Deadly Offer (6 page)

She threw the chair at him.

But of course by the time the chair had crossed the room, he was elsewhere. “Try to control yourself,” he warned. “There is nothing to be gained by childish impulses. You and I have been very adult with each other. We made a bargain.”

“I kept it. I gave you Celeste. That’s it. That’s all it was, that’s all it will ever be.”

The vampire shook his head. She had seen him nod, many times; nod his head, nod his body, nod his cape. But she had never seen him shake his head no, and this, too, he did with his entire body, so that he rotated left, and then rotated right. She felt that he could bore a hole through the floor this way and drill himself into the cellar.

“That’s not all it will ever be. There’s always more. One is never satisfied with what one has, you see.”

“I am satisfied! You come to my party, and I’ll kill you! I will not have anything going wrong at my party! This is the first time any of them have ever been here. It has to be perfect.”

“I’m afraid,” said the vampire, his voice like spilled chocolate sauce, dark and spreading and impossible to clean up, “I’m afraid that you are incorrect, Althea. You cannot kill me. But in any event, nothing will go wrong at your party. It will be a wonderful party, my dear. You are a born hostess.” He studied his horrid fingernails again, as if the wrinkled foil needed a touch-up. She envisioned him in some world, some room alien to her own, in. front of some evil mirror, inspecting himself, admiring himself. He said, “The tower room, of course, will be left open. My dark path will intersect with—”

“No! There is to be no dark path anywhere! You don’t get any more chances!” shouted Althea. “You had Celeste. That was your chance! So go away!”

“Althea, I hardly think that Celeste, and Celeste alone, is payment for what I have done for you. Cast your short little memory back over the last week. Ryan? Michael? Becky? Kimmie-Jo? Jennie?”

A terrible heat rose up in Althea, staining her cheeks red.

The vampire was amused. “Did you actually think they were paying attention to you because of the pull of your fine personality?”

Her heart turned into a furnace of rage and pain.

“How charming you look with those bloodred cheeks,” said the vampire. “Blushing is a trait that’s always appealed to me.”

“You are sick,” said Althea with loathing. Her whole body was trembling. Her skin literally crawled, as if it were coming off.

“No, Althea, I am not sick. I am a vampire.
You
made a choice, Althea.
You.
” He smiled at her, and the crescent of evil sparkled like diamonds, like the lost sparkle of Celeste’s life. “You,” he repeated, “you, you, you, you.”

“That’s true,” said Althea. “But I’m not doing it again. I’m popular now, and that’s what I wanted, and that’s where we stop.” She felt as if each muscle had detached from its bone and tendon and was fibrillating like a bad heart. How could he do this to her?

“Here’s how we shall solve the problem,” said the vampire.

“We shall solve it,” said Althea in her hardest voice, “by you going away. Forever and ever and ever.”

He tilted his head. He rested his crinkled-foil fingernails against his mushroom-colored cheek. He stroked his long ear-lobe. She had not noticed before how long his earlobes were. As if his victims, in the last struggle, tried to pull him off and stretched him. Very softly the vampire whispered, “And do you wish your popularity to go away, Althea? Forever? And ever? And ever?”

The shaking muscles grew still.

The pounding heart slowed.

The flushed, skin went pale.

If he chose, the party that had not yet been would never be.

Nobody accepted my party invitation because of a slow day, thought Althea, or because they want to see the house, or get to know me better. The vampire made them accept. It’s
his
party.

“You choose,” the vampire said.

It was hard to talk or think or even exist. “Choose what?”

“Who crosses my dark path, of course. There will be twenty people you have invited, and no doubt twenty more you did not. You choose.” He smiled.

She shook her head. “No. They’re my guests.”

“I’m your guest, too. You opened my shutters, did you not?” His voice was like tissue paper, floating slowly to the ground.

Althea decided to call his bluff. “You are depraved. You are demented. I will not do anything more that you ask. Accept that. I’m not giving in. Period. That’s final,” she added.

He smiled and nodded, his trunk pulsing back and forth, as if feeling a pulse. Somebody else’s pulse. Teeth hung over his narrow lips like foam on a sea wave.

