Destined For a Vampire (16 page)

“Other creatures? What other creatures?”

“You remember me telling you what can happen when a vampire drinks from a human, don’t you?”

“Yeah, they become sort of like zombies or something, right?”

“Well, that’s quite a theatrical exaggeration, but I think you get the gist of it, yes.”

“What about them?”

“We’ve got to find and kill them, lass, before they become a real problem.”

“Kill them? You have to
kill them?”

“There’s no other choice. Once so much life is gone from them, they cease to be the person that they were. I thought I explained that they become vicious and mindless, hungry beyond control.”

“You did, but I didn’t realize that- that—”

I didn’t realize that there was no hope for them, that death was the only recourse.

I thought of how many times Bo had fed from me, and I wondered how long I had until I became…something else.

“So then what do we do?”

“Well, we first have to find them. For a while, they can blend into the general population fairly well. It’s as the madness progresses that they become easier to spot.”

“And what do you have to do when you find them? I mean, how do you,” I paused to swallow, nearly choking on the words. “Kill them?”

“It’s not as easy as one might think. The loss of life makes them harder, physically and emotionally. Their conscience recedes as their tissues degenerate.

Physically, they become hardened, almost petrified, like a fossil. Makes them very difficult to destroy.”

He didn’t really answer my question. “How do you kill them then?” I asked, hating to repeat myself.

“They must be decapitated and their heads obliterated.”

That was what he was trying to keep from me: the awful reality of how brutally their lives must end.

“So, what, use an ax or a knife to cut- cut—”

My stomach sloshed with the thought of taking someone’s head off using a knife, of sawing through their skin and sinew as they bled and struggled. Saliva rushed to my mouth.

“That would never work. Only older, more powerful vampires can do it, as their heads must be torn off. No blade would work, no weapon.”

Bile gurgled in my throat. Torn off? And I thought the knife thing was bad!

“Alright, can we please change the subject?”

“You asked. I was merely obliging—”

“I know I asked, but I- I didn’t know…”

We sat in silence for a few minutes while I struggled to rid my mind of the gruesome images of decapitation that I couldn’t seem to stop picturing.

When finally I spoke, I decided to go with a subject change.

“Lucius, are the legends and stories of vampires and the boy who can’t be killed recorded anywhere? Or are they just sort of handed down, generation to generation, like ghost stories?”

Lucius cocked his head to one side in thought.

“If I’m not mistaken, there is a book that supposedly details many of the myths surrounding the origin of the vampire. However, I wouldn’t know where to even begin a search for such a book.”

“Do you remember what it was called?”

He rubbed his chin as he thought.

“No. It is said to be written in an old language, one few alive would know how to read. If one is to believe in such a book, though, then one must believe in the letter of Iofiel as well.”

“What’s that?”

“Supposedly, after Iofiel was captured and returned to God, she overheard God’s plan to take her lover’s life and she wrote a letter to him, detailing the only way that he might take his son’s life, thereby sparing his own. Legend says that it took Iofiel hundreds of years to find out where her love was and get the letter delivered to him.”

“You’re saying that there is a way that Bo can be killed? I mean, assuming that Bo is the boy who can’t be killed.”

“So the story says.”

“Doesn’t that sort of—”

“I know it makes no sense, but I would imagine that, as with most things in life, where there’s a will there’s a way. Some sort of loophole maybe.”

“And where is this letter now?”

“I would assume that the fallen angel is in possession of it.”

“Has anyone ever found out what it says?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard. It’s my understanding that the letter wasn’t delivered so very long ago, only a few decades.”

“If that’s the case, then why haven’t they killed Bo?”

Lucius shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

I stood and walked to the fireplace, looking into the yellow-orange flames for answers, but finding none. I was more frustrated than I could ever remember being.

The book that was at Sebastian’s house could very well be the book that Lucius was referring to. But without the letter from Iofiel, it was no help to me whatsoever. It only told me their history, not what information I needed to secure our future. Of course, if I was the girl destined to help Bo, I might know a little something more about that, something divinely inspired.

