Prom Nights from Hell Page 2

  Drake’s her ex.

  I have to admit, I feel sort of weird when I realize this. I mean, I like Mary. You can tell she’s pretty smart—she’s always done the reading when Mrs. Gregory calls on her—and the truth is, the fact that she hangs around Lila, dim as she is, proves at least she’s not a snob, since most of the girls at Saint Eligius won’t give Lila the time of day…ever since that cell-phone photo went all around school of exactly what she and Ted were doing in the bathroom at that loft party downtown.

  Not that there’s anything wrong with what they were doing, if you ask me.

  Still. I’m kind of disappointed. I’d have thought a girl like Mary would have better taste than to go out with a guy like Sebastian Drake.

  Which I guess goes to prove that what Veronica’s always saying about me is right: What I don’t know about girls could fill the East River.

  Mary

  I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. I mean, that I’m standing in the alley next to Swig, talking to Adam Blum, who sits behind me in Mrs. Gregory’s fourth-period U.S. History. Not to mention Teddy Hancock, Adam’s best friend.

  And Lila’s ex.

  Whom Lila is currently steadfastly ignoring.

  I’ve taken the ash-tipped arrow from the stock and slipped it back into my case. There will be, I know now, no extermination tonight.

  Although I suppose I should be grateful that I wasn’t the one who got snuffed out. If it hadn’t been for Adam…well, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, trying to explain to him something that’s…well, frankly inexplicable.

  “Seriously, Mary.” Adam is regarding me with somber brown eyes. Funny that I’d never noticed how good-looking he is before now. Oh, he’s no Sebastian Drake. Adam’s hair is as dark as mine and his irises are dark as syrup, not blue as the sea.

  But he does fairly well for himself with his broad-shouldered swimmer’s physique—he’s led Saint Eligius Prep to the regional finals in the butterfly two years in a row—and a six-foot frame (so tall that I practically have to crane my neck to see up into his face, my own height being a sadly disappointing—to me, anyway—five feet). He’s a more than middling student and popular, too, if you count all the freshman girls who swoon every time he passes them in the hallway (not that he seems to notice).

  There’s nothing inattentive about the way he’s staring at me now, though.

  “What’s the deal?” he wants to know, one of his thick dark eyebrows lifted with suspicion as he eyes me. “I know why Ted hates Drake. He stole his girl. But what’s your beef with him?”

  “It’s personal,” I say to him. God, this is so unprofessional. Mom will kill me when she finds out.

  If she ever finds out.

  On the other hand…well, Adam probably did just save my life. Even if he doesn’t know it. Drake would have eviscerated me—right there in front of everyone—without thinking twice about it.

  Unless he decided to play with me first. Which, knowing his father, is exactly what he would have done.

  I owe Adam. Big-time.

  But I’m not about to let him know it.

  “How’d you get in there?” Adam wants to know. “Don’t even tell me you made it through the metal detector with that thing.”

  “Of course I didn’t,” I say. Seriously, boys are so silly sometimes. “I got in through the skylight.”

  “On the roof?”

  “That is generally where they keep skylights,” I point out to him.

  “You’re so immature,” Lila is saying to Ted. Her voice is soft and breathy, even if what she’s saying isn’t. She can’t help it, though. She’s just caught in Drake’s spell. “What on earth were you hoping to accomplish?”

  “You’ve barely known this guy a day, Lila.” Ted’s got his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looks ashamed of himself…but defiant at the same time. “I mean, I could’ve gotten you into Swig if that’s where you’d wanted to go. Why didn’t you tell me? You know about my uncle Vinnie.”

  “It’s not about what clubs Sebastian can get me into, Ted,” Lila is saying. “It’s about…well, just him. He’s…perfect.”

  I have to swallow hard to keep down the vomit that’s risen into my throat.

  “Nobody’s perfect, Li,” Ted says, before I have a chance to.

  “Sebastian is,” Lila enthuses, her dark eyes glittering in the light from the single bulb illuminating the club’s emergency side door. “He’s so beautiful…and intelligent…and worldly…and gentle—”

  That’s it. I’ve heard more than I can take.

