Mere mortals, p.7
Mere Mortals, page 7
“So, you’re going to All Hours after school?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, and Reg said, “No.”
Another eyeball conversation.
Reg, I thought you wanted to smell coffee.
I thought you weren’t interested in human boys.
I hate you.
Reg winked at me and then said to the group, “We’d love to. Thanks.”
Ten
One Down, Two to Go
Two things were waiting for us outside school at the end of the day, and I didn’t know which repelled me more. At the bottom of the front steps, to the right, our new acquaintances stood chatting. I’d had all day to reconsider our decision to hang out after school, and I was now convinced it was a total waste of time. Sure, we needed to be on our best behavior if we wanted the Elders to hear our appeal, but we didn’t need to get chummy with the locals. It would just make things super awkward when they went back to being food.
I swung my gaze to the left, where another unpleasant sight was parked. Sal’s filthy gray pickup coughed and growled from the unmuffled undercarriage. Sometimes it belched out a little puff of smoke, just in case the noise alone wasn’t drawing enough attention. I could not recall ever having parents, but I imagined this is what it felt like when they embarrassed you.
Sal himself leaned out the driver’s-side window, craning his neck in every direction. Finally, he spotted me glowering from the top of the steps and waved me down. I glanced once more at Poe, Dexter, and the twins, letting my eyes linger longer on Dexter than the rest. Then I tried to ignore the group watching me as I walked to the pickup.
“What are you thinking, coming here?” I demanded. “So much for keeping a low prof—”
“This came for you,” Sal interrupted.
He lifted a slim white envelope up to my face, as if he could physically stop my talking.
“Is that—”
“Appears so.”
“But it’s so soon.”
“That’s not unusual.”
He was barely holding the envelope, balancing it casually between two fingers as if it were a piece of junk mail and not my lifeline. I snatched it from his fingers, and the truck was roaring away before I could say thank you.
Not that I was going to thank him, but he could have had the decency to wait two seconds to find out.
I waved off the exhaust and clutched the envelope to my chest, marveling again at Sal’s inexplicable connection to the immortal world. Last night, as Reg and I had quibbled back and forth over how much postage we would need to send our letters to the other three clans, scattered across the globe, Sal had finally gotten fed up and given us a better option.
He’d instructed us to place our letters, unstamped, in the mailbox just outside his white picket fence, but instead of turning up the little red flag to alert the postal carrier of mail, he had turned up a black flag and sealed the mailbox shut. By morning, the letters were gone.
“That’s our uncle Sal.” Reg’s voice floated over to me, and I looked up to see him flanked by Dexter and Poe on one side, Sydney and Sophia on the other. “You ready, Charlie?”
I forced a casual smile onto my face and joined the group.
“Actually Reg, can you hang back a minute?” I waved the envelope quickly, then rolled it between my hands, so none of the writing would be visible. “Sal—Uncle Sal—brought us something. It’s about Mom and Dad’s estate.”
The lie fell easily from my lips. A hundred years of hunting had taught us that much at least. How many lies had we told to lure our victims? How many lies had we planted in their minds after the feeding was done?
“Okay if we catch up?” Reg asked the others.
They gave us directions to the coffee shop, which were literally “turn right at the one stoplight,” and walked ahead. Reg and I waited impatiently for them to get a solid distance out of earshot before we unrolled the envelope.
The return address read simply:
Clan of Starlight
“Not our best hope,” Reg pointed out.
He was right, but hope I had anyway, and I ripped the envelope open in one pull. A quick scan of the letter, and my face fell. As expected, the Starlight Clan had refused our request. The letter claimed all clan members had been queried and none had stepped up, but I suspected they’d been advised not to step up, given the tone of the message. It was polite enough, but a final paragraph made the clan’s position clear.
As you may know, the Starlight Clan helped draft the Treaty of Annis and has long supported minimum age limits on immortality. The young can be so impulsive—more likely, for example, to overfeed without considering the consequences.
