The Society of S (41 page)

My father let us know that he wasn’t shocked by what he thought of as “the betrayal of my best friends,” and he thought the word
friends
with dark irony. (When I hear thoughts, sarcasm and irony sound deep red or purple, depending on the degree. Is it the same for you?)

“I might have deduced it, from the way Dennis behaved,” he said. “I suppose that I chose not to figure it out. It was more convenient for me not to know.”

My mother twisted a napkin between her hands. She wanted him to forgive her for leaving, for becoming
other
. Even if her thoughts hadn’t been loud, her feelings were plain on her face. The couple at the next table gave her a curious look as they left.

But my father instead turned to me.
What about these murders?
he thought.

Without saying a word, we discussed the death of Robert Reedy.
I killed him
, I thought.
But I didn’t cut him up. And the other murders
—
I had nothing to do with them
.

The server asked if we wanted anything else. My father looked at Mãe and me. “Bring more oysters,” he said. “And another bottle of mineral water.”

By this time we were the only party left on the veranda. “It’s safe for us to talk now,” Mãe said. “I like to hear your voices.”

“I’ve never seen you eat before,” I said to my father, feeling shy. “You’re not a vegetarian.”

“No.”

“Then why did you raise me as one?”

“I wanted to give you as much chance as possible to grow into a
normal human
.” He spoke the words as if part of him were listening and disapproving of his phrasing. “I feared that meat might over-stimulate your appetite.”

The candles flickered in the breeze from the bay. A crescent moon hung low in the sky. “A fine setting for a talk about blood and murder,” my father said.

“How did you know about the murder?” I knew he wasn’t likely to have read the newspapers.

“My
friend
Malcolm told me all about the deaths.” My father ate an oyster with astonishing elegance. By contrast, Mãe and I slurped ours down.

“How did he know?” I didn’t picture Malcolm as a newspaper reader, either.

“He knew because he was there.” My father lifted another shell to his lips and deftly ingested its contents without pursing his lips. “He’s been following you for years, Ari. You sensed his presence, remember?”

Mãe said, “Wait a minute. You knew he was stalking her, and you let it happen?”

“Hardly.” He refilled our wine glasses. “Malcolm told me about it when he turned up last week to talk business.”

“You’re doing business with
him
?” Mãe shook her head.

“Wait, let’s get back to the stalking,” I said.

“Thank you, Ari. Yes, let’s try to sort through this
mess
with a semblance of coherence.”

I didn’t like the tension between them. “When I sensed an
other
in the Sarasota house, that was Malcolm?”

“Most likely. But not necessarily. Vampires often look in on each other, you know. I don’t happen to be that sort —”

My mother made a funny sound, as if she were suppressing laughter.

And then my father did something so unlike him, so unprecedented, that I nearly fell off my chair. He winked.

So this is how they were, I thought. He exaggerated his mannerisms to amuse my mother. She pretended to be irritated. They were almost
cute
— a word I’d never used even once before. It made me uncomfortable.

“Malcolm told me about the murders,” my father said. His voice was deep and calm. “He said he saw you commit them, while he was invisible. He even commented on the delicate way you carved the bodies; he said he was reminded of
ikezukuri
, a technique used by Japanese sushi chefs he’d watched in Japan. A whole fish is carved live, reassembled on a plate, and consumed while its heart is still beating.”

“But I didn’t —”

“She couldn’t —”

“Do you think I believed him?” He sipped his wine. “My daughter capable of such barbarism?”

My mother was shaking her head again. “I’m confused.”

“Think it through, Sara.” Their eyes met and held steady. “Malcolm has created a narrative in which he’s the hero. For years he’s been voluntarily acting as Ari’s guardian angel, if you will, concerned only for her welfare. Now he comes to me with a proposal: he wants us to collaborate on developing a new oxygen delivery system. And by the way, he mentions that my daughter happens to be a serial killer, but that he certainly won’t tell anyone else. It’s a kind of blackmail, and he’s awfully good at it.”

“So you’re playing along with him?”

“I’m not sure I’d phrase it that way. Yes, I’m going along with his scheme, for now. I want to know where it leads.”

I pushed back my chair. “Father, who did kill those people? Do you think it was Malcolm?”

“I think it might well be Malcolm.” He looked at the white tablecloth, smoothed out a wrinkle near his plate. “He’s capable of killing without qualms. He has nothing but contempt for humans.”

“Then he killed Kathleen.” I said it softly, but inside I felt knives tearing at me. Mãe put her arms around me, and I leaned against her.

My father sat back and watched us. We didn’t need to talk further.

Back at Xanadu (I enjoy using the name whenever possible), my father showed me the room where I’d be spending the night. He said my mother would be across the hall.

“We’re going to talk a bit more,” he said.

My parents went into the room that served as my father’s study, and I walked out onto the balcony. Stars glittered in the night sky; I could see Polaris and Ursa Minor. Somewhere out there, I knew, were dark nebulae, dust clouds that absorb light and block our view of objects that lie beyond. I thought of asking for a telescope as a birthday gift.

A sound behind me made me whirl around. It wasn’t Malcolm, as I’d expected. Dennis stood there, his eyes bleary, holding a bottle of beer. His shirt was only half tucked into his jeans. His face wasn’t shaven, and he needed a haircut.

