Teeth_ Vampire Tales - Ellen Datlow [114]
I make an involuntary sound, like the hiss of air going out of a balloon. “I can’t—,” I start, then take a deep breath and start again. “When I walk around the mall alone, all the other girls are with their mothers. I used to go into this one arcade, but the boys there wouldn’t even talk to me. They’re not interested in girls, at least not girls my age. You can go out in the world alone. You can pretend to have a young-looking face, but I’m a child to everyone I meet.”
“Look,” Charles says. “You know I feel bad for you. I try to be a good brother. I bring girls to your stupid dinner parties and let them sit around like stuffed bears while you pour out pretend tea. All I want is for tonight to be different, Jenny. Just one night. For me.”
“Fine.” I whirl around and stalk back into the dining room. I stop short, so short that Charles, just behind me, almost walks right into my back. If he didn’t have such good reflexes, he would have.
You are still sitting where you were, at the table, and I think of what Charles said about tea parties. You look stiff as a doll with little red spots on your cheeks like paint. Mr. DuChamp is standing beside you, one hand on the back of your chair. He smiles when he sees us.
“Hello, children,” he says.
5. EVERY PARTY NEEDS AN ELEMENT OF THE UNEXPECTED TO MAKE IT UNFORGETTABLE. THINK FONDUE!
“There’s a place set for you,” I say, even though, really, the place was for your friend.
He laughs, probably unconvinced, and runs his finger through the dust on the sill. “Regrettably, I have already eaten.”
“Oh,” I say; then, remembering my manners, “How do you do?”
He smiles indulgently. “Very well, thank you, excepting one thing.” Then his demeanor changes, his face darkens, and he stands, still clutching your hand. You stare at him in horror. “Excepting that you were supposed to bring my master tribute not six months past.
“I have tried to contact you and nothing. You, my charges, embarrass me. Did I not instruct you better than this? If I, who manage all my master’s affairs, cannot manage you, what must I look like?”
I look over at Charles. His expression is determined but not surprised.
“Charles?” I say. “What tribute?”
He shakes his head. “Six living girls.”
I turn back to Mr. DuChamp. He is frowning, like he’s trying to puzzle out something. “You did not receive my message?”
“I received it,” Charles says. “I tore it up.”
“That is unacceptable,” says Mr. DuChamp.
“I don’t understand.” It’s you, speaking in your tinny little human voice, like the voice of a fly. “What’s going on?”
Mr. DuChamp turns to me. “Ladies,” he says. “Perhaps if you were to retire to the parlor, I might speak to Master Charles in private.”
I already know you’re not going to go along with it. You don’t understand that requests for privacy must always be honored. You are already sputtering as I take hold of your arm. I squeeze, just a little, and you turn white.
“Ouch,” you say. “Ouch, what are you doing to my arm?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m not doing anything.” My mother used to do that when I misbehaved in the supermarket. She would pinch the skin in the crook of my arm and smile a syrupy smile like the one I’m smiling now. Although she couldn’t pinch as hard as I can, now. “Ladies retire to the parlor after dinner.”
You’re looking at Charles. “I’m not going anywhere with your creepy little sister.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Charles tells you. “Stay with Jenny.”
You go, but not quietly. Whining the whole way.
All the furniture in the parlor is covered in big white sheets. It’s more convenient that way. When they get blood on them, we can take them away and launder them and put them back clean. The sofa looks like a fat white iceberg, surrounded by smaller icebergs, floating in the darkness. You cough and sneeze a little, choking on all the dust. There’s a fireplace full of dead ashes and windows that have had plywood hammered over them. I wonder if you’re starting