Fate of the Vampire (12 page)

I stared at the small package resting on my palm. How could something so small make me feel so guilty? I knew feeling guilty was a real chick thing to do, but that didn’t stop me. I shoved the box into my bag with my books and slammed my locker shut. I wasn’t ready to open Fred’s present. In fact, I made it all the way to my VW before curiosity got the better of me and I tore off the wrapping paper. Inside was a small square box with a lid. It was the white cardboard kind you get in the department store when you buy something nice but not crazy expensive at the jewelry counter. With some trepidation, I pulled off the lid and blinked at a pair of silver earrings laid out on a bed of cotton.

The earrings were composed of dozens of little dots all linked together making kind of a triangle of mesh. I picked one up and looked at it, the triangle hanging down almost like a piece of cloth. They were on the large side and something I wouldn’t have picked for myself, but maybe that was a good thing. Sometimes you need to get a gift that isn’t you so you have the opportunity to try something new. There was definitely something appealing about them. If the earrings didn’t come with a bunch of guilt and weirdness, I would have worn them. As it was, I was worried that wearing them would give Fred hope that he could win me back. He really did deserve an awesome girlfriend, and I felt bad that the girl couldn’t be me. My heart belonged to Jessie. And while I was thinking about it, Jessie was easily burned by silver, so there was definitely no way I could ever wear Fred’s earrings. That would be like smearing myself in Jiff if I was dating someone with a peanut allergy.

I didn’t have time to get all tangled up in guilt about Fred. I had to get to the mall and sort out a phone for Jessie. I needed to focus. I closed the lid on the box and jammed it in the pocket of my book
bag then started up my bug.

“Hey!” Blossom said, rapping on the passenger’s side window and alarming the crap out of me. “Did you forget about Liz or what?”

Another opportunity to buy Jessie’s present was lost. But I couldn’t count the time as wasted because I was trying to help find Liz. And Don
, too, hopefully. We didn’t have a photo of Don or anything, but we mentioned him, just in case someone knew something.

“This is getting depressing,” Blossom said dryly as we trekked down the sidewalk to yet another house. “If any more kids disappear, we’re going to have to start keeping a list.”

I knew she was kidding, but her comment made me shiver. One missing kid at a time was more than enough for me.

Blossom must have misinterpreted my silence because she said, “Listen, I’m sorry about the Sheila thing at lunch. I was just bragging on you a little. I didn’t mean for it to get weird.”

“That’s okay,” I told her. It was completely my fault. I was the one dating the vampire. “Let’s just get the rest of our houses done. I’m getting kind of creeped out at night lately.”

“Yeah, me
, too,” Blossom agreed, lengthening her stride.

As the sun began to go down, we took a break for a moment
, and I called a number Jessie had given me for the castle. I’d never actually called the number before, and I knew Blossom was watching me intently, so it made me extra nervous. “Don’t you want to get a snack or something?” I asked her as the phone was ringing. We were standing in a gas station lot, figuring that a public place was reasonably safe.

“No, I’m fine,” she told me. She sensed that I was calling my boyfriend
, and I knew it would take a brick of dynamite to get her away long enough for me to have any privacy.

“Wanderlin
d Castle,” a deep voice with a Russian accent said, answering the phone.

“Hi
, Viggo. It’s Aurora,” I said, my own voice sounding like a little girl’s in comparison. I felt like a small child around him, too. He was, after all, the tallest man I had ever seen.

“Ah, Miss Aurora,” Viggo said, sounding rather pleased. “My Gloria was so happy to hear that you will be at the house for Christmas Eve. She is wary much looking forward to seeing you.”

“Tell her that I said hello and that I’m looking forward to seeing her, too.” I could tell from the expression on Blossom’s face that she could hear his entire half of the conversation, so I said my next sentence very carefully. “I know that Jessie isn’t in right now, but would you please have him call me as soon as he gets back?”

“Yes, I am happy to give Mr. Wanderlind that message,” Viggo repl
ied.

“Who was that?” Blossom asked after I’d hung up.

“Just a guy who works for the Vanderlinds,” I told her. He was some type of servant at the castle. Maybe he was a butler or a valet or something. I didn’t know his job title; I only knew he was excessively loyal to Jessie.

“Wow, so you really are Jessie Vanderlind’s girlfriend,” Blossom said, slightly amazed.

“Did you think I was lying?”

“No
…” She thought it over. “I mean, I obviously believed you and all, but it’s one thing to have your best friend say she’s dating a super hot rich guy and another thing to have a servant at the mansion know her by name and act all cheery to hear from her. And by her I mean you, obviously.”

