Vampires Never Get Old, page 23
She jumps from the angel’s wing, hits the ground hard, pain lancing up her ankles as she runs.
“Hey!” she shouts, and the ghoul turns just as she swings the tire iron at its head. It lands with a crack, the creature’s face jerking a little as the bar glances off its skull. And for a second—just a second—Cal’s blood races in the best of ways, and she feels like a hunter.
But then the ghoul smiles, a horrible, open-jawed grin.
Cal dances back, away, out of its grip, and remembers the dagger. She pulls it from her pocket, rips the sheath off with her teeth as the ghoul shuffles toward her.
She drives the blade into the creature’s neck, but the dagger is barely long enough to cut its throat. It gets stuck somewhere around its collarbone, tearing out of her grip as the ghoul’s fingers scrape her skin.
She scrambles backward, but her boot catches on a broken grave and she goes down and the ghoul is on top of her. Up close, it reeks of rot, sickly sweet, and the fear is sudden, wrenching. It slams into her like a wave and she has to fight the urge to scream.
It gnashes, making a terrible chattering sound as it snaps its jaw. She drives the iron bar up between its teeth, forcing its head back and away as its bony fingers claw at her, leaving trails of its latest meal. She kicks out, trying to drive it back, but it’s strong, impossibly strong for something made of sinew and bone, and the fear is a high whistle in her head, a fever in her blood, and her hands slip on the bar and she is going to die, she is going to die, she is going to—
Theo’s sword slices through the monster’s neck, the blade so close Cal feels the breeze on her face.
The ghoul’s head rolls into the weedy grass.
The rest of the ghoul collapses into a heap of sinew and bone, and then her brothers are there, kneeling before her, walls blocking out the horror of the world beyond. Cal grips the bar hard to stop her hands shaking.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Theo’s saying, low and rhythmic.
Apollo rises, hefting his ax, and ambles over to the ghoul’s severed head.
Cal swallows.
“Of course I’m okay,” she says, as Apollo drives the ax down into the monster’s skull. It bursts like a rotting pumpkin under the blade.
Cal doesn’t puke. It feels like a victory.
It feels like a failure.
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
Apollo kneels to collect Cal’s dagger from what’s left of the ghoul’s throat.
“Should have given me a sword,” she mutters as Theo hauls her to her feet.
* * *
Her brothers buzz all the way home.
They’re wound up, riding high in the aftermath of the hunt, and Cal is buzzing, too, but for all the wrong reasons. For missing the third ghoul in the tally, for taking on a dead thing with a five-inch knife and an iron bar, for tripping, for scrambling, for getting twisted up in fear.
Apollo doesn’t give her shit. Theo doesn’t lecture. They don’t chew her out. They don’t say anything about it, and maybe they’re trying to make her feel better, but they don’t. It makes her feel like a kid thrown into time-out, and she spends the whole ride wondering, just like a kid, if they’re going to tell Mom.
She’s waiting for them in the living room. “How did it go?”
And Cal waits for them to rat her out, to say it was fine until they had to save her sorry ass, but Theo just nods, and Apollo grins and says, “Ghouls old fun,” because he can’t resist a shitty pun, and then Mom looks right at Cal, as if she can read the truth in her face, but Cal’s learned that truth is something you don’t just go around showing.
“All good,” she says, the words like a stone in her stomach.
And Mom smiles and goes back to watching her show, and Cal heads for the stairs, her brothers on her heels. She’s at the top when Theo catches her elbow. “You okay?”
It’s all he’s said. It’s all he’ll say.
“Of course,” she says, trying to sound bored as she pulls free, slips into her room.
A few moments later, she can hear the buzz of the tattoo gun down the hall, the laughter her brother uses to cover up pain.
She frees the straps and clasps of the makeshift armor, grimaces when she sees the tear in her favorite jeans. It’s her fault, she should have changed, should have worn something she didn’t care about losing. Cal strips, searching for broken skin, signs of injury, but there’s nothing but a few scrapes, the beginning of a bruise.
Lucky, she thinks.
