Dance With a Vampire (8 page)

By the time we reached the opening, the bat was gone.

On the ground, at the entrance of the cave, something shimmered in the moonlight.

Alexander picked up the shining object in his pale hand.

It was an empty amulet.

The following morning, before first bell, Becky and I were hanging out in the main office. I was sitting cross-legged in the secretary’s chair, nursing a Styrofoam cup of store-bought java while Becky was eagerly copying valentines for prom.

My once super-silent, shadowy best friend had been selected from the Prom Decorating Committee list to volunteer her time. For some reason, she was volunteering
my
time too.

“We need at least a hundred more,” she said, retrieving a stack of pink hearts from the copy tray before they overflowed and handing them to me.

“A hundred?” I whined.

“And then we have to cut them.”

“This is the first time I’m actually looking forward to first bell ringing,” I said, gazing up at the sluggish office clock.

Every flash of the copier was like lightning striking my already aching head.

“Why are you so tired?” Becky asked. “Did you and Alexander stay out too late on a school night?”

I couldn’t reveal to even my best friend the true reason I was exhausted. It wasn’t because Alexander and I had had a romantic late evening but rather because I’d tossed and turned all night, thinking about the harrowing events in the cave.

I was conflicted. First of all, had the strange hand on my neck really been Valentine’s? I was still uncertain who, or what, had been in the cave with us. And if it had been Jagger’s sibling, I could have been moments away from being attacked by a vampire. Secondly, when I thought it was my own vampire boyfriend who was going to bite me, I didn’t react the way I’d thought I would. Instead, I panicked. I guess I wasn’t as ready as I’d led myself to believe.

Either way, Alexander’s surprise and the romantic interlude in a candlelit cave was spoiled. “I’ll save it for another time,” was all he said when he drove me home.

“I didn’t sleep,” I finally admitted to Becky. “I’m always keyed up after a date with Alexander.”

“Isn’t this awesome?” she said with a bright smile. “Not only are we going to prom, but we’re helping with the decorations. Who knew?”

How could I get excited about paper hearts when my own real one was throbbing so hard? The most important dance of the year had been miles away from my thoughts. Instead, I was preoccupied with Valentine’s whereabouts.

Jennifer Warren, the snarky varsity cheerleader who had snagged my prom dress right in front of my charcoal-stained eyes, strolled through the office door in a red and white pleated skirt and matching shell uniform, her blond ponytail bouncing along after her. She greeted the office workers and marched straight in our direction.

Jennifer was best friends with Heather Ryan, the Prada shoe snob. I figured the two teen fashionistas had conversed, but I hoped it was too early in the morning for another confrontation about designer pumps.

Jennifer ignored me and addressed Becky. “Are you the one who volunteered to make the prom valentines?”

Becky straightened up like a ballerina. Her eyes lit up and her face flushed apple red, as if she had just been greeted by the Queen of England. At any moment, I was ready for my best friend to curtsy.

“My name is Becky,” she said, ignoring the copy machine behind her.

Jenny brandished a sparkling smile. “I see you’ve made a lot of progress already,” she remarked, genuinely delighted. “I didn’t think you’d start making them until tomorrow.”

“Becky is the early worm personified,” I complimented.

Jenny posed like a pop star, the flashing copier as her paparazzi. “I always use the best,”

she said, proud of her new disciple.

Becky beamed as if she’d been chosen for Prom Queen rather than selected to make Xeroxes for a dance.

However, it was clear to me why my best friend was really smiling. Not only was Becky dating Matt Wells, a soccer player, but she was fitting in with cheerleaders and the student body.

I was surprised at how easily the once-shy Becky was accepted by the “in” crowd, while I remained solo in the “out” crowd.

“And Raven is helping too,” Becky added gleefully.

Jenny looked at me as if I were mud she’d discovered underneath her bright white cheerleading sneakers on a rainy game day. “Uh…let me have those,” Jenny said, taking the stack from my hands. “I’ll start cutting them in study hall.”

