Fashionably Dead (6 page)

“Push, Astrid,” she gasped.

I awoke with a
jerk. God, that dream seemed more real every time I had it, and I’d been having it since I was four years old. As I snuggled down deeper under my covers and tried to go back to sleep, I noticed movement on my ceiling. What the fu . . . ? This Vamp vision was insane. The tiny cracks in my ceiling looked like faces, little mini faces with little teeny hands. Some looked angry, some sad, but most of them were laughing and pointing at me. I looked around my room to see if anyone else was here. Nope. I was definitely the object of their ridicule.

“What in the hell are you guys?” I stared harder and they started to morph into hideous itsy-bitsy monsters. They were fabulously gross, kind of like the Edvard Munch painting,
The Scream.
They were undulating and mocking me. Well, no surprise there . . . I was still in bed at 6:30 PM.

Sleeping during the day seemed to be working for me. I felt a little bit like a lazy sloth, but I had more energy and felt stronger at night. More importantly than adjusting to my new schedule, I had successfully avoided my mother for a week. She thought I had the flu and pink eye. She hated sick people, so there was very little chance of a surprise visit.

Truth be told, I was scared to be around my mother, or any mortals, except for Gemma. I was terrified I was going to kill someone by accident and that would suck, although Pam said as long as I fed regularly, I’d never have to kill anybody. Ever. The first hunger was the worst and no others would even compare. Thank God.

I guess I had always imagined Vampyres to be bloodsucking killers. It turns out we’re only bloodsuckers. The killing is optional. So naturally I still hadn’t fed from a mortal yet. I’d been feeding from Pam, but that was going to change. Too much Angel blood was going to make me a Super Vamp, and according to Pam, that was fucked up.

Along with being my main food source, Pam was trying to help me get the Green Eye thing down, also known as ‘trancing’. I preferred just Green Eye. If I looked at a human, focused my power and willed my eyes to go green, I could get inside their head and make suggestions. For example;
“Hi, I’m going to bite your neck, drink about a pint of your blood . . . you’ll really enjoy it. You won’t remember a thing and you should never wear orange again. It makes your skin look like hell, bless your heart.”

“Look at me,” I said to the little undulating things on my ceiling. They halted their gyrating and stared at me. I willed my eyes to go green and tried to communicate with them. Nothing. Clearly I’d lost my mind when I died. “So much for you guys being human,” I muttered, rolling out of bed.

There are certain things that make your eyes go green automatically. Being extremely hungry, angry, excited or horny turns you green real quick. I tried to Green Eye Gemma a couple of times, but we both laughed so hard I gave up. Gemma graciously offered to let me feed from her, but I wanted to be sure I definitively knew all the human artery information before I bit into my best friend’s wrist.

That was how most Vampyres fed. At the wrist. The neck was too sexual. However with Pam, it wasn’t sexual at all. Embarrassingly enough, it felt kind of like nursing with her. She held me like a baby. I bit her neck and felt love and comfort. I supposed you should just get it where you could find it.

Vamps could drink from each other, but that was a commitment most were not willing to make. If two Vampyres drank from one another, they were mated for life. Physically, mentally, emotionally, and sexually committed to each other for eternity. They must continue to drink from each other regularly.

To me that sounded like hell. I had commitment issues. It wasn’t that I was a slut, but I couldn’t imagine having sex with the same person for a thousand years or more. Not that I’d had a ton of sex with a ton of people, nor did I plan to. However, the flip side suggests that the blood exchange between Vampyres creates the most mind blowing, intensely orgasmic sex imaginable. That gave me pause, but not enough to be stuck with the same person forever.

“You guys are gross,” I told the dirty dancing tiny monsters on my ceiling. I was amazed they were still there. I thought they were an optical illusion. They were so ugly they were cute, but the dirty dancing . . . that was not something I needed to see first thing in the morn . . . no, evening . . . wait . . . well, ever.

***

What in the hell was Pam doing? On my couch sat two of the most bizarre-looking Vampyres. I was pretty sure they were Vampyres. Wait . . . fangs. They were definitely Vamps. Pam was running around the room making gagging noises and huge raspberries. Which, by the way, sounded so much like the real thing, I had to check to make sure she was using her mouth.