“Oh, we’re well aware of the consequences,” I grumbled.
Reg shushed me as he read over my shoulder.
We hope, in time, you will see this change as a gift and can begin to enjoy this second chance at childhood. Dance in the sunlight, as the sun is yet another star. Best of luck to you.
“Well, at least they are staying true to themselves,” Reg said diplomatically.
I let him take the letter from my hands. “Hmph. Hippies.”
Reg tucked the letter away in his backpack, and we hustled down the sidewalk to catch up to the group. They were half a city block ahead of us already . . . if this were a city and if the stretches of unmown grass and single-story buildings between side roads could be called blocks.
One down, two to go. At least Blood and Shadow hadn’t shot us down right away. Maybe that meant they were considering it. The thought lifted my mood and lightened my step.
“Who needs those Starlight tree huggers anyway? You know what I always say, Reg.”
“Sometimes ugly things happen to pretty people?”
“No, the other thing.”
“We may not know our history . . .”
“But we can write our destiny,” I finished.
Eleven
The Traveler
All Hours Coffee House was an explosion of color bursting from the seams of an otherwise dull “downtown”—a generous term for the patch of pavement that housed all of Nowhere’s storefronts. If Main Street, anchored by the high school, was the town’s major thoroughfare, then this was its hub of activity. On either side of the street, a row of faded brick buildings hugged the sidewalk, sharing outer walls like one long unit and stretching two stories tall, almost like the village hoped to grow into an actual town someday.
All Hours was crammed into a small space between a laundromat and a post office, their drab storefronts making the coffee shop all the more vibrant. Bright turquoise awnings stretched out over the sidewalk, beckoning people in, and under the awnings, the wooden window trims were painted a bold shade of purple, while a sunshine-yellow door stood propped open by a giant burlap sack of coffee beans. If the colors didn’t draw you in, the smell wafting out of that front door surely would.
“I guess humans were right about this one,” I said to Reg, taking a deep breath of the mouthwatering aroma.
“It is pleasant,” he agreed.
We were standing shoulder to shoulder just outside the shop, staring through the open doorway at the band of teenagers waiting for us.
I looked up at Reg. “You sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s an excellent opportunity to examine human behavior up close, in the light of day. Study the prey—better serve the hunt.”
I bit my lip. It was true that we could take some observations back with us when this was all done, but as I tracked Reg’s gaze to where Poe sat at the table, wiping a smudge off his glasses with the sleeve of his shirt, I was pretty sure my brother had ulterior motives.
Next to Poe, Dexter leaned back in his seat, constantly shaking a disobedient lock of hair out of his eyes. It was hard to blame my brother for wanting to sample the local flavors.
“Interacting with our peers also demonstrates acceptance of our punishment. That shows maturity.” Reg tapped his head just above his temple. “Something the Elders think we lack, with our forever-adolescent brains.”
The injustice of the Elders’ opinions washed over me in a bitter wave, and I threw my shoulders back. “Let’s prove them wrong.”
Then I marched through the happy yellow doorway, partly because I wanted to make a point to the Elders but mostly because I just could not keep myself from the intoxicating scent of coffee for one more second.
The coffeehouse was as eclectic inside as it was outside, with an odd collection of mismatched tables and chairs, and coffee mugs in every color. Exposed-brick walls were plastered floor to ceiling with framed photos—some as small as a postcard, others big enough to fit over a fireplace—each one a capture of breathtaking scenery from across the world.
“Cool, right?”
I didn’t realize I had stopped right next to the table of our new classmates until I looked down and saw Dexter smiling up at me.
He gestured at the walls. “The owner took all of them. She’s been everywhere.”
