The Vampire's Photograph (5 page)

“How was school, dear?”

Oliver started, looking up like he'd been caught in a beam of sunlight, but Phlox was talking to Bane. The three of them were sitting in the low-lit dining room. Its walls were hung with deep velvet curtains, the magmalights cooled to orange. A place was laid out for Sebastian, who wasn't yet home.

“Mmm.” Bane's mouth was full of the chocolate soufflé they were dining on. “What a night,” he added between chews. Oliver marveled at how easily Bane talked around the truth.

“Did you make any progress with physics class?” Phlox asked him.

Bane slugged back a gulp from his goblet. “Physics is stupid.”

Phlox smiled tightly and looked down at her plate. Oliver knew that look: the calm before the storm. It would be that look and more if his parents found out about this business with Emalie. “Physics is the key to learning to control the forces,” Phlox said sweetly. She took a slow sip from her goblet.

“Whatever—” Bane began.

“It—is—not—what—ever,” Phlox hissed. Her eyes began to glow turquoise. “You're barely keeping up with your studies as it is, Charles. You're almost eighteen. Do you want to be the only one in your class who still can't occupy?”

Occupying animals was a higher level vampire skill. It allowed vampires to merge spirits with certain dark animals, using them to travel, spy, or enter places unnoticed.

“Occupying is stupid, too,” Bane snapped.

“Really?” Phlox replied, her eyes starting to smolder.

Something caught Oliver's eye from the corner of the room. There was a narrow shelf along the wall, with fire bonsai growing downward out of it, twisting their way in gnarled spirals toward an ornate iron bowl on the floor that was filled with swirling red magmalight. Beside this display, a large brown rat was squeezing out from a crack in the stone wall. Its eyes were unnaturally black.

“Why do I need to travel in some lowly, living animal?” Bane was going on.

The rat crept up behind Bane's chair, then paused to stand on its hind legs. Wisps of black smoke began to rise from it. The feathers of smoke grew, twirling together, gaining weight and shape, and in moments, there was Sebastian. The rat drooped to the ground, looking exhausted, and slinked back into the wall.

“It's a waste of time,” Bane continued.

Sebastian stood just behind Bane, smoothing his suit jacket, pulling at his cuffs, even winking at Oliver. Then in a lightning stroke, he closed both hands around Bane's neck. Bane's eyes bugged. His goblet sailed out of his hand, clattering on the stone floor.

“Hmm,” Sebastian said into Bane's ear. “I think occupying comes in rather handy, myself.” He let go and moved to his chair, kissing Phlox before sitting down.

“How was work, dear?” asked Phlox, her eyes cooling back to hazel.

“The long nights never end,” Sebastian said tiredly.

Bane rubbed at his neck, scowling. Oliver looked down at his plate, hoping Phlox might return to Bane.

“And how was your night, Oliver?” she asked.

“Oh—it was fine,” Oliver replied as dully as he could.

“Remember, you have your checkup on Friday,” said Sebastian as he scooped soufflé onto his plate.

“Oh, yeah.” Oliver nodded.

“I don't get why the
lamb
has to go to these annual doctor's checkups,” Bane muttered.

Oliver kept his head down, but listened carefully. He hadn't wanted to start any conversations, given the number of secrets he was currently dealing with, not even about Seth's strange doctor comments. Luckily, Bane had done it for him.

“Well, Charles,” Phlox began. “There's been new research on what growing children need—”

“What he needs is some guts,” Bane muttered sarcastically.

“Careful,” Phlox countered.

Oliver dared to glance up—and found Sebastian looking at him. It was that odd look again, like Oliver was something to be studied. But then Sebastian smiled and turned away.

“Doctors, nutrition,” Bane scoffed. “Why can't we live like Old World vampires? If we lived in Morosia, I'd be getting to raid human towns by now.”

“That's enough,” Sebastian said sternly. His eyes, normally brown like Oliver's, glowed fiercely, passing amber and nearing crimson. “There'll be no more talk of the Old World here. You can get your fill with your cousins next time we visit your grandparents, but until then, you will continue to
try
to become an enlightened being, and a part of the future, not the past.” This was a topic that could anger him like no other. Even Bane sensed it and stopped.

