Team Human (6 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Farewell to Francis

“H
e's writing a book. A scientific treatise. About us!” I told Kristin. Returning her call was my top priority after I'd climbed through the window and into my bedroom.

“Who is?” Kristin asked. She sounded annoyed. (It should be noted that my lovely older sister often sounds that way. Or at least she does when she talks to me.)

“Francis. The undead pain in my butt!”

“Why did you hang up on me?”

“Erm,” I said. If I told her that I'd broken into school, there was a chance Kristin would be impressed. She loved to hear about my adventures. But there was also a big chance she'd guilt me into confessing to Mom and Dad. She did not always approve of my adventures. “I was busy. With, um, things.”

“Things?”

“I was with Anna,” I told her, because the truth is always best. “She's depressed.
She's
the one who hung up on you.”

“Oh, that's right. Her dad ran away, didn't he?”

“Yup,” I told her. “He hasn't written to her or called or anything. He told her he was leaving her mother in a text message.” There was a moment of silence as we contemplated what that would be like.

“Grim.”

“Very. Anyway, Francis—the undead annoying person—is writing a book, the title of which is
On Adolescent
Homo sapiens sapiens
and Love
. That's why he's at school.
Not
to complete his education. He's writing a book about us humans. It's a project to get up close and personal with us and study our mating rituals.”

“With Cathy as his test subject?”

“Yes!”

“While Cathy thinks he likes her?”

“Yes!”

“But it's all for his book?”

“Yes!”

“Creep.”

“Yes!”

“How deep in is Cathy?”

I thought of the expression on Cathy's face as she gazed at Francis during the Ratastrophe. “Deep.”

“Hmmm. You can't tell Cathy, then; you'll have to tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That you're on to him. That you'll spoil his pure research by telling Cathy that he's using her. He'll have to use his wiles on someone else.”

I visualized informing Francis that he was completely, utterly, and irretrievably in the wrong. I visualized Francis humiliated and ashamed. I visualized myself screaming into that overly handsome face.

“That may be the most fun conversation ever.”

It wasn't.

For starters, it was almost impossible to get Francis alone. He was either with Cathy or surrounded by vampire groupies, or he was with Cathy
and
surrounded by vampire groupies. I arrived superearly and sat on the school steps waiting for him. But he was already surrounded as he walked up the steps. He gave me a cold, very short nod.

“Love you too, Francis,” I couldn't resist calling out after him.

Robyn Johnson glared at me. A cheerleader's glare can cut you to the very bone.

For half the day, I tried and continuously failed to get him alone. Finally, I grabbed Ty just before the end of lunch. “I need you to distract Cathy so I can talk to Francis.”

“Why do you want to talk to Francis?” Ty asked, with a woundingly suspicious look. “You're going to be mean, aren't you?”

“Ty!”

“You are. I know you are. I don't think I can be part of it. Cathy's really happy. Happier than I've ever seen her.”

That was a complete exaggeration. Cathy was always happy. Just because she was reserved didn't mean she wasn't happy. I began to explain this, but Ty ignored me.

“Francis isn't nearly as bad as you think he is. You know he let me look at his photo album from the 1920s? It was crazy old. He owned a Fokker Trimotor! The pictures are amazing. Francis knows all about airplanes up till the 1930s, which is when he says they stopped being—what did he say?—‘elegant creations of beauty' and turned into, um, something bad. Can't remember exactly what he said. Oh, yes, I can: ‘Instruments of war and cattle conveyance devices'!”

I looked forward to seeing Ty realize how undeserving Francis was of his hero worship, but I didn't have the time to tell him.

“Ty, I'm sure he's wonderful on historical subjects and I'm sure he has lots of fancy ways of describing things. That's because he's really, really, really old. Do you want one of your best friends in the entire world to go out with a walking museum exhibit? It's like she's dating someone who might have been buds with her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather. That's wrong and gross and it's our duty as her friends to stop it.”

“It won't last. I mean, he's bound to get bored with her, isn't he? She's seventeen and he's, um, like you said, really old. Right now they're both happy. I don't think we should interfere.”

“Ty, how many favors have I done for you?”

Ty sighed. “You have done me many favors. But none of them involved making Cathy cry.”

“No, but some of them involved a sketchy relationship to the law of the land.”

Ty groaned. “Fine. I'll talk to Cathy, but the next favor I ask is going to be really gross. You'll be sorry.”

The bell for next class rang.
Already?

“At the end of class, Ty. Distract Cathy.”

“Fine.”

Ty did as promised, but Robyn Johnson jumped on Francis before I'd even grabbed my bag and stood up from my desk. And, yes, I mean
literally
jumped on him.

“Just testing your reflexes,” she said, smiling at him as he put her down. “You'd be great on our squad, Francis. You're so fast and so strong.” I swear she was fluttering her eyelashes. “You'd be a perfect base. Think how high you could throw me. We'd be able to choreograph the best stunts ever!”

Francis gave a small smile. “I'm flattered, Robyn. But I suspect it would be deemed illegal. You know vampires are not allowed to compete in human sports. Our enhanced prowess would give us an unfair advantage.”

Robyn pouted.

“Francis,” I said. “You don't mind, do you, Robyn?”

Robyn certainly did mind, but she was also a very conscientious student who did not like to be late to class. She smiled brightly at Francis, said not a word to me, and tripped down the hallway.

