Teeth_ Vampire Tales - Ellen Datlow [53]
“Art,” he said.
“Art, and artists. If she thinks you have what she calls ‘real creative talent,’ you get a vampire godmother for life—whether you want it or not.”
Odette hadn’t asked to see his drawings again, but . . . “What about my songs?”
“The last music Odette liked was a minuet,” Crystal said, rolling her eyes. “And plus she has the tinnest ear ever and hates poetry.”
He pressed on. “Well, what else? What does she love?” If he could find something special, something to show that he was on Odette’s wavelength—that he was too useful to leave behind—
“Well, there’s this quilt,” Crystal said. “Grubby old thing; pretty hand stitching though—little strips of silk from men’s ties, kimonos, and like that. She paid a lot for it. She still has it.”
“But why? Why that?”
“How should I know?” Crystal scowled, then softened slightly. “I did hear once that her brother was a famous goldsmith, couple centuries back. He had a stroke, so she got to design jewelry, under her brother’s name, for the rich people. It could be a true story, but who knows? She’s not the kind who runs her mouth about her first life, like some of the Quality. Specially the really old ones, trying to hang on to their memories. Anyway, maybe she was talented herself, back in the day.”
Josh nodded, thinking furiously. He was not going to be left behind in flyover country if he could help it.
Two more of the Quality showed up at Ivan’s at the next open evening. One looked the part—tall, pale, and high shouldered like a vulture (an effect undercut by his cowboy boots, ironed jeans, and Western shirt with pearl-snap buttons). There was no mystery about what he was after: Several pounds of Indian fetish necklaces decorated his sunken chest.
The other, a chunky Asian-looking woman with a flat-top haircut, wore chains and bunches of keys jingling from her belt, her boots, her leather vest.
“What’s she looking for, whips and handcuffs?” Josh whispered.
Crystal smirked at him. “Dummy. That’s Alicia Chung. Odette says she has the best collection of nineteenth-century opera ephemera in America.”
“She’s looking for old opera posters around here?”
Crystal shrugged. “You never know. That’s part of the challenge.”
In the workroom after closing, the first thing Odette said was “If Chung is here, it won’t be long before MacCardle arrives. We pack up tonight, Crystal.”
Josh broke an icy sweat. He had no time for finesse.
“Odette?” His voice cracked. “Take me, too.”
“No,” she said. She didn’t even look at him.
“Crystal travels with you!”
“Crystal is Quality, and she has no living family. Shall we kill your mother and father so they won’t come searching for you?”
With Crystal’s voice in his ears (“Ooh, that’s cold, Odette!”), Josh ran into the bathroom and threw up. He drove home without remembering to turn on his headlights and fell asleep in his clothes, dreaming about Annie Frye biting his neck. Later he sat in the dark banging out the blackest chords he could get from his keyboard.
His band was gone, nobody from school wanted to hang with him, and now even the vampires were taking off.
His mom knocked on the bedroom door at seven a.m. and asked if he wanted to “talk about” anything. “Your music sounds so sad, hon.” Like he was writing his songs for her!
“It’s just music.” He hunched over the Casio, waiting for her to leave. How could he stand to live in this house one more day?
She stepped inside. “Josh, I’m picking up signals here. Are you thinking of leaving town with your new friends?”
He panicked, then realized she only meant his imaginary musician pals. “No.”
“All the same, I think it’s time I met them,” she said firmly.
“Why can’t you leave me alone? You’re just making everything worse!”
“You’re doing that brilliantly for yourself,” she retorted. They yelled back and forth, each trying to inflict maximum damage without actually drawing blood, until she clattered off downstairs to finish crating pictures for a gallery show in San Jose. The hammering was fierce.
She