Temptation (11 page)

“Yeah.” Todd yawned loudly. “Jessica. We just walked around town. She wanted to go down to the beach, but I wasn't up to it. I went home early.”

“Hey, man—you need a swim,” Matt urged. “We both need something to wake us up this morning.”

Todd didn't respond.

“Hey, Todd—come on, man.”

Silence.

“Todd?”

Leaning over his friend, Matt saw that Todd had fallen asleep.

What's
with
this guy? Matt wondered. How can he conk out before eleven in the morning?

Todd uttered a sigh in his sleep and rolled onto his side.

What kind of suntan lotion is Todd using? Matt wondered, staring at his friend. He seems to be getting paler—not darker.

•   •   •   •   •

As darkness descended, Jessica tingled with excitement and felt almost alive. She could feel the renewed energy coursing through her body.

She swept her long hair back over her shoulders, allowing the soft breeze off the ocean to ruffle through it, and thought about the nectar.

So sweet and tart at the same time.

So rich and thick.

And thirst quenching.

The moon, which had begun as a pale, white disc, was growing bolder, beginning to gain its golden glow. Staring up at it, Jessica tried to remember her life.

What had she been like when she was sixteen—like Todd and his friends?

Did she summer at the beach? Did she have boyfriends?

Try to remember, Jessica, she urged herself. Try.

But she had no memories.

No memories of her real life.

Her childhood was gone. Her family was gone. Her teenage years—
all
her years—her
life
was gone.

Even her death was gone, she realized.

How did I die?

But of course she
hadn't
died.

And that was why her only memories were of her life as an Eternal One. Her only memories were those of the gray, twilight world she roamed in, floated in, soared in, shadowy memories of longing, of need, eternal need—of
thirst.

Was that a tear rolling down her soft, pale cheek?

Was she actually
crying
for her past, for all that was lost to her? Crying for a life she hadn't a single memory of?

No. It was just the salty air, she told herself, brushing the wetness from her cheek, forcing her morbid thoughts away.

This was to be a night of triumph, after all.

A night of victory, and then of celebration.

A night of nectar. A night of renewal.

She saw Todd approaching along the shore. This is
your
night, Todd, she thought, all of her sadness lifting as he neared, and her tingling excitement returned.

This is your night, my poor, innocent, shy, not-so-very-smart Todd.

This is the night you become an Eternal One. The night you shed your boring, old life and soar into the dark sky.

He waved to her, and she stepped toward him, her bare feet light on the wet sand, moving out of the shadows of the rowboat dock. Behind her, the three rowboats tied to the dock bobbed like flat fish in the water, bumping gently against the wooden piles.

“Todd!” she called enthusiastically, running toward him, her short sundress lifting high on her long, slender legs as she ran.

“Hi,” he said. Still shy. Still reluctant. “Nice night, huh?”

She took his arm. Kissed his cheek.

So near the precious nectar. So near.

Her pulse throbbed. She could feel it.

And she could feel her thirst.

One last sip. One little taste, Todd, and you're one of us. Forever.

“What did you do today?” she asked, locking her eyes on his.

“Went to the beach,” he told her. “But I didn't swim or anything. I was feeling kind of lazy.”

Wonder why, she thought dryly, holding on to his arm, staring into his eyes, letting her power do its work.

“You want to go to the carnival or something?” he asked, his voice quavering.

He's under my spell, she thought.

He's
mine.

“It's so peaceful here on this end of the beach,” she whispered, leaning against him, moonlight reflecting off her pale face, her bare shoulders. “And we're all alone.”

He turned his eyes to the water, to the small, wooded island out beyond the rowboat dock. But she forced his eyes to return to hers.

“How about a kiss, Todd?”

She didn't wait for a reply. A faint smile began to spread on his lips as she moved her face forward and pressed her mouth to his.

He's mine. He's mine.

But what was that sound? That fluttering over the rush of the waves.

Was it just the rowboats bobbing against the dock?

No.

She pressed her lips against Todd's, sighing softly. And raised her eyes to the purple sky.

And saw the bat hovering low overhead.

Gabri! It must be Gabri! she realized.

He's come to ruin it for me. He's come to rob me of my victory.

No, Gabri, she thought, her pulse pounding as the wild, inhuman energy flowed through her.

No, Gabri. Not tonight.

You will not interfere tonight.

You are
too late.
The boy is
mine.

The bat hovered lower.

Quick, quick! Jessica commanded herself.

Her fangs lowered, and her face pressed against Todd's throat, and she bit deeply.

Deeply.

And drank.

The bat fluttered low. Lower. But he was too late.

Too late.

The race was lost.

Jessica drank. More and more.

Then, as Todd uttered a loud moan, of pain, of helplessness, of ecstasy, Jessica pulled her face back.

The color faded from Todd's eyes as they rolled up into his head.

“No!” Jessica shrieked. “No! No! No! It was an accident! I—I don't believe I did this!”

Matt sat up in bed, pushing away the sweat-drenched sheets. He peered out the window, listening to the soft calls of birds in the nearby trees, announcing the dawn.

“I can't sleep,” he said aloud, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it, anyway?”

Five thirty-five, the clock on the night table said.

He'd been tossing most of the night, his mind whirling with troubled thoughts.

Mostly he had been thinking about April.

He had tried her house when he got back from the beach in the afternoon, but the line was endlessly busy. Then he tried calling after dinner and her mom said April had gone out.

Probably with Gabri again, Matt thought unhappily.

I've got to talk to April. I thought we were going to have a great summer together.

Thinking about her had kept him up all night. Now, as the
sky slowly brightened and the chirping of the birds grew louder, he decided there was no point in staying in bed.

An early jog on the beach might help to clear my mind, he thought, pulling on a pair of black spandex bicycle shorts and squeezing his feet into his running shoes.