“I need to talk to you, Francis. It's important. Can we meet after school?” Robyn wasn't the only one who wanted to be on time for class. “Please?”

“I am not in the habit of refusing a”—Francis paused—“
lady
's request. I will meet you at Oatmeal & Caffeine. Do you know it? The café on Chestnut and Third?”

I nodded.

“As it happens,” Francis said, “I also have a request to make of you.”

He nodded and strode away before I could respond. I was pretty sure he'd just made it clear that he didn't think I was a lady. Not that I cared. I mean, it's the twenty-first century, not the 1800s. We don't have ladies anymore, and if we did, I still wouldn't want to be one. I've got a lot more interesting things to be.

I turned to go in the opposite direction. What can I say? It's instinctual for me to move away from snooty vampires.

That was when I realized it was a B day. Our classes are arranged differently, blocked into A and B days, which normally I like for the variety. But I wasn't feeling too fond of the schedule when I realized that Francis and I had the same class. AP Local History with Kaplan was in the afternoon on B days. Joy.

Lately Kaplan had been focused on New Whitby's sewerage system. A follow-up on the school's recent Ratmageddon, which it had been announced was caused by a sewage pipe explosion in the basement. Kaplan was very into tying our lessons to current events. Actually, it was kind of interesting. And good old Frankie was able to chime in to talk about the horse-drawn wagons that used to collect the waste and how much worse the city smelled back then. I also learned that the Romans had a goddess of sewers: Cloacina. Which had me wondering if there was a goddess of farts, or of splinters, or of witty retorts.

Why yes, inventing goddesses did keep me occupied for the rest of class.

Francis was already at the coffee shop by the time I got there.

I knew as soon as I walked in the door. I knew that I had made a terrible mistake. When I think coffee shop, I think of our favorite hangout, Kafeen Krank. This place was no Kafeen Krank. There wasn't a speck of graffiti anywhere.

It was very fancy. The gleaming white wooden board above the counter said
organic
on it at least nineteen times, and everyone in there except me was an adult and spoke in hushed tones over their fancy coffees.

It wasn't really the kind of place where you could cause a scene and shout at someone that he was an undead love weasel.

Francis was drinking sparkling water, which came in a tall green Italian bottle. He rose as soon as he saw me, and held out my chair.

When I sat down, he poured me a glass.

I hate chivalry. Now how was I supposed to slap him in the face?

Instead, I found myself saying something totally unexpected.

Something horrible.

“Thank you, Francis.”

“You're welcome, Mel.”

I cleared my throat. My wonderful imaginary face-slapping scene might be lost forever, but I had to get the job done. I had to stop him from using Cathy for his stupid book. “I know what you're doing here.”

“Drinking mineral water?”

“No, the secret thing you're doing that you don't want people to know about.”

If Francis had been human, he would have changed color. As it was, he looked away briefly and took a sip of his water.

“Might I inquire who else knows?”

“You might not,” I said, not entirely sure that was correct English.

“Ah,” he said. “But it's a very delicate matter. Secrecy is of the utmost importance.”

“I bet it is,” I said. “But I'm warning you, if you don't leave Cathy alone, I will tell everyone what's up.”

He did the vampire version of changing color again. “I'd really prefer you not mention anything to anyone. If anyone else knows—”

“I bet you would,” I said. “So here's the deal. You keep away from Cathy. And I keep my mouth shut.”

Francis was obsessed with reputation and honor and a Gentleman's Standing in Society. We'd been his society for the past month. I was sure he wouldn't relish us thinking of him as an undead love weasel.

“Ah,” Francis said again, considering his perfect fingernails.

“Come on, Frankie, she's like a million years younger than you. Where's this going to lead except to breaking her heart? You're the grown-up.
Massively
grown up! You need to leave her alone. It's not right.”

“I …” Francis trailed off. “She's rather special,” he said at last.

“She is, which is why you have to leave her alone. It's not—”

“Gentlemanly?” Francis supplied.

“No, it's not,” I said, though it was not the word I would have used.

Francis looked sad. Really sad. Sadder even than regular vampire sad. And sad is, in fact, the main look in the vampire's limited repertoire of expressions—that and “full of ennui.”

I'd seen him wear a different look. I remembered that during the Ratastrophe, he'd looked at Cathy with the same adoring expression she'd turned on him. Much as I hated to admit it, I found myself almost believing that he really did care about her. But I knew better. He was
studying
us.

“She's human. She's a
teenager
. You're a vampire and, yes, technically
also
a teenager, but you've been one for way more than a hundred years. You should find yourself a nice vampire teenager.”

“You can assure me that anyone else who knows will also be silent?”

“I can,” I said, thinking of Anna, who was the most discreet person I knew.

Francis placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and stood up. He bowed to me. “I will do as you wish. Neither you nor Cathy will ever see me again.”

I almost fell out of my chair.

I had been thinking more along the lines of him transferring out of Cathy's classes.

“You're going away?” I said. “Awesome!”

Francis's chilly demeanor became even further chilled.

“Uh,” I said. “I mean, it's been real, Francis. Bon voyage.”

This didn't seem to please Francis either. Oh well.

“It is best for Catherine if I simply remove myself from her life forever,” Francis said bleakly. “Without me, she can live a long, full life. She can be happy. I must leave her, in fact, for her own good.”