Bleeding Hearts Page 7

  “It’s not a freeze-out,” she insisted, wincing. “And I know you’re hurt, but we’re worried about you. We just want to keep you safe.”

  All of a sudden I really understood how Solange felt.

  And it sucked.

  “I can take care of myself,” I said flatly.

  “You’re sixteen years old.”

  “So? I’ve been training with the Helios-Ra, and before that Helena showed me a bunch of moves,” I insisted. “I can fight better than Dad.”

  She pursed her lips. “That’s not exactly a winning argument, Lucky. We don’t want you to fight.”

  “Well, neither do I!” Which was a lie. Right now I really wanted to break someone’s nose. “But I’m fine. We’re all fine.” I wasn’t about to mention the Hel-Blar at the beach or the incident in the hall with Christabel. “Mom, you keep saying I can’t be like them, but I can’t be like you, either. I’m just me,” I said quietly. “And you can’t suddenly take away half my family and expect me to be okay with that.”

  “I know.” She scrubbed a hand over her face, looking tired and older than usual.

  I went cold, as if my belly were full of icicles. “And you can’t forbid me from seeing Nicholas.” I’d wanted my voice to be strong and calm and grown-up, but instead it squeaked like a little girl’s.

  “We aren’t,” Mom assured me, half smiling. “I’ve been your mom for a long time. You think I don’t know just how well that would work?”

  I could almost breathe again. “Okay.” I exhaled sharply. “Okay.”

  “Just think about what I said.” She slid off the bed. “And clean your room and do your homework and eat your vegetables.” She winked. “I just wanted to say something mom-ish that didn’t involve mortal peril of some kind.”

  “Mom,” I said quietly as she opened the door. She looked over her shoulder. “I’m not stupid. And I’m way more careful than everyone gives me credit for. So at some point you’re going to have to let me be me and trust that I know what I’m doing. Just like the Drakes are going to have to stop making Solange the princess in the tower.” I lifted my chin. “Because she’s not Snow White or whatever. And if this is some kind of a fairy tale, then I get to be a wolf or a witch or a wild girl, not the damsel in distress.”

  I turned my bedside lamp back on and paced the length of my room, waiting for Kieran. Next to my laptop was a bronze statue of Ganesh that Dad had given me on my first day of high school. Ganesh was an elephant-headed god from India who was believed to remove obstacles. I kept him on my desk because outside of the vampire world, I didn’t know a bigger obstacle than homework. Which I should probably be doing right now, as Mom suggested, but who could concentrate?

  Tired of waiting, I yanked open my window and stuck out my head.

  My forehead bonked Kieran’s and bounced off.

  “Ow!” we both yelped, grabbing our heads.

  “I always knew you had a hard head.”

  “Ha-ha,” I grumbled, rubbing my hairline. “I was pretty sure yours was soft.”

  He was in his usual black cargos and T-shirt. He’d cut off his ponytail but wouldn’t tell me why or how it happened. Which just proved there was a good story attached. I’d have to ferret it out later when I had time. I slipped into the garden and folded my arms expectantly. “What the hell’s up with Solange?”

  He frowned. “I thought you’d know. You’re her best friend.”

  “Someone should remind her of that.”

  “She’s still not talking to you?”

  “Not really.” The grass was cold under my bare feet. My toes curled in.

  Kieran looked worried. “She’s not really talking to me, either,” he admitted.

  I stared at him. “What? But you see her all the time.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked as if he were trying not to blush. “She doesn’t talk much. She won’t ever take off her sunglasses. And she only ever wants to make out. I can barely get her to say three words to me.” He winced, disgusted. “God. Could I sound more like a girl?”

  “Please. You should be so lucky.”

  Still, Solange just wasn’t the type to be all about the kissing and nothing else. She was too reserved for that, too elegant. I was the one who probably liked kissing a little too much.

  “That’s not like her,” I finally said.

