Suck It Up (24 page)

It all happened so fast that if it hadn't been for the shocked faces of the Leaguers who witnessed it, she might have thought she imagined it. The only Leaguer she'd ever seen shape-shift, until now, was Morning. She thought it was forbidden. Obviously, the twisted preppie had his own set of rules.

She was only certain of one thing: when the time came, she was going outside. Like the Greek guy said, “Is it our chief aim in life to avoid risks?”

38

Surprise Guests

Morning plunged into the crowd enjoying the music blasting from the stage on the lake. He wanted to find Rachel and ask her to dance. But between Leaguers shaking his hand and classmates trying to make up for months of harassment in a moment of sucking up, he was still fifty yards from the dancing throng.

When he finally reached the edge of the mosh pit, he surveyed the gyrating dancers. He spotted a woman in a red dress. Her raven-black hair whipped up and down as she danced. He wasn't sure it was Rachel, and he couldn't tell if she was dancing with someone or by herself. Above the pounding music, he heard her shout with joy. A pair of dancers blocked his view.

When he found her again, he stared in horror. She was still writhing and tossing her hair, but she was engulfed in flames, an undulating column of fire. He covered his eyes and moaned. He looked again.

The fiery dancer was gone. So was the woman in the red dress.

He turned and pushed his way back through the crowd. He had to find Birnam. He wanted to know what was happening to him. Either someone had slipped him a drug, or he was going crazy, or drinking roast-beef blood had some major side effects.

He shut out people calling his name and pushed on. He felt a tap on his back. He ignored it and squeezed through several more gaps. Ten feet later, he felt the tap again, more insistent this time. “Leave me alone,” he snarled.

An old voice answered. “When the pigeons take back the Williams Bird Bridge.”

He spun around and came face to face with Sister Flora. He blinked and tried to shake away the sight. It had to be another hallucination. But she was still there. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the shadow of a light tower.

“Sister, what are you doing here?”

Her crepe paper skin folded into a smile. “Can't a nun get down and party?”

He could barely form the words. “You're a Leaguer?”

“One of the first.”

He still didn't believe it. “But I thought you were locked up in St. Giles praying for my soul. And when I CDed in front of you, you fainted!”

“Just keeping up appearances.”

He shook his head at the craziness of it. “But why a nun?”

“Being a nun is a huge advantage.”

“How?”

“I don't have to relocate every few years. A nun can look the same age for a decade or two and nobody notices.”

Morning laughed and gathered her in a hug.

“And the longer I stay in one place,” she said, patting his back, “the longer I can look after my boys.” When they drew apart, she gave him a mischievous wink. “Who do you think found you after you were turned and got you into Leaguer Academy?”

“You?”

She nodded. “A few days after Thanksgiving, I went to the house in Staten Island to check on you, and I discovered what had happened. I called the Leaguer Rescue Squad. They swept in, took you out, and removed all evidence you'd ever been there.”

“So I wouldn't be a suspect in the double murder.”

“It's the least I could do, Morning. It was my fault you were there on Thanksgiving. Otherwise, you'd still be a Lifer, with Lifer dreams.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “Yeah, but if Birnam's plan works out, we can all go back to our Lifer dreams.” His head cocked at a sudden thought. “Wait a sec. I always thought being a nun
was
your Lifer dream. But since you're a Leaguer, it can't be. Before you were turned, what was your dream?”

“Oh, it's been so long I can't remember,” she said with a dismissive laugh. “If I can keep looking after my boys, that'll be fine with me.” She held him with her piercing eyes. “And nothing would make me happier than to see you become a firefighter. Or have you forgotten that?”

He squirmed under a gaze he'd seen many times. She knew more than she was telling. “What makes you say that?”

She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out his wooden charm with the cross on it. “You left this in your room.”

“Why did you go to my room?” he demanded.

She dismissed his umbrage with a smile. “That's what sisters do when they're looking after their boys.” She pushed the charm toward him. “Take it.”