Forks clinked against stone plates.

“I heard at Central Council today,” Phlox finally said brightly, “that they're thinking of adopting a new policy on coagulants.”

“Mmm,” Sebastian chimed in. “The trade in blood concentrates has been out of hand for some time. Three dealers were incinerated for it last week alone.”

And just like that, conversation moved on. Oliver only half-listened. His mind kept coming back to either the doctor or Emalie, and both had him worried.

Oliver had an easy time waking up the next evening, mainly because once again, he'd barely slept. He was up long before his alarm, tossing and turning in the late afternoon. When four o'clock finally arrived and the winter sun set, Oliver got up and set yet another lie into motion.

Bane was still fast asleep. Phlox was bustling upstairs. Sebastian had left early for work. Oliver hurried up to the kitchen.

Phlox was organizing dishes. The TV mounted to the wall was on and turned to a weather channel, where meteorologist Ken Tempest was reporting from a hurricane. His trench coat flapped in howling winds, yet his hair remained perfect. “The entire southern coast is absolutely in tatters,” he said seriously, yet with a trace of a smirk. “So far five deaths have been attributed to this storm.” Behind him, rain flew sideways, and palm trees bent almost to the ground. The report cut to a house being torn apart. Oliver watched with interest. Ken was a household favorite, since, unbeknownst to his human television employers, he was actually vampire. He always got the most exciting scoop on the biggest storms, and vampires always enjoyed a good human tragedy.

“Hi, Mom,” said Oliver.

“Hey, you're up early.” Concern filled Phlox's voice. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Nah,” Oliver lied, leaning on the center island but not sitting down.

“Oh.” Phlox seemed to relax. “The dreams then, huh?” She smiled. “Have you learned his name yet?”

“Who?”

“Your demon.” Phlox sounded as excited as his gossipy classmates sometimes got. “Do you know where he's from?”

“I—”

“Oh, never mind. It's probably too soon,” said Phlox. “I'm sure the settings and images are still confusing.”

“Yeah,” said Oliver, trying to sound disappointed.

“Well, in time—”

“I have that study group before school,” Oliver blurted before Phlox said any more. “I told you.” He kept his eyes off her, picking a spot on the low cabinets and staring at it.

“What study group?”

“For Multi-world Math.” Oliver knew Phlox rarely forgot one of his activities. This was risky, for sure.

“And you told me when?” asked Phlox skeptically.

“Yesterday,” Oliver said quickly. “I mean, I thought I did. I was supposed to…I don't
want
to go.”

“Well…of course you should.” Phlox nodded firmly. “You need to take every opportunity to keep your grades up. Um…” She opened the fridge and reached for a blood bag. “Okay then, I can whip up something quick for breakfast, I guess.”

“Mom, I…I'm supposed to be there soon.” Oliver couldn't stand the idea of sitting in the kitchen, eating beneath the weight of his lies.

“All right, here”—she rummaged into the cabinet and produced his herb pill—“take this, and this, while you walk.” She reached into the fridge for a large jar that held tarantulas in suspension. The spiders were flash-fried to keep their fluids and venom in, then dipped in chocolate. Tarantula venom helped with quick healing, which was important, because recess play could get rough.

Oliver took the spider and hurried from the kitchen. Since it was still faintly light outside, he headed back downstairs and exited through a heavy wooden door by the crypt. He entered a short earthen tunnel that led to a second metal door. It slid open, and Oliver entered the main sewer line beneath Twilight Lane.

The sewer tunnels had all been built by humans. New World vampires believed that, whenever possible, there was no reason to expend the effort to build something, if there were these industrious humans around to do it for them. The same vampires at city hall who kept the houses on Twilight Lane safe from demolition also made sure that the major vampire tunnels were only worked on by night crews of city workers, and that these night crews were strictly undead.

Oliver walked along the edge of a wide tunnel composed of thick stone blocks. A shallow channel of rainwater ran down the center of the floor. Ornate lanterns glowed with mellow, golden magmalight. Recesses had been chiseled at regular intervals into the crux of the wall and floor. Each held a wrought iron candelabra, ablaze with thirteen tallow candles. The light from these cast twisted, larger-than-life shadows of the passersby up onto the walls and ceiling. Vampires loved this kind of simple distortion of reality into something artful.