  “I figured.” He shifted from foot to foot. “And I kind of need to talk to her. Which is hard to do, even with nose plugs.” Vampire pheromones were notorious for making humans befuddled and bewildered. Just as Nicholas sometimes wore his so he wouldn’t be distracted by the smell of my blood, vampire hunters wore them so they couldn’t be brainwashed by vampire pheromones. I was so used to them from growing up around the Drakes that I was mostly immune. So far.

  “Talk to her about what?” I asked.

  “I’m … uh … well, I’m going to college to finish my training. Now that the Helios-Ra is in good hands, I want to be a real agent. I don’t want to coast on my family name.”

  I’d forgotten that he technically wasn’t an official Helios-Ra agent. He’d dropped out of the last two years of his training to hunt down his father’s killer, who he’d mistakenly assumed was a vampire, and a Drake at that.

  “Well, good for you, I guess,” I said. “I suppose you’re not so bad for someone who was trying to kill my best friend and her entire family.”

  “I never tried to kill Solange,” he argued. He paused. “The college is in Scotland.”

  I blinked. “You’re leaving?” Could this day suck worse?

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Have you told Solange yet?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t had a chance.”

  “I can’t know this kind of thing if she doesn’t know! There’s a code. You have to tell her.” I waved my hands frantically at him. “Right now!”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” he asked, frustrated. “I told you, there’s not a lot of talking.”

  “Ew. Get your tongue out of her mouth and talk to her, dumbass.”

  He glared at me. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is too,” I insisted. “I’m dating a vampire; I get it. They’re yummy.”

  He sighed, looking a little embarrassed. His ears were actually red. “Lucy, you’re practically immune to pheromones. I’m not. And Solange’s are stronger than any vampire I’ve ever met. She’s … different.”

  I wanted to kick something. I should know exactly what was going on, why and how Solange was different. No amount of yoga was going to neutralize the anger and hurt burning inside me.

  I fisted my hands. “Okay, look. I’m going to see Solange tomorrow night and I’m going to figure out what the hell’s going on. You better talk to her first.”

  “How?” he asked helplessly.

  I rolled my eyes. “Use the phone, idiot.”

  “Oh.” He blinked, as if he’d never actually considered that. Honestly, boys. “I guess I could do that.”

  I just shook my head. “Some vampire hunter. Don’t they teach you anything at that school?”

  “You tell me. You’re practically one of us now.”

  I gaped at him. “Am not!” He just grinned at my agitation. I stepped on his foot. It wasn’t exactly effective since I was barefoot and he had his combat boots on. “Stop it.”

  He glanced at his phone when it trilled discreetly. “I gotta go. Another bulletin.”

  “What now?” I asked, trying to read the screen. He flicked it off and slipped it into his inside pocket. Spoilsport.

  “Murder and mayhem, the usual. We’re being run off our feet. The Hel-Blar are organizing.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “The blood chills.” He grimaced, agreeing.

  “They were at the beach earlier.”

  “I know. Hunter called it in.”

  “We heard some kind of whistle. And it actually scared them. That’s weird, right?”

  He nodded.r />
  “Know what it is?”

  “No.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah. So watch your back, hippie.”

  “You too, 007.”

  Chapter 9

  Christabel

  The cafeteria was all scuffed linoleum, French fries, girls squealing, and guys laughing too loud. But with the help of a good novel, I was in a parlor lit by beeswax candles, with windows wreathed in a damp, menacing fog rolling off the moors. The chatter of voices became the crackling of a fire and the strains of a waltz played on a pianoforte by a girl in a dark dress. The plastic bench underneath me was actually a velvet sofa.

  “There she goes.” Lucy interrupted my travels, her voice sounding as if it were far away.

  But not far enough.

  “Earth to Christa.” She grinned, slapping her lunch tray down onto the table. Green Jell-O wiggled alarmingly. She didn’t look hung over, despite how drunk she claimed to be last night.

  “Go away,” I mumbled, trying not to lose my spot. I struggled to smell the wood smoke, to feel the tendrils of mist.

