The problem is, I don’t really know Hope very well. She moved here from Minnesota at the beginning of the school year, and she lives with her uncle, but I haven’t spent much time with her outside of our independent study. I don’t know if I want to bare my deepest, scariest thoughts about Jude and what’s either a potentially deadly brain tumor or else a dire, unearthly terror with my name on it. After a pause that lasts a hair too long, I confess a lesser truth.
“They’ve been finding dead animals in my neighborhood,” I report at last, and Adriana sighs heavily, as if she’d known it all along. “Vampire snacks. Mostly birds and rabbits, but a stray cat turned up over the weekend, and I guess some stoners found a deer in the woods on Saturday. Bone dry.”
“A deer?” Adriana startles.
Contrary to myth, vampires don’t need to drink a lot of blood; they like to eat, of course, and it gives them strength—but as far as anyone knows, starvation is not among the things that will kill them. So generally, they just take what they need and move on; but a two-hundred-pound deer has about as much blood as a similarly sized human, and for it to be completely exsanguinated …
“How many bite marks?” My best friend’s face is ashen.
“The reports didn’t say.” I squirm a little. “But cops were going door to door yesterday, telling everyone on my street to be careful—keep your pets inside, don’t open the door to strangers, avoid going out after dark … the usual.”
“‘Avoid going out after dark’?” Hope repeats, her voice thin. “It’s dark now; it gets dark at, like, five-thirty! And nobody came to my neighborhood about this! Why did—”
“Hey, it’s okay—there’s no reason to panic.” Adriana gives Hope’s arm a comforting squeeze … and then leaves her hand there. Very smooth. “It’s a standard response to a spike in vampire-related activity. It happens sometimes, but it usually doesn’t mean anything.”
“Usually?” Hope isn’t terribly comforted, and Adriana shoots me a worried look.
When we were kids, there was an undead uprising in Fulton Heights, where a bunch of vampires came to town toting a mystical artifact called the Shield of Baeserta. According to some dubious prophecy, the shield—coupled with a bit of very dark and gross blood magic—would “free the Night’s Children from the Curse of Belenus.” This was interpreted as a reference to vampires’ fatal vulnerability to daylight, in part because Belenus was apparently some kind of sun god, and in part because literally all vampire prophecies are about reversing their fatal vulnerability to daylight.
Seriously. They have this major hard-on for being able to walk around and kill people in the afternoon, and every ten or twenty years, some previously unheard-of relic is unearthed, promising them a chance. Most are fakes, because con artists will turn up anywhere there’s a way to make money, and the sale of fraudulent antiques and prophecies is a staggeringly lucrative business.
In the end, after the uprising was quelled, art historians were never able to fully authenticate the shield itself. They determined that it was centuries old, but they couldn’t tell if it possessed any real magical capabilities, so whether we were all truly in danger of vampires with tans was anybody’s guess. Unfortunately, fake or not, the ritual associated with the shield demanded the blood of a dozen humans, so the whole episode was messy.
“It’s all pretty normal for this town, trust me.” Adriana offers Hope an encouraging smile. “I know it seems really freaky, but the Vampire Shit meter always goes up when we get closer to spring—it’s got something to do with the Nexus.”
Hope gives an understanding nod. Everybody knows about the Nexus. “My uncle did say its vibrations are heightened around the equinox.”
“Yeah.” Adriana sighs. “It’s great if you practice magic, because it gives your natural abilities a huge boost when you’re casting—which is why my abuela moved here in the first place—but vampires get horny for it, too.”
“Spring fever: catch it!” I make a rah-rah gesture.
So the Nexus. Basically, the Earth is polka-dotted by mystical axis points where occult energies are heightened and supernatural activity is especially strong; when they’re close enough together, these points act like a chain of power plants, amplifying the signal and creating what are known as ley lines. Two such lines intersect at Fulton Heights, which is why our boring suburb gets a double scoop of otherworldly drama.
Adriana waves her hand. “Honestly, vampires are a greater threat to livestock than they are to us. One cow can feed a whole pack of vamps.”
“I guess that’s nice to hear?” Hope looks like she feels bad for local cows.
Excusing myself, I head to the counter to place her order and ogle my favorite barista some more. Gunnar is talking to a coworker, his attention diverted, so I don’t even have to be sly about it. He lifts his shirt to scratch his stomach, exposing a few extra inches of bare skin, and I try not to drool.
“Hey!” Gunnar’s eyes light up when he finally notices me. “You’re back! You need another marshmallow?” Then, before I can answer, “Wait, I didn’t screw up the chocolate, did I? I pumped it twice, like you said, but if it’s not enough I can pump it some more.”
The thought of Gunnar “pumping it” makes me dizzy, and I have to hold on to the counter for a moment to keep from swooning.
“Haha,” I say—like, actually say, because I am the most awkward human on the planet. “No, the chocolate is perfect! I, um, need to get a thing for my friend.”
“Sure—your wish is my command,” Gunnar says, and if only that were true. He looks at me expectantly, and his eyes are so pretty, for a moment I honestly can’t even remember how to utter words. While I’m giving my brain an urgent pep talk, I hear the bell over the front door jingle again—and a curious sensation brushes its way up my spine. It’s like déjà vu from that night in my front yard; as I break out in goose bumps, I turn around.
A man has entered Sugar Mama’s. His hair wild, he kicks the door shut behind him, muttering under his breath. He’s probably homeless, looking for a place to warm up … but something about him snags and holds my focus. Shuffling along the front of the café, he twitches a little, mumbling louder, and people look politely away. The feeling that crept up my spine is under my skin now, getting stronger, and I watch the man bump against the table of the mother with her three kids. Glaring up at him, the woman snaps, “Excuse me, do you mind?”
My goose bumps spread in a flash, something tugging at the pit of my stomach, and somehow I know. A heartbeat before the disheveled man’s eyes blaze to life, flaring a brilliant gold—before he grabs the woman and hauls her out of her seat, his jaws swinging wide—I gasp, “Vampire!”
The place erupts into chaos as he sinks his fangs into her neck, her children screaming while patrons scramble for the door. There’s an emergency kit mounted on the wall—crucifixes, stakes, and holy water, all mandated by local safety codes—and Gunnar starts for it, leaping from behind the counter. He isn’t halfway there when the vampire flings his victim across the room, easy as a rag doll, bowling her into my favorite barista. They both crash to the floor in a sprawling, bloody tangle, and the undead monster turns his terrifying golden eyes on me.