Attack of the Vampire Weenies (16 page)

Loki's hiss turned into a yowling snarl. He leaped straight at my face.

I screamed and ducked. He flew right past my shoulder.

I heard a crash.

I spun toward my bedside table. Loki was there, growling. His head was down. He'd knocked the mirror flat and was biting at it.

No. He wasn't biting the mirror. He was biting something that was coming through the glass. Something that wriggled and whipped, trying to escape his jaws.

A snake.

Loki had his teeth locked on its head. He yanked his own head hard, pulling the snake from the mirror. I could see other snakes behind it—dozens more—bumping against the glass like they were trying to come through.

Loki shook the snake. I heard a snap, like a tiny firecracker. He opened his mouth and let the snake fall to the table.

It wasn't like any snake I'd ever seen. It had a head like a wasp, and small barbs along its spine. Its tail forked three ways. One part ended in a rattle. The other two ended in stingers.

Loki batted at the snake. It rolled an inch or two, limp and obviously dead. A motion caught my eye. More snakes had gathered near the surface of the mirror, tapping at the glass, scratching against the surface, trying to push through. Loki batted at the mirror. It fell off the table and broke. No more snakes slithered out.

Loki clamped his jaws around the body of the dead snake and padded out of the room. I picked up the broken pieces of the mirror and put them in my trash can. Then I snapped the frame. The instant I broke it, it crumbled to dust in my hands.

Loki came back ten minutes later. I didn't want to know what he'd done with the body.

“You saved me.” I stroked his head and neck as he settled down on my bed.

He purred, as if to say,
No big deal. That's what cats do.

Yeah. Cats aren't evil. I looked at my drawer, where I'd stashed the book. Then I glanced at the trash basket next to my bed. Nope. I loved books too much to throw one out—even if it was too scary for me.

But I knew exactly what I was going to do with it.

“Guess who has a birthday next week,” I told Loki.

I lifted the curtain and looked out the window toward Leslie-Anne's house. “And guess what I'm giving her for a present.”

Sweet dreams, Leslie-Anne,
I thought as I slipped under my blanket and cuddled with my fabulous, heroic, and not-at-all-evil black cat.

 

LITTLE GUYS

“Check this out,” Avery
said as he walked into his room. He pointed to the corner opposite his bed. “I got the whole thing last week.”

“Cool trains,” Jasper said.

“And my grampa just sent me something to add to my set.” Avery held up the opened box that he'd unwrapped right before Jasper came over. “It's all in scale. That means everything is the right size, but just shrunk down.” He put the model house on the tracks next to the train.

“Can I run it?” Jasper asked.

“After me.” Avery threw the switch that powered the train. The locomotive pulled its three cars around the oval track past trees and barns and miniature chickens. Then he pushed the switch the other way, and the train ran backwards.

“My turn?” Jasper asked.

“In a minute.” Avery ran the train forward and backwards around the track three more times. He really liked running it, but he knew Jasper would get angry if he didn't share.

He was just about to give Jasper his turn when his friend shouted, “Hey, there's something inside there!”

“What?”

“Look.” Jasper pointed at the model house.

“You're crazy.” Avery scrunched down and peeked inside. “Wow! You're right!” he shouted when he saw the tiny man. “There's someone there.”

“Let me see.” Jasper squeezed in next to Avery.

“Don't push.” Avery scooted over and made some room for Jasper, but he didn't take his eyes from the window. He spotted several more people in the house.

“Cool,” Jasper said. “Hey, I know. Let's put the house on the tracks.”

“Yeah, that would be awesome.” Avery picked up the house and set it across the tracks right behind the train.

“It's my idea. Can I run the train?” Jasper asked.

“Next time.” Avery got the train running at full speed. It shot around the track and smacked into the house. The collision knocked the train off the rails and sent the house tumbling halfway across the room.

“Crash!” Avery said.

“Cool!” Jasper shouted.