  “Never mind her,” Lucy assured her friends cheerfully. She’d introduced us before but I hadn’t really been paying attention. I thought the guy was Nathan and the girl Linnet. Linnet had beautiful dark skin and blue eyes and didn’t say much. Lucy was convinced that if I sat alone at lunch I might waste away from loneliness. I couldn’t convince her that if I had a book with me, I wasn’t lonely.

  And it was ironic that now she wanted to talk to me. On the way to school she kept the music so loud my ears rang. She wouldn’t answer a single question about last night.

  “She’s always like that when she’s reading,” she continued. “And she’s always reading.”

  I peered at her over the top of my novel. “Does your mom know you eat Jell-O?” Aunt Cass thought white sugar, intolerance, and cell phones were the devil. In that order.

  Lucy shot me a conspiratorial grin. “If you tell her I eat white sugar, I’ll tell her you’re antisocial and depressed at school. She’ll make you hug.”

  “She wouldn’t,” I said, even though I knew she totally would.

  Nathan snorted. “When I came out, she made me hug her,” he confirmed. “And she baked me a cake.”

  “She baked you a cake?” I echoed. “For being gay?”

  “A stevia-sweetened, organic, whole-wheat cake for being brave enough to come out,” Lucy said proudly. I had to admit, Aunt Cass was kind of awesome in her own way. Only she could reclaim a coming-out tradition from the pages of one of my favorite novels and turn it on its head.

  “What did she call it?” Nathan shook his head fondly. “An affirmation cake or something?” His hair was short and spiky, bleached bone white. “Your mom’s cracked.”

  “Yup,” Lucy agreed cheerfully.

  “My mom’s not nearly as cool. She cried for three days straight. Think yours’ll adopt me?”

  “Probably.”

  I stole a French fry off Lucy’s plate. They were definitely not allowed in the Hamilton household, like the contraband Jell-O. “How come Nicholas and Solange don’t go to school here?” I asked.

  “Oh.” Nathan and Linnet both sighed. “Nicholas.” It was the most I’d heard Linnet say. She was quiet as a cat.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “Shut up, you two.” She smirked at me. “They’re totally crushing on my boyfriend. Nathan saw him last night at the lake and he hasn’t shut up about it all day.”

  “He is yummy,” Nathan said. “There is a definite dearth of hot guys at this school.”

  “The Drakes are homeschooled.” Lucy answered my question before Nathan could really sink into a tangent. Connor had told me he’d been homeschooled too. It must be some kind of family tradition.

  “You’re still bringing him to prom, right?” Nathan asked.

  Lucy groaned. “You’re as bad as my mom with the prom stuff.”

  “I just think he’ll look good in a tux.”

  “Stop drooling.” Lucy pointed her finger at him. “And get your own date.”

  “Oh, all right,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “He has brothers, right?”

  “Yes, like a gazillion of them. But I don’t know if any of them play for your team.”

  “Well, find out, woman.”

  “What am I supposed to do, take a survey?”

  “If you were a real friend,” Nathan said primly, but his eyes twinkled.

  “Got your little friend pimping for you, queerbait?” someone sneered from behind us. Nathan went red in the face. Linnet looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.

  Lucy leaped to her feet, her fists clenched. “Shut up, Peter.”

  I turned my head slowly, flicking him the most disdainful glance I could muster, then I turned my back as if he wasn’t worth my time. And he so wasn’t. Peter just laughed with his friends. Bullies.

  If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a bully.

  I’d nearly had to deal with Social Services because a bully shot her mouth off at school after my dad died. Sara and I had to work on a school project, and when she came over, my mother was drunk. She told everyone at school the next day, and the day after that, until even one of the teachers was asking me if everything was all right at home. Sara didn’t stop until I burst into tears in the lunch line in front of everyone. It wasn’t until I flushed her favorite bra down the toilet after gym class that she finally left me alone.

  “Just ignore them,” Nathan said quietly.

  Lucy was the color of pickled beets beside him. He, on the other hand, looked perfectly calm.

