Bite Me! (7 page)

T
hat wasn't a pop quiz. That was a massacre. The only thing I answered correctly—the only question I answered period—was Name; and with Mrs. Crandall in charge of grading, I'd probably get points deducted for improper punctuation.

“Painful,” Malia said as we left the classroom. “I bet she gets off on every wrong answer. Do you think maybe she and Mrs. Young grade the tests as foreplay?”

“Ugh. Thanks for the mental image. I can't believe she made you take the test.”

“She told me I had plenty of time to do the reading so my absence was no excuse.” Malia rolled her eyes. “Where are you headed now?”

“I have early lunch, then study hall.”

“I'm exactly the opposite. I guess I'll see you for fourth-period trig.”

“I'll be there,” I said, pulling out Mr. Charles's note and an apple from my backpack. I was trying so hard to ignore the oppressive weight that was like liquid metal in my lungs. I felt Noah everywhere, and it was hard to breathe. Was he watching me, or was my guilt working overtime?

Students were filing into the cafeteria or outside to the courtyard with their lunches. I opened the envelope to find Mr. Charles's distinctive straight-lined handwriting. He never wrote in cursive.

Perfect timing. I needed to do some research, anyway, and who better to help me than a teacher with an expertise in occult myth? If anyone could find information on the Serpentines, it was Mr. Charles. And while we were at it, maybe I could find out a little bit more about dichampyrs.

You know, just in case I was being stalked by one.

Mr. Charles's room was the farthest it could possibly be from the main building and still be considered on campus. I knocked and waited for his absentminded “Come in.” As usual, he was hunkered over one of his giant tomes, studying each word as if God himself had written it.

“Mr. Charles?” I said when he didn't look up from the pages.

“Hmmm?”

“I got your note,” I said. “So, here I am.”

“Oh, yes, hey there, AJ. Come on in, have a seat.”

He moved a stack of papers and books out of a chair next to his desk.

“What's up?” I asked.

“Well, I know you're doing all AP work this semester, and I was wondering if you had decided what you were going to do your thesis on.”

Perfect. “Well, yes. Sorta. I was planning to research…” What? A family secret that is riddled in darkness and blood-sucking? No, that wouldn't work. “I was hoping to research a vampire myth.”

“Excellent! You've always seemed interested in the occult part of my lessons, so I was hoping you would want to do something like that. Which is exactly why I wanted
to see you. I love fate, don't you?” he said with a warm smile.

“I figure nobody else will do their paper on vampires, so maybe I'll stand out.”

“Do you have something in mind, or would you like me to give you a topic? I have recently been studying some Celtic songs that I believe were once actually used as spells to cast away…”

“Have you ever heard of the Serpentines?”

He pulled off his reading glasses and raised his brows, eyes sparkling with curiosity. Nothing like a swim on a hot summer day, I thought as I nearly drowned in those deep green pools.

“AJ Ashe, where did you hear of the Serpentines?”

“It was a favorite scary story of my grandmother's,” I lied. “She, um, loved to tell it on Halloween night to scare the bejeezus out of us before bed. Anyway, when I decided to write this paper, I did some preliminary research and found a little information. But I know there has to be more out there.” Man, I tell one lie to a cop and, the next thing you know, I'm giving Pinocchio a run for his money. I wonder if that whole “lie bump” thing is true?

“As it happens, I do know a little about the Serpentines. Though I'm afraid probably not much more than
what you've already discovered. Most of the Serpentine history was passed down orally, so I'm not sure that we'll find much in the way of written information,” he said, watching me intently.

“Oh. Well, okay. I had to try. I'll probably see what I can dig up on my own. And if I can't find out anything else, maybe I'll switch my topic to those Celtic songs you were talking about.”

“Switching topics might be easiest. But before you give up,” he said, opening a desk drawer and riffling though it for a Post-it note and a pen, “call Jill Thompson. She has an antique bookstore over in Yellow Pine. If there's anything written down about the Serpentines, Jill's your gal. She has a thing for old vampire myths.”