And she really had—more places than even Reg and I had been. Here, a cluster of photos taken on beaches in Indonesia, Tahiti, and the Caribbean. There, a poster-sized shot of Mount Kilimanjaro. Mostly, the pictures were empty of humans, save for a woman who appeared in a dozen or so shots. A photo behind the cash register showed her perched on an elephant in what I believed was Thailand, and in a large frame near the front door, she stood beaming in the arms of a man before the Great Pyramids of Giza.
I leaned toward the picture, drawn to the woman’s long mane of blond hair blowing wild in the wind and the tall, dark-haired man with the strong arm looped around her waist. A bright sun beat down on them, so they almost seemed to glow.
“That one’s my favorite.” Dexter was next to me now, hands in his pockets, eyes on the pyramids. “Egypt is definitely on my someday list.”
“I’ve never . . .” Seen it in the daylight, I nearly said. Instead, I finished, “Never been there.”
“But you’ve traveled?”
“A little.” Keep it vague. “Europe, mostly.”
“Nice,” he said. “I went to France when I was a kid, but I don’t remember much about—”
“This isn’t an art gallery, Dexter O’Shea!” A woman called out from behind us.
I spun at the sound and saw the elephant-riding, pyramid-gazing blond beauty pointing at us from behind the counter. She wasn’t quite as flawless in person, but she was definitely pretty in that looks-good-for-her-age kind of way. I guessed her to be in her midforties.
“Are you two going to order or not?” Her words were commanding, but her smile was playful.
“Aw, Lina, you know what I want!” Dexter called. He leaned in close to whisper to me, “I bet she already has it made.”
His breath tickled my ear, and I felt a pleasant little shiver run from the hairs on my neck all the way down to the tips of my toes. I had never experienced anything quite like it in my immortal memory, and it was the first physical reaction in this new human body that I’d enjoyed. I wondered what other sorts of things this Dexter might be able to make me feel before I turned vampire again.
“I heard that.” The woman, Lina, interrupted my thoughts.
She reached behind the cash register and slid a tall glass across the counter. “One iced mocha, no whip. Yawn.”
“Told you,” Dexter said to me as he stepped up to retrieve his drink.
“And what about your friend?”
She looked at me now, and I felt pinned under the gaze of dark eyes that seemed incongruous with her blond hair, piled in a messy bun.
I stepped back, pretending to study the menu, but really, I was struggling to remember how to order a coffee. I had heard humans do it countless times, and I knew it wasn’t as simple as asking for a cup. Words like “venti” and “dolce” and “skinny” rattled around in my brain, but I wasn’t sure how to string them together.
I cast my gaze around for my brother and found him planted in Dexter’s abandoned chair, leaning in toward Poe. “Reg, what do you want?”
“A coffee.” He waved a hand in my direction without looking up.
It was all I could do not to pull my lips back and threaten him with the fangs I no longer had.
“One plain coffee,” I said. At least now, anything I ordered would be impressive by comparison. “And I’ll have a large iced non-coagulated vanilla latte.”
I smiled, proud of myself, but a beat later, I knew I had said something wrong.
Lina narrowed her eyes, almost imperceptibly, and they seemed to pierce right through me. “You mean nonfat?”
I lifted my chin, to keep myself from sinking into the floor. “Obviously. That’s how everyone orders it back east. It must be a New York thing.”
“Uh-huh.” Lina looked from me to Dexter and winked. “How would I know? I’ve only been a few places.”
She busied herself with the complicated contraptions behind the counter, pulling levers and sliding tiny silver cups in and out of giant machines. As we retreated to our table, the Lina in all the exotic photos seemed to be giving me that same squinty-eyed assessment.
“Don’t mind her,” Dexter said as we joined the others around a large oak barrel that had been converted to a table. “She likes to haze new kids. But she’s like a second mom to us.”
Sophia propped her elbows on the barrel table, her blond hair swinging around her shoulders. “If she challenges you, it means she likes you.”
“Totally,” Sydney agreed, chomping her gum. I wondered if it was the same piece from earlier. I wondered what gum tasted like, what made it last so long. Was it food or something different?