  “Yeah, Lucky,” Peter guffawed. “At least queerbait here knows when he’s whipped.”

  I thought Lucy was actually going to jump right over the table, littered with empty chocolate milk cartons and lunch trays.

  Apparently, since the last time I’d visited, Lucy had decided she was a ninja.

  Only Nathan was able to stop her. He put his hand on her arm. “Don’t,” he said mildly.

  “But …” She glared at Peter. “I really want to.”

  “Please. Just don’t, Luce.”

  Peter and his winged monkeys got bored and drifted to another table. Nathan pushed away from his chair and stood up. His ears were red but his expression hadn’t changed. Lucy hovered at his elbow, scowling.

  “I don’t need a bodyguard,” he told her.

  “Do too,” she insisted mutinously. “And I could have taken him. I’m taking self-defense classes. I could have made him cry.”

  Nathan half smiled. “You’re scary enough without the classes.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” she wondered out loud.

  “Can we just go now?” Linnet asked, still looking as if she wanted to cry. “People are staring.”

  Lucy put her hands on her hips. “So?”

  “So, Nathan hates that.”

  Lucy deflated quickly; if she’d been a helium balloon she would have careened through the cafeteria. She still might. “Oh.” She winced at Nathan sheepishly. “Sorry, Nate.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She glanced at me. “Are you coming?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll catch up.”

  I knew Peter. He was in twelfth grade, like me, and he was a jerk. He belonged in one of those John Hughes movies from the eighties that Lucy loved so much. I slowed my pace as I approached his table, carrying my plastic cup full of soda. He was talking too loudly, as usual.

  “What a loser,” he half shouted. “We should key his car.”

  “He rides his bike to school,” one of his friends said.

  “Figures. Fag.”

  That did it.

  I was so used to keeping my grades up and my head down so as not to attract the attention of the school counselor that I usually fumed quietly to myself.

  Not today.

  Maybe not ever again, if Mom’s treatment went well.

  After all, the worst had happened. Her secret was out. I didn’t have to stay qui
etly in the background anymore if I didn’t want to.

  And right now, I really didn’t want to.

  I couldn’t help but think about a story I’d just read about Percy Bysshe Shelley when he was at school. Someone picked on him until he finally jammed his fork through the guy’s hand and into the table underneath.

  If a cherubic blond poet in a cravat could kick ass, so could I.

  Besides, I’d never gotten detention before, and there was something liberating about having that option. Plus, Nathan shouldn’t have to deal with Peter’s homophobic crap all year. Anyone could see Peter wasn’t going to let up. Also, Peter’s shirt gaped away from the back of his neck just enough. And there were a lot of ice cubes in my cup.

  Perfect.

  I tipped my drink, spilling the cold, sticky soda down the back of Peter’s neck, making sure most of it dribbled into his shirt.

  He screamed like a little girl at her first horror movie.

  Even more perfect.

  He pawed at his back while simultaneously scrambling to his feet, scattering his lunch tray and knocking over his chair. Everyone turned to stare. The silence cracked like an egg, spilling laughter. Someone clapped. Peter whirled on me, rage making him sputter.

  “What the hell, you bitch!” He took a threatening step forward. He was really tall and as wide as an ox. And clearly used to people backing away from him in fear. When I didn’t move, only lifted an eyebrow, he looked briefly confused.

  I smiled, showing a lot of teeth, like an angry badger. “Oops,” I said insincerely.

  “You are so dead,” he seethed while our audience kept laughing.

  I tilted my head obnoxiously and batted my eyelashes. “Ooh. Scary.”

  He stepped in so close to me that I had to crane my neck back to look up at him. “New girl, you just made the biggest mistake.”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “Who writes your dialogue?”

  When even his friends laughed, he reached for me. His hand dug into my arm, wrinkling my favorite T-shirt and bruising the skin underneath.

  I kneed him right in the crotch.

  He squeaked, doubled over, and then lost his balance entirely when I shrugged off his grip. One of the teachers rushed toward us, blowing her whistle. She did not look impressed.