Thirsty - M. T. Anderson [58]
Two of Pete’s friends flex their muscles and say, “Cheese! Cheese, Petey-boy!”
“Careful!” says Paul, tagging along at Pete’s side. “That’s, like, an expensive piece of —”
“I’m careful! Be cool! I’m being careful!” says Pete, and he roars to Nicki Brown, “Bark! Bark like a dog! Up close and personal!” and he sticks the lens in her face and she’s so drunk she barks like a dog.
Bat is pointing at me and only me from across the crowd.
He mouths the word “Die.”
“Hey, care-careful!” says Paul again.
And I’m working my way toward the door.
“And the lovely Miss Lolli!” says Pete. “There’s the lovely Miss Lolli! New aquaintance and playgirl of the month! Time for an up close and personal!”
“Careful!” says Paul. “I paid for that thing!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Lolli’s just entered the room and they’re clearing a way for her, and she’s covering her face with her hand and saying, “Don’t take pictures of me with that thing! I said: Don’t take my picture!”
Pete has it in her face and now Bat has one eye on me but he’s working his way toward her instead, yelling, “She said she doesn’t like her goddamn picture taken! That means,” he says, grabbing Pete’s shoulder, “she doesn’t like her goddamn picture taken!”
“Pete, please,” mewls Paul. “That’s —”
“This is my assistant, Paul,” Pete explains to Bat, zeroing in on Lolli’s chest. “Paul likes doing films of slugs. We’re making footage for science.” Everyone is laughing at my brother.
Paul still is hovering around the camcorder and Bat suddenly grabs it from Pete and yells at the top of his lungs, “I’M GONNA BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF YOU IF YOU KEEP TAKIN’ PICTURES OF THAT GIRL!”
I dart out of the room — Pete’s friends screaming, “Who the hell are you?” and Lolli screeching, “Get that thing out of my face!” and Paul whining, “Please, just give me the camera!” and Pete and Bat, they’re both hollering at the top of their lungs, hardly words, just sounds.
And I’m out through the den, where an unwatched television shows Pretty Woman, and I’m through the kitchen, tripping in the dark, and suddenly I see there’s someone in there, against the sink —
And by the light of the moon through the window, I see Hors d’oeuvre Asheleighe, her shirt open, and Trunk McIntyre is feeding on her neck.
For a moment, I’m transfixed in horror. Then, “Run!” I scream hoarsely. “Run!”
Trunk and Asheleighe recoil in surprise; Trunk spins around. “Shit!” he exclaims. “You watching? You little shit!”
And as I slam open the kitchen door and push my way through the crowd in the dining room I can hear her saying, “God, that kid is, like, can you say schitzoid?”
And the dining room leads to the front door. I can hear them in the living room —
“I said get it out of my face and I meant get it out of my face!”
“What’s the problem? You jealous?”
“Hey, please give me my —”
“Damn!”
“Watch — !”
And I’m out the front door and into the night.
It’s after ten, and I’ve blown it. I’ve blown my cover. I don’t know how I’ll find the conclave of vampires now, or how I would get there if I found it. The conclave is miles away. The town’s spells of binding will be interrupted in less than two hours.
I am wandering around the fairground, full of the knowledge that I have endangered the world, and my body is sliding into a murderous thirst, and I can do nothing to stop either thing.
And worse than that, I am being sought. They want my blood, one way or another. I turn around often as I skulk from tent to tent, and I make sure that Bat and Lolli aren’t slinking up behind me through the ranks of half-shirts and flip-flops.
On the loudspeaker, we are coming to the goat part of the evening. The mayor is talking about it. “Let’s prepare the elements. Can, uh, can everyone at the other sites hear me?”
“Yes, Ed.”
“Sure, Ed. We’re reading you loud and clear.”
“Thanks. First we’ll, uh, prepare the goats. Out on the boat, we have Sal Garozzi, butcher at the Purity Supreme in Bradley. Sal has kindly offered, once again, to do the honors. You there, Sal?”
“I am, Ed.”
“How’s it looking,