The Lair

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mel

Vampires are not like in the movies. But I think I knew that, too. If someone tells my story someday, will they get it as wrong? No number of wrongs makes a right, but the more opinions you get, the closer you can triangulate the truth.

This truth I do know—if it is my emotions that make me human, then I am more human now than I ever was in life. Sometimes I stare at the remnants of the life I once had, awash in my loss. My pink backpack, my stuffed squirrels, my Slinky. I still possess these things but they no longer bring me peace.

I never knew anger until now. It is as keen and sharp as my hunger, and neither has been slaked by blood.

If Sebastian would let me hunt I wouldn’t feel so twitchy, but he won’t even let me out of the car.

There must be more power in words than I ever knew, because my word has bound me as tight as his will. Or maybe it is just fear. I can’t forget what happened in that church parking lot. That I was near death, but that it was him who killed me, before he brought me back. Until I’m ready to kill him myself, I won’t disobey.

Still, I won’t wolf-cub to his alpha. Not entirely.

We are at the kitchen table in an empty house in a city whose name I don’t know. I like this house though, because it smells like cinnamon and moth balls, like my Nanna’s house used to.

Only Sebastian’s presence destroys the illusion.

“Soon you can hunt for yourself, Kitten,” he says one morning when he gets home. He hunts each night while I prowl the empty house mourning my music and the girl I once was.

I say nothing, but keep glugging the blood he’s brought me in a plastic cup.

“You will need to be careful. The behavior of the Ticks is changing. They used to stay close to the Farms, to their food source. Now they wander farther astray. If they caught you alone . . .”

His voice trails off. I know what he’s saying.

If they caught me alone, they might kill me. If they didn’t, I would kill them. A tit for tat that’s worse than tic-tac-toe. Another zero-sum game.

Still, I can’t bring myself to admit he’s right. So I say nothing. Stillness and nothing are what I do best these days.

Finally, he slams his hand down on the table. “Snap out of it, Melanie, stop pouting. It’s been six weeks.”

Six weeks? I’m shocked, because it doesn’t feel that long.

I hide it behind a shrug.

“I don’t remember the last time you spoke. Snap out of it.”

I open my mouth and when I speak my voice sounds unused. “All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.”

His lips twitch like maybe he’s amused, but I can’t hear it in his voice. “Nice try, Melanie. But I don’t buy it.”

He’s right, of course. The rhymes don’t come easily anymore. I have to work to find those words. That, too, has been stolen from me, along with my life and my death.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” I grumble.

“You don’t need to do that anymore,” he says, his voice as toneless as my ears. “That’s not who you are.”

I leap up from the table. I can’t listen to him anymore. I can’t hear him past the fury blaring in my ears. He stands, just watching me.

“That’s who you were,” he says calmly, “when you were human. That’s not who you are anymore.”

I whirl back toward him. My voice comes out drenched in my fury. “That is who I’ll always be!”

Instead of answering, he just stares at me. I hate the look in his eyes as much as I hate him.

Because I know he’s right. I can feel it in my bones. In my every cell. I’m not Mel anymore. Not that human girl. Not that autistic girl. Not that living, breathing, music-savant, indigo girl. I’m not her.

She died in that parking lot. I have her memories. I have part of her body, but I have very little else from her. My stomach. My taste buds. My ears. My mind. They are all different. Unique. Inhuman.

Even my anger is my own.

She was never this angry.

Pouty, difficult, temper-tantrum throwing. Yes. Resentful. Yes. Indignant, prickly, fearful. Yes.

But this burning anger? This all-consuming fury? These are all Melanie. They are not what I want. I want hope and music and my sister. Instead I have this.

Perhaps this anger is what makes me a vampire. Maybe this fuels my thirst. Makes me a killer.

I still can’t imagine killing another human to feed myself, but maybe the anger is what would push me over the edge. Maybe all vampires are this angry.

“Listen to yourself,” Sebastian says, his voice as seductive as the gleaming coils of a Slinky. “Your rhymes are so slow and labored now, I can practically hear you struggling to come up with them. But when you’re too angry to think before you speak that’s not what comes out at all.”

“I’m always angry.”

He stands and walks over to me. “Of course you are. No one likes being helpless. No one likes having a sacrifice like the one you made for your sister thrown back in her face.”

