The Vampire's Photograph (8 page)

Oliver bit his lip, afraid to say anything. He did not trust this strangely concerned version of Bane, though at least he didn't seem to know about Emalie or the newspaper. Oliver tried to think of anything he could say to change the subject. “I…I'm just stressed about my homework.”

Bane sighed. “Homework sucks,” he agreed. “It's a tough world, Ollie,” he said in a tone that was so brotherly that Oliver almost laughed at how strange it sounded. “I had a lot of hard years, waiting for my demon to finally show up.” A note of bitterness had entered his voice. “But then you get to make up for it.” He patted Oliver's shoulder again. “You sure there's nothing else going on?”

“Not really,” Oliver lied. His head was throbbing less, but the ache was a reminder of what Bane might do if he knew about Oliver's interaction with the humans. “Just, school sucks, that's all.”

Bane didn't reply for a moment. Oliver glanced up at him, and found his brother eyeing him oddly.
He knows
, Oliver thought, his nerves humming.
He doesn't know what, but he knows there's something
.

Finally, Bane shrugged. “Totally,” he agreed. “But listen, you ever want to talk about anything, you let me know,” Bane finished. “It's always better to talk about things before they get out of control, you know?”

Again, Oliver felt that weight to Bane's words. “Yeah, okay,” he said, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. And it was. But Oliver didn't trust Bane, brother or not, to leave it at that. He'd have to be very careful.

Dinner was even less enjoyable than the previous morning had been. Oliver was beginning to wonder how long he could keep living these lies. And beneath them, he was as confused as ever by the photo mystery.

“And how was your math help this morning?” Phlox asked.

“Fine,” Oliver said quickly, gulping wolf's blood from his goblet.

“You're making progress?” Sebastian asked.

“Mmm,” Oliver replied, now shoving a heaping spoon of crème brûlée into his mouth.

“Good,” Sebastian said. Oliver looked up to find him gazing curiously across the table. Then he sipped from his goblet. “Ollie, don't forget, I'm picking you up tomorrow for your doctor's appointment. I'll meet you at school.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” Bane piped up, “so don't get all weird staring at the human pictures and losing track of time like you did today.” He flashed a hint of a grin, then continued eating.

Oliver wanted to slay him.

“What are you talking about, Charles?” Phlox asked.

“Nothing,” Oliver interrupted quickly. “I was just looking at old photographs.”

“Of
cows
,” Bane added, eyes on his food, as if he were saying the most unimportant thing.

“Human photographs?” Phlox shared a sideways glance with Sebastian. “What would be interesting about those, dear?”

Oliver tried to think of something to say, but all he could think of was the blurry photo of himself, and how his parents had told him to avoid cameras. He knew he should just make up some excuse, but then he surprised himself by saying: “I don't know, I just—I saw a vampire girl in one of the old photos.”

“Ahh,” Sebastian said, sighing like he was relieved, yet not making eye contact with Oliver. “Well, yes, for a while, some vampires tried to blend in with humans. They were called Conformists, but they—”

“But I thought,” Oliver interrupted, “a vampire couldn't get their picture taken?”

Phlox and Sebastian traded another lightning-fast glance. “Well,” Sebastian said, picking up his napkin and dabbing at his mouth, “back then, it was different, it—”

“Didn't you tell me it was dangerous?” Oliver asked, trying to sound as innocent as he could.

“You lamb,” Bane chuckled. “How could a camera be dangerous?”

Phlox sipped from her goblet. Sebastian looked at Bane, but not with anger, almost with confusion. Both his parents seemed to be looking anywhere except at Oliver. He watched them, watched their faces twitch, and now he felt like he knew for certain.
There is something going on here
, he thought.
All this means something
.

“Well, Oliver,” Phlox began. “Photographs just aren't done. They're unseemly and a proper vampire would much prefer a painting or—”

Oliver took a chance and interrupted again. “But, that's not the same as dangerous—”

“They're dangerous for you, son,” Sebastian said quickly. “Now, it's nothing you should
worry
about, but, it's the flashes. You know how you get anxious—”

Phlox jumped in. “You're very sensitive to certain kinds of light spectra.”

