Eternal Kiss (5 page)

“Who’s chasing you?” Hannah asked.

“It’s compli …” but before the boy could finish his sentence, there was a rattle at the window. A thump, thump, thump, as if someone—or something—was throwing itself against it with all its might.

The boy jumped and vanished for a moment. He reappeared by the doorway, breathing fast and hard.

“What is that?” Hannah asked, her voice trembling.

“It’s here. It’s found me.” He said sharply, edgy and wired as if he were about to flee. And yet he remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the vibrating glass.

“Who?”

“The bad … thing …”

Hannah stood up and peered out the window. Outside was dark and peaceful. The trees, skeletal and bare of branches, stood still in the snowy field and against the frozen water. Moonlight cast the view in a cold, blue glow.

“I don’t see any—Oh!” She stepped back, as if stabbed. She had seen something. A presence. Crimson eyes and silver pupils. Staring at her from the dark. Outside the window, it was hovering. A dark mass. She could feel its rage, its violent desire. It wanted in, to consume, to feed.

Hannah … Hannah …

It knew her name.

Let me in … Let me in …

The words had a hypnotic effect, she walked back toward the window, and began to lift the latch.

“STOP!”

She turned. The boy stood at the doorway, a tense, frantic look on his face.

“Don’t,” he said. “That’s what it wants you to do. Invite it inside. As long as you keep that window closed, it can’t come in. And I’m safe.”

“What
is
it?” Hannah asked, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She took her hand away from the window but kept her eyes on the view outside. There was nothing there anymore, but she could sense its presence. It was near.

“A vampire too. Like me, but different. It’s … insane,” he said. “It feeds on its own kind.”

“A vampire that hunts vampires?”

The boy nodded. “I know it sounds ridiculous …”

“Did it … do that to you?” she said, brushing her fingers against the scabs on his neck. They felt rough to touch. She felt sorry for him.

“Yes.”

“But you’re all right?”

“I think so.” He hung his head. “I hope so.”

“How were you able to come inside? No one invited you,” she asked.

“You’re right. But I didn’t need an invitation. The door was open when I came. But so many doors were open on all the houses, but I couldn’t enter any of them but this one. Which
made me think that I’d found it. My family’s house.”

Hannah nodded. That made sense. Of course he would be welcome in his own home.

The rattling stopped. The boy sighed. “It’s gone for now. But it will be back.”

He looked so relieved that her heart went out to him.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked. She wasn’t scared anymore. Her mother always said Hannah had a head for emergencies. She was a stoic, dependable girl. More likely to plant a stake in the heart of a monster than scream for rescue from the railroad tracks. “How can I help?”

He raised his eyebrow and looked at her with respect. “I need to get away. I can’t stay here forever. I need to go. I need to warn the others. Tell them what happened to me. That the danger is growing.” He sagged against the wall. “What I ask you to do might hurt a bit, and I don’t want to ask unless it’s freely given.”

“Blood, isn’t it? You need blood. You’re weak,” Hannah said. “You need my blood.”

“Yes.” The shadows cast his face in sharp angles, and she could see the deep hollows in his cheeks. His sallow complexion. So perhaps some of the vampire legends were true.

“But won’t I turn into …?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. No one can make a vampire. We were born like this. Cursed. You will be fine—tired and a little sleepy, maybe, but fine.”

Hannah gulped. “Is it the only way?” She didn’t much like
how that sounded. He would have to bite her. Suck her blood. She felt nauseous just thinking about it, but strangely excited as well.

The boy nodded slowly. “I understand if you don’t want to. It’s not something that most people would like to do.”

“Can I think about it?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.

Then he disappeared.

The next night, he told her a little more about the thing that was after him. It had almost gotten him once before, but he had been able to get away. But now it was back to finish the job. It had tracked him down. Hannah listened to the boy’s story. The more he talked, the closer she felt to him. He was running out of time, he said. He was growing weaker and weaker and one day he wouldn’t be able to resist its call. He would walk out to meet his doom, helpless against the creature’s will.