He runs a hand up and down my arm in a gesture that I guess is supposed to be soothing, but I can’t stop looking at his hand. It’s weird being touched. I used to hate being touched. By anyone. Now, I haven’t been touched since that first day. The sensation is pleasant. Not needle pricks, like how being touched used to feel.

Still, I don’t like him touching me. It’s disingenuous. He doesn’t want to touch me. Vampires, by nature, aren’t touchers. There’s no snuggling in vampirism. I wrench my arm out from under his hand and flick my hand to backslap him.

He grabs my wrist before my hand makes contact, a smile oozing across his face.

“Very good,” he murmurs.

I don’t know what surprises me more: the fact that I tried to slap him or that he anticipated it. That it pleased him.

I jerk my hand away and back up. I clasp my arm close to my body, shielding it from his touch with my other arm. “What do you want?”

“I want you to snap out of it. To be yourself. As you are, not this ridiculous shadow of yourself.”

Again the hatred boils inside of me. “There’s nothing ridiculous about who I was.”

“The ridiculous thing is that you’re still pretending to be her. She’s dead. Why are you fighting me so hard on this?”

“I’m not fighting you. I’m fighting this.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why are you fighting what you’ve become?”

I just stare at him blankly, unable—or maybe unwilling—to force this into words.

“At the risk of overstating this, there are people who would give anything to have the kind of power you refuse to even acknowledge you have. You should be ecstatic to—”

“Why? Why should I be ecstatic? Because of what I was before? Because I was autistic? Turn the poor autistic girl, give her the ability to talk, and she’ll be over the moon.”

Sebastian rocks back. “Ah. I see.”

His knowing look annoys me and I want to stop talking, to stop giving him the satisfaction, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. The words are pouring out of me. “You think I should be grateful, just because I was autistic? That I should be thrilled with who I am now? But I’m not. Because I was fine before. That girl I was? She was just fine.”

“And if you accept who you are now, that would mean admitting she, that girl you were, wasn’t okay.”

“I was okay,” I say firmly

“I knew you then, when you were on the Farm. I saw how frustrated you were when people didn’t listen to you. When they ignored you. Were you really okay then?”

“I was fine,” I say again stubbornly.

“Yes, you were. You were smart and observant. You fought harder than most humans do. There’s nothing wrong with who you were. But that’s not who you’ve always been, is it?”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer, which is okay, because I have nothing to say.

“Carter told me you used to be different. When he knew you in school, you functioned almost like a normal teenager. No nursery rhymes. No chanting. Is that right?”

“Yes,” I admit reluctantly. “I’d had years of therapy to get there. I had routines that helped. Rituals that helped me express myself.”

“So at some point, in the Before, you functioned. You’d worked hard, you’d made progress. For years. All so you could be more normal. For you to work that hard, that must have been something you wanted very badly.”

“It was.”

“So what’s different now? Why work so hard in the Before to be heard and understood, and throw it away now?”

“Because it’s not the same! The Mel I was when I was a child is the same Mel who functioned as a teenager. On the inside, I was the same—not less, just different.”

“And that’s what you think now? That you’re less than she was?” He tipped back his head and laughed. “I turn you into a vampire. Into the top predator in the world. You are practically a god. And you think you’re less?”

“I am less! I live in silence now. I have nothing. I contribute nothing. You say I’m an apex predator, but the only thing predators do is consume. In the Before, I created. Everything I did, everything I was, fed the world around me. Now that’s gone. I am different and less.”

“You are not less. You’re a vampire,” he says. “Act like one.”

“Fine.” I straighten my shoulders. “I’ll start to act like a pompous ass. That’s how the only vampire I know acts.”

His lips twitch, but I can’t tell if I’ve amused him or pissed him off. “Come on. We’re going out.”

“Out?” I look around the tiny kitchen. I don’t remember how long we’ve been here. Days, at least; maybe weeks. If it’s been six weeks since I was turned, then it’s been nearly that long that I’ve stayed in this house. Sitting here at the table, or laying on the sofa. “Why?” I ask.

“Because Domino’s doesn’t deliver pints of blood, and I’m tired of bringing you food while you pout. It’s time you learned to hunt. I’m not going to be around forever to act like your nursemaid.”

His words sting, but I know they are true. Vampires are very territorial. They cannot stand to be near one another and they always live alone. Newborn vampires like me are the exception, but only for a short time. Sebastian and I will have six, maybe seven months before I am fully vampire. After that, I will live alone. Forever.

