Thirsty - M. T. Anderson [54]
Our mayor is addressing us. We’re walking. I am picturing finding Rebecca Schwartz and talking to her, explaining myself, before I go off on my date with the daughter of the damned. There is a touching scene where Rebecca is crying at my funeral. It would be great if I could speak to her before I go.
One person needs to know of the sacrifice I’m about to make.
We pass the tilt-a-whirl. People in neon teacups are being flung out over the sweet cow-cropped grass; they’re giggling; boys are trying to lean and spin their cups; girls are screaming “No! No!”
“Father Bread,” says the mayor over the loudspeakers. “Would you do the honors?”
“Thank you, Mayor,” says Father Bread. He adds, “Ehhrm,” rattling as he takes the microphone. Then he begins, echoing out over the booths and the fields and the hot summery oaks, “We call upon the great hierarchy of angels for their aid in the shadows of night.”
The beginning of the spell of binding. That means nine o’clock. Three hours for me to find the convocation of vampires and do something to stop them.
I’m in a sweat.
The Rigozzis live on the edge of Barley’s Field in a big green Colonial house with a three-car Colonial garage. People are wandering out of the house over to the carnival and back again. Music pounds inside the house.
“Time to crash, boys!” says Tom.
“I feel bad about crashing,” I say. “What if they find out?”
“Your brother is in there.”
I say uneasily, “I’d really rather wait for an invitation.”
“God you’re impossible,” says Tom. “Come on,” he says to Jerk and walks up the steps.
“I’ll wait out here for a minute with Chris,” says Jerk. “Couldn’t we find Tony Rigozzi and ask him?”
“Christ!” says Tom. He walks up the three concrete steps to the front door. He opens the door. Inside there is music and dancing. He hesitates, just for one moment, and moves his lips together nervously. Then he walks in.
He slams the door behind him.
“Hey, bruiser,” says a voice from behind one of the bushes at the front door. “Waiting for an invitation?”
The bush waggles, and out into the light steps a young man with messy blond hair, an armless jean jacket, and a bat tattooed on his arm. “Chris, good to see you. We thought you’d come around,” he says. “Bat is my name, and it is my symbol. The bat. I move by night and seek things out by screaming.”
Jerk isn’t very comfortable. He doesn’t like Bat much.
And I see that Bat has an aura. He is a vampire. I remember the tattoo. I saw him before at that abandoned church, where he ate the flesh of women in casseroles.
He says, “Lolli Chaz is looking forward to seeing you.” And, “She has quite an evening planned for you. Come on, sucker.”
He walks up the three concrete steps to the front door. He wipes his feet on the welcome mat and swings the door open.
“Heya heya heya!” he screams. “Someone gonna invite me in, man?”
There’s a momentary pause inside. I can’t see past Bat. In a second, Tony Rigozzi, a junior at my school, stumbles over to the door, laughing, spilling beer from a plastic cup. “Whoa! My first day,” he says, “with my goddamn new legs.”
“Friend of Lolli Chasuble,” says Bat. “Can I come in?”
Tony laughs again. “Shit, yes! Everyone’s invited! What’re you waiting for, a . . . ? Get in there! My house is your house. It is! It’s your goddamn house!”
“Great, man,” says Bat, punching Tony on the upper arm. “I’m damn glad to meet you.”
“That a real tattoo?” says Tony, stubbing his fingers on Bat’s upper arm. “Man, that real?”
“No,” says Bat, secretly motioning to me with his other arm. “Got it out of a box of goddamn Cracker Jack!”
I walk up the steps with Jerk. We’re lingering right behind Bat.
“Lolli’s over there,” says Tony, waving his hand toward the living room. “Dancing on the table. She’s some . . .” He sizes Bat up. “So, you her boyfriend?”
“No,” says Bat.
“No? She is something,” Tony says in an undertone. “I mean, look at her.”
“She’s nice,” murmurs Bat.
They’re standing close, side by side now, needling each other in the ribs.