'm also a client,” Jem and Vivian chimed in together.

The three of them fell about laughing.

“Your life is a bad hair day,” Bingo said to Jem, and they screamed with laughter again. Vivian had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“You're all right, girl,” Bingo said, and a flood of warmth surged through Vivian.

Halfway through the movie the phone rang. Bingo paused the tape and grabbed the receiver. “Yeah? Oh, hi, Kelly.”

Vivian stiffened.

“Oh, hangin' out movie bingeing,” Bingo said. “Yeah? No. Did they? Yeah, I heard. Phoned his house. Yeah, again. His dad's a real prick.”

It was obvious the subject was Aiden. Vivian picked up one of the cassettes and tried to look as if she wasn't listening, but Bingo's next words made her glance over anyway.

“Well, why don't you ask her, Kelly? She's sitting right next to me.” Her tone was mockingly sweet. “Bye-ee,” Bingo sang in response to whatever Kelly said at the other end of the line, and she hung up.

“That girl can be such a bitch,” Bingo said.

“What did she say?” Jem asked. Vivian never would have. She waited for Bingo's answer warily.

Bingo flung a hand up as if dismissing Kelly's words. “She was like, ‘I guess Vivian won't be going out this weekend,' only she sounded happy about it, you know? She thinks you don't have any friends or something.”

“She's jealous,” Jem said, reaching for the remote.

“Oh, duh!” Bingo responded, then to Vivian, “She was like that to me before you came along, you know. I've been friends with Aiden forever, only when Ms. Me-First decided to claim him, suddenly I was the enemy, and I wasn't even competing.”

“Let's watch the movie,” Jem said.

“Aiden's too sweet,” Bingo continued, ignoring Jem. “He was falling right into a thing with her, just 'cus it was easier than saying no and hurting her feelings.”

“She's not that bad,” Jem said, starting the movie again.

“Guys,” Bingo said. “They think with this.” She grabbed her crotch.

Jem laughed. “You're crude.”

Bingo blew a raspberry at him. “Yeah, you love it.”

On the screen a scientist put the severed head of a zombie in a pan and poured in a nutrient to sustain it. The zombie's lips wriggled and its eyes rolled.

“Mmmmmm! Zombie Helper,” Jem said. “Pop it in the oven and bake.”

Bingo added her own interpretation. “Now, baby, use your zombie litter.”

“Good one,” Jem conceded joyfully.

Vivian settled back into the cushions. This was great. She had an ally. Who would have guessed? She was having the most fun she'd had with anyone in ages, and they weren't even pack.
We can be friends,
she thought.
It needn't be them and us.

But what if they saw her in her wolf-shape? They'd be fleeing down the streets like those teenagers on the television.

“Stop, wait,” she said for a zombie that chased some kids down an alley. “Let's play Scrabble.”

Jem and Bingo cracked up.

15

The trees in Gaskill State Park were festooned with crystal raindrops, and thunder still rumbled in distant skies. The air was thick with mist as the heat of the day steamed from the turf into the pewter light of dusk.

Figures wound through the trees and emerged into the clearing—pairs, singles, groups. Vivian watched them arrive from the fallen elm where she perched. Some chattered in hushed, excited tones, others came silently. Most had walked a long distance after the two-hour drive, their cars, vans, or bikes parked along lonely country roads, in hidden clearings and forgotten lanes—anywhere they wouldn't attract a park ranger's eye.

Lucien Dafoe hobbled between two friends, complaining loudly that he was still too hurt to fight. Vivian sniffed in disgust. Her people healed faster than that.

“I hope someone beats the crap out of
him,
” Lucien said, nodding toward Gabriel, who was laughing with a friend. “Someone not so prissy about where and what he can hunt.”

Gabriel pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it on the ground. His body was a sculptured, oiled machine straight out of an action movie poster. Vivian caught the smell of his musk on the moist, hot air—the odor of power and excitement mixed with that of cheap strong soap. It made the light fur on the back of her neck bristle.

Over by honeysuckle-strangled bushes stood Willem, Finn, Gregory, and Ulf. Ulf stared beyond his companions, ignoring their cackles and good-humored punches. His thin shoulders were rigid, his fists tight balls at his sides. Vivian followed his gaze and saw two figures entangled in the shadows of a white oak. If logic hadn't told her otherwise she would have thought they devoured each other. The female broke away, laughing, and left the male behind, clutching after her. She stepped into the clearing and revealed herself as Astrid. It was Rafe who pursued her, his mouth still open and wet from her tongue.

Rafe and Astrid! Vivian glanced back at Ulf and understood the taut fury on his face.
The slut,
Vivian thought. She didn't care who she hurt. Ulf now, Rafe later, if she won the bitches' match after the male Ordeal, and earned the right to claim the new leader as her mate.

“Did you see that?” Esmé sat down on the log beside Vivian and nodded in the direction of Astrid.