I could tell Blossom was doing her best not to sound like a jerk for being a little suspicious, but maybe Sheila had planted some seeds
of doubt. At least she would have something to defend me with when Sheila got at her again.

The phone was ringing as I walked in the door. I would have charged over and snatched it out of its cradle, but my mom was already reaching for it, and I didn’t want to seem like a complete spaz. “It’s for you,” Mom said, holding it out to me. “Jessie,” she added, suppressing a little smile at my poorly concealed excitement. “Deep breaths,” she whispered, clamping her hand over the receiver. Then she headed upstairs without giving me a second glance. She was cool about stuff like that. I appreciated that she allowed me my privacy.

“Hi
, Jessie,” I said into the phone, my heart racing just at the thought of hearing his voice. It was almost like I was suffering under some kind of love spell like you’d see in a cheesy movie.

“Good evening, Aurora,” he said, his voice melting into my ear. “Viggo was very pleased to speak with you earlier.”

I had to giggle a little. Years ago, Gloria had sold herself into servitude to a vampire family to pay off her father’s massive debt to the mob. I had arranged for Jessie to take over the debt so that Gloria, the love of Viggo’s life, could move from Budapest to Tiburon. It had completely won Viggo over as my friend for life. A Russian giant as a friend really was an awesome accessory for any teenage girl. “Is Gloria happily settled in?” I asked, feeling embarrassed that I hadn’t bothered to ask about her earlier. She’d been in America for almost a month.

“Oh
, yes,” was his reply. “They are like lovebirds. I even caught Viggo humming the other day. His voice is not bad.”

I gave another chuckle but then had to turn the conversation rather abruptly. “I’m sorry I had to call you while you were sleeping,” I told him, “but another kid has disappeared from my school and I was hoping
…”

“What’s his address?” Jessie asked before I could even finish asking for the favor. After I gave him directions to Don’s house, he said, “I’ll go take a look around right now. Would you like me to come by afterward?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I said, sighing into the phone. It was true Jessie was a member of the undead, but to me he was a knight in shining armor.

The glow of Jessie’s armor started to fade a little when two hours later I still hadn’t heard from him. I didn’t know if I should feel hurt or concerned or what. At about ten-thirty, my mom tapped at my door. For a brief flash, I thought that maybe Jessie had finally come by and I hadn’t heard him ring.

“You know we’ve got Colette’s funeral tomorrow,” Mom said, sticking her head in my room.

“I know,” I told her. But if I was being honest, I had mostly forgotten. It was a good thing she had reminded me because I was thinking of texting Joe and asking him if he needed me to work a shift. People never tipped well at a coffee house, but they did tend to tip slightly better around the holidays, and if I was going to pull off a phone for Jessie, I needed all the cash I could get.

“I’m not sure if there will be anyone else besides us,” Mom said, taking a few steps into my room. “I don’t mind, but I hope Grams doesn’t feel too hurt.”

I got up from where I was sprawling on the bed with a magazine and put my arms around her. Mom cared so much about other people. “I don’t know if there are that many people left who remember Colette,” I told her. “We’ll just have to be enough.”

“I know this is going to sound horrible,” Mom said, hesitating over her words, “but I’m almost glad Colette’s body was stolen for a bit.”

“What?” I gave her a concerned look. That was definitely not something my mother would say.

“Well, if whoever took her didn’t give us that five thousand dollars as an apology, getting her a gravestone and everything would be pretty tough.”

“I’m sure whoever took her was glad to help out with the money,” I assured her.

I tried to go to bed but, of course, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking I heard Jessie tapping at my bedroom window. I even got up a few times to check. It was a switch from the other night when I was terrified that there was a vampire outside waiting for me.

But I also really hate being stood up. It’s so frustrating and at the same time oddly humiliating. My mom told me she was once stood up on Valentine’s Day. The guy just never showed. Fortunately, she had bought him a box of chocolates, so she had that as a balm for her injured ego. A few weeks later
, she ran into him at a café, and he acted like it was no big deal. Then he had the nerve to ask her out again. She said no, obviously.

But Jessie standing me up was a little different. I assumed he wasn’t just being some inconsiderate jerk. Either something was wrong that he didn’t want to tell me, or something bad had happened. Or he was blowing me off for my own protection. My brain started building up a head of steam. Or he was battling another vampire. Or he’d found Liz and Don’s bodies and couldn’t control himself from feasting upon them. Or he’d suddenly decided loving me wasn’t worth the hassle. Or
… Gah! I shook my head. The whole thing was too emotionally exhausting.