  “Lila,” I snap. “Shut up. Ted’s right. You don’t even know the guy. Because if you did, you’d never call him gentle.”

  “But he is,” Lila insists, the glitter in her eyes fading to a warm glow. “You don’t even know—”

  A second later—I’m not even sure how it happened—I have her by the shoulders, and I’m shaking her. She’s six inches taller than me and outweighs me by a good forty pounds.

  But that doesn’t matter. In that moment, all I want to do is knock some intelligence into her.

  “He told you, didn’t he?” I hear myself yell at her, hoarsely. “He told you what he is. Oh, Lila. You idiot. You stupid, stupid girl.”

  “Whoa.” Adam is trying to pry my hands off Lila’s bare shoulders. “Hey, now. Let’s all calm down—”

  But Lila wrenches herself out of my grasp and whirls on us with a triumphant expression.

  “Yes,” she cries with that exultant throb in her voice I recognize only too well. “He told me. And he warned me about people like you, Mary. People who don’t understand—can’t understand—that he comes from a line as ancient and as noble as any king’s—”

  “Oh my God.” I’m itching to slap her. The only reason I don’t is because Adam reaches out and grabs me by the arm—almost as if he’d read my mind. “Lila. You knew? And you went out with him anyway?”

  “Of course I did,” Lila says with a sniff. “Unlike you, Mary, I have an open mind. I’m not prejudiced against his kind, the way you are—”

  “His kind? His kind?” If it wasn’t for Adam holding me back—and murmuring, Hey, take it easy—I’d have thrown myself at her and attempted to beat some common sense into her vapid blond head. “And did he happen to mention how his kind survives? What they eat—or should I say drink—to live?”

  Lila looks contemptuous. “Yes,” she says. “He did. And I think you’re making way too big a deal out of it. He only drinks blood he buys from a plasma center. He doesn’t kill—”

  “Oh, Lila!” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Well, I mean, I can, considering that it’s Lila. Still, I would have thought that even she wouldn’t be naive enough to fall for that one. “That’s what they all say. They’ve been feeding that line to girls for centuries. I don’t kill humans. It’s total b.s.”

  “Hold on.” Adam’s grip on my arm has gotten quite a bit looser. Unfortunately, now that I’m at liberty to do so, I don’t feel like smacking Lila anymore. I’m too disgusted. “What’s going on here?” Adam wants to know. “Who drinks blood? Are you talking about—Drake?”

  “Yes, Drake,” I say tersely.

  Adam stares down at me in disbelief, while beside him, his friend Ted whistles.

  “Man,” Ted says. “I knew there was something I didn’t like about that guy.”

  “Stop it!” Lila cries. “All of you! Listen to yourselves! Do you have any idea how bigoted you sound? Yes, Sebastian is a vampire—but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got the right to exist!”

  “Uh,” I say. “Considering that he’s a walking abomination to humankind and has been feeding on innocent girls like you for centuries, actually, he doesn’t have the right to exist.”

  “Wait a minute.” Adam is still looking incredulous. “A vampire? Come on. That’s impossible. There’s no such thing as vampires.”

  “Oh!” Lila whirls toward him and stamps a foot. “You’re even worse than they are!”

  “Lila,” I say, igno
ring Adam. “You can’t see him again.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong,” Lila insists. “He hasn’t even bitten me—even though I’ve asked him to. He says it’s because he loves me too much.”

  “Oh my God,” I say in disgust. “That’s just another line he’s feeding you, Lila. Don’t you see? They all say that. And he doesn’t love you. Or at least, he doesn’t love you any more than a tick loves the dog it’s feeding off of.”

  “I love you,” Ted says, his voice cracking on the word I. “And you dumped me for a vampire?”

  “You don’t understand.” Lila tosses back her long blond hair. “He’s not a tick, Mary. Sebastian loves me too much to bite me. But I know I can change his mind. Because he wants to be with me forever, as much as I want to be with him forever. I know it. And after tomorrow night, we will be together forever.”

  “What’s tomorrow night?” Adam wants to know.

  “The prom,” I say woodenly.