“I am?” asked Oliver. This was news to him.

“Yes,” Phlox added. “Many vampires are. That's part of why cameras just aren't used in our world.”

Oliver nodded. “Oh,” he said.

A silence fell over the table.

Oliver kept quiet through the rest of dinner. He'd never felt anything like this before, the suspicion that his parents were keeping things from him. That they might even be lying to him. Sensitive to flashes? Oliver had just
had
his picture taken with a flash—and he'd been fine. As he thought about what his parents had said, Oliver found that his same old worried thought,
There's something wrong with me
, now had a different ending:
And maybe my parents know what it is
.

Oliver slept worse that day than ever before. In fact, he wasn't sure that he'd slept at all. The one thought that cheered him up was hoping he'd hear a footstep upstairs—that Emalie and Dean might show up again, but they didn't.

Chapter 7

The Doctor and the Moonlight

OLIVER WAITED OUTSIDE AFTER
school the next night. He sat on the front steps alone as the rest of the students caroused about. Finally, as the last stragglers were wandering home, he heard the rustling of a crow's wings. A shadow of a bird landed in a pool of orange streetlight on the sidewalk. Swirls of black mist rose from it, and moments later the bird flew off. Sebastian hurried up the walk, his boots clicking in the stillness, the collar of his long black coat upturned against a cold, clear night.

“Sorry I'm late,” Sebastian groaned, checking his watch as they hurried down the street. “Things are particularly busy at work.” He didn't sound happy about it.

They reached a wide intersection, silent at three a.m. save for the hum of the streetlights and the clicking of the traffic signal from red to green. Sebastian checked his watch. “We'll take a cab,” he said. “I put a call in to Miles. He should be along soon.”

A moment of silence passed. A hunched man in a hooded jacket hobbled by, pushing a shopping cart. Oliver wrinkled his nose. It was a human, but his scent was so neglected, so shrouded in death, that he might easily have been mistaken for a zombie. In vampire terms, he was
spoiled
and a sad waste. Phlox had a friend, Chloe, who volunteered in human soup kitchens, trying to rehabilitate cases like this. She would add special ingredients to the free meals in order to help detoxify the poisoned blood. It was rare, though, for a human to come back from a condition like this homeless man was in. Oliver listened as the man mumbled to himself, following well-worn loops of thought over and over. He could feel the despair, the whole rooms of a once bright mind that had shut down, and he wondered how humans could let one of their own get to that point.

“This will be good,” Sebastian said, clapping Oliver on the back.

Oliver didn't reply.

“Dr. Vincent always helps when you're having”—Sebastian paused like he was looking for a word—“issues.”

Oliver felt like asking Sebastian what issues he was talking about. After all, Dad thought Oliver was having the demon dreams, didn't he? That should have been a good thing. So, then he must have been referring to how Oliver had been caught looking at human pictures. That didn't seem like it was enough to be an
issue
, unless Dad knew more about what had been going on with Oliver lately than he was admitting. Oliver was starting to wonder if Dad had believed his lie about the demon dreams at all.

But Oliver was looking forward to this doctor's trip. These visits had helped with his anxiety and trouble sleeping in the past.
Except those other times, I didn't know that I'm the only kid who needs to go to the doctor every year
. Oliver promised himself that he would try to pay more attention to what Dr. Vincent said this time, to see if he could gather what these visits were really all about.

“It's always hard for you around this time of year,” Sebastian continued. “Just remember, Ollie, you're a very special boy.” He eyed the passing vagrant. “A special boy among a special breed. Vampires are lucky, compared to the humans. We get to experience and perceive things they could never fully grasp. Their lives are so short. They approach everything either with desperate passion or desperate fear. Their world can seem vital and interesting, but only because they are so ignorant.”