The next morning it was raining, and all the beautiful, fresh, white snow turned into gray slush. I layered up with two pairs of thick tights, a turtleneck, wool socks, skirt, and sweater. Grandma Gibson didn’t want any kind of church service for Colette; she just wanted to be there at the grave. Mom didn’t press her on the church issue. Most people as they age become more religious, but Grandma Gibson had become less.

When I came downstairs
, Mom was already dressed and ready to go. “I thought we might as well take Grams out to breakfast before the funeral,” she said. “It feels weird not to do anything besides go to the cemetery.”

We struggled into our boots and coats. As we were heading out the door
, Mom suddenly started frowning and looking around. “What?” I asked.

“I think we’re going to need some umbrellas, but yours is red and mine has big purple flowers all over it. We don’t have anything cemetery appropriate.” She began biting her lower lip. “I don’t suppose we could quickly dash into the mall.”

I gave her a flat look. “Mom, it’s Saturday and Christmas is Wednesday. There’s no dashing in anywhere.”

“You’re probably right,” she said, frowning some more
. “But we can’t have Grams standing around in the rain.”

An idea occurred to me. “Don’t they have umbrellas they use for the residents at the home? Maybe we could ask to borrow a couple of those.”

“That sounds like a better plan than going to the mall,” Mom agreed, so we headed for the car.

There were only two news crews when we arrived at the home. I guess they were trying to get establishing shots before shooting the story at the cemetery. Mom had spoken to someone higher up at the cemetery
, and they assured her that they would do their best to keep the media away from our service. Of course, that wouldn’t stop them from standing outside the gate, but hopefully they wouldn’t get in.

Grandma Gibson was sitting in the lobby waiting for us by the time we arrived. Mom got her to the car while I asked about the umbrellas. “Of course
, you can, sweetie,” the woman behind the counter said when I asked for the loan. “You just have to sign for them. Too many residents take them out and then we never see them again.”

“We’ll be careful,” I assured her.

“That’s a good thing,” she said. “But just so you know, if you lose them, your grandmother’s account will be charged.” As I quickly filled out the form, she added, “We were all real sad to hear about Lily’s sister. She never talks much to anyone, but a lot of the residents feel real bad.”

“Thank you,” was all I could think to say as I signed the form, grabbed the two black umbrellas she handed me
, and hurried out the door.

I had kind of been dreading breakfast with my great grandmother, but it turned out to be almost enjoyable. She was in a very lucid state
, and she had decided to focus on the positive memories she had of Colette’s life rather than her disappearance and death. I decided the hell with curtailing my eating for that meal and ordered the full breakfast. I once heard an English comedian joke that one of the best things to come out of the United States was an American-style breakfast, and he may have been right.

It was getting close to noon, so we headed for the cemetery. At that point
, it was drizzling pretty steadily, but at least it wasn’t pouring down. There were only half a dozen news vans outside the cemetery gate. Instead of the gates being open for cars to drive on through, like they usually were for any cemetery, they were closed, and there were two guards posted to make sure no news crews gained access. I had a sneaking suspicion that Jessie might have floated some cash toward paying for the extra help, and I felt grateful. I wished he had at least called me to say he wasn’t going to show up the previous night, but I still felt grateful.

I was surprised when we pulled into the lot. It wasn’t exactly jammed with cars, but it was about two-thirds full. “Who else has died recently?” Mom wondered aloud as she hunted for a spot that would call for Grandma Gibson to walk the shortest distance.

As we headed across the lawn to the same plot where Grandma Gibson’s parents were buried, the drizzle stopped; the clouds parted; and the sun did its best to make it a beautiful day. I closed my umbrella. “Hey,” a familiar voice called, and I turned around to see Blossom and her mom.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, completely surprised.

Blossom shrugged. “We thought we’d come and pay our respects.”

Then I did a double take as I saw Fred helping a very ancient gentleman across the lawn. He waved, flashing me a handsome smile. “Gramps said he’d like to come,” was his explanation as we came within speaking distance.

The senior Mr. Lighton was a stately gentleman with a surprising amount of white hair. He was the spitting image of his great grandson, if I subtracted eighty years or so. “That’s really nice of you,” I told Fred in a low voice. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, as if dragging a centenarian across town to the funeral of a woman neither of them had ever met and who had actually died several decades earlier was no big deal.

