A wild animal?
I doubted it. There were a lot worse things than ‘wild animals’ living in Boston.
* * *
After letting the detectives out I headed straight to my room.
I didn’t bother with the chair or the bed, just slumped to the floor as my legs gave way with relief. My hands were shaking, a fact that surprised me despite the visit from Detectives Trent and Smith. Or perhaps it was the news of Rick Doyle’s death that had affected me.
Maybe I was just hungry. Vampires only need to feed once a week to sustain us, but more was preferable, especially during the first year and definitely if under stress. It was Friday, and I realized that I hadn’t taken blood for almost eight days. No wonder Trent’s neck had looked so yummy.
Ugh. I wished I didn’t think such disgusting things. I hated that, since it made me feel no better than whoever – or
whatever
– had killed poor Rick. They’d left him in the sort of state that had police detectives talking like he’d been mauled by something other than a human. Considering that Boston, Massachusetts, has one of the highest vampire populations per square mile in the whole of North America, I figured that my gut feeling might be right.
Added to that, there was the not insignificant detail of my name and address found on his body – the name and address of a vampire. Though, of course, the police didn’t actually know that. I’m not sure I really believe in
coincidences
, so either Rick really did want to contact me for some mysterious reason – which seemed unlikely – or someone wanted me to think that he did. And I couldn’t say I liked that theory a whole lot better.
Whatever the case, I felt like I owed it to Rick to try figuring it out. Maybe he’d been trying to reach out to me, only he’d gotten himself killed before he could do it. Whether that was true or not, I knew what Theo would do if I told him any of this: he’d hand the matter over to his Enforcer, Kyle, and that would be the end of it. I’d never find out what happened and everything would be covered up.
According to that phone call Rick’s body was being held temporarily at Mass Gen. That was good to know, but only so long as they actually kept him there. If I wanted to get a quiet look at his remains before he was moved on to wherever the cops would do their main examination, I needed to beat them to the body. There was probably red tape and stuff, especially as he’d died at the hospital rather than at the murder scene, but still . . .
I wouldn’t have long. Maybe I could use my newly developed senses to find a clue that the on-scene examiner had missed? It was weird, but as a vampire I might be able to
scent
something on him.
I tried to tell myself I wanted to do this for good reasons. Unselfish reasons. But there was something sneaky lurking in my heart; something I didn’t want to
admit
, although it was hard not to when I was so brutally honest with myself about most things. Tomorrow night was my official introduction to the Elders who oversaw the vampire Family of Boston – Theo’s Family. He’d kept me pretty much on lock-down for the best part of a year, only meeting just a select few of the Family, but now he considered me ‘ready’ to face them. I wouldn’t be the wild, half-crazed creature I’d been in those early days. Or the depressed, suicidal girl I’d become as the weeks and months progressed. I was, apparently, well-adjusted. Finally.
Meeting the Family meant a change in the status quo of my life. On the one hand, I welcomed change, because I was sick of spending most of my time hiding. I didn’t even see my human family – my dad and two sisters – that much anymore, though Theo had approved some short visits so that no one would get too suspicious. On the other hand . . . I knew it could mean more restrictions of a different kind. There would be expectations of me. Maybe even responsibility. Probably those rare visits to my family would have to stop too . . . I shuddered. I could never have my old life back – the one Theo had stolen from me – but as I couldn’t have that human existence, then I at least wanted to do whatever I wanted with this ‘new’ life.
And today, I wanted to figure out what had happened to Rick Doyle. Nobody had the right to stop me – not even the man who made me what I am.
I headed across the room to my closet. I needed more suitable clothes. Getting into the hospital through the front doors would be the obvious choice, but there were ways of getting around Boston that most people didn’t know about. Sometimes, even vampires needed to travel during daylight – and that’s where the tunnels came in. I grabbed jeans and a sweater – both black, natch – and quickly changed. I wanted to be out of here before Holly got in. She was late coming home this morning – her shift was over well before daylight. As she was now too ‘old’ to go out in full light, she could be in the tunnels – I’d have to make sure I didn’t run into her.
