Adam Rex: Fat Vampire: A Never Coming of Age Story

Finally, safely in the street, she started the car and jerked forward into destiny.

A GRIPPING half hour later, Sejal pulled up to a MoPo convenience store and parked next to a champagne-colored SUV. She got out of the car and squinted into the bright store windows.

"Hey, how you doin’ tonight?" said a voice.

There were two boys in the SUV. High-school age, maybe a little older. "I’m fine," Sejal said, and she made an effort to smile. Americans were always smiling.

"There’s nobody in there," said the boy in the driver’s seat as he jerked his chin toward the MoPo. "Door’s open, though."

That seemed odd. Odder still was that the boys appeared to be opening fresh bags of crisps and sipping fountain drinks. Perhaps they had left their money on the counter.

"Well, I suppose I will go in and wait," said Sejal.

"We got snacks. Why don’t you come with us to this party."

"Thank you, no."

"I gots this book I think I seen you in. The Kama Sutra of Love. "

Sejal flailed her hands. "Look here. Why do you eveteasers keep saying that? Do you even know what the Kama Sutra is?"

A flutter of doubt crossed the boy’s face. "Of course I know. It’s Indian for ‘sex book.’"

"I assure you it is not."

"I’m…pretty sure it is."

"Oh, pooh — I’m done with you now. Go."

She turned toward the store, and after a moment the SUV’s engine started. "Bitch!" called one of the boys as she pushed through the jingling door.

"Yes, yes. Bitch. Very good," she said, scanning the store. There really didn’t seem to be anyone in here. She weaved through the shelves and stepped over a spill of candy necklaces. There was a swinging plastic door the color of old tires in the back, and Sejal pushed it open a crack.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

Then, a small noise behind her, from the middle of the store. A clicking. She approached the checkout island, a stomach-high oval counter piled with impulse items and two cash registers. But there’s no one here, she thought as she leaned into the counter.

"Oh! Hello."

A young woman sat on the floor in the center of the oval, tapping long nails like stick candy against the linoleum floor. She wore the green belted dress of a MoPo employee and the vacant look of a slightly-more-dazed-than-usual MoPo employee.

Sejal tried again. "Hello?"

The girl stirred and touched a hand to her hair. Then she looked up at Sejal, and down at herself.

"I’m on the floor."

"Yes," Sejal agreed. "Are you all right? Do you want me to call someone?"

"Nah…I’m all right," said the girl with a guilty smile.

"I’m sorry to bother you, but is this the MoPo where the Ghost stopped a robbery?"

The girl nodded, then nodded harder with an ever-widening smile. "He was just here! He came back. I think…" She seemed to notice her legs, which were stretched out in a V, and pulled her knees together. "I think we did it."

Sejal had her doubts. She tried to examine the girl’s neck, but could only see the left side. She circled around the checkout island, pulled a yearbook from her bag, and opened it to the page she’d marked.

"Did he look like this?" Sejal asked with her finger by a photo of Douglas Lee. The girl squinted.

"Yyyyyeah, but…"

"But better. I know." There was a small spot on this side of the girl’s neck. It could have been a bug bite. It could have been anything. "He didn’t happen to mention where he was going?"

The girl stared for a moment, then shook her head.

All right then , said Sejal in her mind, as fragments of half-remembered conversations bubbled up to the surface. That’s fine. Someone had once told her where this was all going to end anyway.

"Could you direct me to Clark Park?"

LOOKING UP at the house of Stephin David, Doug couldn’t imagine why Victor had come here. It was just a rusty birdcage, and an old crow, and two hundred years of crap. Still, there was no doubt he’d arrived. His smell was in the air, and the front door was just slightly ajar.

Doug stepped onto the porch, grimaced at the groaning boards, and slipped inside. The entry hall was more spartan than before — the stacks of books were gone, and the only remaining detail was that conspicuous portrait on the wall, no longer covered with drapery. Doug paused. It was a Civil War soldier, the same as when he’d stolen a glance during his first visit. Now that he had a chance to let his eyes linger, the soldier looked a bit like Victor. More so the longer he stared. But a small brass plate on the frame said CORPORAL THOMAS NORTH.

He passed the tree branch to his left hand and wiped his clammy right hand across his shirt. Then came the strains of floorboards above. And, if he remained still and listened keenly, voices. A low voice first.

"It was easy. You were a Nancy. You’re a Nancy now. Or what would you kids say? A bitch?"

"Shut up. You had no right."

"Nonsense. You know what we are. It gives me the right. I’ll do it again."

Doug crept toward the stairs slowly, holding his weight only on the outside edges of his feet.

"You can’t keep ruining lives! I should…stop you."

Doug started up the stairs.

"You? You cannot stop me. A pretty little thing like you?"

The stairs were noisy.

"Wait," said the voice that was almost certainly Victor’s. "What was that?"

Shit, thought Doug.

"That," said Stephin, "is probably your friend Doug Lee. Why don’t you invite him up?"

Doug held the branch behind his back. There was a cacophony of squeaks and groans, and Victor appeared at the top of the stairs. Clothed, for a change.

"What are you doing here, Doug?" Victor hissed.

"What are you doing here?" Doug said, and braced himself against the banister.

Victor studied him a moment. "Is that a wooden stake?"

No sense hiding it anymore, then. Doug brought the stake out in the open.

Victor nodded. "Do you want to stop being a vampire?" He’d been wondering just this for weeks, but when Doug spoke his answer still surprised him.

"Yes."

Victor waved him forward. "Then come on!"

It was the best invitation Doug was ever going to get, so he lunged up the steps and swung his weapon high toward Victor’s chest. But standing on a lower step put him at a disadvantage. Victor deflected Doug’s arm to the side, both boys lost their footing, and two entangled bodies came tumbling down the stairs.

On the ground floor Doug collected himself but couldn’t account for the stake. He couldn’t even remember dropping it.

Victor coughed, still on his back. "What are you doing? Not me! Stephin David!" He tried to get to his feet, but Doug pushed him off balance again. Victor’s back hit the wall, the portrait of Tom North came down on his head. The glass shattered.

A creaking upstairs told Doug that Stephin was now on the move. And so was Victor. He scrambled backward to the front door. Doug went at him again, but this time Victor found his footing and hit him, hard. Everything went red. Doug felt and heard a door slam right between his ears. He staggered and took a few halting steps backward. Glass crunched under his heels.

"I’ve been punched by a vampire, an Indian girl, and a panda," he mumbled. "I should be a video game."

He took two deep breaths and charged again. A moment before Victor tossed him over backward and through Stephin’s front door, Doug questioned the wisdom of rushing a varsity football player, and as he lay at the bottom of the porch steps he silently congratulated himself on his insight.

He was acupunctured all over with splinters. Victor came to the door, breathing hard. Doug was counting on this— he was full of convenience store blood, but Victor was running on empty.