As we got closer to the burial plot, it became obvious that the Lightons and the Costers weren’t the only Tiburon residents who had decided they wanted to pay their respects. There were a couple dozen old people. I had a feeling that Ashtabula Elder Care had bused them in, although I didn’t see their van or anything in the parking lot. It made the hate I had felt for them on the day we picked Grandma up to drive her to the morgue melt away. I knew some of them probably just viewed the burial as an afternoon’s entertainment, but some were there out of genuine compassion.

My boss, Joe, was there, much to my surprise. Seeing him outside of Cup of Joe’s was like seeing a teacher outside of school; it always felt wrong, but I appreciated him coming. There
were also some of my teachers, the school principal, and some of the people my mom worked with. It totaled up to quite a tidy crowd. There were even a couple of flower arrangements. I’m afraid Mom and I hadn’t thought about providing any. Someone even had the foresight to provide a couple dozen folding chairs so the elderly had a place to sit. I thought I knew who to give credit to for that bit of gallantry. Jessie couldn’t attend the funeral, but I could see that he had been giving it quite a bit of thought. There were three open seats at the front of the crowd, nearest the open grave, obviously there for us.

Grandma Gibson had decided to have Colette cremated, in part to keep random jerks from trying to steal her body again. Her ashes were to be placed on top of her mother’s coffin. Grams thought both her mom and Colette would have appreciated that. A smaller headstone had been added below that of her parents with the words “Beloved daughter and sister” carved into the modest piece of marble along with Colette’s name
and the dates of her birth and death, although the death date was really just an estimate as the night she ran away from home.

As we headed for our seats, I was suddenly gripped by a wave of anxiety and gave an involuntary shudder. There was that old expression, “A goose just walked over my grave
.” I had an instant understanding of what it meant, at least by intent. My heart started pounding painfully in my chest, and it was hard for me to breath. I found myself sweating profusely in my winter wool coat. There were spots in front of my eyes, and my peripheral vision faded to black. I looked around a bit frantically for a moment, not sure why I was freaking out. Were we under attack? What was happening? Then I realized it was the tombstone. Colette's tombstone. I felt like I was looking at my own grave.

I felt a sharp nudge quite close to my behind, which startled me. I whipped my head around, incredulous that anyone would think a funeral was an appropriate time for a bit of light sexual assault. An elderly lady with white curls pe
eking out from under a fur-trimmed hat leaned forward and said in a sharp whisper, “Sit down. This isn’t about you.”

She was right
, and she was wrong. It might very well have been about me if reincarnation existed. Half of me wanted to say something snarky back to her, but she had snapped me out of my panic attack, and from the perspective of everyone else at the ceremony, she was right. “Thank you,” I whispered to her and took my seat.

We all sat quietly
, and I wondered what was going to happen next. As far as I knew, we really hadn’t planned anything. I wanted to catch my mother’s eye, but Grandma Gibson was seated between us. She had been acting very courageous throughout breakfast and the drive to the cemetery, but I could tell that the outpouring of support from people that had never even met Colette really touched her. She had to press her handkerchief to her nose.

A woman in a long, dark coat who must have been some kind of minister or something got up and spoke, standing at a little portable pulpit
-type thing near the head of the grave. I really had no idea who she was or even what denomination she represented. She could have easily just been a lady who had wandered into the cemetery from off the street and decided to take charge, for all I knew. She talked about grief and loss and forgiveness but fortunately kept it brief.

I thought
after the minister finished that would be the end of it, but then my great grandmother struggled to her feet. Mom and I exchanged alarmed looks. Neither of us had expected her to speak. Still, there was nothing we could do but make sure she didn’t topple over as she slowly made her way to the pulpit, which the minister readily relinquished.

I felt my guts clench
, and stomach acid bubbled at the back of my throat. Was this going to be a repeat of the morgue? Was Grams about to start shouting about how Jessie Vanderlind had killed her sister? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. I could tell by the worried expression on my mother’s face that she was thinking the same thing.

Grandma Gibson steadied herself and then spent some time looking at the faces assembled before her. “Thank you for coming,” she said when she finally began. “I honestly thought it was just going to be my granddaughter, my great granddaughter
, and me. I’m touched that so many of you braved the weather today to help me say goodbye to my dear sister, Colette.” Grandma Gibson brushed at a single tear that was slowly making its way down her cheek. “She was a beautiful girl with a very generous heart. She couldn’t know someone was in trouble or in need without wanting to help.” I began to relax a little. Grandma was keeping her speech to the positive side of her sister’s life. Grams continued. “That’s probably what made her such an easy victim for whoever killed her. I can’t tell you how many times over the last eighty years I’ve laid awake at night thinking about what might have happened to her. I’d always hoped that she was somewhere alive and happy but always knew deep in my heart that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t have done that to us. She wouldn’t have done that to Momma and Papa, and she wouldn’t have done that to me.” Her voice broke there, and she hid her face in her handkerchief.