“If Bo is that boy, will he ever be able to remember the things that he’s supposed to know about killing his father?”

“It’s hard to say. If his father has been feeding him blood to control his mind, alter his remembrance, all this time, it may have permanently affected his memory.”

“Then how—”

“The girl,” Lucius said simply.

I turned to look at him. His face was blank, an inscrutable mask. For a moment, I hated him for bringing her up, but, then again, I’d asked.

“So, in a way, she’s the key to it all.”

Lucius nodded curtly.

I was angry—inordinately and irrationally angry—giving me the sudden urge to put Lucius and his disturbing tales behind me, at least for the time being. There was no escaping them forever if I thought to help Bo and keep him in my life for a little while longer, but there was nothing I could do today. So I was walking away.

“Thanks for your help,” I said sharply, turning a tight smile on Lucius and heading for the door.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Lucius began, but I cut him off.

“No, but I guess it’s what I need to hear, right?” I laughed bitterly and opened the door. “See you, Lucius.”

I stomped the entire way back to my car, giving myself a bone deep ache in my lower back by the time I was sitting behind the wheel.

“Smart, Ridley. Very smart,” I chastised in the silence of my car.

I pulled off the side of the shoulder and onto the road, blasting the radio, determined to drown out all the nasty voices in my head, all the hopelessness and despair that was threatening to overtake me.

The first station I turned to was playing a country song about needing someone in the middle of the night. When the first five or six bars made me want to cry, I switched the channel.

The next song I stopped on was singing about not being strong enough to stand in someone’s arms without falling at their feet.

Click, click, click. I quickly turned the dial. That one made me want to drive my car right off the road.

Every single station I landed on was playing something sad or depressing. I decided to abandon the radio in favor of a CD, but I’d forgotten that the last band I’d chosen was one that reminded me of Bo. I ended up turning the music off completely, deciding I’d be better off listening to the silence than music that made me
feel
all the more. I didn’t want to
feel
at all. I wanted mind-numbing, heart-blocking distraction.

By the time I arrived back at my house, my mood was more sour than ever. I had every intention of just going straight back to my room, but Mom called out to me before I could get the door closed.

“There’s a message in here for you.”

I wanted to respond with
I don’t care,
but that would only further aggravate matters, so I turned from my door and walked back to the living room.

“From who?”

“Sebastian Aiello.”

“Oh.” At least it could’ve been a good message. “What did he want?”

“He didn’t have your cell number, so he called here. He said that you two had talked about something for tonight.”

I had all but forgotten. I wanted to growl.

“Yeah, he mentioned something about it, but he was supposed to call me.”

“I just told you he did.”

I gritted my teeth.

“I meant sooner than now. Like yesterday.”

“Well, as I said, you didn’t give him your cell number so…”

I sighed. “What time?”

“From eight until about eleven, he said.”

I was feeling prickly and saw an opportunity to be difficult, so I took it.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to call him and tell him that I can’t, since I can’t be out after dark.” I couldn’t hide my satisfied smirk.

“I told him we’d been concerned about all the violence. He’s going to pick you up at 7:30 and he’ll bring you home when he gets back.”

Her smile was slight, but the gleam in her eye was nothing short of victorious. I wanted to scream. I just couldn’t win!

“Great,” I said, too brightly. I’d be darned if I let her see that she’d ruffled my feathers. I refused to give her the perverse satisfaction. “I could use some extra money. I’ll be ready.”

With that, I turned to walk calmly back to my room. Somehow, I even managed to resist slamming the door. Maybe I had more self control that I thought.

It only took about half an hour of trying to occupy myself with music and magazines to realize that it was going to take something much more involved to distract me. That’s when I decided to clean out my closet. And then my drawers.

And then rearrange my furniture.

I worked like the devil was after me until Mom knocked on my door at 7:26, informing me that Sebastian had arrived.

