Drink, Slay, Love

Chapter Five

On the roof of her house, Pearl drank in the sunset. She watched the light paint the sky colors she'd never known existed. As the sun dipped lower, it darkened to a burnt orange, and the clouds around it were streaked with rose and purple. Above her a few stars poked through as if someone had pricked the blue with a needle and caused it to bleed light.

She'd spent the day outside. She'd lain on park benches, wandered into stores that were closed at night, and watched the humans scurry about like (tasty) squirrels. In the backyard of a random house, she had kicked off her boots and walked through the empty flower beds. The sun had warmed the dirt in a way that the moon never did, and she could feel the tips of bulbs, waiting to burst out of the earth, as full of promise as a freshly risen vampire. It had been a marvelous day.

As the sun melted behind the hills and trees, Pearl felt a lump in her throat like a clot of cotton. Her eyes itched. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and she noticed a streak of blood decorated her skin. She stared at her blood tear for a moment, the tear of a vampire.

"Seriously?" she said out loud. She was all choked up over the sunset? She was a vampire, a nightwalker. She shouldn't mourn the end of day. It had been nice. It had been fun. It had been kind of pretty. But her kind ruled the night.

Right now, though, she didn't feel like ruling anything. She felt exhausted down to the marrow of her bones. As the last drop of sun disappeared, she slipped down the roof tiles, hopped off the porch roof, and let herself inside.

The house was silent.

Slipping into the hall closet, she unlocked the seven locks on the hidden door. She tiptoed down the stairs into the catacombs beneath. In the underground chambers, she heard the Family stirring as they woke for the night-a door squeaked, voices murmured, Cousin Jeremiah crooned in half Latin and half gibberish. Pearl let herself into her bedroom and collapsed on her bed. She'd rest a little, she told herself, and then she would tell everyone about her discovery.

She was asleep in an instant.

She snapped awake when her door clicked open. Lit by the hall light, Cousin Antoinette drifted into Pearl's bedroom and peered down at Pearl. Antoinette had styled her hair like Cyndi Lauper, circa 1984, and she wore neon-red lipstick and yellow eye shadow.

"Congratulations," Pearl told her. "You have now instilled in me a fear of being woken by a deranged clown."

"You skipped lessons," Antoinette said. "It's nearly dawn. You are so dead, pun totally intended. Your mother wants you upstairs."

Pearl shot up to sitting. She tossed off the sheets and was out the door before Antoinette could issue any comments on Pearl's rumpled clothes or the fact that she'd slept in her boots. As she mounted the stairs toward the main house, she dragged her fingers through her hair until she'd smoothed it straight.

Catching up behind her, Antoinette chattered cheerfully about the plans for the Fealty Ceremony. Daddy had lined up a source for night-blooming flowers. Aunt Rose intended to embroider every tablecloth with gold thread. No one had a lead yet on a feast for the king and his guards, which was a worry.

Reaching the upstairs living room, Pearl halted in the doorway.

Ever the master of the obvious, Antoinette proclaimed, "Found her!"

Mother rose from her chair. "Go to bed, Antoinette. It is nearly dawn."

Antoinette fled back downstairs.

For a moment, caught in Mother's gaze, Pearl was frozen. Her voice locked in her throat, and her muscles tightened into knots of rope that wouldn't unwind.