He hesitated. “Why?”

“Because until you're eighteen, I'm your mother protector.”

He laughed. “But I'll never be”—he air-quoted with double fingers—“eighteen.”

“Exactly.” Her eyes twinkled as she slipped the charm into the breast pocket of his tux. “There. Keep your dreams close, and you'll never lose them.”

He didn't resist. There was no saying no to Sister.

“Now,” she said, turning toward the wriggling mass of dancers. “I'm going to go find some old vampire to dance with.”

As he watched her go, the band finished a song and the crowd roared their approval.

The lead singer's voice boomed over the mike. “We've got time for one more song, and then the real show begins. Oh, and the headmaster wanted me to make an announcement.” The singer dropped into his best impression of the Academy's headmaster. “Morning McCobb, please report to the base of the graduation platform. Morning McCobb to the platform.”

The crowd
oohed
in mock trepidation, and the band kicked into the first licks of another tune.

         

Waiting for him at the base of the platform, Birnam greeted Morning with a proud smile. “Ready for your swan song?”

“The sooner the better,” Morning told him. “I thought Penny was joining us.”

“She is.” He nodded toward the spiral stairs. “I sent her ahead.” He started up the stairs that wound up the tower behind the huge movie screen.

Morning followed. “I just ran into Sister Flora. Are there any more surprises I should know about before the night's over?”

“Yes,” Birnam replied.

“What?”

“I want you to keep an eye on Portia.”

“That's not a surprise.”

Birnam stopped and turned back to Morning. “Security discovered we have a party crasher. A Loner.”

“How do you know it's a Loner?”

“He CDed to escape being captured.” Birnam pulled a picture from his pocket, a still from a security camera. He showed it to Morning. “That's him.”

Morning recognized the handsome face. “It's blondie-boy.”

“Blondie-boy?”

“He was in the studio yesterday, talking to Portia.”

Birnam's face hardened. “Then he's definitely stalking her.” He resumed climbing. “Why he's interested in Portia, I'm not sure. But I doubt it's for the obvious reason. He could feed on any Lifer. And what he's up to I'm not sure of either. He's spying on us, or he's got something up his sleeve.”

Morning scowled. “You mean like destroying me in front of thousands of Leaguers. That would send a nice message.”

Birnam kept climbing. “If he wanted to destroy you, he would have done it days ago. The important thing is for tonight to go without a hitch. That's why I want you to keep an eye on Portia.”

“I can't keep an eye on her from the top of the platform. Do you want me up on the platform or down babysitting her?”

They had almost reached the top. Birnam stopped and turned back to him. “If you're not up here for the commercial's airing and the site launch, it would raise suspicion. As soon as it's over, find her and don't leave her side.”

It was the last thing Morning wanted to do, but he reminded himself it was his final duty. After tonight, he was free. He gave Birnam a mock salute. “Yes, sir. Anything else I need to know about?”

Birnam answered Morning's insolence with a question. “No. Do you have anything to tell me?”

“Yeah, I keep seeing fire.”

Birnam nodded. “That's a good sign.”

His tossed-off response caught Morning by surprise.

“Your DNA is reasserting itself.”

“What are you talking about?” Morning asked.

Birnam glanced at his watch. “You'll figure it out before the night's out.” Before Morning could object, Birnam turned and bounded up the last few steps. “C'mon. It's almost time.”

They joined Penny on the platform. She stood next to a large flat-screen TV. The crowd greeted the sight of Birnam and Morning with a booming cheer that echoed inside the mountain.

Morning scanned the crowd. Portia was easy to find. She had a Handycam glued to her face. Not only had Birnam made her the official chronicler of the event, she was the only one allowed to have a camera.

Birnam stepped to the edge of the platform, quieted the crowd, and let his voice thunder through the mountain. “In the end is beginning. In the beginning is end.”

The words from every Leaguer commencement sparked a deafening ovation.