Fool, she answers, staring down at her hands, the grave dirt lodged deep under her nails. She goes into the bathroom, tries to scrub the cemetery from her skin. The water runs, and in the white noise she replays it all again, scrambling backward over the weedy ground, heart pounding, the fear, the panic, the shock of shoulders hitching up against stone and the urge to throw up her hands, not to fight but to hide, to get away.
Her stomach turns, bile rising in her throat.
The Burns are hunters, and hunters don’t run.
They fight.
Cal’s hands are raw by the time she shuts off the tap.
Her dagger lies discarded on the comforter, and she knows her mother would give her hell for leaving weapons out, so she picks it up, sinks to her knees beside the bed, and draws out the leather chest she keeps beneath. She drops the dagger in among the silver crosses, the needle-thin blades, the collection of wooden stakes.
Cal runs her hand over these, pausing at one on the end, a drum stick sharpened to a wicked point. She lifts it, brushing her thumb over the initials she carved into the wood.
JF.
Juliette Fairmont.
Down the hall, the tattoo gun stops buzzing. The laughter dies away with it, and Calliope spins the wooden stake between her fingers and decides she’s ready to earn her first mark.
II
[Saturday]
There are monsters you can kill from a distance, and there are ones you have to face up close.
Cal tells herself that’s why they’re here, in the closet. Tells herself that’s why she’s tangled up in the other girl’s arms. Why she’s kissing Juliette Fairmont.
Juliette, who is not a girl at all, who is a monster, a target, a danger in the dark.
Jules, who tastes like summer nights and thunderstorms. The crackle of ozone and the promise of rain. It is one of Cal’s favorite things. That’s the idea, she’s sure, the trick. Because it isn’t real; it’s just another way to catch prey.
Which is how Juliette sees her.
Prey.
Remember that, Theo warns.
This is a hunt, adds Apollo.
And she really doesn’t need her brothers’ voices in her head right now, not when Juliette is pressed against her, as warm as any living thing. Her heart pounds, and she tells herself it’s just the high before the kill and not the warmth of the other girl’s mouth or the fact she has dreamed of both these things.
Of killing Juliette.
Of kissing Jules.
And even as her fingers curl around the stake, she wonders what would happen if they stopped here, if they left this closet hand in hand. If they went back to the party. If, if, if. She doesn’t have to do this. It’s not a sanctioned hunt.
Her family will never know.
They can just—what? What is she supposed to do? Take Juliette home for dinner? Introduce her to her family?
No. There is no future here. Not for them.
But there is one for her. One where she gets her first tattoo. Where she earns her place between her brothers. Where her father comes home from his hunt and sees the thin black band below her elbow and knows he doesn’t have to worry anymore.
And then the other girl’s mouth drops to her throat, and there it is, the subtle press of teeth, the bright flash of pain, and Cal’s bones know what to do. She draws the stake and drives the tip between the vampire’s ribs.
She hears the soft, audible gasp of Juliette’s breath catching, and Cal falters. Just for a second, but it’s enough time for the vampire’s hand to fly up, for her fingers to catch the wooden stake.
Juliette pulls back, her mouth open in surprise, and even in the dark, Cal can see teeth.
“Time’s up!” calls a voice, and the door flies open.
They pull apart, a slash of space carved between them by the sudden light, and Juliette’s fangs are gone, and Cal presses the wooden stake back against her forearm, and she does the only thing she can.
She runs.
The room is filled with whoops and cheers as Cal surges out of the closet, past the crowd and into the hall, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Shit, shit, shit.
The first rule of hunting, the one that matters most, is finish what you start. And she didn’t. The one thing she had was the upper hand, the advantage of surprise.
But now Juliette knows.
She knows.
* * *
Jules doesn’t know what just happened.
She squints in the sudden light, but by the time she can see again, Calliope is gone.
Calliope, who just tried to kill her.
She can still feel the wooden tip of the stake between her ribs, the sharpness of it like a rock through the smooth glass of their kiss. The kiss. And just a taste of blood.
And now Cal’s gone, and her sister’s voice drifts through her head.
Never let them get away.
Shit.
Jules strides out of the closet, one hand pressed to her front to hide the tear in her shirt, the other hovering over her mouth even though her fangs have already retreated. The room is filled with whistles and laughs, and beneath the raucous sound, she can hear blood. Blood, pulsing inside them. Blood, pounding like a drum inside her head. Cal’s blood, rushing beneath the surface of her warm skin, so close Jules could taste it, could taste her—
And now she’s getting away.
