The Demon Lover (36 page)

THIRTY-FOUR

I
left the infirmary feeling worse than when I came. Although Dr. Mondello had been joking—clearly she was not in on the Fairwick secret—I couldn’t help wondering if she was on to something. Were the Russian studies professors preying on the student body? Draining them of blood? It seemed improbable. Surely they wouldn’t be allowed here on the campus if they couldn’t be trusted with the students, but then Frank had said that there’d been similar complaints against the college in the past. I had to tell someone what I suspected … but who? Liz Book was in no shape to take action. Maybe the vampires had felt free to prey on the students because they thought the dean was too weakened to do anything about it. Or maybe they were the ones who were making her so weak.

I was so distracted in class that I could barely pay attention. Fortunately I was showing a film: the original 1931
Dracula
with Bela Lugosi. It was not the best choice for a dreary snowy morning. By the time the count made his way to England, half the class was asleep and I didn’t have the heart to nudge them awake. Instead of watching the film I studied the somnolent faces of my students, who looked, in the flickering reflection of the black-and-white film, as wan and lifeless as poor silly Lucy Westenra as she lay in her big Victorian bed drained by the count. I couldn’t see any bite marks on their necks, but then plenty of them were wearing turtlenecks or scarves. Besides, I’d read enough vampire books to know the neck wasn’t the only place that could be bitten.

Five minutes before the end of class—just before Van Helsing and Jonathan Harker save Mina—I stopped the film and turned on the lights. My students blinked and covered their eyes like a pack of young vampires exposed to the sunlight, but instead of burning to a crisp they yawned and surreptitiously checked their laptops and cell phones for messages.

“So, do you think they’re able to save Mina?” I asked the class, hoping that at least those who had read the book would have an answer.

But instead Nicky Ballard—who I was sure
had
read the book—answered, “What difference would it make? She’s already been contaminated by Dracula. She’ll never be the same.”

I was so startled by the note of despair in Nicky’s voice that I asked her to stay after class. I’d seen her name on the infirmary sign-in sheet and noticed that she seemed pale and tired, but it wasn’t until I saw her close up that I realized how bad she really looked. Her skin was the bluish white of skimmed milk, her eyes circled with purple rings, and her dark hair hung in oily strings around her face. Just a couple of weeks ago she’d looked happy and well-rested.

“Nicky, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

She shrugged. “They did a bunch of tests at the infirmary, but they couldn’t really find anything except a B
₁₂
deficiency. I’m going for shots, but they’re not really helping.” She yawned.

“Are you sleeping okay?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve been staying in the dorm again.” A faint flush of pink rose in her cheeks, but the blush didn’t bring any life to her face; it merely made her look feverish and drew attention to the rash on her forehead and around her mouth. “Our suite is kind of crowded because Mara asked Flonia to move in last term because I was always with Ben, but then Ben and I had a big fight last week and broke up and I had to move back into the dorm.”

“I’m sorry, Nicky. I know how rough that is.”

“You broke up with your boyfriend, too, didn’t you?”

I didn’t really like to talk about my private life with my students, but Nicky was looking at me with such naked desperation that I didn’t have the heart not to answer her question.

“Yes. It was painful, but then I realized we weren’t really meant to be together.”

Nicky nodded and bit her lip. “Then you got together with Professor Doyle. So it was really all for the best. Flonia says a new man is the best cure for a broken heart.”

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that …” I began, but then, seeing the look on Nicky’s face, I paused. Here was a seventeen-year-old girl—almost eighteen—asking for my advice. So far I’d provided a model of a woman who’d leapt from one relationship right into another with barely a pause for breath. Is that what I wanted Nicky to do? I imagined her jumping into bed with the next available boy. Who knew? That might be how she would get pregnant and ruin her life. Instead of averting the curse, my example would lead to its fulfillment.

“It’s not such a good idea to rush into another relationship so soon when you’re still hurting from the last. You’re not in the best frame of mind for making decisions and you may wind up hurting yourself and the other person.”

“But you and Professor Doyle …”

“Are older and our circumstances were different … Still, who knows how things will work out for us? At least we’re mature enough to deal with the consequences of our mistakes. You should be concentrating on school right now and working on your own dreams …”

“But that’s just it!” Nicky cried, her face flushing red now. “I have these
awful
dreams. I’m lost in a frozen forest and I see these icicles hanging from the trees. They’re like the ornaments people make around here, but in each one of these is a dream I once had—to be a writer, to be loved, to travel, to find my place in the world. And they’re all melting. I run from one to another, trying to catch my dreams before they melt and drip to the forest floor, but they all run through my fingers. When I wake up I know that I’ll never realize any of my dreams. I’ll be like my mother and my grandmother. I’ll live alone in that old house until I die.”

“We all wonder at some point if we’ll ever realize our dreams,” I told Nicky, remembering moments in college when I thought my grandmother was probably right about me and I’d never amount to anything. “But that’s just fear talking. It sneaks up on you when you’re tired and sad and whispers bad stories in your ears.”

Nicky startled and looked up at me. “That’s
exactly
what it feels like, Dr. McFay. I wake up in the morning and I feel like someone’s been whispering awful things in my ear all night long. That’s why I’m so tired all that time. That whispering is keeping me up.”

“Maybe you should sleep with earplugs,” I suggested, only half kidding. “And lock your door at night,” I added, wondering if Nicky’s night-whisperer might be one of the vampires stealing into her room.