“Thanks, Mr. Charles.” I folded the Post-it in half and slid it into my back pocket.

“You're welcome. Oh, and AJ? I'm glad you're running for president this year. Class officer always looks good on your college apps.”

 

After school, I was forced to endure two hours of unending anguish that Coach called “soccer practice.” Chinese water torture would've been more fun. We were out of shape and out of focus and, because of that, we did
nothing but run. Like I hadn't done enough of that this morning.

But as much as it pained me, it did help me keep my mind off the feeling that Noah was watching me. My mind was really doing a number on me. Honestly, even if I had bitten Noah and turned him into a dichampyr, wouldn't I need to be there when he woke up? If I remembered the lore correctly, I would be his master. If he were left to fend for himself, he would be starving and wouldn't be able to control his need to feed. There would be a bloody trail of destruction following him until he was satisfied. He wouldn't be patiently watching me sleep, or jog, or have soccer practice.

Yeah, my guilt was definitely in overdrive.

Noah's family was so distraught over his missing body that they cancelled the memorial service. Not that I blamed them. Having your son's body misplaced must be pretty upsetting. So the school scheduled a service for Thursday this week in the auditorium. At least we'd get to say good-bye.

I pulled out my phone as I loaded my gear into the car. I had called Jill after speaking to Mr. Charles. She had agreed to stay open a little late for me tonight and said she might have exactly what I was looking for.

Now I just needed a partner in crime. I picked up the phone.

“¡Hola!”
Bridget said when she answered.
“¿Cómo está usted?”

“Guess you had Spanish today.”

“Sí
.”

“Well, how about you bring your brain back to English for a moment? That is, if you're in the mood for a road trip.”

“Road trip? You bet. Where are we headed?”

“Just to Yellow Pine.”

“That's not a road trip. That's a road stumble. What the hell is in Yellow Pine other than rednecks and fleas?”

“An antique book store. I am doing some fam—uh, some research for my AP thesis and the lady at the bookstore has something I need.”

“AJ, as much fun as this trip sounds, I think I'm going to have to pass. I have a lightbulb I need to swallow tonight.”

“You're not even gonna lie to me about needing to study?”

“Nah. Since when do I study?”

“Fine. I'll call Malia.”

Malia was all about the road trip. Of course, she has always been a book lover like me, so this was really more
up her alley, anyway. When we were younger, Malia and I would go to the library on purpose…you know, to get books to read. Bridget would tag along only because there might be a cute boy there. But I still wanted Bridget with me today. I'm sure if I had pushed it, she would've come, but probably it wouldn't have been worth the whining I would've had to listen to.

Yellow Pine is about thirty minutes from Valley Springs, and if Valley Springs is considered a small town, then Yellow Pine is positively microscopic in comparison. As the sign boasts, Population 84—not including the chickens. It has a Piggly Wiggly/Post Office. Next door is the Police Station/City Hall, and one block away is Jill's Antique Books and Tea Shoppe. You know it's a small town when the postmaster is also the butcher.

I parked in front of a pretty white Victorian house adorned with coral shutters and dragonfly wind chimes. The front porch creaked as we walked around to the bookstore entrance.

Jill opened the door before we rang the bell. She had short graying hair and a welcoming smile and wore her reading glasses on a beautiful multicolored beaded strand. She ushered us inside with a flurry.

“Hello, girls, welcome! Would you care for some tea?”

We both declined as she led us through a hallway cluttered with stacks of books piled to the ceiling. “Just ignore this mess. I've pulled the texts I think you're looking for.”

Malia and I followed Jill past the entrance that led from the house to the store. We walked through the kitchen to a dark room in the back of the house. “This is where I keep my newly acquired stuff. It looks like a junk room, but I swear it's all organized chaos. I like to sort through everything here before I place it in the store. You can sit there.” She pointed to a rickety card table. An old reading lamp cast a dim circle on the tabletop.