My DMs were super-comfortable and made me feel ready for anything. I left them halfway open and tucked the laces inside. Looking up, the first thing I focused on, as usual, was the mirror attached to the old-fashioned dressing table that had been my mother’s. I liked to remember her sitting in front of it, brushing her thick dark hair – before she cut it short. Before the first round of chemo.
When I first moved in with Holly, I’d painted the mirror itself with three coats of black paint. Holly keeps threatening to rip it from its brass fixtures at the back of the table. She says I’m torturing myself. I prefer to call it reminding myself of what I no longer have. I like to think that’s a subtle-and-yet-significant difference. When I was first brought back to life as a vampire, my reflection had
initially
remained intact – but it faded quickly during those first painful months of adjustment. I had felt sick with fear each time I saw a little more of myself slipping away, almost as though someone had taken a giant eraser and set to work rubbing me out of existence. I would sit in front of the gilt mirror in Theo’s grand hallway, watching my flesh become more translucent as the light from the arched windows shone right through the ghostly girl looking back at me. It was like watching my own transformation: human Marie slowly dissolving and becoming inhuman Moth. A new kind of metamorphosis.
It was like watching myself die all over again.
Now, I’d gotten used to it. Not having a reflection, I mean. Dressing was never a problem to me – who needed a mirror to check out the effect of whatever ensemble I’d chosen for the day? Make-up was more challenging, though I only ever bothered with eyeliner and Holly would take great pleasure in telling me if I screwed it up. And sometimes – though I had never confessed this to Theo – I would catch a distorted, ethereal reflection of myself in a window, if the light was shining at a certain angle, or even in water if it was very still. I didn’t know if that was normal and I didn’t want to ask.
But mirrors were as much use to me now as trying to find my reflection in a brick wall. Some people say that mirrors provide a reflection of the soul, so what does that say about me? Do I even
have
a soul? I wonder about
that
a lot. My mom had been pretty religious – we’re Catholics, and I still have family in Ireland, apparently – and Sunday was an important day when she was alive.
A full-length mirror mocked me now from its place on the back of the bathroom door. I stood and looked at the space where I should be and my stomach flipped over. It still made me feel nauseous. You try it: even though you know you’re standing
right there
, the mirror reflects nothing but the room around you.
However, despite how unsettling it could be, a big part of me was relieved I no longer had to gaze at my mother’s face every time I looked in a mirror. My father resented me for many reasons, but one of the most obvious was how much like Mom I looked. OK, and there was the not-so-tiny matter of how disappointed he’d been when I told him there was no way I was following in his footsteps onto the Job. No way did I want to be a cop. Can you imagine it?
My phone rang just as I was pulling my leather jacket back on. I checked caller display: Caitlín. My little sister (
not so little
, she’d tell me, now that she was sixteen). I sighed, briefly considering pressing the ‘ignore’ button. Cait had been on my back a lot lately, though I could hardly blame her. After Mom died I’d hardly been around. It wasn’t like I didn’t have a good reason for that, considering how I’d met Theo at the time, but how could
I
tell my sister that? Honestly, she was the only person in the world who I’d even
considered
telling the truth to. I just had to figure out a way to do it that meant Theo would never find out. And, really, did I expect Caitlín to believe me? ‘
Hey, sis, guess what? I’m a vampire
.’ ‘
Really? Cool!
’
I hit the answer button. ‘Yo.’
‘Yo, yourself. Where are you?’
‘Home. You?’
‘Same.’
‘No school today?’
I could hear the pout in her voice. ‘Why? Is your name Sinéad all of a sudden?’
I frowned, even though she couldn’t see me. ‘Are you ill?’
‘Marie . . .’ Her voice whined at me. I hardened my heart.
‘Skipping?’
‘Like you’re one to talk.’
Actually, I’d never skipped high school. I had been a model student, once upon a time. Just because I was into Goth clothes didn’t mean I didn’t work hard. People and their crazy stereotypes bugged me.