Something thumped on the window hard, breaking the spell of his speech. They both jumped. The glass vibrated, but held and didn’t shatter. Hannah could sense the thing was back. It was out there. It was close. It wanted to feed.

She turned to him, reached out for his hand. Her eyes were wide and frightened. “I’m sorry, but I … I can’t.”

“It’s all right,” he said mournfully. “I didn’t expect you to. It’s a lot to ask.”

The light blinked off, and he was gone.

Hannah thought about him all the next day, remembering his words, his desperation to get away from the creature in the night that was hunting him. How alone he had looked. How scared. He looked like how she had felt when her father had told her he was leaving them, and her mother had had no one to turn to. That evening, before going to bed, she put on her cutest nightgown—a black one her aunt had brought back from Paris. It was black and silk and trimmed with lace. Her aunt was her father’s sister and something of a “bad influence” (again her mom’s words). She had made a decision.

When he appeared at three in the morning, she told him she had changed her mind.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes. But do it quickly before I chicken out,” she ordered.

“You don’t have to help me,” he said.

“I know.” She swallowed. “But I want to.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he said.

She put a hand to her neck as if to protect it. “Promise?” How could she trust this strange boy? How could she risk her life to save him? But there was something about him—his sleepy dark eyes, his haunted expression—that drew her to him. Hannah was the type of girl who took in stray dogs and fixed broken bird’s wings. Plus, there was that thing out there in the dark. She had to help him get away from it.

“Do it.” She decided.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded briskly, as if she were at the doctor’s office and asked to give consent to a particularly troublesome, but much-needed operation. She took off her glasses, pulled the right strap of her nightgown to the side and arched her neck. She closed her eyes and prepared herself for the worst.

He walked over to her. He was so tall, and when he rested his hands on her bare skin, they were surprisingly warm to the touch. He pulled her closer to him and bent down.

“Wait,” he said. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

She did. She stared into his dark eyes, wondering what he was doing.

“They’re beautiful—your eyes, I mean. You’re beautiful,” he said. “I thought you should know.”

She sighed and closed her eyes as his hand stroked her cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She could feel his hot breath on her cheek, and then his lips brushed hers for a moment. He kissed her, pressing his lips firmly upon hers. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. His lips were hot and wet.

Her first kiss, and from a vampire.

She felt his lips start to kiss the side of her mouth, and then the bottom of her chin, and then the base of her neck. This was it. She steeled herself for pain.

But he was right, there was very little. Just two tiny pin-pricks, then a deep feeling of sleep. She could hear him sucking
and swallowing, feel herself begin to get dizzy, woozy. Just like giving blood at the donor drive. Except she probably wouldn’t get a doughnut after this.

She slumped in his arms and he caught her. She could feel him walk her to the bed, and lay her down on top of the sheets, then cover her with the duvet.

“Will I ever see you again?” she asked. It was hard to keep her eyes open. She was so tired. But she could see him very vividly now. He seemed to glow. He looked more substantial.

“Maybe,” he whispered. “But you’d be safer if you didn’t.”

She nodded dreamily, sinking into the pillows.

In the morning, she felt spent and logy, and told her mother she felt like she was coming down with the flu and didn’t feel like going to school. When she looked in the mirror, she saw nothing on her neck—there was no wound, no scar. Did nothing happen last night? Was she indeed going crazy? She felt around her skin with her fingertips, and finally found it—a hardening of the skin, just two little bumps. Almost imperceptible, but there.

She’d made him tell her his name, before she had agreed to help him.

Dylan, he’d said. My name is Dylan Ward.

Later that day, she dusted the plaque near the fireplace and looked at it closely. It was inscribed with a family crest and
underneath it read “Ward House.” Wards were foster children. This was a home for the lost. A safe house on Shelter Island.