That was my contribution to the decorating of prom—holding copied valentines for all of ten seconds.

That night, Billy Boy and Henry were locked safely away in my brother’s room doing research on the Internet for their Project Vampire. Meanwhile, in my room, Alexander patiently quizzed me on ancient Greece.

I don’t know which made it more difficult to study— Alexander’s presence or being preoccupied with Valentine’s motives and location.

Obviously, Alexander, too, was concerned about Valentine’s location and motives, as I frequently caught him peering out the window.

When I suggested we put down my homework and return to the cave, Alexander was firm. “It is best that you and Billy stay inside for a night or two while I figure some things out.”

Alexander occasionally gave me stolen kisses before he returned to glancing out the window, and I pretended to be buried in my textbook.

After an arduous day of quizzes, homework hand-ins, and boring lectures, eighth bell rang. I met Becky by our lockers and, after Matt gave her a quick peck before soccer practice, we were off to her house for a prom fashion show.

Becky resided on what many of the snotty Dullsvillians called the “wrong side of the tracks.” I, however, thought she had primo real estate. Becky’s backyard was twice the size of Trevor’s and sported sweet apple trees instead of unused Jacuzzis.

Her farmhouse, built in the 1930s, was the original house her father grew up in. In back of the house, next to the five-acre apple orchard, stood a monstrous silo with vines clinging to it like a giant spiderweb. Adjacent to that sat a red barn filled with tools and a loft suitable for telling ghost stories.

Becky’s house was also steeped in character, something lacking in many of the “right side of the trackers’” houses, including mine. The wooden house was pale yellow with hunter green shutters. It had screen doors and a stellar wraparound porch with an old-fashioned porch swing.

Though some of the appliances had been updated, the original yellow flowered wallpaper from her father’s youth remained. A round vinyl booth instead of the typical dinette table and chairs was sandwiched in a kitchen alcove. Black-and-white tiles lined the upstairs bathroom walls and floors. Glass doorknobs glistened on all the doors, instead of brass or pewter ones, and hardwood floors ran throughout the first floor.

We walked up the squeaky wooden staircase to her bedroom. One wall was slanted, making it feel as if her movie star posters were going to reach out and kiss you.

Becky pulled out a wedge that kept her closet door shut. Depending on the weather, the door buckled and wouldn’t remain closed, which provided hours of fun for us when we were kids, imagining her room was haunted. She took out a garment bag, unzipping it to reveal a vintage floor-length blue strapless gown.

“It’s gorgeous!” I exclaimed.

I searched through Becky’s jewelry box while she tried on her dress.

My best friend had transformed into a princess right in front of my eyes. “You look beautiful. Matt is going to drop dead when he sees you.”

“You think?”

“I know,” I corrected.

“Should I wear my hair up in a twist?” she asked, pulling her layered locks off her neck.

“I don’t know much about hair,” I said. “If it were me, I’d streak it blue to match the dress.

But I think the way you have it up looks fabulous.”

For the next hour we finalized her jewelry selection (faux pearl earrings and matching necklace) and shades of makeup (coral blush, passion pink lipstick with matching gloss, and indigo blue eye shadow).

Becky and I were starving, so on the drive to my home, we stopped off at Hatsy’s Diner, where we stuffed our faces with cheese fries and Vanilla Cokes and talked nonstop about our heartthrobs. Since my best friend and I had acquired boyfriends, we hadn’t had the time to be as glued to each other as we had been in the past. Now that we had recharged our batteries, we got in some major girl time and gossiped for hours. She finally dropped me off after sunset.

I opened the front door to find the first floor empty of family members and the phone ringing.

“I’ll get it,” I hollered.

I dropped my backpack on the kitchen counter and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Raven,” Alexander said from the other end. My name rolled off his tongue like smooth chocolate dairy soft serve being licked off a spoon. “How was your day?”

“Same as every day—dreadful until sunset,” I replied.