Vampyre number one, who I dubbed Muffy, was dressed from head to toe in hot pink and lime green madras, a la bad country club circa 1980. Vamp number two looked like her name should be . . . Elvira. She had black hair, black fingernails, black lipstick, black eyes, black clothes . . . blah blah blah. She looked as Goth as they come, and seriously depressed. They both had their eyes trained on me and only me. That was when I realized they couldn’t see Pam. This was confirmed when my three hundred pound Guardian Angel sat on top of Muffy, and Muffy didn’t move or utter a sound.

Not only could I see Pam, but I could touch her and hold her and drink blood from her. God, this was strange.

Muffy, the prepster, plastered a huge pageant smile on her face and squeaked, “Hi! I’m Muffy from the Aurora House.”
Oh my God, I got her name right?
“You must be Astrid!”

It was all I could do not to slap my hands over my ears. Pam had no such qualms. As Muffy spoke, her voice got higher and higher. I was sure she was sending signals to all the stray dogs in the surrounding counties. I kind of wanted her out of my house, but she had a really big gift basket. “Did you two just break into my house?” In all the movies Vampyres had to be invited in.

“Oh no,” she squeaked, “the door was wide open and there was a note that said ‘Welcome’. I suppose I should have called first,” she shrieked. “I didn’t realize you were having Paris Hilton over.”

Confused, I looked over at the tiny, skinny, overly made-up Goth girl sitting on my sofa and said, “I’m sorry, your name is . . . ?”

“Paris Hilton,” the tiny Goth girl whispered in a childlike voice.

“Holy fuck! This is awesome,” Pam screamed, throwing her big ol’ Oprah hands in the air and falling off the couch in hysterics. I so didn’t need her here right now. She’d clearly been the one to leave the note and my door open. We were going to have a little chat later. Even though they couldn’t see or hear her, I could, and she was this close to making me laugh ‘til I peed. She could barely control herself. If she wasn’t immortal, I’d be concerned she was having a heart attack.

“Oookay,” I gasped, trying to hold myself together. “Purely out of curiosity, is that the name you were born with?”

“Yes,” Paris said, “and there is no relation . . . unfortunately. I’m from the Lucern House,” she continued, completely ignoring the fact that Muffy was starting to hiss at her in bizarre little high-pitched squeaks that were making me grind my teeth. “We would love to have you join us, Astrid. Pledge The Dead!” Paris whispered as loud as she could and pumped both super skinny fists in the air.

I sat down and bit the inside of my cheek really hard, trying not to dissolve into hysterics. Pam, that traitor, was still rolling all over the floor, barely able to breathe after Paris’ last outburst.

Not to be outdone Muffy shrieked, “Join the Aurora House and have a bloody good time!” She rolled her hands like a cheerleader, threw them up in the air and screamed in decibels not meant for the human ear, “Pun intended!”

Muffy was jumping up and down like a Mexican jumping bean. Paris was pumping her skinny arms and shaking her head like she was having an epileptic fit. And Pam . . . well, Pam was useless.

Did I have to join a House? Why couldn’t I just be an independent? There was no way in hell I belonged with either of these people. Were these my only two choices? Shit, shit, shit.

Just as I was about to ask everyone to leave so I could “think about it”, hoping they’d leave those big juicy gift baskets, Paris
accidentally
punched Muffy in the head and all hell broke loose. Fangs descended and furniture got kicked out of the way. Muffy hissed like a wild animal in heat, picked up Paris Hilton and threw her out of my window. What the fu . . . ? Glass flew everywhere. I screamed and hid under the couch that had gotten shoved up against my TV.

I heard a grotesque grunt, and a very bloody, teeny tiny Gothy Paris Hilton came flying back through my shredded window . . . the same window from which she had just been ejected. How in the hell did she do that? Paris expertly took Muffy down in a chokehold. She slammed Muffy’s head into the floor so hard so many times that I knew for sure Muffy was for real dead. The sound of skull making contact with hard wood was just wrong on every level. Muffy was a goner.

