Heart of the Vampire (Vanderlind Castle) (8 page)

Chapter 13

“So, what am I doing here? What do we need to work on?” I asked as we strolled down a long hallway.

“Well, there’s a bunch of stuff we
should go over, but first of all, you need a passport,” he told me, grasping the handle of a carved oak door. There was some kind of medieval scene carved into the wood—a jester entertaining people in a village square. “And for that we need your photograph.” He shoved open the door to reveal a makeshift photo studio. There were a dozen different cameras, lights, and even one of those backdrops that looked like a large piece of paper that models stand in front of during a catalog shoot. “I don’t really know much about photography, so I just ordered a bunch of stuff,” he told me. “I was kind of hoping you knew at least something.” He picked up a camera and peered at it dubiously.

I suppressed a laugh. “Um, yeah... I think I know enough to at least make a passport photo,” I told him, spying an instamatic
camera still in the box in the pile of equipment. “I think almost everyone is digital now, but I’m pretty sure this will work, as long as you have film.”

“Film?” Jessie repeated as if it was an alien concept. I began to get the feeling that he had just ordered random stuff off of the
Internet and wasn’t even sure how it all went together.

“Here, this should work,” I said, spying a small green box that looked like the same packaging as the instamatic camera. “So, is it true about vampires and photographs?” It would have explained his cluelessness.

“It’s kind of true,” he hedged.

“What does that mean?” I asked as I opened the box and pulled out the camera. It wasn’t completely unfamiliar. Blossom’s mom had
the same model, and one night when I was sleeping over, we girls burned through a bunch of film, which her mother was not happy about.

“It means we don’t always appear in a photo
, and even when we do, it never lasts,” Jessie replied.

“Can we try?” I smiled at him, dropping the square film cartridge into the camera and snapping shut the lid.

Jessie looked slightly taken aback by my question. He obviously wasn’t expecting it. “Okay,” he said hesitantly, “but you have to promise not to show it to anyone or, you know, post it on the Internet or anything.”

It was my turn to be surprised. “Why would I post it on the
Internet?” I wanted to know.

“Isn’t that what people your age do?” He raised both eyebrows. “I thought it was all about sharing your life in the digital age.”

“Yeah, well it’s not what I’m all about,” I informed him.

“Okay, good,” he said,
flashing me a smile. “Just don’t be disappointed if you don’t like the results.” I stared at him a moment, not quite sure what he meant, until he nodded at the camera. “Besides, if we’re going to take your passport photo, you have to show me what to do.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, searching the camera for the on button. “I’m sure they had cameras back when you were human.”

“True,” Jessie had to admit. “But I never had one. And since being turned, there didn’t seem much of a point.”

“Most cameras these days are super easy,” I told him. “They’re really just point and shoot.” I pressed the button on the instamatic. The camera made a weird whirring noise
, and a black square of cardboard popped out. The film was in place and ready to go. Jessie flinched back a little as if he didn’t quite trust the camera. I had to suppress a giggle. “Okay,” I said standing next to him and turning the camera to point at us. “Say cheese.”

“Say what?” He gave me an incredulous look.

“Oh, never mind.” I had no idea where the whole “say cheese” thing had come from. “Just smile.” I pushed the button. The camera’s flash went off. It made that weird moving, grinding sound, and the undeveloped picture slid out the bottom. “That’s about it,” I said, removing the picture.

Jessie squinted at the square. “I told you it wouldn’t work,” he said with a small frown.

“It’s an instamatic,” I informed him. “It takes a minute to develop.”

The square of film slowly came into focus
—first me, then the background, and then Jessie. He looked ridiculously handsome, of course, but a little faded, a little fuzzy around the edges like someone had tried to erase him without much success. Looking over my shoulder at the picture, Jessie said, “That’s pretty good. I guess it’s obvious I like you.”

“Huh?” My body was all tingly with him standing so close. It was hard to focus. I didn’t quite understand what he meant.

“A lot of whether a vampire appears in a photograph has to do with the desire to appear,” he explained. “There aren’t a lot of humans out there we can trust.”

I looked at his slightly blurry image in the photo again. “So, you’re saying you mostly trust me but not quite?” I wondered if he would appear clearly in a photograph for Colette. A wave a jealously flashed over me. But it was stupid to feel that way over someone who had been dead for several decades.

Jessie chuckled, “This is the best I’ve ever appeared in a photograph, so I think you should take it as a compliment.”

I shrugged, feeling slightly mollified.

“Did you know most spirit photography is vampires?” he asked casually. He loved hitting me with little vampire trivia bombs.

“What?” I tried to remember what spirit photography actually was. “You mean when people see ghosts and orbs and stuff in photographs?”

“Exactly. It’s usually vampires. Or frauds doctoring images. And dust particles a lot of the time, I guess. But sometimes it’s vampires.” After a moment he added, “Arthur Conan Doyle was a big believer in spirit photography. He thought it was all ghosts, of course.”

“You mean the guy who wrote Sherlock Holmes?”

“Exactly.” Jessie took the camera out of my hands and began looking it over. “He knew there was some truth to it but was so convinced it was the dead that he never considered the undead. That and the fact that most of the photographs he was studying were frauds. Still, he was so convinced, he wrote a book about it.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure.
The Case for Spirit Photography
. We’ve got a copy of it around here somewhere.” He shrugged as if everyone had one.

“Wow,” I breathed. “What do you think would have happened if he’d figured out the truth?”

