Teeth_ Vampire Tales - Ellen Datlow [113]
The lasagna is a little burned around the edges, but I don’t think you’ll care. You’re too tipsy, and anyway, hardly anyone makes it through the main course.
As you dig into your food, I wonder if you notice that there are heavy curtains across all the windows here and that they are thick with dust. I wonder if you notice the strange scratch marks on the floor. I wonder if you notice that nothing in the house has been updated since 1984.
I wait for Charles to move, but he doesn’t. He just grins at you like an idiot.
“Can I see you in the kitchen?” I ask Charles in a way where it’s not really a question.
He looks over at me like he’s only just remembered I’m here at the table, too.
“Sure,” he mumbles. “Okay.”
We push back our chairs. Mom used to complain about our kitchen because it wasn’t the cool, open-plan kind. She wanted to knock down one of the walls, but Dad said that was too expensive, and anyway, who wanted an old Victorian house with a modern kitchen.
I’m glad it’s the old kind, so I can close the door and you can’t hear.
“We don’t have any dessert,” I tell Charles.
“That’s okay,” he says. “I’ll go down to the corner store for ice cream.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t like her. She doesn’t pass the test.”
He slams his hand down on the counter. “No one passes your stupid test.”
I look at Charles in his skinny tie and shiny, worn shirt. I am so tired of him. He is so tired of me. It’s been so long.
“It’s a big deal,” I say. “Turning someone into one of us. They’ll be with us forever.”
“I want her with me forever,” Charles says, and I wonder if you know that, that he feels that way about you. And I wonder if Charles knows that he said “me” instead of “us.”
“She’s smart,” he says. “She’s funny. She likes the same music as me.”
“She’s boring. She has bad manners, too.”
“Manners,” Charles says, like it’s a swear word. “You and your obsession with manners.”
“Mr. DuChamp says—,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Mr. DuChamp killed our parents!” he yells, loud enough that maybe you might hear. “And anyway, we haven’t seen him in months. He’s off being vizier or chamberlain or whatever it is he does.”
Charles knows perfectly well what Mr. DuChamp does. He looks after the household of the greatest vampire in our state. He has his ear. It is a very lofty position. He used to tell us over and over the story of how he rose from a lowly nestling to planning the state dinners where he entertained members of the elite from New Orleans to Washington. Charles found the stories boring, but I was always fascinated.
Even though I didn’t like Mr. DuChamp, I liked hearing about how he succeeded in drawing the threads of power around himself. He seized opportunities other people wouldn’t even have recognized as opportunities. I liked to think that in his position, I would have seized my chance, too. I guess that’s what everyone likes to think.
“Mr. DuChamp taught us how to behave,” I say. “Our parents weren’t going to do that. If you don’t know how to behave, then you’re no better than anyone else.”
Charles looks stubborn. “Fine, if you want to do everything that guy said, remember that he said we should make more like ourselves.”
“Only if they’re worthy! He said some people don’t care about bettering themselves.”
So many lessons. At first, how to hold a wine glass, a fork, not to ever eat with your knife, no chewing gum, speaking when you’re spoken to, sitting with your hands in your lap, to say please and excuse me. Later: to kill quickly, to be subtle in finding your prey, not to make others clean up your mess, and the three Bs: to bite cleanly, then to burn and then bury the remains, unless you wanted more like yourself.
“It’s not for everyone,” I say. “He warned us.”
“This isn’t about him,” Charles says. “You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone else around. You’re the one who doesn’t want more of us. How come I always