Teeth_ Vampire Tales - Ellen Datlow [119]
—And left you here forty years?
—Maybe he got hit by a bus. Or maybe he forgot. They’re not very smart. But sooner or later, he’ll remember where he stored me, or else another one will sniff me out.
She nailed me with a stare I felt at the back of my skull. That’s the best can happen unless you help me, she said.
—Do we have to talk about this every time I come out? I’m thinking about it, okay?
She kept staring for several seconds and then sighed in dismay.
—It’s not the easiest thing to wrap your head around, I said. Becoming a serial killer.
—I do the killing.
—Yeah, but I have to lure them here. That’s even more disgusting.
—Listen, Louie. I . . .
—Elle!
—I’m sorry. Elle.
A distant plop came from the center of the river, where there was open water.
—I only need five, she said.
—I know what you need. It’s not like you never tell me.
—One a night for five nights. Then I’ll be strong enough to break free. There must be five people you hate in town. Five like that first one.
—You have to give me more time.
We sat quietly, caught in our bad mood like two flies in a puddle of grease. I thought to say I had to go, but I didn’t want to go. Sandrine wrestled with a hyacinth stem and snapped off a lavender bloom and offered it to me. When I accepted it, her fingers brushed mine and I felt a blush of heat, like I’d rubbed my fingertips fast over a rough surface.
—Does Djadadjii magic work on regular people? I asked.
—No. They don’t care about you, anyway. They’re only interested in fangs.
—Suppose you get clear of this. What’ll you do?
—Maybe South Carolina. There’s a group of fangs there who’re well protected. They’re not fond of outsiders, but I’m tired of being on my own. It might be worth the risk.
—What if you weren’t on your own?
—If you were with me, you mean?
I shrugged. Yeah.
—I’d probably stay here.
That alarmed me. In DuBarry?
—No, no. Florida. Most of the fangs in this hemisphere are in Latin America and . . .
—How come?
—It’s easier to get away with killing there. Of course it’s a trade-off. Since most fangs are there, most of the Djadadjii are, too. The one that caught me, he’s only the fourth I’ve seen up here . . . and the first three were over a century ago.
A bug crawled from beneath a petal of the bloom Sandrine had plucked, and I laid it on the oak trunk.
—You all right, cher?
—Tell me some more about the Djadadjii.
—I don’t know much more. They all have wide mouths. . . . Their mouths expand. They could swallow a football if they wanted. They could bite it in half. And they have a refined sense of smell. If a fang’s been near you, they’ll pick up the scent. Roy told me they’re all beautiful and the ones I’ve known were beautiful . . . and dumb. Dumb as chickens.
A fisher bird swooped low above the hyacinth, and the faint chugging of a generator came from somewhere upriver.
—Take off your top for me, said Sandrine.
—I . . . I don’t . . .
—I won’t touch you. I know you’re shy and you’re not ready, but I want to look at you this once. She pretended to pout. It’s not fair you can see me and I never see you.
Hesitantly, I reached back and undid the strings of my halter. I fitted my eyes to the red winking light atop a water tower across the river and held the halter in place for a second; then I let it fall.
—God, she said. I’d forgotten.
—What is it? I asked. Is . . .
Shh! She reached down to the river and cupped her hand and scooped up some water and let it trickle between her fingers onto my breasts. Cool and lovely, little rivers spilling over my contours. I felt beautiful and grand, a hill divided by tributaries. My skin pebbled where the water touched me. One nipple poked up hard.
The halter slid off my lap. Sandrine handed it to me and told me I could put it back on.
—No, it’s okay. My hair curtained my