We took our seats as Jill reached behind a bookcase and flipped on an overhead light. Thank God. I was beginning to wonder if I needed to learn Braille.

“I got so excited after Morris—I'm sorry, Mr. Charles—called me.”

“Morris?” Malia and I both started laughing. No wonder he kept his first name a secret.

“It's a very respectable name, so shush,” Jill said with a slight smile as our giggles finally died down. “As I was saying, I got so excited because recently I bought an ancient chest that was rumored to have been carved for a vampire council.” Her smile broadened. “I have a bit of an obsession with vampire mythology, so I collect—a lot,”
she said as an aside. “Anyway, in the chest I found a secret compartment. There was just one scroll hidden there, but I suspect there are more. When Mr. Charles mentioned the Serpentines, I just knew I could help. Take a look at this.”

She gently lifted a yellowed parchment from a tube sitting on the floor next to the table. Its edges were no longer smooth and had darkened with age. The delicate paper made a sound like thick tissue as Jill rolled it flat onto the table.

The Serpentine S was imprinted in a dark red wax seal at the top. I knew the color had come from the blood of unwilling humans, and a chill washed over me. Malia touched the seal as if in awe.

“Wow,” she whispered. “Touch it. It feels warm. Like it has its own energy.”

“No way,” I said. But when I looked down, my hand had acted alone, as if a magnet were pulling it. I started to fight the pull, then changed my mind and allowed my hand to touch the seal.

It is your destiny.

The voice in my head startled me—but not quite as much as the screaming did.

Their
screams. Echoes of the victims who had been
sacrificed to create the mark. It was a blood seal imprinted with death and pain, and because of that, it was alive with the victims' energy.

And power.

I was equally repulsed and compelled. I tried to fight the impulse and pull my hand away, but instinct took over.

The force hummed through me, and as much as the sounds of death revolted me, the power tempted me. Called to me. All but invited me to be a part of it. Control it. Use it.

My gums tingled and I could feel my fangs as they began to descend. I closed my eyes to try to regain control, but instead, I seemed to fall into another world.

I was in a cold, damp cave, surrounded by fog. A hooded figure with piercing blue eyes stared at me. He smiled, but there was no warmth there. He held his hand out, and the screams seemed to fade into the background. There was chanting, but the language was foreign to my ears.

Focus on the white
.

A new voice whispered.

Focus on the white.

I tried, but it was so hard. My fangs wouldn't ascend
and the world into which I had fallen wouldn't fade.

“Oh, look at that!” Jill said, removing my hand from the seal and breaking the trance I was under. My fangs shot back into my gums, and the hooded man with the blue eyes disappeared.

I couldn't really concentrate on what Jill was showing me because my head was still swimming a little. The humming faded, and all that was left was a breathless feeling, like I had been punched in the gut.

“That was weird,” I muttered to no one.

Malia eyed me with a cocked brow. “You going all freakazoid on me?”

“No. I guess it's just my sinuses. You know, with all the dust in the air and everything.” Okay, maybe not sinuses, but it was definitely a head trip.

I glanced at Jill, who was holding a magnifying glass over some text just below the seal.

“This is so strange,” Jill said. “How did I miss this script? I'm usually more thorough than that.”

“What does it say?” I asked.

“I'm not sure, it looks to be written in an ancient language. It's definitely rooted in Gaelic. I think I can decipher it—or at least come close.” She placed the magnifying glass on the table. “I'll be in the back looking for
the right text to help decipher the inscription. You girls can look as long as you like. Copy the text if you wish. Just don't take this with you. And be careful with it. This may be more valuable than I had originally thought.”

 

“‘The Lost has been found,'” I repeated to Malia as we drove into Valley Springs. “That was Jill's interpretation, right?”

“Yep. Pretty weird, huh?”

“Totally weird. I wish Bridget had been here with us. She would've loved that.”

I pulled into Malia's driveway and parked. “What?” I asked when I saw the strained look on Malia's face.