Avery picked up the house and looked inside. The people were still in the room, but they were all lying down. They weren't moving.

“Oh man,” he said. “I think I broke something inside.”

“Will your grampa get you another?” Jasper asked.

“Sure. He sends me stuff all the time. I'll just tell him—”

Avery never finished his sentence. A giant ripping sound tore through the room. The floor tilted at a crazy angle.

“What?” Jasper gasped.

Avery staggered as the house rose into the air. He barely got out of the way of his bed when it slid across the sloping floor and smashed into the wall.

Earthquake?
Avery wondered.
Tornado?

The room had gotten dark. Avery looked out the window. A giant finger lay across the lower half. The finger shifted, and a face appeared.

“Put us down!” Avery shouted. “Please.” He kept shouting and begging. But the face, giant as it was, was a face much like his own. His own age. His own smile whenever he thought of something cool to do. The eyes were a different color, and the hair was longer, but that didn't matter. It was a face he knew well. It was a face without mercy.

 

A CURE FOR THE UNCOMMON VAMPIRE

People hate me because
I'm so much smarter than they are. It's not just the kids in my class. My teachers hate me, too. They all want to be the smartest person in the room. But they can't be that. Not when I'm around. So they hate me. I don't care.

I'm bored out of my mind in school. I spend the time thinking up inventions. I've come up with three ways to end world hunger and two ways to eradicate malaria, but I haven't shared my ideas. People don't deserve to benefit from my brilliance. It serves them right for hating me.

I was sitting in science class, listening to Mr. Hackmire talk about photosynthesis, when the best idea I've ever had hit me. There might be a way to use a similar chain of chemical reactions to cure vampirism. Nobody else would ever make the connection. That just shows how brilliant I am.

I know most people don't believe in vampires. But last year, I did a study of them, because they intrigue me. I gathered all the information I needed about populations around the world, and wrote a computer program to analyze the data. There was a definite anomaly. Some populations shrank more than they should, as if members were being picked off. And some groups lived far longer than they should, on average, as if certain people were immortal. Or, at least, immortal until you drove a stake into their heart or dragged them into the burning rays of the sun.

Vampires and I have a lot in common. I was born smart. Vampires live for centuries, so they have plenty of time to learn things and become very smart. I don't fit in with other people. Neither do vampires. I don't care what happens to people. Their pain doesn't concern me. I like darkness. The list goes on and on. And now, I knew how to cure the vampires of their affliction. They'd worship me.

By the time Mr. Hackmire finished drawing a shaky picture of a leaf on the board, I'd worked out a complete theory, inspired by photosynthesis, but also drawing on a half-dozen concepts from molecular biology, organic chemistry, and particle physics. I had to force myself not to race out of the room and get started immediately. Luckily, it was Friday, so I could devote the entire weekend to my project.

The instant I got home, I began perfecting my formula. It required a variety of amino acids, as well as several inorganic ingredients and trace amounts of three rare-earth metals. Fortunately, I have a well-stocked lab. My parents didn't disturb me. They learned long ago that it was best to leave me alone when I was busy with a project.

I stayed up all night Friday and worked straight through the next day. By Saturday evening, I had the formula. It was a thick brown liquid, incredibly concentrated. A single drop on the tongue would turn a vampire back into a human. I suspected the transition would be painful, but the pain would only last ten or fifteen minutes. After that short stretch of agony, the vampire could return to a normal life as a human. I rarely smile, but the absolute brilliance of my creation made me grin.

Now I just had to test my solution. I knew beyond any doubt that it would work. But knowing wasn't good enough. I had to see it work. I needed validation.

I still had my vampire studies on my hard drive. I was almost positive there was vampire activity nine miles from here, in Rackham Hills. The actual victims were spread over a wide area, but it was trivial to trace the center of this vampirism back to its source. This was perfect. I could travel to Rackham Hills on my bicycle. I often go for long rides when I want to get away from people.