Jessie gave a grim smile. “I guess he should be grateful that there was one mystery he couldn’t solve. Vampires weren’t so concerned about human welfare back then.”

“Are they concerned now?” I asked, thinking about Viktor and Ilona.

He considered the question. “I’m not so sure the majority of vampires are as concerned as they are cautious. Three hundred years ago, one vampire could terrorize villagers in the Romanian countryside for decades, and there would be little to no consequence. Today, with the Internet and camera phones and modern technology, if a vampire was caught, I mean, really outed as a blood-drinking member of the undead, word could spread around the world almost instantly.”

My little
fit of jealously faded to nothing as I realized how amazing it was that Jessie would trust me with his picture.

“Shall we try this?” Jessie asked, lifting the camera a little. “So, I just aim it a
t you and push the button?” He did just that as he was talking, and the camera ejected another tiny square of film.

“Yeah, but you have to wait until I’m ready,” I told him.

“Why?” he asked, taking another picture. “I have plenty of film.”

Boys, even vampire boys, just don’t understand the amount of pressure there can be on a girl to look good in a photograph. “Stop that,” I scolded, but that only caused him to take another snap.

“Oh, good,” he laughed. “That one should show a lot of emotion.”

I went to grab the camera, but quick as lightning
, he dodged out of my grasp, firing off another shot while he was at it. “This is fun,” he said with a laugh.

Ten minutes later, between a lot of goofing around and
several blurry photographs, we had the proper photos for a passport picture, as far as I could tell. “I think you apply for a passport through the post office,” I said. There was no way the post office processed passport applications overnight. I knew that for sure. But maybe it was a chance for delay. Even the Bishops had to understand that, as a human, I needed a passport. “We can pull up the forms online if you have a printer.”

“Yeah,” Jessie said drawing in a breath
through his teeth. “It’s probably better if we go through less official channels.”

“How much less official?” I asked.

He shook his head slightly. “You don’t want to know.” Then he added with a wink, “But it’s a lot faster than the post office.”

I waited a few seconds to see if he would add anything to this comment, but he didn’t. “What else do we need to work on?” I asked.

Jessie took me by both hands, causing an electric thrill to run up both my arms, through my chest, and deep into my belly. “Dance lessons.”

“Dance lesson
s?” I was surprised. “Really?” It was Monday night, and Thanksgiving was Thursday. It didn’t seem like the ideal time to learn how to rhumba. “I thought you were going to instruct me on how to get a corpse through customs or something like that.”

“Yeah, well
, you’ll need to know that, too, but as for right now,” he said, pulling me into his arms, “we dance.”

His embrace made my breath catch in my throat, but I couldn’t keep from laughing. “Will there be much dancing at the tribunal?”

“Well, not at the actual tribunal itself,” he said with a grin, “but there will be a ball while we’re in Budapest, and I thought you might like to attend.”

“A ball?” I stammered. I kn
ew it was probably just Disney brainwashing, but I’d always secretly wanted to attend a ball.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Jessie said, misreading my expression.

“No,” I insisted. “I want to go. I’d love to go.”

“I thought you might.” He gave
me a sly smile. “That’s why I thought we’d sneak in a quick dance lesson. I’m assuming you don’t know how to waltz. I hope that isn’t presumptive.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s definitely not presumptive.” Besides a few ballet classes when I was in grade school, I hadn’t had much formal dance training.

It was foolish to spend a few hours dancing when danger was barreling down on us, but Jessie seemed unfazed by wasting the time, and I was thrilled at the thought of spending a few fleeting moments in his arms. And then, to attend a ball. It sounded like something out of a dream.

A sudden flash of insecurity washed over me. “What do you wear to a vampire ball in Budapest?” I asked, wondering if dipping into my college savings was justifiable for some type of gown.

“These affairs are usually pretty elaborate,” he said. “Things go in and out of fashion so quickly. Right now, I think it’s all about Rococo punk. You know, that nonsense with silk and damask and tricorn hats with feathers. I already drew up a few costume ideas and sent them to my tailor in Budapest. I hope you don’t mind. I get so bored at night sometimes with nothing to do.”

“No, I don’t mind,” I said in a small voice. Jessie treated money as if it was of no consequenc
e, and that was the exact opposite of the way I was raised. I was so used to counting pennies and being careful.

“You’ll have to get fitted at some point, so that might spoil the surprise, but I hope you’ll like what I ordered.”

I had to gulp at the thought of Jessie standing there while some seamstress wrapped a measuring tape around my hips. “I’m sure I’ll love it,” I squeaked.

“Good.” He crooked his arm toward me and gave me a smile. “Now
, let’s go to the music room and find some waltz music. Or maybe we should try the minuet,” he said, thinking it over. “I really don’t know what people are dancing to these days.”

Don’t worry about it
, I mentally tried to reassure myself as Jessie led me back into the hallway.
Just roll with it. When the time comes to dance, if you really feel like you’re going to make a fool out of yourself, you can always fake spraining your ankle.

Jessie patted my hand
, and I looked up. I must have been wearing a strained look on my face because he gave me a concerned smile and said, “Is everything all right?”

“Oh.
Sure,” I told him. “It’s just... Um... This is embarrassing, but do vampires ever, you know, need to use the bathroom?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh.” Then there definitely was going to be a problem. I had been too nervous to think about it earlier, but I had to go.

“But we have a few in the castle,” he informed me, much to my relief. “For staff and guests.”

“Do you get many guests?” I asked, curious about the other humans who got to roam the halls of Vanderlind Castle.