Jane Jones (18 page)

I left the document open on my desktop. Then I slowly pulled the cord on my window’s blackout shade, raising it to reveal the dark sky beyond the glass. I undid the latch at the top of the pane and slid the window open a foot or so and threw my backpack to the ground, where it landed with a soft plop on the grass. Carefully, I hoisted my legs up and over the sill and slithered out feet-first, until my sneakers were resting atop the portico covering our front steps. I worried about making a noise that my parents, already on high alert, would come running in response to,
wielding flashlights and homemade stakes, but they didn’t. I slid the window back down behind me, my transformation into a full-fledged sneak finally complete.

I worried that if someone was watching the house, they might have seen me slithering on my stomach down the porch roof, until my sneakers touched the damp mulch around our bushes. I wished there had been a way I could have locked the window behind me but reminded myself that even the evilest of vampires cannot turn into bats and fly. I was comforted by the notion that anyone trying to climb to that unlocked window would probably make a heck of a lot more noise going up than I had coming down.

I looked around and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, picked up my backpack and started down my drive, moving quickly without looking back. The air was sufficiently cold that even my dry, chilly breath made faint clouds of condensation. I wrapped my arms around myself and trudged toward the train station. I wasn’t planning to hop a freight anywhere. I was coming from the wrong side of the tracks, literally, and crossing the iron rails and wood ties was the fastest way to get to the side of town where oceanfront mansions loomed high on cliffs. I had taken my sweet time in giving Timothy an answer, and now I figured I’d better use a shortcut.

I woke up just as I was about to fall off the edge of Timothy’s king-size mattress.
It wasn’t the first time in my life that I emerged from a foggy sleep needing a moment to remember exactly where I was, but it definitely was the first time I was waking up in a boy’s bed. Or should I say a man’s bed? Let’s just say a guy’s bed. However you put it, it was a huge step for me. I mean, true, the guy who owned the bed had slept downstairs somewhere in his huge mansion after bidding me sweet dreams, but did that make this occasion any less momentous? I didn’t think so.

I opened the rich silk curtains surrounding me and hopped down from my nest, walking across the plush Oriental carpet in my bare feet to shut off Timothy’s hot overhead lights. I thought about how he and I would experience many momentous things together after today. We’d experience all our momentous things together, I guessed, as I squinted at the fancy mahogany paneling that detailed the
walls and made out the outline of the gigantic fireplace at the end of the room, big enough for me to stand up in. It was such an incredible house, unlike any I’d ever been inside. It was hard for me to believe that Timothy was willing to give it all up for me. Well, for us. I found my glasses on a dark wooden dresser and put them on while looking in a mirror, my face so plain, surrounded by an ornate gilt frame. I wondered if whatever place we’d live in together would be a millionth as beautiful as this house, or even my house. I wondered, when I was human again, how quickly my face would start to look older and if oranges and cinnamon cookies would smell delicious to me once more.

A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. “Come in,” I called.

Timothy entered, wearing driving loafers and khakis with a crisp shirt collar peeking out of the neck of his dark green wool knit pullover. He looked like a model from the catalogs I could never afford to order from. I suddenly became very self-conscious about my feet and whether or not they were weird-looking. I sat down in a damask slipper chair to unwad my wadded-up tube socks and put them on. I pulled my sneakers on without bothering to untie them.

“Did you rest well?” Timothy asked, bowing slightly toward me.

“Oh, I did,” I said, “thank you. Thank you so much for letting me use your room and for … for … everything. Um, did you? Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I slept … oh, terribly, actually. I couldn’t sleep at all. I was anxious for what today will bring. Excited. No need to hide it, right?”

I smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t say I slept like a log either,” I admitted. “But you know what they say, we can sleep when we’re dead!” Oh, bravo, Jane. Excellent choice of words if you’re trying to win a terrifying trophy at the Ominous Awards. I winced involuntarily at myself, but Timothy just chuckled dryly.

“Indeed we will,” he said, “but that won’t be for some time. Today, though, is a day that we’ll remember for the rest of our lives, won’t we?” With that, he held out his hand to me and led me from the room, like a gentleman who’d laid his jacket over a puddle for a lady. Very nice, but I had to put my other hand up to stifle some nervous laughter. I was really looking forward to the possibility of outgrowing this weird immature giggling thing I’d recently developed.

