"That's not exactly the pledge of understanding that I was hoping for," James says, "but I'll take it."
The dark is making his voice lower, warmer, and more rumbly. His shoulder is level with my ears. I don't know if it's a trick of the light or what, but at the moment it looks very comfortable. Distraction, I try to remind myself, but my brain doesn't care. It would be so easy to just sort of rest my head on it for a few to see if it's as comfortable as it looks. . . .
"You can if you want," James says.
I will be so glad when James is finally done with vampire puberty. "You have to stop doing that."
"I can't help it. Your thoughts are very strong," he says. "It's another reason I would like to not be . . . this . . . anymore. Mind reading is fun until you find out that your chemistry teacher dreamed he was a transvestite the night before."
"Mr. George?" I ask, suddenly beset by an image that is both hilarious and terrifying.
"Mr. George," James confirms. "The thoughts of yours I catch are at least amusing."
Is it wrong to be flattered by that? Because I am. Until I am struck by a very important distinction.
"Amusing ha-ha or amusing he-he?" I ask.
"I have no idea what the difference is."
I give him a withering look that is unfortunately wasted in the dark. "Amusing ha-ha is funny. Amusing he-he implies snickering. Obviously."
"Got it," he says, and then makes me wait for the answer. "Amusing ha-ha."
Okay, I am flattered. It nudges me to suggest something that has been rattling around in the back of my mind for these past few weeks. "What if, when I find her, we talk to her. Explain things to her. Then if she wants to help you, if she chooses to help you . . ." I trail off, but the meaning is clear. "We could work together."
"Together," James says as he steps closer, only the way he says it makes it sound about thirty times sexier.
"Together," I repeat, starting to ramble in an effort to cover up the fact that my heart is pounding so loud that I imagine my other organs might complain. "It wouldn't be that different from asking someone to donate blood. I mean, I'm not all that sure about the particulars. Like do you have to actually drink it from her neck?" I ask. "Or maybe we don't have to tell her. Can we say it's for needy children and then, I don't know, put it in a thermos? I'm not sure about that from an ethical standpoint, but we should discuss." I stop when I realize that he's gone still, most likely out of disgust. "It was the thermos bit that took it over the edge, wasn't it?" There's still no answer. "James?"
I barely have time to register his head swooping down in the dark, and then he's kissing me and even though this is a distraction, I want this. His lips are firm but cool, and I grab the side shelving to keep my balance. At first I'm too stunned to do anything normal like close my eyes, and I'm thankful that he has his closed so he doesn't see me staring at his cheekbones like some sort of goggle-eyed amphibian. I lower my lids and concentrate on kissing him back, offering up a fervent prayer that my repeated viewings of the last five minutes of Grease in the fifth grade will finally pay off. Because he's definitely improved since the hammock.
He smiles against my lips, and I realize that he must have heard that, but for once I don't care. His hands slide to my waist, and I lean forward to wrap my arms around his neck. He tugs me forward against his chest, his palms brushing against my sides as his hands slide upward. I'm standing up on tiptoes to move closer when suddenly he pulls back. Even in the dark I can tell that he's puzzled.
"Are you wearing a battery pack?" he asks.
His fingers have found the hard edge of Vlad's book. Evidence of my snooping will bring a swift end to the kissing truce, and I was just getting the hang of it.
"Oh, well, funny story . . . ," I start to say as his fingers continue to explore upward. When they reach the bare skin of my back, I jump. "Your hands are cold!"
That was the wrong thing to say. James backs away.
"Not bad cold," I say hastily. "Cold like eggs! Like eggs when you take them out of the refrigerator."
He makes a sound that's half laugh, half choke.
"And eggs are, um, full of protein." Shut up, Sophie. Shut up.
James doesn't agree or disagree with my nutritional claims. Instead he peers out into the kitchen. "I should go," he says, and I can tell that I've ruined the moment. "There's no sign of Vlad. You should go too."
I suddenly feel a little guilty for hiding in a closet kissing people when Vlad is out there stalking the girls I supposedly came here to protect. "I'm not finished at the party yet," I say, just when a familiar voice echoes from the room beyond.
