Red Moon Rising (8 page)

“I'll remember that,” I say.

A
ll the noise in the cafeteria is one big annoying buzz that I'm trying to ignore. Constance and the others are debating misheard song lyrics, complete with too-loud singing. Claire is across the table talking to me about something, but I've also given up paying attention to her monologue. She's on her second or third SynHeme Caffeine Plus, and when she has more than one, she becomes a total motormouth.

I keep thinking about Mom. I don't know if I can keep a secret this big for much longer.

“Hey!”

Claire is glaring at me. Those bright blue vamp eyes of hers get icy when she's mad.

“What are you shouting at me for?” I ask.

“Yeah, Claire. Why so shrill?” Selena asks.

Claire ignores her, focusing her annoyance entirely on me. “What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“You went all catatonic on us.”

“You looked like a zombie,” Constance adds.

“Sorry. I just spaced out for a second.”

“Are you back in the land of the living now?” Claire asks. She flicks a drop of SynHeme from the end of her straw, and it lands on my cheek. I wipe it off.

“Yes, I'm here, and thrilled to be in your company. What were you saying that's so amazingly important?”

“Don't make me slap you,” she says. “I was talking about Morgan Wells.”

“Who's he?”

She gives me a light smack with the heel of her hand against my forehead, then sighs heavily, making her blond bangs float for a second. “You're really great company these days. You haven't heard a word I said.”

“So you want to tell me about this Morgan guy or what?”

“He's right over there. Look. But don't be obvious.”

The visual isn't too nice. There's a guy sitting by himself, hunched over the table. The moonlight coming through the window lights up his gritted teeth, which are chattering. His fangs are grown out, one overlapping his lower lip, the other shorter and chipped. He's what people call a blue-tooth—too much SynHeme Caffeine Plus. His blond hair looks unwashed and greasy, his cheeks hollow. I know the guy's a vamp, but his skin isn't pale in the regular vampyre way. It looks dull, waxy.

“What's wrong with him?” I ask.

“Like I just finished saying, he's hooked in.”

“What happened?”

“He went into the city, the west side, and got some real blood.” I don't know how anyone our age would have the guts to go to that part of town alone. The few times we've had to drive through to get uptown, Mom made Troy lock all the doors. There were crumbling tenements everywhere with weary-looking hookers, a lot of them wulves, milling around in the shadows. Their facial ridging was so bad it was obvious they wouldn't be able to get customers in a better part of town. There were a bunch of shady guys, too, wulf and human, wearing flashy clothing. Pimps or dealers. You couldn't pay me enough to go there on my own. And this kid Morgan went there and got himself some real blood. He didn't get killed, but if he's hooked in, he might have been better off dying that night. It would have been quicker, with less suffering.

“I can't even look at him,” Claire says. “It's too disturbing.” She shudders and turns away.

“What's he going to do?” I ask.

“It's bad. SynHeme doesn't work for him anymore. I heard he was drinking it like there was no tomorrow, but it didn't help. Then he got, like, twenty units of VeniHeme and that didn't do much good, either.”

“Haven't his parents ever heard of rehab?”

“He's supposed to go to Wilton Hills to clean up,” Constance chimes in, “but his father is making him come to school for two more days before he leaves.”

“Why?” Claire and I both ask.

“His father is L.C. Wells, of Wells and Burkeley Steel. He's big into discipline. Exactly the kind of guy who would make his kid go to school all strung out—just to embarrass him.”

I shake my head. “That's great. And dear old Dad really believes
that's
going to help his son?”

“Don't ask me,” Claire says. “Some parents have pretty sick ideas about how to help their kids.” She shrugs and crunches a celery stick. “So, what's up with all this zoning out? Daydreaming about your honey?” Claire asks with an irritating smile.

“Excuse me, did you just refer to Juliet as my
honey
?”

“Yeah. So?”

“I've never heard you use the word honey in reference to a person. Please don't get sentimental just because you met someone you like. It's scary.”

“Wait, what's this?” Bertrand says, turning from his conversation with Constance and Hugh. He has this radar for gossip.

“None of your business. Go back to your pointless conversation.” Claire sneers at me. “Thanks a lot. Now he's going to nag me for details.”

Bertrand grabs her forearm and shakes it vigorously. “So just
tell
me and I won't have to nag you.”

Claire turns her head to glare coldly at his hand until he gets the point and removes it. “I'm not telling you anything, so don't waste your breath.”

“What's her name?” Bertrand says. He doesn't let go when gossip's at stake.

“I'm ignoring you now.”

Bertrand pulls a sad face and returns to his discussion with Constance, Martina, and Hugh.

Martina sings from a David-Bo E song: “It's, ‘As they try to make it in a swirl.' I'm right. That's how it goes.”

