Darren Shan - Tunnels of Blood

"It's okay," Evra said softly. "I am a snake-boy." Debbie stared at Evra uncertainly. "I am, really," he vowed. "I have many serpentine qualities: I shed my skin, I'm cold-blooded, I have snakelike eyes."

"Still," Debbie said, "it's not nice to be compared to a snake."

"It is if you like snakes." Evra laughed.

"Oh." Debbie looked back at me, half ashamed. "Sorry," she said.

"It's okay," I said, secretly pleased that she'd reacted the way she had — it proved she wasn't prejudiced.

Debbie was fascinated by Evra and kept asking him questions. What did he eat? How often? "Was he able to talk to snakes? After a while I told him to show her his tongue — he had a really long tongue and was able to stick it up his nose.

"That's the grossest, greatest thing I've ever seen!"

Debbie howled when Evra demonstrated his nostril-licking abilities. "I wish I could do that. It'd freak the life out of everybody at school."

Eventually it was time to leave for the movies.

"I won't be back late," I told Evra.

"Don't rush on my account," he said, and winked.

It was a short walk to the cineplex, and we arrived in plenty of time for the start of the movie. We bought popcorn and drinks and headed in. We talked away to each other during the ads and previews.

"I like your brother," Debbie said. "He seems a little shy, but I guess that has to do with the way he looks."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Life hasn't been easy for him."

"Is anybody else in your family snakelike?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Evra's one of a kind."

"Your mom isn't unusual?" I'd told Debbie my mom and dad were divorced and that Evra and me spent half the year with each. "Or your dad?"

I smiled. "Dad's strange, too," I said, "but not like Evra."

"When can I meet him?" she asked.

"Soon," I lied. Debbie had warmed immediately to the snake-boy, but how would she react to a vampire? I had a feeling she wouldn't warm up to Mr. Crepsley, not if she knew what he was.

The movie was a stupid romantic comedy. Debbie laughed more than me.

We discussed the movie afterward as we walked back to the square. I pretended to like it more than I did. As we walked down a dark alley, Debbie took my hand in hers and held on to me for comfort, which made me feel great.

"Aren't you afraid of the dark?" she asked.

"No," I said. The alley seemed pretty bright to my vampire-enhanced eyes. "What is there to be afraid of?" I asked.

She shivered. "I know it's silly," she said, "but I'm always half afraid a vampire or werewolf's going to jump out and attack me." She laughed. "Stupid, huh?"

"Yeah," I said, laughing weakly. "Stupid."

If only she knew…

"Your nails are really long," she commented.

"Sorry," I said. My nails were incredibly tough. Scissors couldn't cut them. I had to chew on them with my teeth to keep them down.

"No need to apologize," she said.

As we emerged from the alley, I felt her studying me by the light of the street lamps. "What are you looking at?" I asked.

"There's something different about you, Darren," she mused. "It's not something I can put my finger on."

I shrugged, trying to make light of it. "It's because I'm so good-looking," I joked.

"No," she said seriously. "It's something inside you. I see it in your eyes sometimes."

I looked away. "You're embarrassing me," I grumbled.

She gave my hand a squeeze. "My dad always says that. He says I'm too inquisitive. My mind's always racing, and I'm always saying what's on it. I should learn to keep quiet."

We arrived at the square and I walked Debbie to her door. I stood awkwardly on the front step, wondering what to do next.

Debbie solved the problem for me.

"Want to come in?" she asked.

"Aren't your parents home?" I responded.

"That's okay — they won't mind. I'll tell them you're a friend of a friend."

"Well… okay," I said. "If you're sure."

"I am," she said, smiling, then took my hand and opened the door.

I was almost as nervous going in as I had been the night I crept down the cellar in the old theater in my hometown and stole Madam Octa from the sleeping Mr. Crepsley!

As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about. Debbie's parents were as nice as she was. Their names were Jesse and Donna — they wouldn't let me call them Mr. and Mrs. Hemlock — and they made me feel welcome as soon as I walked in.

"Hello!" Jesse said, seeing me first as we entered the living room. "Who's this?"

"Mom, Dad, this is Darren," Debbie said. "He's a friend of Anne's. I ran into him at the movies and invited him back. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Jesse said.

"Of course," Donna agreed. "We were about to have supper. Would you like some, Darren?"

"If it's no trouble," I said.

"No trouble at all," she beamed. "Do you like meatloaf?"

"It's my favorite," I told her. It wasn't really, but I guessed it would pay to be polite.

I told Jesse and Donna a little about myself as we ate.

"What about school?" Jesse asked, like Debbie had before him.

"My dad used to be a teacher," I lied, having given some thought to the matter since yesterday. "He teaches Evra and me."

"More meatloaf, Darren?" Donna asked.

"Yes, please," I said. "It's great." It was, too. Much better than any meatloaf I'd had before. "What's in it?"

"A few extra spices," Donna said, smiling proudly. "I used to be a chef."

"I wish they had someone like you in the hotel." I sighed. "Their food isn't very good."

I offered to wash the dishes when we were finished, but Jesse said he'd do them. "It's my way of unwinding at the end of a hard day," he explained. "Nothing I like better than scrubbing a few dirty dishes, polishing the banister and vacuuming the carpets."

"Is he kidding?" I asked Debbie.

"Actually, no," she said. "Okay if we go up to my room?" she asked.

"Go ahead," Donna told her. "But don't chat for too long. We've got a couple of chapters of The Three Musketeers to finish, remember?"

Debbie made a face. "All for one and one for all," she groaned. "How exciting — I don't think!"

"You don't likeThe Three Musketeers ?" I asked.

"Do you ?"

"Sure. I've seen the movie at least eight times."

"But did you ever read the book?" she asked.

"No, but I read a comic book about them once."

Debbie shared a scornful glance with her mother, and the two burst out laughing.

"I have to read a little of a so-called classic every night," Debbie grumbled. "I hope you never learn just how boring those books can be."

"Be down soon," she told her mother, then showed me the way upstairs.

Her room was on the third floor. A big, pretty-empty room, with large closets and hardly any posters or decorations.

"I don't like feeling cluttered," Debbie explained when she saw me looking around.

There was a bare artificial Christmas tree in one corner of the room. There had been one in the living room, too, and I noticed a couple more in other rooms on my way up the stairs.

"Why all the trees?" I asked.

"Dad's idea," Debbie said. "He loves Christmas trees, so we get one for every room in the house. The ornaments are in little boxes underneath" — she pointed to a box under the tree — "and we open them on Christmas Eve and decorate the trees. It's a nice way to pass the night, and it tires you out, so you fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillows."

"It sounds like fun," I agreed wistfully, remembering what it had been like to decorate the Christmas tree at home with my family.

Debbie studied me silently. "You could come over on Christmas Eve," she said. "You and Evra. Your dad, too. You could help us with the trees."