“Yeah,” Vivian answered. “She's old enough to be his mother.”

Esmé's lips twitched; then she tried to look serious.

“God, Mom, you don't approve, do you?”

Esmé grimaced. “No. It can only lead to trouble.” She paused, the smile returning. “Most of us only fantasize about it.”

“Mom!”

Vivian didn't have a chance to continue. Renata strode up. Her shorts were unzipped and a fluff of tan fur already covered her belly. “Astrid's gonna cause blood between those young dogs one day.” She wiped the sweat off her upper lip with a hand that tapered into long, long claws. “I'll kill that alley cat if she harms my son.”

“Don't worry, Rennie,” Esmé comforted. “Gregory's the most sensible of those fools.”

Vivian sniffed. “That's not saying much.”

Esmé dug her with an elbow and Vivian shut up.

“So,” said Renata to Vivian. “Will you dance the bitches' dance? You're old enough now.”

“No,” Vivian snapped. She wasn't about to make an exhibition of herself to win the favor of whichever muscle-bound cretin won.

Esmé laughed. “She wouldn't want to hurt her old mom, would you, sweetheart? She's gonna cheer me on.”

Fat chance,
Vivian thought.
More likely die of embarrassment.

A hum of interest buzzed around the clearing. With the first pale glimmer of moonlight over the tops of the trees, Orlando Griffin arrived and Rudy with him. They would act as referees this night, to see that the Law was carried out. The pack drew in and gathered around them to wait for Orlando's word. Vivian, Esmé, and Renata joined the others.

Vivian noticed some strange faces. Word of an Ordeal spread, Rudy had told her. Some lone wolves always showed up. One was a big, evil-looking blond with a scar on his cheek. She wondered if he was strong enough to take Gabriel.

The blond's slender male companion seemed more interested in catching Esmé's eye than sizing up the competition. He had a cheeky smile and Esmé made a warm throaty sound of interest. When she didn't turn her back on him, he came over and introduced himself as Tomas. He laughingly told Esmé to “get real” when she asked if he was going to join in.

“I'm too fond of my skinny ass to risk it fighting those brutes,” he said. “I don't want to lead a pack. I prefer to hunt alone. Exceptions can be made, however,” he added, winking at Esmé.

“The nerve,” Esmé said after he left to talk to Orlando about helping referee, but she wriggled with pleasure.

Orlando raised his arms and the last whispers died away. “I will recite the Law,” he said.

“When a leader dies by the teeth of a wolf, then the challenger leads the pack. When a leader dies by the teeth of fate then Ordeal is called, for only the swift and strong may lead. All willing adults may stand and fight, and fight they will while they stand. But when the first drop of his blood is shed, a fighter must stand aside. The final pair may fight to the death if neither will yield till he's died. So speaks the Law.

“Brothers, pay your respects to the Moon.”

The males began to separate from the crowd, shrugging off shirts, undoing flies, but their migration was halted by another voice.

“And sisters,” Astrid said. She marched up to Orlando, and Vivian was outraged and delighted at the same time.

“You are mistaken,” Orlando said politely.

“I am
not
mistaken,” she insisted. “Recite the Law again, old man. All willing
adults
may stand and fight. Where does it say females are excluded?”

“It is tradition,” Orlando growled, and the power of his youth burned in his eyes. “
No
female will fight. This isn't a game, Astrid. First blood can also be life's blood, especially when your opponent is twice your size.”

Astrid puffed herself up indignantly, preparing to spit out her next argument, but Vivian never found out what it was because Gabriel spoke.

“Let her.”

“What?” Vivian gasped, in concert with the murmur of astonishment that rose all around.

Orlando's jaw dropped in surprise, and a smirk of triumph made Astrid's face look evil.

“She's right,” Gabriel explained. “The word of the Law does not eliminate females, though tradition has for good reason. But the bold Miss Astrid is welcome to a practical demonstration why.”

Vivian could see the fight on Astrid's face between pride in being named bold and anger at Gabriel's dismissal. “She doesn't stand a chance of winning,” Vivian said to her mother quietly. “Why's she doing this?”

“I bet I can guess,” whispered Esmé. “She thinks if she can knock out some males, she'll already have a lead over us. That it'll be a much more impressive show of strength than beating up some weak little bitches.”

Gabriel gazed steadily at Orlando, waiting for his decision.

Orlando finally spoke. “Does anyone object?”

People looked at each other, but no one answered.

Orlando shook his head as if with regret. “So be it,” he said.

There was a disturbance on the other side of the circle from Vivian. Rafe pushed through, the rest of the Five behind him. “What about us then?”

Orlando's expression grew thunderous. “Will you dispute the word
adult
now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Rafe answered, sticking his thumbs in his belt.

Ulf's eyes flickered around the circle nervously; the other boys glared defiance.