“When I dyed my hair,” Sydney said, “Lina put a sign on the door saying ‘No Pink Allowed,’ but when I came in, she had made me a special pink latte.”
“She did charge you double for it though,” Sophia pointed out.
My eyes tangled in Sydney’s pink tresses. For a century, I had wondered what it would be like to try out new hair colors. When humans transitioned to vampires, many physical imperfections improved, and disease disappeared, but other things were unchanged. Height and weight stayed roughly the same, and skin maintained its general tone, fading from peach and copper and ebony to cooler shades. But for reasons absolutely nobody could properly explain to me, immortality made hair black as midnight—no exceptions—not even a teensy little highlight. I curled a lock of my new brown hair around my finger, wondering what I could do with it now.
A moment later, Lina dropped off our drinks, and I was sure I didn’t imagine the way she hovered a moment too long, wiping her hands on her apron and looking back and forth between me and Reg. But if she had something to say, she swallowed it and walked away.
Reg and I exchanged a glance over the tops of our drinks, a silent “cheers” before sharing our first-ever sip of coffee. Then we were both gagging and retching in unison.
“Too sweet,” I said, holding the icy concoction away from me.
Reg lifted his own mug. “Too . . . bitter?”
There was a pause, then laughter from the group as Reg and I swapped drinks.
He declared mine delicious, as I took a tentative sip of the hot black liquid he had passed to me.
Nirvana.
If this was bitter, I wanted bunches. Impossibly, coffee tasted even better than it smelled, and it wasn’t just one flavor but an evolution that started with something—yes, bitter, as it slid over the tongue but then turned sweet as I swallowed and left a spicy aftertaste. What magic was this liquid that could change flavor even after it was gone?
“What do you think, princess?” Lina called from the counter.
When I looked up at her, I got the unsettling feeling that she had been watching me the entire time.
“It’s delicious,” I said. And then, because I was feeling generous, I added, honestly, “It’s the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.”
Lina’s sudden roar of laughter took me aback. Had I accidentally said something wrong again? But when I looked around at our new acquaintances, they appeared as puzzled as I was.
“I bet it is, princess!” Lina said, doubling over the counter in hysterics. “I bet it is.”
Poe eyed Lina over the rim of his thick black glasses, then pushed them up his nose and said seriously to the rest of us, “One day, I intend to be as fabulously eccentric as her.”
“We basically all want to be Lina when we grow up,” Sydney explained.
Sophia nodded in agreement. “She’s a little off her rocker, but she’s ours.”
“And what can we say? The coffee is exceptional.” Poe lifted his mug in Lina’s direction, a tribute, and she responded by waving him off and disappearing into the kitchen, still snickering.
Dexter flashed me a bright white smile. “Some days she’s a little more off than others.”
Twelve
Bigger Than Prom
Reg and I spent the next hour chatting up the humans and managing not to embarrass ourselves. Just as Sal predicted, whenever a question was hard to answer, we had only to refer to our fictional dead parents, and the group backed right off.
Our new classmates gave us the full verbal tour of Hope High, from sports (Sophia played soccer; Sydney feigned illness on a regular basis to avoid gym) to fine arts (the fall play was Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Poe was apparently a shoo-in for Puck). Dexter was a member of something called Future Farmers of America, which should have sounded painfully boring but, coming from him, seemed terribly interesting.
He explained that he was raised on a farm but his parents had sold the land to move him closer to town so he wouldn’t be so isolated from his friends and civilization. I liked the way he put air quotes around the word “civilization” and winked when he acknowledged that a city girl like me probably didn’t see it that way.
Who knew farm boys could be so charming? In fact, I was surprised to realize that we had been in the coffee shop for over an hour and not one of these humans was boring me. We’d encountered plenty of not-boring humans over the decades, but it was strange to discover them here in Nowhere. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was actually able to focus on what they were saying now that I was unburdened of the desire to drink their blood.
