Fang Girl Read online

  “That’s what these are for.” Mum patted the stack of history books. “Here, I’ve prepared a list for you.”

  I took the clipboard she handed me and leafed through the papers dubiously. “What is this, an undergrad French history exam?”

  “Exactly,” Mum said in triumph. “So we can find out if this Ebon really is who he claims to be. You can subtly work questions into normal conversation.”

  Yes, I could just see myself ever so casually asking Ebon to explain the composition of the États-Généraux in under two thousand words. He’d never suspect a thing. “Why don’t you do this?”

  “I tried while you were getting dressed. He’s able to turn any inquiry into vague small talk about the weather.” Mum glared at the books, as though they had somehow failed her. “I think he might be under orders to only talk to you.”

  “I’ll … be there in a minute.” I turned back to my pale and slightly worried-looking reflection. “I just need to redo my hair.”

  “Xanthe.” Mum took the hairbrush out of my hand. “You look very nice already. Stop fussing.” She paused, studying me in the mirror. “Is that why you’ve been hiding up here? Worrying about how you appear to him?” Her voice fell into familiar lecturing tones. “Now, Xanthe, you know that’s a culturally indoctrinated neurosis imposed by patriarchal—”

  “God, Mum! Sorry if I want to make a good impression on the only boy of my own species I know!”

  “I’m sure he likes you very much,” Mum said soothingly—then her tone sharpened. “He hasn’t said that he likes you very much, has he?”

  “Muuuum! No!”

  “Good,” she said, relieved. “So there’s no need for anyone to be anxious, is there? All you have to do is talk to him. Find out who he is.”

  I fidgeted with my lip gloss, looking down. There was no way that I could tell Mum that I already knew exactly who Ebon was. It was obvious.

  Three words:

  My.

  Soul.

  Mate.

  All the signs pointed to it. He was the first vampire I’d ever met. He’d saved me from certain death, kind of. He had unlikely hair, an exotic history, an unbelievably sexy accent, and, for God’s sake, leather trousers. It was inevitable. I was going to go down there and fall madly in love.

  This sucked.

  I had enough trouble with the mysterious sire who might or might not be an ancient demon, the Viking vampire who might or might not run an evil empire, the zealots who might or might not be out to kill me, and the family who absolutely, definitely, would weird out and do something totally embarrassing in front of my fellow vampires at some point. Not to mention the werecat and his van-driving friend, probably lurking behind the hedges even now. I totally did not need to add eternal love to my towering stack of problems. Sure, it was likely to all come out okay in the end, but there were bound to be misunderstandings and fights and long brooding fits punctuated by fiery glances. And I’d probably find myself gazing longingly at him when I should be scanning the treetops for paper-clip-wielding maniacs.

  “Xanthe?” Mum touched my elbow. “What are you worried about?”

  “Nothing.” Ebon probably wouldn’t even like me until something suitably dramatic happened to make him realize his true feelings. I squared my shoulders. “Guess there’s no point delaying it.”

  “It’s a conversation, not an execution, Xanthe.” My mum studied my face, and her own softened. “You really are nervous, aren’t you? Xanthe, let’s talk about this. I’ve been a teenage girl”—this, I felt, was extremely unlikely—“and I remember what it was like. You can share your concerns with me. I’ve gone through the exact same thing.”

  “What, having to subtly interrogate an ancient, undead French aristocrat who may or may not be telling the truth?”

  “I’ve had to talk to boys at parties. Now”—taking hold of my shoulders, she steered me to my chair, and sat down opposite me on the bed—“tell me all about it. Don’t worry about the vampire for a moment. Your father and brother are keeping him occupied—”

  “WHAT?” I went from seated to fully vertical in under a nanosecond. “You’re letting Zack talk to Ebon?”

  She blinked up at me. “Ye—”

  I was out the door and halfway down the stairs before she’d finished the word. This was an utter disaster! I’d had to publicly disown Zack in eight different schools, and half the time he’d still managed to get me thrown out of the cool cliques. Even now, his weirdness could have driven Ebon out of the nearest window. Zack could be showing Ebon his collection of goggles. He could be expounding on his latest comic book obsession. He could be—oh my God—talking about me.

  I burst through the door to the living room, smashing it off its hinges in my haste. Ebon leaped from his seat at the noise. In one fluid motion, he whirled to face me, dropping into a combat crouch with fangs bared and weapon raised, ready to strike.

  It would have been a lot more impressive if he hadn’t been threatening me with a wireless gamepad.

  “Hey, Janie,” Zack said, taking advantage of Ebon’s distraction to pummel the vampire’s in-game avatar. CRITICAL HIT!!!! flashed across the TV screen in excited red letters. “You want to play next?”

  “Good evening, Xanthe.” Dad was standing behind Ebon’s now empty chair. “Do door handles offend your vampiric sensibilities now?”

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “Uh, Dad? What are you doing with that paintbrush?”

  “What? Oh.” Dad looked down as if only just noticing he was carrying a two-foot-long camel-hair brush. “I was, uh—”

  “Never mind.” I’d just spotted the way that he’d carved one end of the wood into a point. I hoped Ebon hadn’t realized my dad was threatening him with art supplies. “Er, hi, Ebon.” I narrowed my eyes at my brother. “Zack hasn’t been boring you, has he?”

  Ebon dropped the controller as if it were a live spider. His ears were bright red, but he swept an elegant bow in my direction. “Your brother is most charming,” he said, thus convincing me that he could lie really well when it suited him. “He has been kind enough to entertain me while we awaited the gift of your presence.”