“So you found her,” he said.

It took me a second to understand. “Yes, I found her,” I said. “It wasn’t hard.”

He said, “Yeah?”

“One thing led to another,” I said. “And there she was. It wasn’t hard. You and my father could have found her any time.”

He came to stand next to me. We gazed down at the dark water and the lights of buildings on the other side of the bay.

“Ari, I need to ask you something,” he said. “I need your help.”

I waited. It was hard to remember how much I’d liked him, not so long ago.

“I want you to make me…” He hesitated. “Like you,” he said.

With effort, I kept my voice low and steady. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”

He coughed. “Don’t pretend. I know you’ve done it. Malcolm told us about what you’ve done. Not just the ones you killed, but the kid in Asheville.”

So Malcolm had been around when I was with Joshua, too. “I didn’t make him a vampire,” I said. “He was a donor. A most willing donor.”

“Let
me
be your donor.” He moved closer to me, lifted his hand as if he were going to touch my hair, then changed his mind. “Even if you haven’t done it before, I can tell you how.”

Of all the oddities of my life so far, this one took the cake (an expression Mrs. McG had used on more than one occasion). I stared at his affable middle-aged face, at the muscles in his neck. For a second, I considered biting him. Then a wave of revulsion hit me, so strong that I had to hold on to the balcony railing with both hands.

“You okay?” His voice sounded oddly distant.

I pushed back my hair and looked up — at the man who had once carried me on his shoulders, who’d taught me physics and the facts of life. “You know all about it, don’t you?” My voice sounded hoarse. “You watched my father and Malcolm. So why don’t you have Malcolm do it?”

Dennis didn’t say anything, but his thoughts were easy to read. He’d asked Malcolm, more than once, and Malcolm refused.

“How could you have helped him take my mother away?”

“He made a good case for her leaving. She wasn’t happy, Ari.” But his thoughts went further. Malcolm had made a deal with him.

“So he led you on.” I felt stronger now. “He made you a promise, and then he reneged.”

Malcolm had used Dennis to get to my mother — then he’d refused to keep his part of the bargain. But he’d kept telling Dennis that he might change his mind if Dennis proved himself worthy. Dennis had kept on hoping. Now he was growing older and impatient.

At the time I didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for him. (Since then, I’ve reconsidered. Who wouldn’t beg for eternal life? He was tired of being left out, just as my mother had been.)

“Why don’t you ask Root?”

He shuddered. “I couldn’t stand to have her touch me.”

His eyes were dull, yet pleading. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” I said, trying to find an excuse for his behavior.

“Ari,” he said. “Please?”

“You.” I couldn’t think of a name bad enough to call him.
Traitor
came close. “I thought you were my friend,” I said, and I left him and the balcony behind me.

When I awoke the next morning, I could sense tension before I left the bedroom. Root passed me in the hallway, headed in the opposite direction. She nodded. I couldn’t get used to her acknowledging me. My reputation as a murderous vampire must have made quite a positive impression.

The others were in the living room, watching a long television screen built into a wall. My parents sat far apart on the sofa. Dennis stood to their left. He didn’t look in my direction.

On the television screen, a map showed a swirling red and orange mass moving in the Gulf of Mexico. “A tropical storm?” I asked.

Mãe looked at me. “No, a hurricane. It’s projected to make land-fall a little too close to home.”

The storm’s ceaseless rotation was almost hypnotic.

“A hurricane is a beautiful thing, until you’ve been in one,” she said.

She’d been on the phone with Dashay. Dashay and Bennett were closing up the house and getting ready to move the horses to a friend’s farm, south of Orlando, out of the storm’s projected path. “I need to get back, to help,” she said.

This wasn’t an acceptable part of my family reunion fantasy.
Don’t go
, I thought, and she thought back,
I have to go
.

“I’ll come with you,” I said, but she shook her head.

“You’re safer here. Sarasota will get some rain, but nothing like the winds headed for Homosassa and Cedar Key. You don’t know how bad this can be, Ariella. The storm is already a Category Four.”

The television image showed dotted lines emanating from the storm, projecting onto land. The announcer called the highlighted area “Hurricane Barry’s cone of uncertainty.” Homosassa lay close to its center. Mandatory evacuations had been ordered.

“There will be tornadoes.” My father’s voice made the prophecy sound poetic. “The North Atlantic Oscillation is in a strongly positive phase. Sara’s right, Ari. You’re safer here.”

I shot a look of contempt at Dennis, but his eyes were on the television screen. My mother caught the look and sent me a question:
What’s that?

But she had enough on her mind. “Will you come back?” I asked.

She hugged me. “Of course I’ll come back. I’m going to rent a second horse trailer, load it up, tow it down to Kissimmee. Then I’ll drive here. The storm won’t hit land for three days or so. I’ll be back day after tomorrow. Meantime, start thinking about what you want for your birthday. Do you realize it’s only a week away?”

“How about a tattoo?” I said.

The shock on my parents’ faces pleased me. I said, “That was a joke. What I’d really like is to see a fireworks show.” I thought of the night of my first kiss.

Clearly relieved, Mãe kissed me. “I think we can manage fireworks.” She exchanged a veiled look with my father, then left.