The only thing that kept me going through the day was knowing that atop Benson Hill was the most handsome guy I’d ever seen, my very own vampire-mate, sleeping in a coffin in the dusty attic of a creepy old mansion.

“Should I meet you at the Mansion or are you going to pick me up?” I asked eagerly.

There was silence on Alexander’s end.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I hate to do this to you…,” he said, his voice suddenly serious, “but I have to cancel tonight.”

“Cancel?” It hit me like a closing coffin lid. “What’s wrong?”

“Jameson has the car…and I want to check out the cave and cemetery for Valentine.”

“I can ask my mom to drop me off instead.”

“I want to do it alone,” Alexander said in a grave tone.

“Alone?”

Alexander didn’t respond. I knew he didn’t want to put me in harm’s way again, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

Not only would I be missing a nocturnal adventure, I’d be missing precious time with Alexander. It was bad enough I had to be away from Alexander in the sunlight; I couldn’t face being away from him in the moonlight, too.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said in a bright voice. “I still haven’t given you the surprise I was going to give you at the cave.”

For the next five minutes I tried whining, protesting, and attempting my tried-and-true manipulation tactics, but nothing worked. Alexander put his foot down, before he put the phone down.

Then I tried arguing with my mother, but she wouldn’t let me borrow the car. I figured if I used Billy Boy’s bike, which had thicker tires than mine, I could meet Alexander at the cemetery before he started for the cave.

I knocked on my brother’s door.

“Go away!” I heard my annoying brother say.

“I need to ask you for a favor,” I said sweetly.

“I’m busy!”

I slowly cracked open the door. My brother’s normally bright room was dark, except for a single desk lamp gently illuminating the room. He was sitting at his computer desk typing away on his keyboard with one hand and holding a gravestone etching in the other. To my surprise, there was someone sitting in a chair next to him—and it wasn’t Henry.

I froze. Seated next to Billy Boy was a slightly smaller boy with powder white hair.

I gasped.

As if in slow motion, the vampire boy turned to me.

Two glassy green eyes stared through me.

Valentine looked like he’d been dead for more years than he’d been alive. He had a sullen, cadaverous, and almost handsome ghost white complexion, with soft bloodred lips. His long white shaggy hair hung over his face. He exuded an inner strength and, at the same time, a hint of frailty. Though he was only three-fourths my size and seemed like he could blow over with a gentle breeze, something told me he had the power to withstand the force of a storm.

“What are you doing in here?” my brother asked, rising.

“I didn’t invite you in.”

“I need to speak with you,” I said sternly in a low voice.

Valentine’s eyes bored through me. Chills ran down my spine like tiny jabbing icicles.

“Get out. I have company,” my brother ordered.

Billy Boy charged toward me. He braced the door with his skinny arms and tried to close it. I stopped it with my combat boot.

“What is he doing here?” I whispered.

“He’s spending the night.”

My heart skidded to a stop. Spending the night? My brother obviously didn’t realize who—or what—he’d invited to share his bedroom.

“He can’t stay here,” I warned softly.

“I don’t tell you when Becky can come over. Since when did you become my mother?”

“Where’s Henry?” I asked, stalling. “Shouldn’t you have invited him, too?”

“He’s staying at his grandmother’s.”

I glanced back at Valentine, whose green eyes glistened at me hypnotically. He licked his lips, and the light of the desk lamp shined on a small fang.

Like a million strobe lights going off in my head, I realized why Valentine must have come to Dullsville. Jagger and Luna weren’t seeking revenge on Alexander anymore—they were seeking revenge on me by threatening my family. And they were sending Valentine to do their bloody work.

“Quit nosing around,” Billy Boy said.

“But—”

“Get a life!” he yelled as only a little brother could, and slammed the door in my face.

Billy Boy didn’t know Valentine was trying to get a life, too—his.

I paced in my bedroom, my combat boots slamming against the black-carpeted floor, while holding my hissing kitten, who was clearly uptight about our new neighbor.