Mom and I were on our feet instantly to comfort her. But we weren’t fast enough
; when Grandma Gibson looked up again, her eyes were blazing. “There’s an evil that lives in this town. An evil that killed my sister. An evil that hides behind money and large donations to the police department. An evil that’s now grabbing children off the streets.”

My mom was at her grandmother’s side, wrapping an arm around her, easing her from the pulpit. “It’s okay, Gram Gram,” she said in a low voice. “Colette can rest now. It’s okay.”

Everyone just stared at us. It wasn’t your typical funeral speech, and I’m not sure anybody knew how to react. Mom was busy with Grandma Gibson, so I felt I should probably say something. I needed to thank people for attending and then shoo them away. I turned to face the crowd, but my tongue felt awkward and clumsy in my mouth.

My boss, Joe, took a few steps forward from where he’d positioned himself in the back, raised a hand in the air to draw attention
, and said, “The family has invited all of you to come to Cup of Joe’s for coffee, tea, and biscotti after the service.”

People began collecting themselves to leave. Joe strode through the crowd and whispered to me, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to help. This was kind of an impulse thing, so we’re not staffed for a crowd.”

“Thank you so much,” I said in reply. “You’ve got a free worker for however long it takes to pay you back.”

Joe scrunched his nose and waved me off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just ready for the reporters to clear out of town so I can put you back on the schedule.”

With people extending their condolences and everything, we were some of the last people out the cemetery gate. The reporters were there as we left, hoping for a shot of us. It was weird. I’m not sure what they thought was going to happen. Did they expect the killer was going to appear and confess or something?

The Thurmans and the Updikes were there as well, holding up enlarged photos of their children, hoping to get some camera time. “I think we need to stop,” Grandma Gibson said. “Helen, would you please pull over.”

I knew Mom was about to protest, but then she saw the grim faces of the families trying so desperately to get anyone in the media to care about their missing children
, and she pulled over to the side of the drive outside the gates.

I’ve never been attack
ed by wolves, or even a pack of stray dogs, but I have a slight inkling of how it would go. First the wolves notice something has changed; they sniff the air and start looking around rather eagerly. Then they notice you. They freeze for a moment, marveling at their good fortune, wondering if there will be any way to squeeze some kind of award nomination out of a really good interview. Not a Pulitzer, obviously, but something that at least comes with a trophy and bragging rights. Then the wolves turn as a unit and rush toward you. Not growling and drooling with their ears pinned back, but baring their teeth with gleeful smiles, shoving microphones in your face, thrilled with the idea of ripping you to shreds and consuming you, even before your heart stops beating.

Grandma Gibson stood tall, legs braced but slightly bent at the knee, like you stand when you are on a beach and expect a big wave to crash over you. Mom and I glued ourselves to her side, but the reporters immediately had her surrounded, shouting questions. Really stupid ones like, “Who do you think killed your sister?” and “Do you think the person who stole
the body was the same one that killed her?” I would have been surprised if any of their questions were scripted.

The Updikes and Thurm
ans just stared at us, worry and grief weighing down their shoulders. Grandma raised her hand and waved them over, looking the reporters and cameramen in the eyes as she said, “Let them through, please. You, sir, please let these people through.”

Mom and I made room for Mrs. Thurm
an and Mrs. Updike, who were both holding photos of their children. Their husbands and other children crowded in behind. It made my heart ache to see that Don had two little brothers. He was probably one of those big brothers that little boys loved, that showed them how to use bottle rockets and gave them all the gruesome details of dissecting a frog in biology.

“I have something to say,” Grandma said, ignoring all the questions being lobbed at her. I held my breath. She did, after all, know the truth about the Vanderlinds
, and for this brief moment in time, she had the attention of the world.

“My sister disappeared eighty years ago,” Grandma began. “There wasn’t television or the
Internet or any of those things back then, so the only people who knew about it were local people. But in these modern times, an image can be seen around the world.” She took the photos from the two mothers. “These two babies are missing, and someone out there knows what happened to them. Maybe you saw something that looked suspicious but were hesitant to bring it up. Maybe you overheard someone talking in a bar. I don’t know, but if you’ve heard something, anything at all, then you need to call the Tiburon police department and tell them what you know. You need to do it right now.”