"What is it, Marisabel?" Vlad says, annoyed. "There are girls with skin to check. And have you seen my journal? I was sure that it would be upstairs."
James looks at me, his eyes narrowing. "Sophie-"
"It's fine," I hiss, rushing to the door to peer through the slats. Vlad is leaning against the oven while Marisabel faces him. Violet has cleared out, and from the way Vlad is scowling, I would say that was a smart move. His right hand flexes with impatience. When Marisabel doesn't respond, he clangs it down on the front burner.
"What is it?" he snaps again.
"Just hold on a second, would you?" Marisabel says, and then closes her eyes as she massages her temples. "This is hard for me."
"Thinking? I know."
Marisabel's eyes snap open. "That."
"That what?"
"That attitude, that tone, is why I'm doing this. You don't give me the respect I deserve," she says heatedly, and if noiselessness weren't vital to my well-being, I would clap.
Vlad, however, doesn't applaud; he rolls his eyes. "Really, Marisabel. Do we have to do this now?"
"Don't act like we've done this before. I've kept my mouth shut for sixty years. I've done everything for you. I hand-wrote one hundred invitations to this stupid party just so you could find your precious girl, and I didn't even get a thank-you."
He sniffs in disbelief, but it only makes her speak more loudly.
"I hunt for you when you're lazy," she continues, "and I clean for you when you're disgusting. And I'm done. We're done, Vlad."
The pronouncement hangs in the air. I can tell that Marisabel's waiting eagerly for his reaction. One of the only joys in ending a bad relationship, I imagine, is seeing if you can make him cry. But if that's what she wants, she doesn't get it. Vlad does look shocked-after sixty years of getting away with snide comments, this speech must come as a surprise. He doesn't, however, get down on his knees and beg.
"I think it's for the best," he says calmly. If he looks anything, it's relieved.
Marisabel's confidence wilts. "I don't understand," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't you care?"
"It was going to end soon anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"I think that it is better this way," Vlad non-answers. "To make a clean break."
Marisabel turns and stares intently at a far corner of the room, biting her bottom lip as though struggling not to cry while Vlad looks like he could whistle.
"Something's not right here," James murmurs from beside me, and I jump at the reminder of how close he's standing.
"What do you mean?"
"I've never seen Vlad give up something this easily," he says.
"Why did he drag her all the way out here, then? I mean, if he doesn't care . . ."
"I don't know."
I open my mouth to ask another question, but end up sucking in a lungful of dust, sparking a coughing fit. Alarmed, James claps his hands over my mouth, but it's too late. Vlad's head snaps toward the pantry, and before I can blink, the door flies open.
Fingers clench around my bicep, and I'm dragged out into the dim light, disoriented and still hacking. Vlad's hands press down on my shoulders. I try to tear them off, but it only causes him to dig his fingers deeper into the tender flesh of my neck.
"You!" Vlad snaps, angrier now than when he was being broken up with. "Always you! Asking questions, meddling . . . I could go on," he says coldly and drags me up until my toes strain to stay on the ground. "Who invited her?" he growls, and then looks to where Marisabel is hovering. "Did you invite her?"
"Maybe I did," she says with a shaky bravado as her hand curls around the handle of the refrigerator like a vine. "But who cares? I don't have to listen to you anymore."
"I will deal with you later," Vlad says, not bothering to hide the undercurrent of menace. We have drawn a crowd. Violet stands, saucer-eyed, at the front of the pack, and Neville's disapproving head towers over the rest of my hushed classmates. For a second Vlad looks shamed. I see him try to shake himself back into the role of benevolent host. His grip on me sags as he adopts a tight smile. "This is a private matter," he says, and a handful of people actually turn around and start to head back to the living room. Relieved, Vlad reminds them cheerily to try the cheese puffs. But then James's voice calls out from behind us, and curiosity draws them back.
"I don't know about that, Vlad. Seems like something's going on. Why don't you just let her go and we can talk about this?" he suggests, nodding to the audience before stepping forward with a hand out, as though he can gently nudge the irate vampire away from me.