  “Right,” Lila prattles on. “Sebastian’s taking me. And though he doesn’t know it yet, he’s going to give in to me there. Just one bite and I’ll have eternal life. Come on, you guys, how cool is that? Wouldn’t you want to live forever? I mean, if you could?”

  “Not that way,” I say. Something inside of me aches. Aches for Lila, and aches for all the girls who’ve gone before her. And will come after her, too, if I don’t do something about it.

  “He’s meeting you at the dance?” I force myself to ask her. It’s hard to speak, because all I want to do is cry.

  “Right,” Lila says. Her face still has the same vacant expression she wore inside the club, as well as earlier today in the lunchroom. “He’ll never be able to resist me—not in my new Roberto Cavalli gown, with my neck all exposed beneath the silver light of the full moon…”

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” Ted volunteers.

  “No, you’re not,” I say. “You’re going to take Lila home. Here.” I reach into my satchel and pull out a crucifix and two containers of holy water, then hand them to him. “If Drake shows up—although I don’t think he will—throw these at him. Then get yourself home, after you’ve dropped off Lila.”

  Ted looks down at what I’ve shoved into his hands. “Wait. That’s it?” he wants to know. “We’re just going to let him kill her?”

  “Not kill,” Lila corrects him cheerfully. “Turn me. Into one of his kind.”

  “We aren’t going to do anything,” I say. “You guys are going to go home and leave this to me. I’ve got it under control. Just make sure Lila gets back safely. She should be all right until the dance. Evil spirits cannot enter an inhabited house unless invited.” I narrow my eyes at Lila. “You didn’t invite him inside, did you?”

  “Whatever,” Lila says, tossing her head. “Like my dad wouldn’t go too ballistic if he found a guy in my room.”

  “See? Go home. You, too,” I add, to Adam.

  Ted takes Lila by the arm and begins to lead her away. But Adam, to my surprise, stays where he is, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

  “Um,” I say to him. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Yes,” Adam says calmly. “You can start at the beginning. I want to know everything. Because if what you’re telling me is true, if it weren’t for me, you’d be a speck on the wall in the club back there. So start talking.”

  Adam

  IF YOU HAD TOLD me just an hour or two ago that I’d be ending my evening with a trip to Mary-from-U.S.-History-class’s penthouse apartment over in the East Seventies…well, I’d have told you that you were high.

  But that’s exactly where I find myself, following Mary past her sleepy doorman (who doesn’t raise so much as an eyebrow at her crossbow), and then up the elevator to her place, which is decorated in mid-nineteenth-century Victorian chic—at least as near as I can judge, considering all the furniture looks like it came out of one of those boring miniseries my mom likes to watch on PBS, featuring girls named Violet or Hortense or whatever.

  There are books everywhere—and not Dan Brown paperbacks, either, but big, heavy books, with titles like Demonology in Seventh-century Greece and A Guide to Necromancy. I look around, but I don’t see a plasma screen or an LCD. Not even a regular TV.

  “Are your parents professors or something?” I ask Mary as she throws down the crossbow and heads to the kitchen, where she pulls open the fridge and reaches for two Cokes, one of which she hands to me.

  “Something like that,” Mary says. This is what she’s been like the whole way to her place: not exactly brimming with the explanations.

  Not that it matters, though, since I already told her I’m not leaving until I get the whole story. The thing is, I really don’t know what to think about all this so far. On the one hand, I’m relieved Drake isn’t who I thought he was—Mary’s ex-boyfriend. On the other hand…a vampire?

  “Come on,” Mary says, and I follow her because…well, what else am I supposed to do? I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t believe in vampires. I think Lila’s just gotten herself involved with one of those freaky goth dudes I saw on Law & Order that one time.

  Although Mary’s question—“Then how do you explain his disappearance from the dance floor into thin air like that?”—bugs me. How did the guy do that?

  Then again, there are tons of questions like that one that I don’t have the answers for. Like this new one that occurred to me: How can I get Mary to look at me the way Lila looked at that guy, Drake?

  Life is full of mysteries, as my dad likes to say, many of which are also wrapped up in enigmas.

