The Last Corvus (completed)

Ch. 4 Isadora

Chapter 4

Isadora

Linden and I are now walking down Thirty-ninth towards my soon-to-be former house. As we're walking we pass one of my favorite boutiques and I drool over an amazing floor-length black halter dress in the window.

A meaty smell assails my nose and my stomach growls ferociously. "Want a hotdog?" he asks, evidently having heard my stomach growl. How could he have heard it from so far away? Oh, right, vampire. Maybe he has super-hearing or something.

He's wearing contacts today, probably meant to not freak anyone out. With the green from the contacts mixed with the red of his eyes, his eyes take on a murky brown color. It's kind of what I'd imagine looking up from the bottom of a lake would look like. And just like the lake, his eyes make me breathless.

Ah! No! Mentally slapping myself, I silently repeat the mantra "he is a vampire. I would never like him. He is a vampire. I would never like him." So far it hasn't been working, but hopefully my mind will eventually get the memo.

He leads me past a hotdog stand, and then another. When I start to object he tells me of a better one down the street. How would he know that? Does he stake out food vendors for victims? No, don't think about that.

Taking a bite once I get my dog, I spot an alley to our right and remember that it's a shortcut to my neighborhood. Turning down it, I hear Linden behind me. Looking at the graffiti-covered walls and overflowing trashcans, one of which I throw my napkin into, it just serves as an eery reminded of when Linden and I first met.

I steal a glance over my shoulder, and see him looking at every shadow and movement speculatively, as if something might jump out at any second. Which, given my track record, anything could.

I feel strangely comforted by Linden's presence, somehow knowing he wouldn't hurt me. I know I should be afraid, be running away from him screaming- but he seems good enough, aside from the bloodsucking fangedness.

"Do you have fangs?" I ask, suddenly curious and shy.

"Yes, when I want to," he says with a small chuckle.

Rummaging around in my pocket, I accidentally manage to cut my finger on my house key. Bringing my bleeding finger to my lips I hear him stop walking. Turning to see what the matter is, I see Linden staring at my still- bleeding finger with a slightly hungry expression.

Oh, no. Are you kidding me?! Of all the places to accidentally make yourself bleed, being in the middle of an alley with a vampire would probably rank higher in the bad-o-meter than 'swimming in shark infested waters.' And, in hindsight, the fact that I even mentioned his fangs was a HUGE mistake.

Before my eyes his lower lip is pushed down as points of white appear. His fangs! By what I can see of them they're about the length of my middle toe; and obviously lethal. As he takes a deliberate step forward I steal a look behind me and discover the alley is longer than I remember and that we're now only about halfway through.

There aren't any side doors or windows I could run to, no one passing by the alley that could help me; it's just me and Linden. I start to panic and once again find myself backing towards the nearest wall. My hand touches it and sinks into the disgusting slimy coarseness that reminds me of sand covered in glue.

"No! Please stop! Please, no!" Now only a foot in front of me, he looks around, momentarily confused, for the owner of the voice. His fangs retract and he returns to normal.

He spots me cowering against the wall and suddenly looks embarrassed. He heard me! Not completely sure I didn't say it out loud; I try to "send" another message. "Hello?" Linden's eyes grow wide and he doesn't notice when he slips in a puddle and falls back, landing with a hard "oof!"

Collecting himself instantly, he whispers, "do that again."

"Hello," I think and he steps backward, directly back into the puddle. "Stop!" I reach for his hand and a little electric charge passes through me.

"How did you do that?"

I giggle unexpectedly, seeing the confused look on his face. "I don't know," I answer the unspoken question he doesn't even seem to realize he asked.

"How did you know what I was about to ask?"

"You asked me," I say, like, duh! We both look at our clasped hands and I'm assailed by a warm, bubbly feeling that seems to say "oh, how cute." Blushing deeply, I let go of his hand and look up at his face. He does the same and quickly looks away shyly.

Okaaaay, that wasn't weird at all. Holding the hand of the guy who might have just tried to eat me, and being (relatively) okay with it, blows my mind. Deeming the unexpected threat over, I turn and continue down the alley, my knees shaking slightly from the shock of the ordeal. A few seconds pass before I hear his quiet footfalls behind me.

Reaching the sidewalk, I instinctively turn right. Before us stands the too-pink monstrosity of my Aunt's house. I remember the day a few years ago when she got so sick of the white and beige of the neighborhood... she spent the whole day painting the entire house. It wouldn't have been that bad if she hadn't used the colors that she did: dark Pepto-Bismol for the walls and neon yellow for the shutters and trim. I've never gotten around to repainting after her death, and I doubt I would anyway; it reminds me too much of her spontaneity.

Now that I'm moving away I'll miss this house, even with all of its hideousness, because it was one of the few things my aunt ever gave me.