“Having a hard-on doesn't make you an adult, boy,” Gabriel said, and some of the grown males laughed.

Orlando waved them quiet. “The Law is specific in this matter, Rafael. Bone and flesh, flesh and bone, a man takes time to grow them. Two-five-two number the moons that it takes for a man to know them. Till then he is not the match of a man, and a man is not bound to match him.”

“That's twenty-one years for you slow students,” Bucky pointed out. Finn gave him the finger.

“How do I know you didn't make that up?” Rafe said to Orlando.

A collective growl went up around the circle. Ulf cringed.

“The voice of the Law never lies,” someone shouted.

“Give it up,” someone else called, and others took up the cry until Orlando raised his arms again.

Sharp, silver light etched the old man's wrinkled face into a craggy landscape as ancient as the moon's itself. “This is the Law,” he said in a voice that was the Law. “You will obey or die.”

The males moved silently through the crowd toward the Five, encircling them. Ulf looked this way and that, his teeth bared in panic. The smirks left the faces of Gregory and Finn. Then Vivian could see no more, for wide backs and shoulders obscured her view.

“Come on, Rafe,” she heard Gregory's voice plead. “Another time, okay?”

“Yeah,” Willem joined in. “We'll get other chances.”

There was silence for a minute.

Finally Vivian heard Rafe speak. “Fuck you.” It was a curse of defeat.

The tight wall of males relaxed, and Vivian caught a glimpse of the Five slouching through the crowd.

Gabriel slapped Bucky on the back and said something that made him laugh. The men turned to leave the circle as if this was a cue. Bucky passed the joke on to another. As Raul passed his wife, Magda, he grabbed her and kissed her deeply. A squeal caused Vivian to turn to her right and see Rolf and Renata in a similar embrace. Esmé stared at the ground, and Vivian knew she longed for someone to kiss for luck.

“Come on,” Vivian whispered, tugging at her mother's T-shirt.

When they reached the edge of the clearing, Esmé pulled her shirt over her head. Vivian took off her own blouse and slid off her shorts. In no time they were both as naked as the others who gathered in a semicircle facing the clearing.

The combatants lined up in the center of the clearing, their backs to the watching crowd, their faces to the rising moon. Astrid, standing at the end of the row, looked absurdly small beside the others, like a child mimicking her elders. There were seventeen males in line, and some of them were anonymous from behind. There was no mistaking Gabriel, however. He was half a head taller than the tallest of them, and only the blond newcomer matched the width of his shoulders.

Esmé was playing who's who. “That's Jean next to Raul,” she said to Renata. “I'd recognize that tight little butt anywhere.”

Renata choked back a laugh. “Shhh!”

For a moment only the creaking and chirping of insects filled the air.

Then a rustling began in the woods across the clearing, beneath the rising moon. Closer and closer it came, and with it groaning. A pale figure took form in the darkness, and out stepped Persia Devereux dressed in silver robes. In her hands she carried a silver bowl, as ripe and as full as the moon. She sang a moaning soft song that throbbed like the heart of a beast. Aunt Persia was far away, but the music thrummed in Vivian's ears. She swayed to it.

The old woman offered each fighter the bowl. “Drink of the Moon,” she said. And as she passed down the line, backs furred, limbs twisted, ears sprouted tufts. Vivian felt an answering crunch in her spine—sharp pain, sweet pain—and a warm rush of blood in her veins that swept to her hands and feet, causing her nails to pop and grow.

Aunt Persia reached Astrid the last. The lone female was already foxy red and, though she still had fingers to steady it, she lapped from the dish with her muzzle like an Egyptian god feeding. As Astrid lifted her head, a pearl of liquid suspended on her black lip, Aunt Persia cried out a guttural word in an ancient tongue and tossed the bowl over her head.

Vivian howled the answering word she had learned as a cub and fell to all fours.

She expected the center to burst, but the males stepped back as if they danced to a well-known tune, and Gabriel shot down the line, his legs evolving. He curled out a lengthening arm and swiped once, twice. “First blood,” he boomed in hollow tones from the echoing cavity of his changing mouth.

Astrid reeled and her snout, dripping red, curled back to a woman's face with the shock. “Cheat!” she screamed with human lips, then made the full change and went for his throat. He tossed her aside like a rag.

Rudy and the skinny stranger, unchanged, ran to retrieve her and tried to drag her from the field of combat. She escaped their grip, tearing Rudy's side. Another male jumped her and she ripped his throat, sending him yelping back in surprise. The other males stared as she growled a challenge, unsure of what to do, until Gabriel grabbed her and threw her once more to the ground, and whatever he screamed in her ear as he pinned her made her collapse. He got up and stood over her, showing his canine long teeth, until she rolled onto her back to present her belly, eyes narrow with rage. When he retreated a few paces, she flipped over and slunk to the edge of the clearing several yards down from where the other females stood.