  Mary leads me down a dark hallway toward a partly open door, from which light spills. She taps on the door, then says, “Dad? Can we come in?”

  A gruff voice says, “By all means.”

  And I follow Mary into the strangest room I’ve ever seen. At least in a penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side.

  It’s a laboratory. There are test tubes and beakers and vials everywhere. Standing in front of some of them is a tall, white-haired-professor type in a bathrobe, messing around with a concoction in a clear container that’s bright green and vigorously generating large amounts of smoke. The old dude looks up from this and smiles as Mary comes into the room, his green-eyed gaze—a lot like Mary’s—darting toward me curiously.

  “Well, hello,” the guy says. “I see you’ve brought a friend home. I’m so glad. I’ve been thinking lately that you spend far too much time alone, young lady.”

  “Dad, this is Adam,” Mary says casually. “He sits behind me in U.S. History. We’re going to my room to do homework.”

  “How nice,” Mary’s father says. It doesn’t seem to occur to him that the last thing a guy my age is likely to be doing in a girl’s bedroom at two in the morning is home work. “Don’t study too hard, now, children.”

  “We won’t,” Mary says. “Come on, Adam.”

  “Good night, sir,” I say to Mary’s dad, who beams at me before turning back to his smoking beaker.

  “Okay,” I say to Mary as she leads me down the hall once more, this time to her room…which is surprisingly utilitarian for a girl’s bedroom, containing only a large bed, a dresser, and a desk. Unlike in Veronica’s room, everything is put away, except for a laptop and an MP3 player. I take a quick look at Mary’s play list when she’s busy rifling around in the closet for something. Mostly rock, some R&B, and a little rap. No emo, though. Thank God. “What’s going on? What’s your dad doing with all that stuff?”

  “Looking for a cure,” Mary says from the closet, her voice muffled.

  I’ve moved across the ornate Persian carpet toward her bed. There’s a framed photo on her nightstand. It’s of a pretty woman, squinting into the sunlight and smiling. Mary’s mother. I don’t know how I know it. I just do.

  “A cure for what?” I ask, picking up the photo for a closer look. Yep, there they are. Mary’s lips. Which, I haven’t been able to stop noticing, are kind of curled up at the ends. Even when she’
s mad.

  “Vampirism,” Mary says. She emerges from the closet holding a long red dress. It’s wrapped in clear plastic from the dry cleaner’s.

  “Uh,” I say, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Mary. But there’s no such thing as vampires. Or vampirism. Or whatever it is.”

  “Oh yeah?” The ends of Mary’s mouth are curled up even more than usual.

  “Vampires were just made up by that guy.” She’s laughing at me. I don’t mind, though, because it’s Mary. It’s better than her ignoring me, which is what she’s done for most of the time I’ve known her. “That guy who wrote Dracula. Right?”

  “Bram Stoker did not make up vampires,” Mary says, the smile vanishing. “He didn’t even make up Dracula. Who’s an actual historical figure, by the way.”

  “Yeah, but a dude who drinks blood and can turn into a bat? Come on.”

  “Vampires exist, Adam,” Mary says quietly. I like how she says my name. I like it so much that I don’t even notice at first that she’s staring at the photo I’m holding. “And so do their victims.”

  I follow the direction of her gaze. And nearly drop the photo.

  “Mary,” I say. Because it’s all I can think of to say. “Your…your mom? Is she…did she…”

  “She’s still alive,” Mary says, turning to throw the red dress, in its slippery clear plastic bag, onto the bed. “If you can call it living,” she adds, almost to herself.

  “Mary…,” I say in a different tone of voice. I can’t believe it.

  And yet I do. There’s something in her face that makes it clear she’s not lying. Also something that makes me long to wrap her in my arms. Which Veronica would say is sexist. But there you go.

  I let go of the lip I’ve started chewing. “Is that why your dad—”

  “He wasn’t always like that,” she says, not looking at me. “He used to be different, when Mom was here. He…he thinks he can find a chemical cure for it.” She sinks onto the bed beside the dress. “He doesn’t want to believe that there’s only one way to get her back. And that’s killing the vampire who made her into one.”