We spent the morning preparing for the arrival of Dr. Almos Erdos. Timothy explained that he’d sent the doctor a plane ticket to fly from Hungary to the United States and that if all had gone well, he should have touched down
that morning. Dr. Erdos told Timothy he needed to rent a car at the airport because, while he was able to carry some of the ingredients for the compound cure he was hired to mix for us, he would have to pick up some supplies that he couldn’t have brought aboard the plane without arousing suspicion. That made sense since, from what I understood, shampoo and toothpaste seemed to arouse suspicion at airports these days.

Once he was here and we’d said cheers, clinked glasses, and swigged this miracle elixir that would somehow reverse our undeadness, we were going to take his rental car back to the airport and choose a flight to hop on, while Dr. Almos Erdos stayed behind to receive the money from the new owner of Timothy’s home, which would pay for the half of our treatment that hadn’t already been covered by the cash deposit. Then we’d all live happily ever after. That was the plan.

As I helped Timothy put some clothes and personal items in matching leather bags, I couldn’t help thinking of my family. I wondered how they’d reacted when they read my letter, and I tried to guess how far away they could be by now and in which direction they might have gone. I wished I had been able to give them some idea of where I was going, but if I’d given them even a shred of a clue, they would have delayed getting out of town and come looking
for me, trying to stop me. I told myself over and over that I had done the right thing for all of us.

I noticed that Timothy didn’t ask any questions about how I’d left things with my parents. Maybe he’d been alone for so long that he’d forgotten how much leaving someone you love hurts. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten at all, and he didn’t ask out of kindness for me. I didn’t bring it up either, because I was sure that if I started telling the story, it wouldn’t be long before I was spilling my guts about how my family were basically fugitives on the run from a psycho-killer vampire posing as a teacher at our school. I decided that, for now, I just had to have faith that they’d find a safe new place to start over. Just like I had to have faith that what Timothy and I were doing was going to work out for the best.

Once everything was done, Timothy and I sat in the front parlor at opposite ends of an old Chippendale sofa, watching the mantel clock tick forward into the gray afternoon. I caught Timothy looking at me once, but when he noticed that I noticed, he looked away nervously. My guts twisted, as I hoped with all my heart that my normally cool companion was not already second-guessing his decision to join humanity with me. I was mentally trying to will him to speak at that minute or forever hold his peace when the clock struck two, and a split second later, the doorbell
chimed. Timothy looked at me and held out his hand, maybe just a little less gracefully than he had that morning, and together we went to the large oak door. Timothy unlocked the deadbolt, turned the knob, and opened the door, and in walked a man so tall, ample, pink, and smiling that I could not help smiling myself.

“Hello! You must be Timosee,” he laughed with his thick accent, pumping Timothy’s arm up and down with his own substantial hand in an enthusiastic shake. “And you,” he said, turning to me and spreading his great arms wide for a hug, “you must be Chane.” As he squeezed me to his expansive chest, I turned my head and widened my eyes at Timothy, whose own eyes were dancing with repressed laughter. “It is wery nice to finally meet bose of you.”

“It’s very nice to meet you as well, Dr. Erdos,” said Timothy as he hefted the man’s trunk from outside the door. “Where can I put this for you?”

“Ah, I sink ze kitchen vould be best,” he said. “Und, please, ve are frents. Call me Almos.” Timothy nodded respectfully, then hoisted the case onto his shoulder and led the way to the back of the house.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was magnificent, with more ovens, sinks, and racks of shiny copper pots than I think even the most ambitious home cook
could realistically make use of. Which was kind of sad, considering that not so much as a Hot Pocket had probably been prepared there in at least a few years. Timothy set the trunk down on the marble surface of the center island and said, “I’m afraid I didn’t think to shop for any refreshments to offer you. There might be some tea somewhere.…”

Dr. Erdos dismissed him with a raised hand. “Hup, please. You mustn’t vorry about me. I am here for ze two of you.” He beamed, turning to me. “And vhen ve are done, perhaps ve can share some tea togezzer! Does zat sound nice?” I smiled as he patted his substantial belly and exclaimed, “Or maybe ve get a burger, hmm? Ve’ll see.” He snapped open the brass latches on his case and opened it to reveal a portable laboratory, which he began carefully unpacking and meticulously assembling on the counter before him. “Shall ve begin?”

