Teeth_ Vampire Tales - Ellen Datlow [41]
Amos wasn’t home by five, or even half past, and he just barely beat the main body of the fog that came straight down the mountainside. The home door was shut and barred by the time he got there, so he had to knock on the lesser door, and he got a cracking slap from his mother when she let him in, and when his father finished his bath, he ordered an hour-long penance that left Amos with his knees sore from kneeling and made the words he’d been repeating over and over so meaningless that he felt like they were some other language that he’d once known but had somehow forgotten.
Through it all, he kept thinking of Tangerine, seeing Tangerine, imagining what might happen when he next saw her . . . and then he’d try to pray harder, to concentrate on those meaningless words, but whatever he did, he couldn’t direct his mind away from those bare arms and legs, the way her unbound hair fell . . .
Amos slept very badly and earned more punishments before breakfast than he’d had in the past month. Even his father, who favored prayer and penance over any other form of correction, was moved to take off his leather belt, though he only held it as an unspoken threat, while he delivered a homily on attention and obedience.
Finally it was time to get the mail. Amos took no chances that this plum job might be taken from him. If anyone else saw Tangerine, he’d never be allowed to go to the mailbox again. So he put on his bracers, coat, and hat without being asked and went to tell his mother he was going.
She looked at him over her loom but didn’t stop her work, the shuttle clacking backward and forward as she trod the board.
“You be back by five,” she warned. “Theodore says the fog today will be even thicker. It is a shocking month for vampire weather.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Amos. He planned to run to the mailbox as soon as he was out of sight of the village. That would give him a little extra time with Tangerine. If she came. He was already starting to wonder if he might have imagined her.
He also made sure to wave and nod to Young Franz, who was working on the roof of his father’s house again. But as soon as he was around the bend, Amos broke into a run, pounding along the road as if there was a vampire after him. He didn’t notice Young Franz standing on the chimney, watching him run.
Tangerine was at the mailbox, but so was the post truck and a postal worker, a man. He was chatting to Tangerine while he put the letters in the slot, and they were both smiling. Amos scowled and slowed down, but he kept going. Since he’d already talked to a girl, talking to a postman wasn’t going to be any bigger transgression.
They both turned around as he approached. Amos had seen this same postman before, in the distance, but up close he saw details he’d never noticed before. Like the fact that the postman didn’t wear crosses either, and there were no wrist bracers under his uniform coat. It also looked too light to be sewn with silver wire or set with coins.
“Hi,” said Tangerine. She had a different dress on, but it was just as revealing as the one the day before. Amos couldn’t take his eyes off her, and he didn’t notice the postman winking at him.
“Howdy, son,” called the postman. “Good to see you.”
“Brother,” replied Amos stiffly. “We don’t call each other ‘son.’”
“Fair enough, brother,” said the postman. “I guess I’m old enough to be your dad, is why I said son. But I’d better be on my way. Plenty of mail to deliver.”
“And the fog is coming down,” said Amos. He was trying to be friendly, because he didn’t want to look bad in front of Tangerine. But it was difficult.
“Oh, the fog’s no problem,” said the postman. “I’ll drive down out of it soon enough, and the road is good.”
“I meant it is vampire weather,” said Amos.
“Vampire weather?” asked the postman. “I haven’t heard that said since . . . well, since I was no