“You're wrong!” Hugh practically yells. “It goes, ‘As they tie a naked squirrel.' Then the next part goes, ‘Are a moon to all dedication,' and then it goes on.”

Constance laughs. “You are so deaf. ‘Are a
man
to your
decoration
, they're unaware where they're going to.' And then it's ‘Train to fake the Change' at the chorus.”

Now it's Oliver's turn to mangle the lyrics. “That doesn't even make sense. It's, ‘Twine, two-faced, you're strange.' Clear as can be.”

Claire is going to explode. “Are you guys kidding? Listen.” She sings—and pretty well, too—“‘And these wulfpups that you beat on, as they try to make it in this world, are immune to your degradation. They're all aware what they're going through….'” She nods as she comes to the chorus, and I join in. “‘Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changing…Tryin' to face the Change…. Ch-Ch-Ch-Changing…'”

I trail off as they sing the chorus. Considering that David-Bo E is a vamp, he sure seemed to understand how wulves feel.
They're all aware of what they're going through…Changing.

T
oday I keep shaking and getting the chills. Even Mr. Morrison notices in history class and asks if I'm okay. “Too much SynHeme Caffeine Plus,” I say.

I've got a headache behind my cheekbones that feels like someone is punching me in the face—from inside my skull. My mouth is dry no matter how much water or SynHeme I drink. And the Lupinox that Dad gave me isn't helping much.

It's not completely unbearable. I'd call Dad to let him know how I'm doing, but he already left for the compound. The thing is, if this gets much worse I'm going to have a hard time making it through the whole school night.

I can see the full moon from the window of every classroom I'm in, it's staring at me. Mocking me.

I'd kill that moon if I could.

I don't care about Mrs. Dalloway or her stupid party one little bit right now. I just need to get out of this room. Lucky for me, Ms. O'Conner lets me go.

At least it's quiet in the bathroom stall. Every time I open my mouth, the joint of my jaw cracks. My feet are killing me. I take off my sneakers.

That explains it. My toes are all clenched up, locked tight. There's a set of ridges at the top of my feet—joints I never noticed. I can't uncurl them or do anything to ease the pain, so I jam my feet back into my sneakers.

I look out the bathroom window, up into the sky. I don't know if that stuff about the moon looking red to werewulves is true or not, but it still looks white to me. That's good, at least.

I check the mirror to make sure my face is normal. Brow, cheekbones, jaw, nose, ears. Nothing new. I could probably use a shave, but it's not out of control yet.

Wait a minute. I look back in the mirror. My eyes are darker. Not the usual vamp swimming-pool blue: more like a sky about to turn stormy. Maybe it's just the way the moonlight from the window is working with the fluorescent bulbs. I'd better get out of here before I drive myself crazy. I'll just take care of business before heading back to class.

It's bad to be standing at a urinal when someone who hates you comes in.

“Well, well, well.”

I zip up fast before looking over to see Gunther Hoering smiling at me, Taylor Lattimore behind him. Taylor is a Hoering-in-training, but without the charm and $250 haircut.

“What are you doing in here?” Gunther asks me.

“Um, what most people do in here.” Why couldn't I have come up with a snappier answer?

“Well, I don't think you should be using this facility.” His voice is totally serious.

“Why not?”

“Because it stinks like piss now.”

“Funny how that happens in a bathroom.”

“You don't get my point. See, this is a vamp boys' room. Meaning it's for vampyres. It's supposed to be clean. When your kind come in here, it ends up smelling like the zoo.”

I start toward the door. Gunther moves in front of me and pushes me back a few feet, firm fingers against my chest.

“Excuse me, but I'm not finished yet,” he says, still sounding almost polite.

“I'm pretty sure I get the gist of what you're saying.”

“Is that right? So you know more about this than I do?” He doesn't take his eyes off me when he says, “Taylor, we must be living in the wrong time. My dad told me that in his day, wulves had separate bathrooms, separate water fountains. They couldn't sit in the same part of a restaurant as the normal folks. Doesn't that sound more civilized to you, Taylor?”

Lattimore nods his head, a smile smeared on half his face.

“But I guess those were the good old days. All those dirt-bag radicals like Huey Seele ruined everything for decent people. Now I can't even drink from the water fountain in my own school without having to wonder whether a wulf drank from it right before me.”

My heart is going faster, and I'm getting really nervous because there are two of them, both bigger than me. I just need to get out of here in one piece. “Look. I have nothing to do with that. I'm half-vamp myself, remember?”

Gunther laughs, and the sound reverberates off the tile. “You say that like it's a good thing! In my book, being a mongrel is even worse. I don't care if you're one one-
hundredth
wulf. It only takes one drop of wulf blood to contaminate all of it.”