She thought of the beast out there in the night, rattling the windows, and hoped Dylan had made it to wherever he was going.

A
VA GLANCED AT
the grimy alley.
This can’t be right,
she thought. Crushed newspapers, bags of garbage, and pools of muck lined the narrow street. But a faded sign with
Accadamia della Spada
hung above the door.

Odd. A famous establishment located in the armpit of Iron City.

She hitched her equipment bag higher on her aching shoulder and headed toward the building. Since she lived in the suburbs across town, it had taken her over an hour to reach this place by bus. Ava pulled her coat’s hood over her head as cold raindrops dripped from the night sky.

An unsettled feeling rolled in her stomach. She should be ecstatic and thrilled. This was a dream come true. Perhaps the combination of the location and the rainy Monday had doused her excitement.

A prickle of unease raised the hairs on her arms. She paused, certain someone was watching her, but the teenager lounging on a stoop across the street had his hoodie pulled down over his face as if asleep.

When she spotted two large blue eyes staring at her, she
smiled in relief. A young boy peered at her through the dirty window of the building next to the Academy. He hid behind his mother when Ava drew closer.

Through the window, Ava recognized a karate dojo. Parents sat in folding chairs as their children, clad in oversized uniforms with bright colored belts, kicked in unison. A young man with a black belt wove between them, correcting postures or giving praise. His shoulder-length hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a tattoo on his neck. The two black marks resembled Chinese calligraphy.

Ava lingered by the window, observing the lesson. I’m not procrastinating. I’m learning. That shuffle-kick is very similar to fencing footwork.

The teacher paired the children, and they practiced kicking into a pad. Ava caught the teacher’s attention, and he scowled at her. She jerked away as if she’d been slapped and continued on to the Academy.

The Academy’s elaborate stone entrance was marred with graffiti. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of urine and pressed the buzzer.

“Name?” The intercom squawked.

“Ava Vaughn.”

The ornate door clicked open. The depressed inner-city exterior hid a modern fencing studio. Amazed, Ava stared. In the wide open space, students in white fencing gear sparred on long thin red strips. Others practiced lunges and attacks in front of mirrors. The ring of metal, the hum of voices, and the mechanical
chug of fitness equipment filled the air.

An instructor carrying a clipboard approached. “Ms. Vaughn?”

She nodded.

He eyed her, clearly not impressed. “Change and warm up. Then we’ll evaluate you.”

Before he could shoo her away, she said, “But Bossemi—”

“Invited you, I know. Doesn’t mean you’ll train with him. You have to impress us first.” He poked his pencil toward the locker rooms in the back.

As Ava changed clothes, she thought about the Three Rivers Regional Competition. She had fought well and won all her bouts, gaining the notice of Sandro Bossemi, a three-time Olympic champion from Italy.

Fencers from around the world re-located just to train at the Accadamia della Spada, which translated to the Academy of the Sword. Admittance to the school was by invitation only. Ava dreamed about being asked to train here.

However, reality proved to be another matter. Even though she had out-fenced all her opponents at the competition, the students at the Academy countered her efforts to spar them with ease. She couldn’t even claim her youth as an excuse. A few fourteen-and fifteen-year-olds trained here, making her feel old at seventeen. After her first night of practice, Ava doubted she would be asked back.

A moment of panic engulfed her. What will I do? She steadied her hyperactive heart. I’ll train even harder and Bossemi will invite me again.

When she lost her last bout, Mr. Clipboard joined her. He had been evaluating her all evening. She braced for the dismissal.

“Tomorrow you’ll work with Signore Salvatori,” he said. He flipped a paper. “We’ll arrange a practice time with your tutor. I’ll need contact information.”

It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. “I go to James Edward High.”

“Oh.” Scanning the page, he marked it. “Then you can have Salvatori’s seven to ten p.m. slot. Do you speak Italian?”