Timothy and I nodded gravely. Dr. Erdos started fiddling with a few pieces of apparatus for a minute before slapping himself on the forehead and turning to Timothy. “Actually,” he said sheepishly, “before ve begin, vould you mind making ze partial payment … as ve discussed?” I could tell he felt awkward, bringing up such matters, but business was business.

“Of course,” Timothy said earnestly. He excused
himself, then returned quickly with a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. “I could open it and count it if you’d like.”

Dr. Erdos waved his hands frantically. “No, no,” he proclaimed, “I trust. I trust.” Slipping the package into his briefcase, he resumed his work.

Timothy and I watched as the doctor carefully weighed and measured, mixed and boiled the precious and scarce elements of his revolutionary formula. I couldn’t help thinking how much Zachary would have gotten a kick out of seeing this big, nutty guy humming and dancing as he worked, like a chef composing his signature soup. He sang softly to himself, “La da da da dee, and ve are almost zere.” Then he paused midstir and said to me, “Ach, Chane, I nearly forgot. Timosee informs me zat you are a unique wampire. Is true you are allergic to blood?”

I nodded reluctantly. “I’m blood-intolerant.”

“Zo, if you feed on ze blood vhat happens to you?” he asked.

“Um, if I accidentally ingest any blood, other than this rare type called Bombay, which is really difficult to get, as well as incredibly expensive, I have a severe reaction. Throat closes, skin bubbles up … Uh, there’s some … intestinal distress.” I didn’t dare look at Timothy, but Dr. Erdos’s expression was pained enough. Suddenly, a terrible
thought occurred to me. “Why? Does that mean that this won’t work on me?” Dr. Erdos drew in a big breath and paused for an excruciating moment before answering.

“No. It vill vork. It vill vork. But,” he said, “do you have any medications zat you take vhen you have zis reaction?”

“Yes,” I said, “I always carry it with me. I left my bag upstairs, but I have some in there.”

“Okay.” He grinned warmly. “Might be good idea if you have medicine wiz you, on infinitesimal chance zat somesing goes little bit wrong, no?”

I tried not to look alarmed as I backed out of the kitchen to run upstairs and get my backpack. A few minutes later I was back with my bag as Dr. Erdos swirled a smoking purple liquid in a flask, then poured it into two separate test tubes in equal amounts. He turned to Timothy and me, saying, “Vhen zees babies turn clear in few minutes, ve vill be ready to rock und roll!” He clapped his hands together excitedly as the three of us kept our eyes trained on the tubes.

Bee-boop. Bee-boop.
A noise that I assumed came from some timer or electronic meter in the doctor’s kit went off. Timothy tapped my shoulder, saying, “Jane, I think your bag’s ringing.” I listened again and opened my front pouch where my cell phone sat, with a flashing messages icon. No wonder I hadn’t recognized the alert. I don’t
think anyone had ever left me a message since I’d first gotten the phone a few months ago. I was mad at myself for even having the phone with me now. I’d intended to leave it behind in my room so that I wouldn’t be tempted to try to contact my family if I had second thoughts, but obviously it had slipped my mind. It seemed like my family had been trying frantically to contact me all day too. Out of thirty-two missed calls, thirty-one were from my home number. The thirty-second number was one I didn’t recognize immediately. I thought it was probably my parents again, hopefully calling from somewhere on the road, and I considered just erasing it, but then something, perhaps my vampire instincts kicking in one last time, told me to listen to it. I pressed the button and held the phone up to my ear. I recognized the voice instantly.

“Hey, Lame,” Astrid jibed. “I found something that belongs to you, but if you don’t want it, I know someone who’s dying to have it.” Then there was some background noise and her now-muffled voice said, “Tell her.”

I moaned. Timothy and Dr. Erdos looked at me with worry. I covered my mouth to stifle a desperate whimper as I heard my brother’s voice, small and afraid.