Sebastian has been honest about this from the start. He claims that when the time comes, I will want to leave him. This is both easy and hard for me to imagine. I hate Sebastian. Yet he is all I know of this world and the thought of being alone in it leaves me panicked.

“I thought you said I couldn’t hunt Ticks,” I point out.

“No, I said you couldn’t feed off Ticks. When you were new and starving to death, I couldn’t risk it. You’re well fed now. And stronger. You need to learn how to feed yourself.”

“I won’t eat humans,” I quip.

He smiles. Damn him. “If there were enough humans around to feed on, I’d be happy to test your resolve. But let’s not eat the last of an endangered species, shall we?”

He turns and walks out without even glancing my way again. I follow. If Mel the human wasn’t a quitter, then Melanie the vampire won’t be one, either.

A moment later, we step out onto the unlit street. There are no lights anywhere, but there’s low lying cloud cover, which casts the night sky in eerie, glowing grays, like it’s been replaced with an abalone shell.

Wordlessly, Sebastian turns south.

I’m not much of a social talker. In the Before, I was grave silent.

I long for that now. For the comfort of silence. But there are things I can’t learn through osmosis. If I’m ever going to be on my own, then I need to know the things only Sebastian can teach me.

As we walk, I ask, “You told Lily the scent of blood was no big deal.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Sort of. Back in the van. With McKenna and Joe and Lily. You said you could control yourself around the scent of blood. Were you lying?”

He barely glances at me. “No. I have plenty of control.” He turns to look at me. “But I am not a newborn who is starving to death. You are another matter entirely.”

“So you don’t trust my control?” And here I’d thought I’d exhibited such tremendous restraint in not trying to murder him for being such an ass. “I’ve shown I can be trusted.”

“So far, all you can be trusted to do is pout.” He slants me a look as we walk down the street.

I still have no idea where we’re going. I don’t suppose it much matters in this sepia-toned world. I have nowhere I need to go. Nothing I need to do.

Funny, when I was human, I never thought about how ruled my life was by routine. How charted out everything was. Task charts, progress charts, timetables, and schedules. Printed out by Mom, administered by Lily. Our family worshiped at the altar of time management. That altar had been forever altered by my own altered state.

Vampires live in a timeless world. None of that matters. Routine had been my lifeboat. Now I am adrift in a sea of minutes.

I wander, barely aware of the empty houses on the block, as soulless as I am. One empty house ignoring the others.

We reach the corner of the block, where an unlit streetlight peers over the street.

I pause at the stop sign, instinct winning out over logic in a carless world.

Then Sebastian turns to me. “Let’s see just what you can do.”

I’m still gaping in confusion when he runs at the streetlight, grasps it and swings around with acrobatic grace. His legs kick out, aimed at my chest. Instinctively, I drop to the ground. I hit the sidewalk hard, but Sebastian misses me. He launches off the lamppost and lands maybe ten feet away.

“Not bad,” he calls. “Good reaction time. But you still think like a human.”

“How am I supposed to think?” I ask, standing.

“Like a vampire. Obviously.”

He closes the distance between us in a flash and kicks my legs out from under me. I’m on the ground. Again. “What should I do, then? Rip your heart out of your chest and guzzle your blood?”

He smiles as he looms over me. Typical that he’d enjoy this. “I would like to see you try.”

He reaches down a hand to help me up. I take it, but then kick my legs up at his chest and yank him over me. At least that’s what I intended.

This doesn’t go exactly as I imagined. I have no training. Girls on the spectrum don’t exactly go out for wrestling.

Instead of flinging Sebastian, he flips neatly head over heels and lands by my shoulders, still holding my hand. He gives it a wicked twist and pain wrenches my shoulder.

“Better, but still not good enough.”

Again, the heat of fury floods me in a wash of pain. “Let me go!” I scream.

He gives my arm another twist and I can feel it twisting out of its socket. “You’re a vampire, Melanie. Make me let you go.”

There’s an audible pop as my shoulder dislocates. My whole body bucks off the sidewalk and a scream tears from my mouth. I look up at him from my spot on the ground. His face is distorted and upside down, a twisted Mardi Gras mask of pleasure. He’s enjoying this. I pant out the words, “I will kill you for this, you sadistic bastard!”