And she knows Juliette’s secret.
She knows.
“I have to go,” she says, pushing through the group.
“But it’s your turn!” calls Ben.
But Jules doesn’t stop, can’t stop. She’s out the door and in the hall, on the landing, looking down at the wave of students on the first floor, she’s scanning the clustered heads, searching for that cloud of curls, and—
There.
There she is, heading for the front door. She’s got her hand on the knob, one foot across the threshold when she stops and looks back into the house. Juliette grips the wooden rail as the girl’s gaze rises up the stairs and finds hers.
And holds.
And for a moment, the sound of the party drops away, and all she hears is blood. Hers, slow and stubborn, and Cal’s, thundering and quick. For a moment, they are back in the closet, a tangle of lips and limbs, before the whole thing tipped, before kiss became kill.
Cal stares up at her across the gulf of space. Jules stares back, holding her breath, and she knows the other girl is holding hers, too, knows they are both waiting to see who will break, who will move, who will run, who will chase.
Calliope’s mouth pulls into a crooked grin.
And Jules stares back, smiles back, and thinks—
Let the hunt begin.
KISS / MARRY / KILL Or The Villains We Love to Love
Zoraida Córdova & Natalie C. Parker
While not all vampires can claim to be charming (take, for example, the decaying form of the Nosferatu), the romantic allure of vampires is a tale as old as time. They are powerful, dark, dangerous, and while their bite can kill, it can also entrance. They might just be the original bad boys. It’s kind of difficult to imagine building a romantic life with someone who might never age or who might, totally by accident, drink your mom or something like that. Still, romance with vamps is a popular part of the mythology. But as often as we see a romance played out between a vampire and a human, or a vampire and a slayer, it is super rare to find one with a happily ever after. Slayers, like humans, usually come to the relationship with too little power, but here, Victoria is complicating the idea that the vampire is the natural villain by introducing a slayer with a strong family tradition, putting them on equal—and deadly—footing.
What do you think? Who is the real villain: the slayer or the vampire?
Acknowledgments
This anthology wouldn’t be possible without the MVPs of the night: Vampires, who live in the minds, hearts, and imaginations of so many. But they can’t take all the credit. That is why we would also like to thank:
Lara Perkins for being an incredible advocate and agent.
Our editor, Weslie Turner, for sharing our vision for the project and approaching every stage with impeccable grace and insight.
The phenomenal Imprint/Macmillan teams who continue to support this work, including: Erin Stein, Hayley Jozwiak, Kayla M. Overbey, Cynthia Lliguichuzhca, and many more.
Adriana Bellet aka Jeez Vanilla for cover art that exceeded our wildest hopes.
Our authors: Tessa, Dhonielle, Mark, Laura, Julie, Victoria, Samira, Heidi, Rebecca, and Kayla. Your stories are everything we wanted when we set out to put this collection together.
Most importantly, to you, dear reader, for sharing in our love of the undead.
Cheers,
Zoraida & Natalie
About the Authors
SAMIRA AHMED is the New York Times–bestselling author of Love, Hate & Other Filters, Internment, and Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know. Her short stories and poetry have appeared in anthologies including Take the Mic, Color Outside the Lines, Ink Knows No Borders, Who Will Speak for America, This is What a Librarian Looks Like, and Universe of Wishes. A graduate of the University of Chicago, Samira has taught high school English, worked in education nonprofits, and spent time on the road for political campaigns. She was born in Bombay, India, and grew up in Batavia, Illinois, in a house that smelled like fried onions, spices, and potpourri. She has lived in Chicago, New York City, and Kauai, where she spent a year searching for the perfect mango. Visit her online at samiraahmed.com and on Twitter and Instagram @sam_aye_ahm. Samira’s problematic blood-sucking fave is Spike.