“Okay,” Oliver said. He didn't understand what his dad was getting at, except the words were making him feel defensive about Emalie and Dean. Vampires always talked about humans like they were lower beings, but Oliver hadn't felt that way about Emalie, though maybe slightly about Dean. And it almost sounded as if Sebastian was trying to talk Oliver out of any interest in humans.
Because he knows
, Oliver thought worriedly. Or, if he didn't know, he at least suspected.

A cab screeched to a halt beside them. Sebastian leaned down and peered in the window, then smiled. “Hello, Miles,” he said, opening the door. Oliver slid into the backseat beside him.

“Good evening, Nocturnes,” Miles Frisht said with a feigned air of manners, flashing his one remaining eye at them. He was a gangly vampire, wearing a beat-up cowboy hat cockeyed on his head. “Where can Miles whisk you off to on this lovely eve?”

“Dr. Vincent, at the Gasworks,” said Sebastian.

“Aye.” Miles nodded, and sped off, turning on the radio as he did so.

In contrast to Miles's ragged appearance and the chaotic way that he careened around town, the music that filled his cab was a deeply sad string quartet. Oliver glanced forward to see that they were listening to KBYT, a vampire pirate station that played from midnight until dawn. Other than Bane and those his age, who preferred the latest meta-world dub, broadcast subversively on the human station KEXP, vampires mostly listened to complex classical music. Oliver recognized what was currently playing: the familiar haunting melodies from one of the late movements of the
Melancholia
, the master-work of vampire music. Its early movements were centuries old, and it was still being added to. The full piece was rarely performed and, when it was, it was a fantastic event, as it took over two months to play every movement. Hearing it now, Oliver felt himself relax just a bit, watching the dark homes blur by to the contemplative sound of cellos and violins.

A few hectic turns later, they were pulling up to the Gasworks. “Thanks, Miles,” said Sebastian, handing him three square silver coins with holes in the center, called
myna
. Vampires had been using the currency since ancient Greece, in situations where other forms of payment, like a fresh young animal, or bone credits, weren't practical.

They started across a long grass park along the edge of a wide lake, just north of downtown. In the center of the park was a labyrinth of black metal towers: an old gas refinery long shut down. It was surrounded by a high chain-link fence that kept the contaminated site safe from humans. The hulking cylinders stood in dark silhouette against the blinking city buildings and the glowing Space Needle, across the water.

A raw wind peppered Oliver and Sebastian with spray from the lake. They leaped nimbly over the fence, and Oliver followed his dad into the maze of black metal towers, spun together with a web of catwalks above. Their shoes clattered in the gravel and rust flakes.

Sebastian stopped at a black tower no different than the others, except that three stories up, near the top of the tower, there was a single, glowing silver Skrit symbol: an upside-down eye inside a square. He knocked on the metal wall, creating a hollow thud. For a moment, there was no response, then the squealing echo of deadbolts being turned. A curved rectangular door pulled inward, and warm light spilled out. Oliver followed Sebastian in.

In stark contrast to the decrepit exterior, they entered a nicely appointed waiting room. It was small, lit with low lamps, and lined with chairs, three of which were filled: two with older women and one with an extremely ancient man who had long since lost his skin to time.

Sebastian moved to the receptionist's desk, where a striking young woman sat at a computer. “Nocturne to see Dr. Vincent,” he said. Oliver sat down, and watched as his dad popped open his briefcase and removed a plain-looking legal folder, which he handed to the receptionist. Oliver recognized his medical records. He looked down at the stack of magazines on the table beside him:
Seattle Tombs and Flats
,
Bloodlust
,
Us Weekly
…

“Hell's speed to you, my boy,” a razor-thin voice hissed from beside him. Oliver turned to find the ancient man leaning toward him, his leathery face only inches from his. His teeth were still brilliant white, and he wore a tweed suit with a bow tie. Oliver had rarely seen a man so old and guessed he might be well more than six hundred. The whites of his eyes had long since turned to black, and his pupils had dulled to a luminous gray that indicated almost total blindness. His wrinkled nose was doubly active, sniffing the air between them. Oliver could smell the time on him.

“Hi,” Oliver said, trying to be polite.

“I hope he comes to you soon,” the man hissed, the effort of speaking making his body shake.