When the noise subsided, he continued. “Several days ago, one Leaguer ended his life of dark secrecy, stepped out of the
selva obscura,
and began his journey as the first outed vampire.” He thrust out an arm. “Morning McCobb!”

The mountain erupted in another celebration.

Morning stepped forward. As he waved to a splash of red in the crowd he hoped was Rachel, the cheering ovation shook the air. He stepped back and relocated Portia.

Birnam quieted the throng. “Tonight, we're about to take another step toward Worldwide Out Day. Tonight, we launch the website that introduces us to the world—IVLeague.us!”

During the roar that followed, an avalanche of white balloons cascaded from above. Perfectly timed, the great cloud of balloons drifted past the huge movie screen flickering to life. On the screen, the last shot in a segment of
Based on an Urban Legend
faded out.

The crowd fell silent except for the steady pong of balloons being batted away from obscured eyes.

Morning squinted through the bobbing sea of balloons. He'd momentarily lost sight of Portia.

A commercial popped onto the screen. It began with a tight shot of an old-fashioned keyhole. A huge eyeball suddenly appeared in the keyhole.

The audience laughed with surprise.

Morning's voice began over the darting eyeball. “Hey, I see you out there wantin' to peep on my peeps. So,”—his hand squeezed through the keyhole with a balloon-squeaking sound effect, seemed to grab the viewers, and pull them through the keyhole—“c'mon in.” Now Morning stood in front of the IVLeague.us home page. “You know me, Morning McCobb. You're in my crib now. Okay, make it website. Our website. IVLeague.us. C'mon, I'll show you around.” The camera followed as he dove through an element on the website to another page.

The only one not watching the commercial was its star. Morning squinted through the darkness at the spot in the crowd where Portia had been a moment before. She was gone. It didn't make sense. This was a historic moment in the Leaguer cause and she wasn't filming it. It wasn't right. It wasn't Portia.

Then he saw a flash of white at the back of the crowd. At first he thought it was just another balloon. But it was moving too fast and willfully. It was a girl in a white dress. She was headed along the side of the school toward the courtyard, and the tunnel beyond.

His insides lurched with panic. Where was she going? If it was to the tunnel, how did she know about it? She and her mother had been blindfolded when they were brought inside. Someone must have told her. Blondie-boy's smirking face swam into view.

Morning slipped off the platform and dashed down the spiral staircase.

39

The White–fanged Monster

As Portia ran down the tunnel in her bare feet, her heart raced. Not so much from running but from the exhilaration of what waited outside. She was meeting a vampire with a dark secret about Leaguers. The fact that he was hot, and packed more sexiness in one strand of his dark hair than Morning had in his whole genome, only added to the thrill. By the time she reached the door with the red button, her fevered imagination was writing copy for the next generation of journalist-wannabes.
What would Portia do?

She pressed the button and jumped back as the stone jerked into motion and began opening. She recognized the sound of the heavy metal hinges creaking and groaning. It was the same sound she'd heard when she and her mother had been escorted inside.

She stepped through the opening and onto the stage of the saloon. Like the old hotel, the saloon was dimly lit by weak solar lights hidden in cobweb-draped chandeliers. The moonlight slanting through the broken front window and the doorway joined the effort to push back the looming shadows. Half a swinging door in the entryway cast a long shadow across the floor.

She reached into her camera bag and screwed a low-light lens on her Handycam. “Hello,” she called.

The only answer was the ringing clunk of the stone door shutting behind her. She looked over her shoulder. There was no red button on her side. But this was no time to worry about how to get back in. She had a scoop to get.

She moved down the stairs at the front of the stage and stood under one of the chandeliers. “Hello.” She felt a puff of air stir the hair lying on her shoulders. She swatted at it, thinking it was some kind of flying creature. Her hand collided with something solid. She gasped and jumped away.

DeThanatos stood behind her. He now wore a tattered buckskin jacket. Its leather fringe had a bad case of mange. His ripped jeans looked like they'd been stonewashed by a rockslide.

“You scared me.”