This tunnel was a fairly major thoroughfare. And so, between the sconces, the dank walls were adorned with perfectly preserved ancient art work: portraits of vampires that spanned millennia and majestic depictions of epic human battles. Oliver passed a twenty-foot-long embroidered tapestry showing a legendary vampire, Klaus Virhaeten, whispering conspiratorially into the ear of the famous, and easily influenced, human general Alexander the Great. Alexander sat on a throne, in the shade of palm leaves, watching over a spectacular battle that flowed chaotically across the rest of the tapestry, displaying the grisly carnage of tens of thousands of men as no human artist would ever had dared to show it. There was no artful “glory” or “heroics” in this depiction of war, just chaos and terror—humans at their most entertaining.

The sewer was fairly empty this early in the evening. A slow-walking old vampire woman was plodding along ahead of Oliver. A finely suited businessman huffed and flipped to the ceiling in order to pass her without having to put his brilliantly polished shoes in the water.

Oliver walked up another block, then stopped beneath a manhole cover high in the ceiling. He pressed a button on the wall, and the manhole slid open. Oliver leaped upward, shooting out of the sewer and landing in a narrow alley between two streets of quiet houses, only a block from school. It was almost dark now and rain fell from a featureless ash-gray sky. The colors in the alley were draining away with the darkness.

The last humans were still lingering outside of school: two kids shooting a basketball, a trio of girls sitting on the steps waiting for a ride home. As Oliver passed by, a silence fell over them. He headed quickly around back. Some classrooms were still lit, making skewed rectangles on the wet blacktop. Oliver reached the back door and knocked softly. There was a moment of silence, then the door opened and Rodrigo looked out, speaking in his ever-tired voice, “You're a bit early, sir.”

“Sorry, Rodrigo,” Oliver said. “I…I need to do some extra work—can I come in?”

Rodrigo backed out of the way. “Just be careful,” he warned. “There are still humans around.”

“Got it,” said Oliver. He headed downstairs, staying close to the wall, ready to spectralize. He'd seen signs for the humans' school newspaper in the basement art room and figured that was where Emalie and the other students met.

The only light came from the art room door, at the far end of the hall. Oliver stayed against the wall. As he neared the door, a tall, skinny girl popped out of a restroom, not two feet from him. She was three steps across the hall when she froze, glancing nervously over her shoulder. Oliver leaned back against the wall and spectralized, becoming only a shadow against the colorfully painted mural behind him. The girl gazed through him, but still darted quickly back into the art room.

Oliver moved to the doorway and scaled the wall. From the ceiling, he hung down and peered inside. The lights on the left side of the room were on. There were four students: two girls sitting at computers, one boy sitting at a high bench table—and, off in a dark corner, Emalie. She was holding her old camera under a bright lamp. She had the back open and was fiddling around with it. Her hair was in two braids. She wore her same lime green vest, an olive army jacket beneath it.

Oliver slipped through the door and up onto the classroom ceiling. He headed for the nearby corner and crouched, making himself as small as he could.

The two girls at the computers were giggling. They were chatting online. The boy was reading over some printed pages and editing.

“All right, everybody,” said an older woman's voice. Their teacher's wide frame appeared in the doorway. “It's time to head home. Make sure you get your articles finished tonight.”

The boy spun and immediately left. The two girls got up and started putting on jackets and hats. Emalie continued to study her camera.

“Ms. Davis said it's time to go, Emalie,” one of the girls said in an unfriendly voice.

Emalie didn't answer.

The girl huffed, then rolled her eyes to her friend.

“She's so annoying,” the other girl murmured, then turned back to Emalie. “Be careful you don't run into a
vampire
down here alone.” The girls laughed as they left. For a moment, Oliver could hear them going on to each other in the hall, “What's her deal? Is she homeless again, or something?”

“Who knows? And what's with that ancient camera? It's like, afford a digital…” Their voices faded away.