I sighed. Caitlín had gotten more rebellious lately, and I couldn’t help taking on some of the blame for that. Not that she wasn’t ultimately responsible for her own behavior, but after Mom died I should have been there
for
her. Not left it all to Sinéad, our older sister. Caitlín was only three years younger than me so I was the one she really wanted around. Sinéad just didn’t cut it for Caitlín.
I looked at the photographs on my bureau. There were just two of them – a small picture of myself with my mother, taken at my fifth birthday party. The other one, larger, of me and Caitlín from three years ago. It had been taken before Mom died, so we looked happy. I was sixteen in the photo, and Cait thirteen. We looked similar apart from the color of our hair: pale faces, big eyes, long wavy hair. My curls are black, inherited from Mom, and hers a beautiful autumnal shade of red. Dad’s legacy to both of my sisters.
‘Why didn’t you go to school?’
‘I just can’t concentrate, lately.’
‘Is it Dad? Is he . . . you know.’
We didn’t actually need to say the words. His drinking had gotten worse, and that was yet another thing I wasn’t there for – to help. Not that Dad would want me around.
‘He’s always . . . “you know”. You know?’
I half smiled. ‘Yeah. Sinéad’s not there today?’
‘She’s been on a residential course. She gets back today – I told you that last weekend.’
There was no judgment in Caitlín’s voice, but I felt the sting of her words all the same.
‘Sorry, I forgot.’ My memory really was screwed up.
When
I told the cops that, I’d actually been telling the truth. Crap. Caitlín had been home alone with Dad for most of the week. I felt terrible. Not that he’d ever hurt her – she was his favorite, after all – but that didn’t make his moods any easier to handle.
‘Marie,’ Caitlín said. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m always OK.’
‘And I’m serious. I haven’t seen you in ages.’
I ran my tongue across my fangs and remembered my last visit to the O’Neal family home. It had ended badly. None of us had coped with Mom’s death well, and instead of pulling together, sometimes it was more like we were all intent on pulling each other apart. Except for Caitlín. She was the only one of us who tried – at least, she had done for a while – and although I knew it was wrong that the baby of the family should always be acting as peacemaker, I didn’t think I’d ever get on well with Dad and my older sister, Sinéad.
‘Sis?’
‘Sorry,’ I said, pressing the phone against my ear and trying to focus. ‘I’m still here.’
‘Are you coming to dinner tomorrow?’
Ah, yes. The Sunday dinners. We come from the standard, working to middle-class Irish-American family, hardworking, honest, all of that good stuff. Our family rituals still continued, despite everything going to shit. Despite the fact that Dad would spend most of the
afternoon
watching the game and drinking beer. Sinéad would treat it like a duty, complaining that she should be studying her law books rather than cooking for her ungrateful sisters; while poor Caitlín would look increasingly depressed and sneak gulps of wine when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Those dinners are just grand.
Not
.
‘I can’t make it tomorrow.’
Caitlín blew out a frustrated breath. ‘You said that last week.’
‘I know, I’m really sorry.’ I tried to sound sincere.
‘No you’re not.’
‘I am! I hate letting you down.’ Well, that much was true. But this time I really did have an excuse, albeit not one that I could tell Caitlín: just that not-so-small matter of meeting my ‘new’ Family. I swallowed. Oh, joy.
‘Well, if you’d just come over more often you wouldn’t have to worry about letting me down.’
I felt supersize guilt. ‘That’s low, sis. Even for you.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Whatev.’
‘Why don’t you just meet me after school one day next week? We can hang out. Or go shopping.’ Something normal and non-vampire-related would be nice and I could handle it for a few hours, I felt sure. If I didn’t look too closely at the people . . . Nobody here had to know about it. Being such a new vampire meant I could still be out during daylight too – at least for another year or two.
If
I was lucky. It got harder and harder. Like Holly, there’d come a time when I wouldn’t be able to face sunlight at all.