He flashed his charming smile. “So soon?”

His perfect white teeth made her feel like a moth drawn to the flame. She cleared her throat. “What happened to your tuxedo?”

He raised his graceful hands to indicate their surroundings. “When in Rome.”

“Okay, you're in cowboy Rome,” she acknowledged, “but you're also in Leaguer Rome.” She pointed at the V of bare, muscular chest exposed by his jacket. “So where's your Epidex?”

“I don't like Epidex. I'm all natural.”

She let out a nervous laugh. “If you're so natural, why wear any clothes at all?”

“For your benefit.”

“For my benefit?”

He smiled again and undid the jacket's top button. “Would you like this interview with a vampire to be PG-13 or NC-17?”

“Okay, okay,” she jumped in, waving him to stop. “I didn't come out here to play strip poker.”

His eyes never left her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said a little too firmly. “I'm sure.” She watched his eyes slowly travel down her body. They felt like two fingers tracing down her front.

His gaze settled on the camera hanging from her hand. “Then why haven't you started filming?”

“Good point.” She brought the camera up so forcefully she almost clocked herself. She laughed away her clumsiness and fumbled the flip-out screen open. “So, what's your name?”

DeThanatos hesitated. He didn't like giving his name to Lifers. But if his fellow Loners were to know who led Morning McCobb to bloodlust and destroyed the Leaguer cause, a little publicity was necessary. “My name is DeThanatos.”

She framed a shot and hit the record button. “What kind of name is DeThanatos?”

His gray eyes fixed on her lens. “A very old one.”

“So, Mr. DeThanatos, you wanted to tell me about the hidden agenda of Worldwide Out Day.”

“Yes.” He glanced toward the stage. “But it would be much better if someone else showed you the truth.”

The clunk of the stone door spun her around. “Damn.” The door was opening again. When she turned back, DeThanatos was gone. She whispered into the shadows. “Where are you?”

The only sound was the groaning door.

She slapped the flip-out screen shut and turned her camera off.

Morning squeezed through the door and ran to the front of the stage. “What are you doing out here?”

Portia shrugged. “I wanted some fresh air.”

“How did you know the way out?”

“A little bird told me.”

He jumped off the stage. His feet thudded on the floor and kicked up a cloud of dust. “You're lying!”

She turned away, smiling at the realization that her answer about a bird had some truth to it. Then she did lie. “I peeked under my blindfold, okay?”

“What kind of filmmaker comes outside during the biggest event of the night?”

“A dizzy filmmaker. I felt sick. I told you, I needed some air.”

He stepped closer. “You're dizzy all right—dizzy for a guy.”

She met his accusing eyes. “So what,” she said defiantly. “He won't be the first Leaguer I'm into. I can handle it.”

“He's not a Leaguer. He's a Loner.”

A chill skittered down her neck. Then she realized what he was up to. “Now
you're
lying.”

“We don't know who he is, but he's
not
a Leaguer. And he'd think nothing of draining you like a six-ounce Coke.”

“I don't believe you.”

He threw up his hands. “Why would I lie to you about something like that?”

“Because you're jealous!” she spit back. “If he wanted to chug me, he would have done it by now!”

Her revelation put him on his heels. He tried to probe the darkest corners of the saloon. “He's here, isn't he?” His eyes shot to the floor. Footprints cut through the carpet of dust and disappeared behind the bar. He whispered sharply, “We gotta go inside,
now.
”

She crossed her arms and didn't bother to lower her voice. “I'm not done with my interview. He was about to tell me some dark truth about Worldwide Out Day. He said you could tell me too. If you tell me, I'll go inside.”

Morning stared in bewilderment. “There's no dark truth. Don't you get it? He made it up to get you out here!”

Before she could accuse him of lying again, they heard a skitter near the door.

The tail of a retreating rodent was all Morning glimpsed before it vanished outside. They both jumped as something hissed above them. He glanced up and saw the rain of dust coming through the chandelier. The dust sprinklers had been activated.