“If you can get out of this, I may let you. From here, however, Melanie, my dear, it doesn’t look like you’ll be killing anyone.”

“Let me go!” I yell again, but my words dissolve into a whimper. I can feel the tendons and connective tissue breaking loose. My fingers flop uselessly against his hand. I can’t even control my own hand anymore.

He just laughs and presses his foot into my shoulder. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have worried about you eating from a Tick. You couldn’t go up against a Tick and walk away.” He gives my arm a little tug and pain shoots through my body so intense that my stomach rebels and I wretch. But it’s the helplessness that’s the worst. He squats down then, much of his weight on my shoulder, his face close to mine. I reach out with my other hand trying to claw at his face, but he nabs my hand out of mid-air and holds it almost gently. “A Tick would beat you and rip your heart out. We already know you have the gene. You’d die. Again. And regenerate. Again. As a Tick.”

That fury burning through me turns to something else. Not fear. Maybe shame. He was right. I couldn’t defend myself against him. A group of Ticks would destroy me. I would be devoured and reborn.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Blocking out his voice and the pain. Shuttering my mind against my very existence.

Then I feel a hand on my face. A single finger tracing down my cheek. “Open your eyes, Melanie.”

I pinch them more tightly closed to spite him.

“Come on, Melly. You gave me your word.”

Melly. That surprises me. No one has ever called me that before. And I did promise to follow his orders. I open my eyes, surprised—again. He’s so close that I can see the scalloped edges of his pupils. His voice is soft. His touch is whisper light.

“You are a vampire now,” he says.

I cut him off, because I’m tired of hearing it. I speak through pain-clenched teeth. “So you keep telling me.”

“And you have yet to hear me.” He grasps my chin and makes me meet his gaze. “You are stronger and more flexible than almost any creature alive. Your autonomic nervous system is hardwired to pounce and fight. To kill and destroy. If you would stop thinking like a human, your body would do the work for you.” He straightens, rocking forward so that even more of his weight rests on my shoulder. “Now stop acting like a child and fight back!”

Humiliation burns through me. It’s not even that I don’t believe him. I’ve seen him fight. His body in motion is a thing of beauty and grace. Hollywood special effects have nothing on him. Professional dancers look like clumsy puppets compared to him. But that isn’t me.

He barks one insult after another.

“If you can’t fight me, you might as well just give up now. You can’t fight a Tick. You can’t feed yourself. You’re more helpless than a baby. No wonder Lily had to take care of you on the Farm. You never would have made it without her. It’s a miracle you didn’t get both of you killed.”

That’s it. Right there. My breaking point.

The excruciating pain in my arm is swept away in a wash of anger. A second ago, I thought I couldn’t even control my hand, but now I twist it around and grab hold of his arm. I get my legs under me, arch up, and yank him forward over my head. With strength I didn’t know I had, I fling his body to the ground, bounce up onto the balls of my feet, and launch myself legs first at his chest. He’s up before I hit him. He grabs my feet, I twist in mid-air to plant my good palm on the ground and kick out of his grasp. I backflip away from him. By the time I’m standing upright again, I’m panting from the exertion. I give my shoulder a roll and it pops back into place, the too-stretched tendons springing like rubber bands. The pain is still there, but I can breathe through it and my cold fury has melted away.

I spin back to face him, bracing for an attack. But Sebastian doesn’t so much as twitch in my direction. He’s standing maybe six, seven feet away. He’s smiling. Damn it. Smiling.

Not that irritating smirk he usually wears, but an actual smile. Like he’s pleased. My breath comes in foggy bursts in the chilly night and adrenaline dances along my nerves. I’ve never felt so alive. Even when I was alive.

Despite all that, part of me is horrified. I used to have meltdowns in the Before, often when I was young, when the world was so at odds with my ability to process it. Biting, kicking, screaming meltdowns. But I never hurt anyone on purpose.

I wouldn’t even know how to fight someone. And yet I did. I might as well be in a whole new body. Maybe this shouldn’t surprise me. This bright, shiny new me needs getting used to.

I’m shaking and shaken and Sebastian is smiling.

He nods. “Good girl. That’s better, isn’t it? Better than moping about.”

I suck air into my lungs and blow it out in a foggy puff. “I’m not a girl.”

He smiles wider. “No. You’re not. You’re a vampire.”