But no, how wrong I was . . .

Bloody Muffy let loose a scream so high pitched that the glass on my TV shattered. She grabbed Paris Hilton’s teeny tiny titties and twisted for all she was worth. Paris Hilton screamed and head-butted Muffy.

These Vampyres were crazy and they were destroying my house. My house. My cute little postage stamp house that was almost paid off. It wasn’t much, but it was mine and this was not working for me. That preppy-assed screaming Muffy busted my window and my TV, and Paris Hilton had just dismantled my coffee table with a karate chop and was beating Muffy over the head with it. I wasn’t sure how much more Muffy’s head could take. This shit had to stop.

“Enough!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as my fangs descended.

“Get up,” I said through clenched teeth, “and get the hell out of my house.”

Both Paris Hilton and Muffy got to their feet slowly, looking around at my destroyed living room with shame.

“I am so sorry . . . ” Muffy squeaked.

“Shut up,” I growled, my eyes flashing. She did.

“Our Houses will pay for the damage,” Paris Hilton informed me as if this were a regular occurrence.

“Damn right they will,” I said. “Both of you need to leave and never ever come back.”

They went to retrieve their gift baskets.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I snapped. “After that little display, those baskets are mine.”

“Of course,” Paris Hilton said in her baby voice. “Well, if you change your mind, here’s my card.”

Muffy quickly pulled out her own card and tried to hand it to me. My glare stopped both of them in their tracks. If I’d learned anything from my mother, it was how to scare the hell out of someone with a glance. It worked.

“If you don’t put those cards back in your pockets,” I calmly informed them, “I will shove them so far up your asses you will have to pull them out of your mouth. Do you understand me?”

They put their cards back and exited quickly. Where in the hell had Pam gone? Why couldn’t they see her? This Vampyre thing was appealing less and less to me and I was fairly sure there was no way out. Furthermore, their gift baskets sucked. Muffy’s was loaded with day-glow colored madras clothing, Topsiders, Lacoste and a Minnie Ripperton CD.

Paris Hilton’s was loaded with black crap that was barely in style during the 1980s, although there was a pair of Converse black high tops. Paris Hilton - 1, Muffy - 0.

I walked out to make sure that Muffy and Paris were gone, and there on my porch swing sat one of the prettiest Vampyres I’d seen yet. Her skin was as black as night. She had high cheek bones, full lips and sparkling black eyes. Her hair was wild and curly. Her body was long and lean. She was stunning.

“Who are you?” I asked suspiciously. I didn’t have time for anymore crazy.

“Your new best friend,” she laughed. Her laugh sounded like bells. She stood up with the predatory grace of a panther, and walked over to me. Now that was what I was talking about. This girl was what I expected a Vampyre to look like.

“I’m Venus . . . I’m from the Cressida House. We are Vampyre defense specialists. We’re also Prada whores,” she smiled and winked. “We would love for you to join us, Astrid.”

Venus handed me the new Prada hobo bag filled with really good sunscreen, a totally rockin’ pair of Prada platforms in my size, Chanel sunglasses, a couple of bags of O negative
for emergencies
and a brand new iPhone. If I could still breathe I would have been hyperventilating. I hesitated for a moment, realizing how materialistic I must seem, but quickly dismissed it. I mean, Oh. My. God. The new hobo! It wasn’t even on sale to the general public yet.

“Hell yes,” I said, grabbing my new Vampyre buddy and planting a big wet one on her cheek. Things were looking up. Gemma would freak when she saw the bag.

“Why don’t you come back to the Cressida House with me for the rest of the night and tomorrow? We’ve got a lot to cover. Don’t worry about your living room. The Lucern and Aurora Houses will repair the damage Muffy and Paris caused.” She chuckled and held out her hand. I grabbed it and looked around for Pam. She stood in the doorway watching me.

I turned to Venus. “I just need to tell my . . . um . . . roommate where I’m going.”

“Do you need to go in and find her?” she asked.

“No, I . . . ” I whipped back around. Had Pam left? No, she was still there.