“What is final,” said the vampire gently, “is your popularity. Do you wish to make a fool of yourself at your first game? Do you wish people to laugh at you in public? Do you wish the squad to request Mrs. Roundman to remove you? Do you wish her, at halftime, to put in one of those oh-so-eager Junior Varsity cheerleaders instead of you?” His voice was slippery as silk and cruel as boredom. He said, “I made you. I will unmake you.”

She thought, I can pretend to go along with him. That will give me Saturday’s game and Sunday’s party. Then I’ll be safer, and I’ll make it clear to him that this is over.

She turned her music on. Loud pulsing beats, guitars and drums and keyboard, thrust its way into the room. It hammered and screamed, demanding attention. The vampire frowned and turned away. “Too loud for me,” he said angrily.

She made a note of that. She would have the house shaking with noise.

“I wish to have one of your guests,” said the vampire. His smile was no longer evil; it was sweet and innocent, like a child going to a picnic. “You choose the guest,” said the vampire. “It’s entirely up to you, Althea. I would not dream of taking a friend of yours. Surely there is somebody coming who doesn’t matter. If not, simply invite a girl who doesn’t matter. Lots of people don’t matter.”

I didn’t matter a week ago, thought Althea. But I matter now. Am I going to give that up?

“At the party,” he said, “make your choice clear by putting your arm around the shoulder of your choice. Then turn your choice to face those hemlocks that the sun goes down behind every night. When I see upon whose shoulder your arm rests, I will know who follows Celeste.”

She picked up the chair and hurled it at him. An arm snapped off the chair, but the arms of the vampire were unharmed. She threw the chair again and again, until it was nothing but splinters.

The vampire was long gone.

T
HE TOWER WAS A
black cone in a velvet sky. Black needle-tips of swaying hemlocks surrounded the tower like evil lace. Shutters banged with an oddly eager rhythm, as if something inside hoped to get out.

But no one heard.

Music screamed from every corner of the house, and the throbbing drum was the only beat the party guests heard.

The house was overflowing with teenagers.

Cars were parked everywhere.

In spite of the cold and the dark, a sizable group danced on the wide, pillared porch that circled most of the house. Some wore coats, some shivered in shirts. Several wrapped themselves and a chosen friend in a blanket and danced double.

In the kitchen, liters of soda were emptied so quickly they hardly seemed to have been swallowed—just absorbed into the party atmosphere.

In the living room, kids sat on the floor watching a movie Becky had brought. In the family room, they lay on their backs on the rug, giggling hysterically at the jokes from a comedy show Ryan had recorded. On the stairs, kids sat in layers, like children playing school, moving up one or down one, laughing and talking about life and football victories. In the side yard, three members of the football team replayed especially precious moments of yesterday’s game.

And what a game it had been! All the requirements of football had been met: It had been a beautiful day, blue-skied and chilly. The stands were packed. Beyond the stadium, autumn leaves were orange and red. The cheerleaders were brilliant, their uniforms as gaudy as circuses. The team was superb, their routines executed perfectly, their kicks as high as the goalposts.

And they won, of course.

It’s true, thought Althea. Winning is everything. And I am among the winners.

It seemed to Althea that the house had been waiting for this evening. That, at last, the house could cast off doom and dark and return to the laughter for which it had surely been built. Its wide halls were meant for hand-holding couples, not ancestral portraits gathering dust. Its echoing parlor was meant for doubling the volume of music. Its huge kitchen was designed to feed dozens.

Althea circulated. She laughed here, chatted there, joined this group, and brought more chips and dip to that group. She sat briefly on the stairs finding an empty step just below Ryan, who gave her a backrub. It started off masculine and athletic, as if repairing muscles, and became softer, smoother, the harsh digs becoming affectionate strokes. She leaned back against him and held his hand in hers. He cupped her chin, tilted her head back, and they regarded each other upside down.

The house vibrated with music. Each area seemed to have been assigned to a particular sort of music: a hip-hop room, an indie-rock room, even a “Memories of Elvis” room. Everybody turned all this music up good and loud, and here in the stairwell it came together in one great chaotic throb. Speech was impossible.

The night before at Michael’s had been wonderful. No kisses, but lots of friendly flirting. No best friends, but lots of loving laughter.

Being popular was temperature raising. Her cheeks glowed, her heart was full. She was hot with victory and joy. She was hoarse from cheering.