He closed the cottage door silently behind him, stepping out into the morning air, still cool and dew laden. The salty-fish smell of the ocean invaded his nostrils as he began to jog past the other cottages to the dunes that led down to the ocean.

The lapping waves were still inky black under a pearl gray sky as Matt began his jog along the shore. Sea gulls scattered as he ran, squawking in shrill protest.

The beach was empty. All his. Not even one other early-morning jogger in sight.

Off on the brightening horizon, he could see the dark outlines of a ship. Some kind of barge. The image shimmered above the water, its outlines bending and shifting in the eerie morning light. Like some sort of ghost ship, not real.

Matt jogged slowly but steadily, past the dying embers of a small campfire someone hadn't fully doused, past a blackened, charred log the ocean had tossed up, past a pair of starfish dead and drying on the sand.

The spray felt cold and refreshing against his face as his sneakers crunched over wet sand. The gray of the sky was beginning to lift, like a pale curtain rising, revealing the crimson morning sunlight underneath. The ocean water brightened with the sky, reflecting its color.

This is really beautiful, Matt thought, jogging steadily, his forehead dotted with beads of sweat despite the cool air. He gazed ahead at the dark rock cliff that rose up at the water's edge beyond the dunes.

As he approached the cliff, the sand beneath his shoes becoming pebbly, then harder, he looked to the small rowboat dock that jutted out in the shadow of the cliff.

Something appeared to be floating in the water beside the dock.

Was it a small boat of some kind? He was too far away to see clearly.

As he drew closer, crimson sunlight rippling along the water's edge, he could see it clearer, something dark, pretty large, bobbing beside one of the rowboats.

Has a whale lost its way and trapped itself near shore? He dismissed that idea as he drew closer, and was better able to judge the size.

He stopped just before the dock, his chest heaving from the effort of his long run. Wiping away the perspiration from his forehead with his arm, he turned his eyes to the water.

And his breath caught in his throat.

It was a person.

Bobbing like a rowboat.

Bobbing facedown.

Arms floating out at its sides stiffly, so stiffly.

And before he even realized it, Matt was in the water, cold around his ankles, over his sneakers, which he hadn't thought to remove.

He hadn't thought.

He hadn't thought he'd find a person.

He hadn't thought
anything.

And he was tugging the person by the shoulders, the water up over his waist. Pulling hard now. But the person—the body—the person—was so
heavy.

The water felt so cold, swirling about his hot body. Matt gasped for breath, his chest heaving.

Are you breathing?

Please
be breathing!

But, no—how could he be breathing?

It was a he. Yes. A he. But Matt still hadn't been able to lift his face from the water.

How could he be breathing with his face still in the water? With his arms stretched out so stiffly?

What was he wearing? Only undershorts?

His skin so white and smooth, like some kind of sea creature.

Only sea creatures can breathe in the water.

And this person wasn't breathing, couldn't be breathing.

Panting loudly, Matt heaved his heavy cargo onto the shore. Pushing the wet, matted hair back from his forehead, Matt stood for a moment, hands on hips, leaning forward, breathing, breathing deeply, waiting for his heart to stop racing.

And then he bent over the person—the body—turned it with great effort onto its back.

And screamed: “Todd!”

“Todd! How? How, Todd?”

With dreadful clarity, his friend came into sudden focus. His nearly nude body was covered with gashes and cuts from banging against the rocks around the rowboat dock.

So many cuts.

So many cuts, his blood appeared to be completely drained.

“How, Todd? How?”

So many cuts, all over his face and neck.

“No. It can't be Todd. It
can't
be.”

So many cuts.

So many cuts, it made no sense.

How did Todd drown?

Why would he swim way out here, so far from everyone?

Did he drown farther up the beach where everyone hangs out? Was his body carried here by the current?

His body?

How could Todd be just a body now?

How could he no longer be Todd?

Matt sank to his knees, his mind swirling faster than the ocean waters.

He closed his eyes, but the vision of his drowned friend, his skin so white except for the cuts, the cuts, the cuts, stayed with him.

Todd wasn't a strong swimmer.

Why would he brave the undertow at night?

Todd knew how powerful the undertow was, how unpredictable, how deadly.

So why did he go swimming?

“Why, Todd?” Matt cried, opening his eyes, raising his face to the orange, rising sun.

Several minutes later two fishermen, tackle boxes and fishing rods in hand, came upon Matt, still on his knees, still huddled over his friend's body, still asking the question, “Why, Todd? Why?”

Bats fluttered and swooped above the trees of the small island, darting shadows against the charcoal sky. Beneath the shelter of the trees stood shingled beach houses, long deserted by their human inhabitants.

Bats had claimed the island years before. Bats and the Eternal Ones, the ones who could transform themselves, become bats when the need arose.

The island was reachable only by boat, and this discouraged most people from building on it. Those who had built summer houses were driven away by the bats, murdered by those masquerading as bats, or had given up their nectar and had become Eternals themselves.

Now, Gabri waited in a darkened house. He had claimed part of the house as his own, having spread the ancient burial dirt on the floorboards and placed the carefully polished, dark wood coffin against the eastern wall, the safe wall.

Leaning heavily against the window frame, he stared out through the open window at the diving bats that the moonlight revealed.

Gabri sighed, unable to keep a pleased smile from spreading across his face. The air was warm and heavy, the way he liked it. The flutter of bat wings provided a pleasant background for his thoughts.

Pleasant thoughts.

Thoughts of how he had ruined Jessica's chances to win the bet. Thoughts of April, of fresh nectar.

He had sampled the nectar so gingerly, so carefully. His thirst was barely slaked.

But the summer was young.

He had reason to be patient.

Poor, impatient Jessica.