The Vanishing Vampire (5 page)

As soon as I saw him, I knew something was very wrong.

 

Ten

NET RESULTS

Norman looked like he had been hit over the head with a large board. He was sitting at the computer, staring at the monitor. His eyes were glazed and his face was pale. “What's the matter?” I asked as I drifted into the room.

“Eight hundred thirty-seven,” he said, not looking up.

“Huh?”

He turned toward me. “Eight hundred thirty-seven.” He pointed to the screen. “That's how many replies I got. I just finished reading them. Every single one.”

“And?…”

“Garbage!”
he screamed. “Garbage, junk, nonsense! Eight hundred thirty-seven morons took the time and effort to answer my question. Eight hundred thirty-seven total idiots who didn't have a clue about what they were writing, who didn't have anything better to do than send me completely useless trash. This is unbelievable!” He stopped, took a deep breath, then said, “I am angry.”

“No kidding. You mean there wasn't anything good in the whole bunch?”

He shook his head. “Do you know how many people just wanted to express their feelings about the latest vampire movies?”

Now I shook my head.

Norman looked down at a yellow pad next to his computer. “Three hundred eighty-five. And another ninety-three took the time to send me their opinions of the latest books. Thirty-four brave souls sent me copies of their vampire stories. Eighteen shared their vampire poetry with me. Gosh, I feel so honored. I never knew there were so many words that rhymed with
artery
. Most of the other messages don't fit into any category other than, perhaps, ‘just plain loony.' To top it off—to make it absolutely, gloriously perfect—one
totally
lost person sent me, for some reason, a recipe for peanut butter fudge. That, at least, was useful.”

As he spoke, his computer beeped. “Great,” he said, “now I'm getting email. It's probably someone who wants to discuss the weather in Transylvania or maybe express his opinion on which movie version of
Dracula
had the best costume designer or background music.” He turned to his screen and read the message.

“What is it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “This one is really strange.”

I looked over his shoulder and read the email:

We must rid the world of the undead. I am on his trail. I will visit you. I do this in memory of Sonya. Watch for me.

Husker Teridakian

Whose trail?
I wondered. I patted Norman on the shoulder. “Thanks for trying,” I said. “Sorry you had to wade through all that junk.”

“That's okay. It's kind of nice to see that there are people in this world who have even less of a hold on reality than I do. And I thought my life was boring. At least now I know I'm not at the absolute bottom of the pile. But don't give up. The information is out there somewhere. It's just a matter of finding it. I'll keep looking.”

“Thanks.”

“What are you going to do about school?”

That was a good question. I'd been thinking about it a lot. Our school was a large rectangle. The rooms along the outside walls had windows, but a lot of the rooms were inside, with no sunlight. “Look, once I get into the building, I should be fine. You know most of my classes are in inside rooms. If I really bundle up, and use gloves and a scarf, I should be able to get there.”

“It sounds dangerous.”

“It might be. But if I want to be a normal kid again, I don't have much of a choice. It would be a lot better if I keep up with school until I find a cure.” I thought about my new powers. “It might even be fun.” I grinned at Norman.

He didn't smile back. “Be careful,” he said. “You know what they say about power, don't you?”

“What?”

“Power corrupts.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“Power can turn good people into bad people. Just remember that.”

“I can handle it. Thanks for the help.” I left him. I was planning to go right back home, but it was almost like the dark was calling me.

And I was hungry.

Part of me feared for the fate of anyone I ran into. This whole thirst-for-blood thing worried me. It was the one big unknown area. If I wasn't able to become a normal kid again, I would have to learn to deal with it. And I sure wasn't ready to face that problem.

 

Eleven

BACK TO SCHOOL

The next morning, I left home by the side door opposite the sun. I was wearing a jacket, gloves, and a ski cap—too much stuff for late fall—but I had no choice. In the shadow of the house, I put on a scarf, wrapping it over my whole face. Beneath the scarf, I wore sunglasses. I checked carefully, making sure there was no inch of skin exposed. My stomach churned at the thought of leaving the protection of the house. Finally, cautiously, I moved from the shadows.

There was no sudden burning pain. Still, remembering what an instant in the sun had done to my bare foot, I was nervous at first. But as I moved out into the light and began my walk, the clothes did their job.

So far, so good. I headed toward school.

Browser was at the fence again. He whined.
Stay,
I thought.

He stood, unmoving.

Sit,
I thought, speaking to him with my mind.

He sat.

This made me feel strangely uneasy. I wasn't exactly ready to rule the beasts. I continued toward school. There weren't a lot of kids on my block, so I figured I probably wouldn't run into anyone for at least the first part of my trip. Up ahead, I saw Dawn Easton leaving her house. I waited for her to get far enough ahead so she wouldn't notice me. I didn't want to have to explain the scarf and glasses. I'd been avoiding her anyhow. She'd been acting real strange recently, and I was beginning to think she had a crush on me.

