Lewis Aleman - The Anti-Vampire

“He was alone?”

“No. He was with Roderick and the others. They were all drinking this new breed stuff, when he decided he needed to shoot it in his veins with his smack, but Roderick gave him something poisonous instead of his usual stuff. Said he cried out for them to help him, but Roderick just watched. Stood over him and watched him inch closer to death—studying him like a science experiment. Roderick said he had to see what it’d do to Edgar.”

“How’d he get away?”

“Said Roderick had some girl there—thought he was hallucinating—she had big yellow eyes and giant blue ponytails.”

“That’s her! That’s the girl—Ambrosia!”

“What? Someone really looks like that?”

“That’s her to a tee. Couldn’t be anyone else.”

“Wow, he thought he was seeing things—I did too. Who’d’ve guessed she’d be real, looking like that? Sounds like a cartoon character. Oh, well, guess that makes sense then. Edgar said Roderick was so fixed on her—for hours, that he slipped away without Roderick noticing. By the time Edgar found me, he was speaking gibberish and drooling down his chin.”

“That jerk never mentioned any of this—just told me to talk to you. He knew I was looking for info on why Roderick’s after the girl.”

“‘Course he did. Now he can say he never told you anything. All he told you was where I am—they don’t care about me anymore. No matter how loaded he gets, he’ll never slip up and admit he told you anything, because he didn’t. He got me to tell you. Sneaky junkie.”

“Well, what’d’you think all this has to do with Ambrosia? Why’d Roderick go so crazy—act so careless in public?”

“Whatever she’s got—has to be related to this new breed they’re hooked on. Maybe she makes it for them.”

“Ambrosia doesn’t seem like a dealer, Katrianna—more of a party girl.”

“Maybe she just brings them what they need to make it—maybe just one thing—one ingredient.”

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe her blood’s the sweetest thing they’ve ever tasted.”

“Doubt it. She’s pretty full of toxins from what I’ve been told. Smoking, alcohol, junk food.”

Katrianna shudders and continues, “Whatever it is—it’s the key to all of this. If what Roderick mixed with that new breed almost killed Edgar, it’s brutal. That boy’s body’s been full of every bad thing known to man. If it did that to him, it’s something powerful. Something never seen before.”

I nod.

“And if Roderick’s so interested in it that he was going to let Edgar die—losing one of his chief henchmen—just to watch what it would do to him, it could be the end of us all.”

“If you think his kiss is delicious, you should taste his blood.”

Her poisoned words pass through smiling lips.

“Rather taste what drives his blood, Maxine.”

“His heart?” she looks at me with a mocking expression.

I return the stare, but not the ironic smile.

She bursts with laughter and a word, “ Please! ”

I look away, fidgeting roughly with my fingernails.

She continues, “Honey, he’s a vampire, and more than that, he’s a male—no more reliable than a male of your own kind, following any skirt that flickers in his sight when it passes him.”

“You’re wrong—he can love.”

“Sure, he can,” she says and my enraged pulse slows slightly. “He can love— all of us—just not any one of us.”

The last few hours have been hell with her. Her pleasant voice sneaking in ugly comments. Her teeth and nails flaring out when she doesn’t like what I have to say. Been so trying on my nerves that I begin to lose fear of enraging her.

I say, “Just because you jump from lap to lap before love can ever heat up underneath you—it doesn’t mean everyone else does it too. Not everyone’s so afraid of being scorched by love that they snuff it out before it can begin—ensuring they’ll be lonely but never burned, not realizing the loneliness is drying them up inside worse than the heat ever could.”

Tears summon to her eyes—her expression looks cracked. So bizarre. Changed so fast. Turned from a weapon to a wound.

“Oh, my God,” I say.

She shakes her head, staring at her lap. Stray tears drop onto her thighs.

I continue, “You do love— Simon —you love Simon!”

Fire burns in her eyes beneath a sheet of liquid, “Shut your pretty mouth, princess, before I make it ugly.”

I go to speak, but I see her nails in her right hand outstretched and ready. Her breaths come deep and heavy, raising her entire frame with them. I bite my tongue in hopes that I may keep it.

Still sitting, she raises her legs in front of her, bent at the knees, heels on the ground, and she drops her arms atop her kneecaps, her hands barely touching in the center. Her stare shoots at me just over the top of her hands.

I sit about twelve feet away from her with a small branch that Simon sharpened yesterday grasped in my fist behind my back, squeezing it so tightly the bark falls off—tiny pieces covering my hand.

Her voice jolts my hysteria, “What’s so shocking, pristine princess? Is love only for boring little angels like you? Am I so filthy, so stained, that I can’t love?”

“That’s—that’s not what I meant.”

“Then, what did you mean? You can see I love him.”

“I see it now. Is that why you act like you do?”

She digs into her own hand with her nails, eyes narrow, “Act like what?”

“Looking for sex—all the time.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I’ve seen—it’s all you’ve shown me.”

“Maybe I should gouge your eyes out if that’s all you see with them.”

Her nails dig deeper into her palm.

“What about Simon’s eyes?” I ask.

She grunts and exhales like the air in her has suddenly turned pungent, “Curse you.”

“Do you think he sees anything in you that I don’t?”

“Watch it, prissy. Ain’t nothing here but the trees, and they won’t save you. Nothing will.”

“Save me from what?”

“From me.”

Long stare.

“Thought you promised Simon you wouldn’t hurt me,” my voice stumbles under her fiery gaze—she seems to especially hate it when I say his name, “He’ll never forgive you.”

“We’re immortal, weak one. Sure, he’ll be furious. A year. A decade. Might even want to kill me. It’ll pass. Eventually, I’ll still be here—your memory won’t. In fact, the sooner you’re gone—the shorter your memory’s gonna stick around in his head.”

Fight the tremble in my voice, “Then what?”

“Then what—what?”

“If you’re not always looking for sex, and what I see in you is so wrong—then what are you doing all the time? Why do you act like that?”

“Not about the sex. Distraction—it’s a distraction.”

“A distraction from what?”

She shakes her head and looks down to her legs again.

A voice tells me to shut up. It begs me to stop. It’s the voice that controlled me for so long. Was miserable for so long. It’s grown quieter since I met Simon.

“What is it? What are you hiding from?”

Her voice is no louder than a whisper, but it cracks like a scream, “Simon.”

“What does he have to do with you hooking up all the time?”

“Whenever I think of him, my arms hurt because he’s not in them, so I grab someone to make me think I have someone to hold—to tell myself my embrace isn’t empty anymore. My body becomes alive at the thought of him, pulsing and restless—can’t sleep, so I find someone, sometimes anyone, just so I can scratch the itch, close my eyes, and pretend I’m happy for a moment. Sometimes pretend I’m with Simon—sometimes pretend I’m happy to be with whoever’s there with me. Never lasts long. Never gets rid of the itch, just a quick scratch—always comes back.”