Sunday afternoon, an hour before sunset, I placed a vial of the cure in my jacket pocket and told my parents I was going out to observe the occlusion of Venus by Jupiter. That was nonsense, of course, but it amused me that they had no clue.

I took back roads to the southern edge of Rackham Hills. The most obvious place for the vampires to hide was an abandoned building. The most obvious building would be one with no windows and a deep basement. Even when protected by a coffin, a vampire wouldn't want to be near sunlight or in a place where he risked being discovered. It had taken me less than five minutes on the Internet to narrow the possibilities down to a single location.

The sun was almost set. I wanted to be there when the vampires rose from their coffins. It would be an amazing sight. I took my flashlight from the bag clipped to my bicycle. I'd given this next part a lot of thought. Any mistake would be terrible. But I was too smart to make mistakes. I put a drop of the formula on each side of my neck. The instant the vampire tried to bite me, the cure would start and he'd be powerless to hurt me.

The building looked like it was falling down, and far too dangerous for anyone to enter. That's exactly what I'd expected. They'd created that impression to discourage visitors. I could tell as I stepped inside that the building was sturdy. The floor felt solid beneath my feet. The entrance to the basement was hidden, but I found that, too.

What I didn't expect was to find a single coffin. Just one, shoved against the far wall. I stood off to the side and watched it. The lid started to rise. I must have drawn in a deep breath, because the lid froze for an instant. He—or she—heard me. They have amazing senses.

They're also fast. I didn't realize how fast until now. The lid flew open. Before it even struck the wall, he was on me—a blur of darkness, a stink of moldy soil.

I was knocked back, but he clung to me. I felt a hot breath against my skin as he thrust his fangs toward my neck. There was no time to think, or even to hope my plan had worked.

The effect of my formula was even faster than the attack. The instant his mouth brushed my neck, he shrieked and fell away, collapsing on the floor and writhing like he'd touched a high-tension line. He rolled across the floor and howled. His arms and legs shot out, flailing in the air.

The screaming continued for eleven minutes and thirteen seconds. I timed it with my watch. And then, as if a switch had been flipped from
ON
to
OFF
, he stopped thrashing.

For a moment, he lay still. Then he raised his head and looked up at me. I stood where I was and waited. He could come to me. He staggered to his feet. He was a small man. Maybe two inches taller than I was, and not more than twenty pounds heavier.

He sniffed the air and frowned. He ran a thumbnail across the back of his hand, scratching himself. The scratch didn't heal.

“Human?” he asked.

I nodded. “You're human.”

“How?”

I told him. It was nice having a chance to demonstrate my brilliance to someone who had already seen the evidence.

When I was done, he said, “This is a miracle. It is what we've been waiting for. What we've been hoping to discover for centuries.” He reached out and touched my shoulder. “You'll be known for all of time as the one who saved us.”

I'd expected praise and thanks. But not this much. Still, he was filled with the wisdom of centuries, and knew I deserved more thanks than he could possibly give me.

I thought about his words. “You said, ‘We've been waiting.' Where are the others?”

“Nearby,” the former vampire said. “I don't get along with them all that well, because I'm so much smarter. But they'll listen to me now. Let me go ahead to tell them what you bring. I want to make sure you aren't hurt.”

He shifted some boxes, revealing an entrance that led deeper into the basement, then paused and looked back. “Do you have any idea what it's like to have to hunt for all of your food? To have to hide what you do? To live in constant fear of hunger and discovery?”

“It must be awful,” I said.

“It was. But now it won't be, thanks to you. Let me prepare them for the news.” He slipped off.

I put more of the formula on my neck, just in case. I waited. It didn't take long for him to return. I guess all the vampires were eager to be human.

“This way,” he said.

I entered a room lined with open coffins. A dozen men and women had gathered in the middle. One of them, the tallest, said, “We have long hoped for a day like today. We owe you great thanks.”

As I opened my mouth to reply, I realized he wasn't talking to me. He was thanking the one who had led me into the room.