“No, but I’m fluent in French.” Since fencing bouts were officiated in French, she had been determined to learn it.

“Salvatori only teaches in Italian so you may want to learn a few words for your lessons each evening.”

“Each?” Ava tried to keep up with the information.

“If we are to teach you anything, you’re to be here every night, and from two to five on Saturday. You have Sunday off; Sandro Bossemi is a devout Catholic.”

Dazed, Ava walked to the locker room. Conflicting emotions warred in her. She was thrilled to not be dismissed, but daunted by the training schedule.

By the time she changed, the room was empty. She would have loved to leave her heavy gear bag here, but she had school practice tomorrow afternoon. Guess I’ll be doing my homework on the bus. When she calculated her travel time, she realized she would also be eating her dinner on the bus. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a side order of diesel fumes. Wonderful.

Pulling out her cell phone, she called her mother.

“Donny’s 24-Hour Diner, can I help you?”

“I’d like an extra large banana split to go please,” Ava said.

Mom laughed. “Ava, sweetie! How was practice?”

“Like a
Pirates of the Caribbean
movie, Mom. I pillaged and burned.”

“Showing off on the first night isn’t a good way to make friends.” Her mother kept her tone light, but Ava knew the little dig was aimed directly at her.

For Ava, fencing had always come first. She didn’t have time for friends she didn’t need. Her mother disagreed.

Ava drew in a calming breath. “How soon can you pick me up?”

Silence. Her mother worked full-time and attended college classes at night, but to pay for Ava’s training at the Academy, she scaled back her course load to one class so she could take another job as the night manager of Donny’s.

You don’t reach the Olympics without sacrifice.

“You can come during your dinner break,” Ava prompted.

“Ava, I can’t. I only get thirty minutes to eat. Can you get a ride? It could be a good ice breaker for making a friend.”

Her fingers tightened on the phone. Her mother just wouldn’t quit. Perhaps if she had an imaginary friend her mother would get off her back.

“I already made a friend,” Ava said.

“Already?” Doubt laced her mom’s voice.

“Yeah. Her name’s Tammy, she lives in Copperstown. Her parents own the Copper Tea Kettle.”

“Oh! The place with all those fancy teas?”

“Yeah. They’re big tea drinkers. Look, Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ll get a ride with her. Bye.” Ava closed her phone, and checked the time. Ten minutes until the next bus.

She left the locker room and almost ran into a group of fencing coaches, including Mr. Clipboard talking with the karate instructor. They all jumped back when they spotted her, and conversation ceased.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you,” she said into the silence. No response. As she passed them, her back burned with their stares.

That was creepy. If the Karate Dude doesn’t want people to watch through his window, he should buy curtains.

When she reached the bus stop, she dropped her heavy bag on the sidewalk in relief.

“You lied to your mother,” a man said behind her.

She spun. The Karate Dude stood five feet away, peering at her with loathing. “Tammy isn’t one of the Academy students.”

Anger flared. “You perv. You shouldn’t be hanging around the girls’ locker room.”

“And you shouldn’t have come here alone.” His intent gaze pierced her body like the point of a sword. “Your kind is always overconfident,” he said.

“My kind? Fencers?” Fear brushed her stomach. Perhaps this was one of those situations her mother warned her about.

“You can quit with the charade. I know what you are.”

And he was a dangerous wacko. Should she scream or call the
police? He put his hand in the pocket of his black leather jacket. Ava grabbed her phone, searching the street for help. No one.

The Karate Dude yanked out a bottle. In one fluid motion, he flipped the lid off and flung the contents into her face.

She yelped and swiped at her cheeks. Acid? Wiping her eyes in panic, she steeled herself for the pain. Nothing. A few drops of the liquid dripped into her mouth. Water?

Karate Dude’s satisfied smirk faded.

“What the hell was that for?” she demanded. Ava dried her face on the sleeve of her coat, and smoothed her—now wet—blonde hair from her eyes.