“Well, I guess you're entitled to your opinion.”

Gunther pulls his head back, giving me a wry smile. Perfect white vampyre teeth. Fangs could use a little filing, though. “That's generous, that you're allowing me to have my own opinion. Very big of you.”

“Could you just get out of my way? I really don't need this crap.”

“Whoa,” Gunther says. He asks Taylor, “You think he's being respectful?”

Lattimore actually sneers at me as if he's in a movie playing the bad guy's henchman. He shakes his head slowly. “Nah. I don't think he's being respectful at all.”

I don't like where this is heading; namely, me getting hurt. “Okay. It's been great talking with you, but I
do
have to get back to class.” I turn sideways to squeeze between them, but Gunther pushes me back into the middle of the room.

“No, doglet,” he says. “You'll leave when I
say
you can leave.”

Then Lattimore moves toward my right while Hoering comes at me straight on.

I don't know where it comes from, but I know to move left and dash forward. Gunther makes a grab for me, and he's fast, but I'm faster. I feel his fingertips touch my shirt. I drop low to get past them, but Lattimore's got his arms around me and the momentum of his lunge throws us against the door, slamming it open.

Now we're in the hall, and he's got me in a bear hug, his arms clasped together just below my sternum. This guy is strong. My own arms are pinned to my sides, and when he crouches, pushing me down a couple of inches, I'm all locked up.

I don't know where the strength comes from, but I suddenly push out and break his hold on me. I stagger forward and spin to face him, standing in what I figure is a defensive fighting position.

“Are you kidding me? You can't hold that little guy?” Gunther says to Lattimore.

Lattimore moves toward me, fast, his arms spread wide to trap me. I shove him in the chest, knocking him into Gunther. They both stumble backward.

I'm not waiting for a third try. I turn and tear off down the hall.

Mr. Wells let me study in the library after I told him I had a migraine.

I hope it's okay that I'm taking triple the recommended dose of Lupinox. Anything less than that doesn't seem to help. Now the aches feel only about half as bad as they did before.

I still can't believe how that whole thing ended. Taylor Lattimore has at least eight inches and forty pounds on me. I wish Juliet had been there to see it. Maybe it would've canceled out her seeing Hoering smash me into a locker.

“Danny?”

Juliet's standing next to my chair, giving me that half smile I like so much.

“I was just thinking about you,” I say.

“Really?” She doesn't seem disappointed. “Hey, don't you have class now?” she asks.

“Yeah, Math, but I needed to get out for a little while. A bunch of kids were arguing with Mr. Wells about how to solve a problem and I just…I don't know. Do you ever feel like you just want some quiet?”

She smiles, then sits at the table with me. “Every day. That's why I come up here sixth period. I mean, what am I supposed to do in the cafeteria for a whole period?”

“Um. Eat?”

“I'm not usually hungry at two thirty in the morning. Anyway, eating takes five minutes. Then what?”

“Well, if you want to hang with some very uncool vamp kids, you can sit with us.”

She laughs. “Is that an invitation?”

“I didn't have a chance to get it printed and engraved, but yes, it's an invitation. I didn't even know you had lunch sixth period, or I would've told you to sit with us a long time ago.”

We talk about classes for a while. I'm on autopilot, not exactly sure what I'm saying, because I'm thinking about her eyes, her lips, and the shape of her body under that shirt.

Better cut that out or she'll think I'm a perv. “So, what else is up?” I ask.

“Nothing. I'm exhausted.”

“Long night?”

“Long day
and
night.”

“Don't get me wrong: I love seeing you at night, but wouldn't it be easier for you if you just went to day school?”
I love seeing you at night?
Idiot!

She laughs a little to herself. “Yes. It probably
would
be easier. But I'm sick of being with the same kids since kindergarten. And, not to sound like I'm totally into ‘high achievement' and all that, but I really need to get a scholarship if I'm going to go to college.”

“I'm not even
thinking
about college yet.”

“I
have
to if I'm going to get a scholarship. Nobody else in my family went, and I really, really want to.” She stops talking for a second, then smiles, and shakes her head. “I don't know why I'm telling you all this.”

She tilts her head a little and looks into my eyes. “That's funny. I thought your eyes were vamp-blue. They're darker than I remember.”

I shift my eyes to my book so she can't look directly into them. “Yeah, sometimes they look darker. Depends on the light.”

“Anyway,” she says. “I have to go. My dad's picking me up.” She must see disappointment on my face, because she touches my hand and smiles. “I was actually already on my way out. But I saw you through the glass and wanted to say hi first.” She waves and leaves.

She came in to see me. Not by coincidence or because she just happened to be passing the library. She came here
specifi
cally
to see me. That's a good sign. I'm sure of it.