Ryan bent close over her cheek, and she held her breath, waiting for his kiss. But instead, he shouted in her ear, “I went upstairs. I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to look into the tower room.”

The tower room.
A draft swirled down the long stairway and settled at the back of Althea’s neck.

She had forgotten the vampire. Saturday—the game—the cheering—the victory—the party at Michael’s afterward! There had been no room for thoughts of vampires. She had been all-teenager, all-high-school, all-pretty girl.

Ryan wanted to look in the tower room.

What shall I do? she thought. How can I stop this? Where is the vampire?

What if he appeared in front of people? What if they saw him?

“It’s locked,” said Ryan pleadingly. “I can’t get in.”

Althea smiled at him helplessly, as if locks on attic doors were the natural order of things and she could no more solve that problem than she could change the constellations in the sky. She pretended that the din of rock music made hearing and speaking impossible.

Ryan made sign-language gestures, and they went into the kitchen for something to drink.

How bright it was in there! The big double-wide fridge was open, with heads of two guests crammed in, inspecting the contents. On the counter perched a girl Althea didn’t even know, crunching ice and eating potato chips. Somebody crashed my party, she thought, and she was oddly thrilled. You knew you were somebody when outsiders poured in, wanting to be part of the action.

I’m the action, Althea thought, and when Ryan spoke to her, she grinned widely and sparkled and giggled.

Ryan was only slightly taller than Althea, but much, much broader. He was wearing many layers: white shirt under a dark blue fleece vest, with a darker leather jacket. It was a good choice; a little sober, perhaps, but oh! so appealing. Thick as football armor, thought Althea. What would Ryan do if I hugged him? He’d probably hug back. It’s that kind of party. But I’ve never hugged a boy. Do I start now? In my kitchen? With all these witnesses?

“You’re hoarse,” said Ryan worriedly. “Here. Have orange juice. Pack in that vitamin C.” He pushed away the two heads at the fridge as if breaking up a huddle on the field, and one of the heads that popped up was Jennie’s.

“Althea’s voice is always hoarse like that,” said Jennie, smiling at the memories of their shared childhood.

Ryan was disbelieving. “Come on. That’s from too much cheerleading.”

“You can never cheer too much,” said Kimmie-Jo, taking her second Coke.

Jennie embarked on a long story of how she and Althea had once decided to be the jelly-doughnut-eating champions of the world. “It was sixth grade,” said Jennie fondly, “and every single Saturday night we slept over at your house or mine, Althea. Remember? We began on jelly doughnuts on a Sunday morning. By Sunday afternoon … ”

Althea had not thought of those sleepovers at Jennie’s in a long time. What fun they had had, just the two of them!

“We had the nicest times, didn’t we, Althea?” said Jennie softly.

Althea was filled with remembrance. They
had
had the nicest times. Althea’s eyes grew teary. “Oh, Jennie, I’ve missed you!”

The girls moved toward each other, tentatively at first, and then springing across the kitchen. Althea even forgot Ryan. She thought only of that special friendship, the lovely silly years when life was golden, and doughnuts were good.

“I’ve missed you, too!” cried Jennie. “I don’t know what happened when we hit high school. Something came between us! Let’s not ever let that happen again!”

“Never!” cried Althea, full of friendship, full of love. She put her arm around Jennie’s shoulder and hugged her tight.

Beyond the kitchen window, between the hemlocks, a path like a black sidewalk grew over the grass, slid across the porch, and crept through the silent windowpane. It left slime, gleaming like entrails.

Althea released Jennie and leaped back. “I didn’t mean that!”

Jennie and Ryan stared at her.

Althea said, “I didn’t hug you. You aren’t my choice.” Althea ran to the window to open it, screaming into the dark, “She isn’t my choice.”

But the window was already open.

The kitchen no longer smelled of potato chips and dip, of pizza and pepperoni. It smelled of mold and rot.

The kitchen was no longer bright and airy. The atmosphere thickened. Ryan coughed and said he thought he’d go back to the other room. Jennie said dimly, “Althea?” Jennie’s face was strangely blank, as if she had temporarily left her body. “I think I’ll go outdoors for a while, Althea. I think I need fresh air.”