“Your interview's over,” he said. “Blondie-boy just left the building.”

She stuffed her camera in her bag to protect it from the showering dust. “How do you know?”

“Motion detectors. Leaguers coming in and out of the mountain cover their tracks.”

She moved through the billowing dust, banged through the one swinging door in the entranceway, and called out. “DeThanatos!”

Morning followed her onto the boardwalk in front of the saloon. “We have to go back inside.” He grabbed her arm.

She jerked it away. “You go.” She shook the dust off her like an angry dog and called again. “DeThanatos!”

Across the moonlit street, standing in the inky shadow of a doorway, DeThanatos watched, and waited.

Morning fought the urge to grab Portia and haul her inside. He could be stronger than her, much stronger. But for some reason the Loner hadn't struck. He still had time to reason with her. “Is that his name?”

“Yeah, that's as far as I got before you butted in.”

“Do you have any idea what you're doing?”

She spun on him with flashing eyes. “Do I have any idea what
I'm
doing? Oh, that's funny! You're the one that doesn't have a clue what you're doing 'cause you're not
you
anymore!”

He blinked away the dust in his eyes. “What's that mean?”

“You're half me!”

His head tilted with confusion. “Huh?”

She dropped into an old chair on the boardwalk and dumped her camera bag beside it. She didn't want to tell him, but now it was out. “Didn't you wonder why you ran into the desert, then came back as a cocky actor and the super-cool spokesman they're watching in there now? Didn't you wonder why you started air-quoting with single fingers? What do you think happened out there?”

He heard her words but couldn't see her. Another vision had invaded his mind. A matrix of smoldering ash, in the shape of a body. It seemed to be held up by nothing but fiery stitches. Then the threads of flame frayed into smoke, and the matrix collapsed on itself. His voice rasped as dry as the vision. “Fire and ash.”

“That's right! And whose blood do you think revived you?”

Portia's dusty face loomed back into view. “Yours?”

She popped up from the chair. “Yeah,
my
blood!” She ignored his stupefied expression and paced. “And then Birnam fed me a crock about how, with my blood in you, your veins would run with my hopes and desires. But here's the kicker. He told me we'd share the beat of a heart surrendered to love. Talk about BS!” She stopped in front of him. “But Birnam got it half right. Your heart surrendered, all right.” She poked him in the chest with each word. “To selfishness, resentment, and envy!”

The last word struck like a knife. He wanted her to pull it out, take it back. “No,” he whispered. “Why would I envy you?”

“Because I've got something you don't.” She threw an arm toward the moon shadows. “You're not jealous of some guy. You're jealous of me—of my future! I bet you're jealous of
anyone
who's gonna get past sixteen!”

His knees buckled. He dropped in the chair with a plea. “Please don't say that.”

But something had broken in her. A dam of anger and hurt that could only be mended by washing him away in the flood. “It's true! The curtain's coming down on your dream and you can't stand that it's rising on mine. My dream! Of making a great film, of telling the incredible story of Leaguers.”

Morning sagged. His chin fell to his chest.

She stood over him, not letting up. “You had your day. You caught your big moment. And tomorrow you're going back to New York to maybe become a firefighter, or maybe not. But your ride to the top is over.” She thumbed her chest. “My ride is only beginning!”

A tear dropped from Morning's hidden face, flickered in the moonlight, and splattered in the dust.

She felt a pang of sympathy for him but choked it back. Now they were even. Both their hearts had surrendered to heartbreak.

She turned her back on him and looked down the street of dust and moon shadow. Her rage was spent, folded into the current of a greater river: her future. Her insides quaked with the thrill of tomorrow.

“Morning,” she finally said quietly, “I never meant to ruin your big night. If I have, I'm sorry. But right now, I want you to go away before you ruin mine.”

He lifted his head. His tears had dried in pale tracks on his cheeks. The only thing that caught the moonlight were his shining eyes, and the glistening daggers of two perfect fangs.