I was completely aware of everything as I walked. My senses were pretty much under control, but I was scanning the world, taking in a bit at a time, just sampling little tastes all around me. There was a bird in the tree above me. I listened to its heartbeat. Then I listened to the
skritch
of insects inside the tree. I smelled the scents of passengers in passing cars. The man riding by in the station wagon had a pack of spearmint gum in his pocket. Behind me, a block away, two kids were walking to school carrying their lunch boxes. I could tell the contents. One kid had salami and cheese. The other—yuck—was carrying egg salad. Ahead, to the left, in a house across the street, someone was using a vacuum cleaner. Straight ahead, and very close, someone was standing, speaking words. I focused in on the words.

“Look at that little fuzzball.”

Odd words. I recognized the voice right away. And as soon as I knew that, I also realized whom he was talking about. It was Bud Mellon, Lud's older and stupider brother. And he'd just noticed me. I'd been so busy bathing myself in all the new sensations that I'd forgotten about things that were right in front of my face.

Bud blocked my path. “Did your mommy dress you today?” he sneered. “Are you all warm and comfy?”

I started to step around him. He turned and reached out to grab my scarf. “Let's see who the scarf face is.”

His fingers were about to close on the scarf. A lifetime of training had conditioned me against fighting back in a hopeless situation. No kid could possibly win against the brute strength and stupidity of a Mellon brother. But my new reflexes didn't listen to me. I lashed out, pushing him away. I only meant to push him back so I could run past and escape to the school.

I truly didn't know my own strength. At least, I didn't know it until that moment.

Bud left the ground. He must have felt like he was flying. He tumbled back, his arms spiraling in the air, his mouth open in an expression of amazement and wonder. He looked a lot like someone bouncing back after reaching the end of a bungee jump.
Sproing!
He flew all the way across the street, crashing to a stop in some garbage bags that had been set out on the curb. After he landed, he just sat there, staring.

I quickly checked around. No one had seen the Amazing Flying Mellon. There were those two kids behind me, but they were busy looking at some baseball cards and hadn't noticed anything. It was easy enough to tell—their rate of breathing hadn't changed. I made sure to pay more attention to the space right in front of me as I walked the rest of the way to school.

I slipped inside the building, rushing past the windows and into the darker corridors.
This just might work
, I thought.
I might be able to pull it off.

I went to my locker and put away the sunglasses, coat, hat, gloves, and scarf.

“Hi, Sebastian.”

I looked over. It was Dawn. “Hi.”

“It's supposed to be a really nice sunny day. Want to go for a bike ride after school?” she asked.

“No!”

I hadn't meant to shout, but the image of pedaling along while the sun turned my face to a charcoal briquette had very little appeal.

Dawn turned and walked away. I felt bad, but I had other things to worry about. I glanced down the hall, and there was Bud Mellon. I realized I wasn't afraid of him, but I hoped he didn't recognize me and start trouble.

He walked right past me. I guess he had no idea who'd been beneath the jacket. I watched him trudge down the hall and join up with Lud. Then, I listened to their conversation.

“Some of those little kids are pretty strong,” Bud said.

“Yeah,” Lud said. “Some are.”

“Pretty strong,” Bud repeated.

“Yeah, pretty strong,” Lud agreed.

“Not all of them,” Bud said. “Just some of them.”

“Yeah, just some.”

I tuned them out.

School was very easy. I could touch a quiz and see the answer in the way the question had been written. No, that doesn't really explain it. Let me try again. When the teacher wrote a question, the answer was in the teacher's mind. So the answer was written in the question.

I did great in gym class, too. The hardest part was holding back my strength.

I thought I was past any problems. Everything was fine. Everything was just about perfect. And then I got to science class, and Miss Clevis brought out the slides and the microscopes and explained how we were going to learn about blood today.

 

Twelve

THIS WON'T HURT A BIT

“Settle down, class,” Miss Clevis said. “We're going to be taking a look at human blood. We'll be working in pairs. Pick a slide and find a partner.”

The room was filled with exclamations, and not happy ones. There were cries of “Yuck,” and “Icky,” and other hints that nobody was thrilled with the idea.

“Whose blood?” someone asked.

“Not yours,” Miss Clevis said. She smiled. “Nobody has to worry. No pins, no pain. These are prepared slides. All the bleeding's been done for you.”

That was a relief. I had no idea what my own blood looked like now. Maybe, under the microscope, my blood cells would show up as tiny bats or little coffins. I was pretty sure my blood wouldn't pass for anything Miss Clevis would accept as normal.

Before I could go up to the front, Dawn plunked into the seat next to me. “Hi, partner,” she said, dropping the slide on the table as she set down the microscope. “I got all the stuff.”

The slide hit the table too hard and made a tinkling sound.

“Oh no,” Dawn said. “I broke it.” She reached for the broken pieces of glass.

“Careful,” I said.

She started to pick them up, then jerked her hand back. “Ouch.”

My eyes followed her fingertip. I saw a small scratch on it. For an instant, nothing happened. Then a tiny red fleck appeared at the center of the scratch. It swelled upward, expanding, blooming, growing into a perfect crimson drop. A deep, dark, delicious hemisphere of wonderful … I shook myself. I had to get away.