We both looked down at my soiled clothes and she said disapprovingly, “I’ll tell him you’ll be out in just a few minutes.”

I was almost relieved for it to be time to do something else. I welcomed the consuming diversion of Lilly, so I quickly changed clothes and ran the brush through my hair and headed out to meet Sebastian.

I nearly tripped over my feet when I saw him standing in the foyer. He was simply beautiful. It’s not that I was attracted to him per se; I had eyes for only one guy and that guy was Bo. It was more that he was just…breathtaking. Almost painfully perfect. I’m pretty sure that a specimen like Sebastian was used by Michelangelo when he carved David.

Tonight, he was wearing a tuxedo and he looked marvelous. His gleaming skin shone against the stark white collar of his shirt and his shoulders looked impossibly wide. His blond hair was combed neatly away from his forehead, but had fallen rakishly, rebelliously to one side.

When he saw me, he smiled and I felt a flush heat my cheeks.

“Ready?”

I nodded.

“I really appreciate you helping me out like this,” he said, opening the door for me.

“No problem,” I said, brushing past him to step outside.

“Becky,” he said, turning back to address my mother, who hadn’t moved an inch and still hadn’t closed her mouth all the way. “Thanks for letting me borrow her.”

Mom smiled, a dazed sort of smile that made me want to laugh. I’d say Sebastian had that effect on a lot of women. Probably some men, too. Children, animals, plants—I doubted there were many organisms immune to his charm and charisma.

Purring quietly in the driveway was a glossy black sedan that looked ridiculously expensive. I didn’t know much about cars, but only an idiot wouldn’t have known that this one cost a pretty penny. Several, in fact.

He opened my door for me and closed it behind me once I was seated. It closed with a muffled thump that whispered
money
into the silent interior. The sound of
my
car door closing was vaguely reminiscent of a nickel hitting the bottom of a tuna can—cheap and tinny.

I inhaled. The car still had that new smell that I loved. I’d tried the air freshener called “new car scent” before, but it smelled more like an old plastic trash bag than this: the real deal.

Sebastian opened the door and folded his long legs behind the steering wheel, shifted into gear and then we were off.

He chatted politely on the short trip, sticking to small-talk topics like school and weather. When we arrived, Lilly was waiting for me, so I barely spoke to him as he left. He merely reminded me that he’d made fresh lemonade, his number was on the fridge and that he’d be back by eleven.

Lilly was dressed in a pink princess nightgown and itty bitty high heel slippers. A tiara was on her crown, nestled in her thick auburn hair. She was gorgeous.

With great pomp and circumstance, she ushered me into her playroom where she had arranged an elaborate tea with several of her favorite stuffed animals, including Pia the polar bear and Lenny the llama.

She showed me my seat and I perched carefully on the edge of the little wooden chair, careful not to put too much of my weight on it.

In an oh-so-adult way, Lilly proceeded to make introductions.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bear and Mr. Llama,” I said, reaching out to shake their furry feet.

“They’re married, so they both have the same last name,” Lilly informed me.

Lilly’s perfectly articulated words and quick mind were amazing to me. It had been a long time since I’d been around children, but I was pretty sure she was extremely advanced to be just shy of four.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Mr. and Mrs. Llama, then.”

She nodded, satisfied with my correction.

“This is Mr. Mallard,” she said, indicating the duck that sat to her right.

“And this is his daughter, Lilly,” she explained, pointing to the duckling that was squished into a tiny high chair across the pink plastic table from me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lilly. I love your name,” I said, winking at the real Lilly. She smiled prettily.

“She’s happy to meet you, but she misses her mother.”

There was a hint of sadness in Lilly’s silvery blue eyes and I felt the pinch of a frown between my eyes. I purposely smoothed it.

The characters at tonight’s tea party were much different than the ones from the other night. I couldn’t help but wonder why these had so much more emotional depth, what Lilly was thinking of and why.