Seven Minutes to Midnight

10

Frank turned his back to the scene, and I could see how jealous he was. I guess he is gay, I thought to myself. In the dim light of the candles, I could see how intensely Veronica was enthralled with this new guy.

"Yes," she breathed.

"Might you remove your necklace? I cannot abide by crosses."

With shaking hands she undid the clasp and her ornate cross slipped into her lap. I fingered the smaller cross that I wore, thankful for the protection.

Of course I did not really believe that this new kid, Lane Delora, was a vampire. That would be ridiculous, right? He was a damn good actor, and had a trunk full of charisma to boot. The fact that Lane was unbelievably good looking didn't hurt. However, I watched closely, to see how exactly he would prove his state of undead.

As when Lane touched Veronica's face before, I felt his lips on my own neck when he bent over Veronica's. I waited for her to cry out that he was biting her. She didn't. She simply let her head fall back, her eyes glazed over and lids lowered in a state of euphoria that I didn't feel.

I clapped my hand over that spot on my neck, trying to rub away the pleasant buzzing sensation I was feeling. A glance at Frank told me he was trying to do the same thing.

I didn't see any blood, but of course it was dark and Lane's head obscured my view of Veronica's neck. After Lane drew away, his lips a slightly darker shade of pink than before, therewas still no blood.

Then I saw it. Letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my whole body relaxed. The "proof" of Lane's vampire status was a huge hickey on Veronica's neck.

I was both disappointed, and relieved. The disappointment was expected. For years all my fantasies had involved vampires, and imagining I was a vampire and what my powers would be should I become a vampire. The arrival of this beautiful stranger had given me a glimpse of hope toward that future.

The relief I attributed to my affection for Veronica. If Lane had been a real vampire, and he was drinking Veronica's blood, it would mean that Veronica was either going to die, or become his zombie-like food source—a cow, for lack of a better term. Or, that he had chosen her to turn into a vampire first. Even if she was the second, and Frank had been first, that meant I would be last.

It was just a hickey, a game, but Veronica melted down, still moaning. Or maybe she was playing along. As far as I knew, she, like me, had never been kissed, but I suspected that a kiss wasn't as great as all that.

Lane wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at me, then Frank, whose back was still turned.

"Come now, Francis," he said. "You know we need more members of the coven."

"You enjoyed that too much," Frank said. His voice trembled.

"Perhaps. You have not yet learned the pleasure of the blood." With that slightly smile he said, "You are still a virgin."

Then Lane turned to me. "See? Is this not more fun than talking about characters from books?"

"It's definitely more interesting," I stated. I felt like I was watching a play, perhaps from the Theatre des Vampires.

"You'll get your turn," Lane said in a mock French accent, and I blinked and flinched back. How could he have known what I was thinking? The line was an exact imitation of the Theatre des Vampires scene in Interview with the Vampire.

"We shall all play," Lane said, opening his arms wide. "Francis, come to me."

Though Frank had continued to stand with his back turned, he shuddered, then moved quietly to Lane's side. "Will you help me to explain the ideas we discussed?"

Frank nodded.

"I find your vampire game very cute," Lane began.

Immediately my face burned. I imagined he was referring to the epic transcripts of our games I had created and occasionally bound—I took a book-making class last year as an elective, and Frank knew how to tool leather, so our books looked quite authentic. Especially after we aged the pages, and I adorned some of them like illuminated manuscripts.

"But vampires are more than attractive beings who haunt the night with superpowers. We are embodiments of fear. If you wish to masquerade as vampires, you must invoke fear. Hiding here in the cemetery does not make anyone afraid, unless they are to discover you."

"And how do you propose we invoke fear?" I demanded. My monotone made this question sound slightly threatening. My pride had been wounded.

Lane smiled and I could practically hear him thinking, She's angry. How cute. I wanted to bash him over the head with a rock.

"What I mean, simply put, is that your 'role-playing' should not be hidden away here in the dark. When you roam the halls of your school, you should strive to make your fellow classmates believe that you are a vampire. Much as you question whether I could possibly be a vampire."

"But they know we aren't vampires," I said. "And we know you aren't a vampire."

"As you wish." Lane performed a little bow.

"You are completely infuriating!" I exclaimed. Frank looked at me with mild surprise. "Look, we know you aren't a vampire. Can you stop pretending for, like, two seconds?"

"That is the whole point, Amy, love." Lane took a step toward me. "Never stop pretending. That is how you will convince the sheep. After all, the other students, they exist for our nourishment only. We have no need for them otherwise. We are the wolves among them." He looked off into the dark trees. "Although—I have no love for wolves. It is an excellent metaphor, however."

I squinted into the forest, thought I saw a pair of green eyes watching—then blinked and realized it was only the twin imprint of the candles which had burned into my corneas.

"Okay, so we need to pretend all the time that we're vampires. Do we start telling people we're hundreds of years old and drink blood for lunch? I don't think people notice us that much, or talk to us at all. And how do we explain going to school during the day?"

"I wouldn't ask you to lie," Lane said. "You should not say that you are hundreds of years old when you are not. You might, however, indicate that you are a new vampire. Francis?"

Frank pulled out a small notebook from an inside pocket of his trench coat. "We can wear sunscreen, even on cloudy days. Like put it on at our lockers. The vampires in Blade did that."

"This will also make you naturally pale," Lane added.

"And we could wear sunglasses during the day. We can also recoil from anyone wearing things like crosses or the Star of David, anything religious. And running water. And we can drink red juice at lunch."

Lane smirked at the last suggestion. "Anything strange you might hear about, persons missing, animals killed, respond as though you might have had something do with it. Of course I do not mean that you should confess to the crime—merely that you might suggest. A statement such as, 'I was quite thirsty last night,' after someone has told you their dog died will have quite a strong impact."

I began to be convinced that this might be fun.