DHONIELLE CLAYTON is the coauthor of the Tiny Pretty Things series and the New York Times–bestselling author of The Belles series. She grew up in the Washington, DC, suburbs on the Maryland side and spent most of her time under her grandmother’s table with a stack of books. A former teacher and middle school librarian, Dhonielle is cofounder of CAKE Literary—a creative development company whipping up decidedly diverse books for a wide array of readers—and COO of the nonprofit We Need Diverse Books. She’s got a serious travel bug and loves spending time outside of the USA but makes her home in New York City, where she can most likely be found hunting for the best slice of pizza. Visit her online at dhonielleclayton.com and @brownbookworm on Instagram and Twitter. Dhonielle’s favorite vampire is Count von Count from Sesame Street.
ZORAIDA CÓRDOVA is the author of many fantasy novels for kids and teens, most recently the award-winning Brooklyn Brujas series, Incendiary, and Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge: A Crash of Fate. She is the co-host of the podcast Deadline City. Zoraida was born in Ecuador and raised in Queens, New York. When she isn’t working on her next novel, she’s planning a new adventure. Visit her online at zoraidacordova.com. Her favorite vampire will forever be Angel … but Damon Salvatore is a close second. Sign up for email updates here.
TESSA GRATTON is the author of adult science fiction and fantasy novels The Queens of Innis Lear and Lady Hotspur, as well as several young adult series and short stories which have been translated into twenty-two languages. Her most recent YA books are the original fairy tale Strange Grace and Night Shine. Though she’s lived all over the world, she currently resides at the edge of the prairie with her wife. Visit her online at tessagratton.com. Tessa’s favorite vampire is Gilda, from The Gilda Stories by Jewelle Gomez. Sign up for email updates here.
HEIDI HEILIG is the author of the acclaimed Girl From Everywhere series, as well as the Shadow Players series. Her books have made the Indies Next List and both the Andre Norton and Locus Recommended Reading lists and she has a past life as a musical theatre writer. Visit her online at heidiheilig.com or on Twitter @heidiheilig. Heidi’s favorite vampire is the Titular character in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
JULIE MURPHY lives in North Texas with her husband, who loves her, her dog, who adores her, and her cat, who tolerates her. After several wonderful years in the library world, Julie now writes full time. When she’s not writing or reliving her reference desk glory days, she can be found watching made-for-TV movies, hunting for the perfect slice of cheese pizza, and planning her next great travel adventure. She is the author of Side Effects May Vary, Ramona Blue, Dear Sweet Pea, Faith Taking Flight, Puddin’, and Dumplin’, which was adapted into a film on Netflix. You can visit Julie online at imjuliemurphy.com. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram as @andimjulie. Julie’s favorite vampire is Edward Cullen and she’s not even a little bit ashamed.
MARK OSHIRO is the award-winning author of Anger Is a Gift and Each of Us a Desert. When not writing, editing, or traveling, they run the online Mark Does Stuff universe and are trying to pet every dog in the world. You can visit them online at markoshiro.com or @MarkDoesStuff on both Twitter and Instagram. Mark’s favorite vampires are Blade and Angel. Sign up for email updates here.
NATALIE C. PARKER is the author and editor of several books for young adults including the acclaimed Seafire trilogy. Her work has been included on the NPR Best Books list, the Indies Next List, and the TAYSHAS Reading List, and in Junior Library Guild selections. Natalie grew up in a Navy family, finding home in coastal cities from Virginia to Japan. Now she lives with her wife on the Kansas prairie. Find her online at nataliecparker.com. Her vampire queen is Caroline Forbes. Sign up for email updates here.
REBECCA ROANHORSE is a New York Times–bestselling author and winner of the Hugo, Nebula, Locus, and Astounding awards. Her novels include Trail of Lightning, Storm of Locusts, Star Wars: Resistance Reborn, and the middle grade novel Race to the Sun. Her latest adult novel, Black Sun, comes out Fall 2020. Her young adult short fiction can be found in Hungry Hearts, A Phoenix First Must Burn, and A Universe of Wishes. She lives in northern New Mexico with her husband and daughter. Find her online at rebeccaroanhorse.com or on Twitter @RoanhorseBex. Rebecca’s favorite vampire is Jean-Claude from the Anita Black: Vampire Hunter series, but the Blood River Boys are an ode to her teenage faves, Michael and David from The Lost Boys.