“You’re not … I thought …” He sputtered and seemed shocked. “But you’re so pale …”

Ava spotted the bus. “Stay away from me, you sicko freak, or the next time I’ll call the police.”

The bus squealed to a stop and the door hissed open. She grabbed her bag, sprinted up the steps, and dropped into the seat behind the driver. Glaring at the freak, she didn’t relax until the doors shut and the bus drove away.

Ava dreaded returning to the Academy. All because of that Karate Freak. But it wouldn’t stop her from going. Oh no. She loved fencing, and hoped to join gold medalist Mariel Zagunis in the record books. Mariel was a goddess! She was the first American woman in a century to win fencing gold with a saber.
A century!
Ava dreamed of doing the same with the foil.

She had competed with all three weapons, but a foil’s bout with its feints, ducks and sudden attacks appealed to Ava more than the épée or saber. The sport fed her competitive streak, while the rhythm and cadence of the moves made her feel elegant and graceful. She even enjoyed researching the long history of the sport, which surprised her mother since anything not involving a foil in her hand tended to be done under protest and as quickly as possible.

Holding her cell phone—with 911 already dialed—in one hand, and her bag in the other, Ava stepped from the bus. With her thumb ready to push the send button, she scanned the street. A few parents hustled their kids to karate class, and two Academy students walked toward school.

Ava sprinted to catch up with the fencers. She trailed behind them despite their annoyed looks. When she spotted the Karate Freak teaching his class, she remembered to breathe. Once inside the Academy, she should be safe.

Mr. Clipboard seemed surprised to see her. Ava debated. Should she ask him about last night or not? He had been in the group talking to Karate Freak. He tapped his watch when she approached. She didn’t have time.
I’ll ask him later.

By the time the session ended, Ava no longer cared about the Karate Freak. All she wanted to do was crawl inside a locker and hide. Salvatori hadn’t spoken any of the Italian words she learned. Eventually, he stopped talking and used gestures for most of the session, adjusting her stance by touch.

He corrected everything she had learned from Coach
Phillips. When she thought she had mastered a move, he proved her wrong. Frustrated and humiliated, Ava felt like a beginner again. Coach Phillips treated her like a professional, while Salvatori acted like he worked with an amateur. Perhaps she should ask for another coach.

At the end of the lesson, Salvatori dismissed her with a curt wave. Exhausted, she aimed for the locker room and stopped.

Karate Freak leaned against a side wall, watching her. No one seemed bothered by his presence, and Ava didn’t have the energy to care. She changed in a hurry, wanting to leave before the Academy emptied.

Once again she armed herself with her pre-dialed phone. She was halfway to the door before Karate Freak caught up to her. At least this time a few people milled nearby.

“Go away,” she said, brandishing the phone.

“Look, Ava, I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

He knew her name. She stepped back.
Wait a minute. Did he just apologize?
According to her mother, the male species was incapable of apologizing.

“I thought you were someone else.” He pulled his hair away from his face, attempting to look sincere.

If he wasn’t a freak, he’d be hot—grayish blue eyes, hawk nose and a slight Asian cut to his features. But he overdid the whole karate warrior look with his tight black T-shirt and black jeans. Maybe she should call him the Ninja Freak. Either way, his explanation was lame. She remained unconvinced.

“I know it sounds weird. We’ve been having trouble with …
another school. And I thought you were one of them, spying on us.”

“So you threw water on me? That’s weak. Get lost.” She walked around him. But he trailed her.

“It’s a long story, and you wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Fine. Whatever. Apology accepted, now go away.” She pushed through the door, hoping to leave him behind.

He kept pace with her. “At least let me make it up to you. How about a free lesson?”

“On how to be a jerk? No, thanks.”

Unfazed, he gestured toward the school. “No. Isshinryu karate. You know, martial arts? All fencers should cross-train. Karate is great for improving your reflexes and footwork.”