Nicky wiped her eyes and managed a weak smile. “The earplugs are actually a good idea. Mara and Flonia stay up late talking and it’s hard to sleep hearing their voices.” Nicky looked down at her watch. “Uh-oh, I’m late for Mr. Doyle’s class. I’d better go. Thank you so much for listening to my silly little problems, Professor McFay. It means a lot to me to have someone I can talk to.”

“Anytime, Nicky. Really. If there’s anything else you’re worried about … anything that frightens you …”

“Thanks. And Professor McFay? One more thing. I’ll take your advice about not jumping into bed with another guy right away, but I don’t think you made a mistake hooking up with Mr. Doyle. I think you guys are perfect for each other.”

After Nicky left I stood in my empty classroom for a few minutes trying to decide what to do next. Normally, I went to the library for an hour and then met Mara in my office to go over the papers she had graded. Lately, though, I’d brought her back to Honeysuckle House in the afternoon to work on cataloging the Dahlia LaMotte papers. Mara had turned out to be an industrious and organized research assistant and had come up with a system for indexing the LaMotte letters and manuscripts. Because the papers couldn’t leave Honeysuckle House I’d invited her to work in the house. Instinctively, I’d shied away from having her come when Liam was there. There seemed to be some antipathy between the two of them that I attributed to Mara’s disappointment over losing Phoenix’s attention and her unfortunate way of expressing that disappointment when Liam took over the creative writing class. I’d chosen the hours when Liam was teaching his afternoon classes and conducting the independent class with Nicky, which I’d left to him to do himself most days, to have her come over, but it was becoming exhausting keeping them apart. And it meant I wouldn’t have a minute to myself for the rest of the afternoon. If I wanted to talk to Frank Delmarco about the rash of student illnesses, I’d better do it now.

I took the back stairs so I wouldn’t pass Liam’s classroom. I knew it was silly—even if Liam saw me going up the stairs he’d just think I was going to my office—but I did it because I knew Liam would be jealous if he thought I was going to see Frank. I don’t know why I knew that. It had been Frank who’d acted jealous of Liam, not the other way around, but I guiltily remembered that first afternoon I’d met Liam (was it really only two and a half months ago?) and he’d caught me trading condescending jokes at his expense with Frank. I’d told him once that I was sorry about that but he’d only laughed and told me rather formally that he’d forgiven me. But he hadn’t said anything about forgiving Frank.

Frank was in his office in his usual pose: feet up, newspaper spread in front of his face. The Jets paraphernalia was gone, though, since the defeat of the Jets in the AFC championship game several weeks ago.

“I’m sorry about the Jets losing,” I said, hoping to soften him up before presenting my theory to him.

He shrugged. “I didn’t really expect any other outcome. It’s the jinx. One of these days I’m going to find out who’s jinxing them and then watch out—they’ll win three Super Bowls in a row.”

“Really? Sports jinxes are …”

“Don’t even say it!” He dropped his newspaper and held up his hands, palms out. “Every time someone doubts the jinx it’s strengthened. What? You think Bill Belichick being the Jets head coach for only an hour was by chance?”

“Huh.” I had to admit that made sense, but I hadn’t come to talk about sports jinxes. “Have you noticed that a lot of students are out sick?”

Frank took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “Yes, I have, but colleges are hotbeds of germs. The infirmaries are probably full at most colleges in the Northeast right now.”

“Are they full of cases of unexplained fatigue, anemia, and weight loss?”

“Truthfully, those symptoms could be caused by pulling all-nighters, living on bad cafeteria food, and dealing with negative body image … but wait.” He looked me up and down in a way that made me blush. “You’ve lost weight, too, haven’t you? And you look tired.”

“I
am
tired, even though I sleep all the time. Could …” I blushed again. “Could a person be bitten by a vampire and not know it?”

Frank got up from his chair and came around his desk. He brushed aside my hair and peered down at my neck before I had a chance to object to the examination. He swore, his breath tickling the skin behind my ear. “I can’t see in this light …” He grabbed me by the forearm, pulled me from the chair, sat me on the edge of his desk, and aimed his desk lamp at my neck. He tilted my head right, then left, his blunt calloused fingertips methodically palpating my skin, his voice crisp and businesslike as he gave me a run-down on the vampire modus operandi.

“It
is
possible for a vampire to drink a victim’s blood without him or her knowing. They would come at night, of course, but they must have previously been invited in. Have any of the Russian studies professors been to your house?”

“No,” I answered, and then yelped as Frank slid his hand under my shirt.

“Sorry, just trying to be thorough. I don’t see anything, but I’m afraid you’ll have to check the femoral artery. Do you know where the femoral artery is?”

“Yes,” I said, blushing even more.

“Do you sleep alone?” he asked.

“Uh … no …” I could feel the blood heating my whole chest now. I hoped Frank didn’t think it was a reaction to his touch. Because it wasn’t.

“Then it’s probably not a vampire attack. Still, I’ll look into it.”

The only thing he was looking into right now was my cleavage.

“Hey, I don’t think vampires bite
there.
”

Frank’s mouth quirked into a crooked grin. “No?” he asked, straightening the collar of my shirt. He was just stepping away when I heard a step behind him. I looked up, over Frank’s shoulder, and saw Liam standing in the hall, his face white, his eyes wide.

I opened my mouth to call his name, but he was already gone, vanished so quickly I almost thought I’d imagined him. But that was just wishful thinking.