  “He’s really good, Janie. He didn’t know this game, but he picked up all the special moves right away.” Zack paused the game and swiveled round in his chair. “Hey, Ebon, is that a vampire thing? To go with the superspeed and stuff?”

  “Ah, not precisely.” Ebon hesitated, glancing sideways at me. “But I am over two hundred years old, after all.” There was a glint of wicked secrets in his ice-blue eyes. “I have acquired a great variety of skills over the centuries.”

  The way his French accent caressed the rolling r’s made it clear that most of those skills did not involve pressing buttons. At least, not on controllers. Oh God, I did not just think that. I tore my eyes away from him, embarrassment sweeping over me from head to toe.

  “I guess you must have played everything since …” Zack was evidently searching his mind for something suitably prehistoric. “Doom. D’you remember, like, floppy disks?”

  Ebon’s white-blond eyebrows rose. “My young friend,” he said, sounding genuinely amused, “the first computer I ever saw was made out of clockwork. I was utterly astounded when Mr. Babbage made it multiply two numbers together.”

  “Oh, great,” I groaned as Zack’s eyes went as round as steampunk goggles. “Ebon, you are really going to regret letting him know that you met actual Victorians.” Zack was already out of his chair, drawn irresistibly toward Ebon like a small and badly dressed history-seeking missile. I grabbed him, lifting him into the air. “Oh, no you don’t. We’ve got to discuss vamp stuff, not gaslight fashions. Out!”

  “But …” Zack’s feet pedaled at the air as I swept him away. “Babbage … difference engine … gears …”

  “I said ‘out’!” I kicked him out the door, glaring until he reluctantly set off for his room. “And no eavesdropping!” I shouted after him, then turned back to Ebon and Dad. “We do have vampire st
uff to talk about, right?”

  “Indeed.” Ebon hesitated, looking at Dad. “Ah, monsieur, I do not wish to appear ungracious after you have so kindly invited me into your own home, but there are private matters of the Blood I must discuss with Xanthe.”

  “Well …” Dad looked reluctant, as I made “go away” motions at him from behind Ebon’s back. “All right. I’ll be in my studio, sharpening some brushes—I mean pencils. Shout if you need me.”

  That left me alone in the living room with a blond, sharp-cheekboned, spiky-haired vampire wearing leather and velvet. Every word I’d ever learned drained out of my brain. “Uh,” I said. “So.”

  “So,” he said, his voice smoldering like the heart of a banked fire.

  This was immensely unhelpful, in terms of unsticking my tongue from the roof of my mouth. I shifted my weight, staring down at the carpet. My hands felt two sizes too big, flopping on the ends of my arms like dead fish. We were alone. He was a boy vampire. I was a girl. According to my novels, now we would gaze soulfully into each other’s eyes and discover an irresistible life-bond connection, possibly accompanied by hot yet chaste psychic sex.

  I risked a tentative glance into Ebon’s eyes, and discovered that he was gazing at me so soulfully it would have put a basset hound to shame. Oh, wonderful.

  “Uh … so,” I tried again.

  “So,” he murmured. “Here we are.” His head tilted to one side slightly, exposing the long masculine line of his neck, and his voice dropped into a deep, intimate murmur. “Ma chérie, there is … something about you. Something different from anyone I have ever met. It is … strange. As if there is some deep connection between us, even though we come from different Bloodlines. Do you also feel it?”

  Unless the mystic bond he was referring to felt identical to total, utter, stomach-clenching embarrassment, no. “Uh, let’s talk about, um, vampire hunters!” I squeaked, backing up and running into the wall. “They’re still lurking around, right?”

  “They will not attack while I am here,” Ebon said with utter confidence. “They have reason to fear my name.” A shadow crossed his face, as if he was remembering dark and terrible deeds. “I did not always have the control I do now.” He turned away, staring moodily out the window at the front garden. “The beast I must constantly battle, the bloodlust …” He trailed off, lost in angst-filled contemplation of his inner pain, or possibly the rhododendrons.

  “Okaaaaay.” I surreptitiously edged around to put the coffee table between me and the admitted schizoid psycho. “What about Lilith, then?”

  Ebon resurfaced from whatever depths he’d been plumbing. “Indeed, she is a greater threat. Many of Hakon’s Bloodline are endeavoring to ensure she cannot reach you, but she is as subtle as a snake. She will eventually evade them and return to claim you. Unless …” Without warning, Ebon closed the space between us with two long strides, suddenly so close I could have felt his body heat, if he’d had any. “Ma chérie, are you brave?”

  “No!” My shoulder blades were practically digging through the wall as I attempted to avoid contact with his chest. If he proposed some sort of psychic bonding, the wall wasn’t going to stop me. “And for God’s sake, get out of my face! Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?”

  Ebon took a sharp step back, caught his ankle against the coffee table, and went sprawling. Piles of books cascaded after him.

  “Ack!” I dropped to my knees, grabbing for scattered books. I’d restored three to the table before it occurred to me I should probably be more worried about my flattened vampiric bodyguard. “Um, are you okay?”

  “Fine!” Brick red and much less Byronic, he scrambled up and started to help me restore order to the table. “My apologies,” he muttered, looking utterly mortified. “My intentions—that is, I did not—”

  “Uh, Ebon?” I interrupted, distracted by the way he’d moved two books that I’d just put down. “What are you doing?”

  He looked down at the stacks on the table, as if only just noticing how he was sorting them. “Oh. As I’m sure you’ve discovered, we of the Blood can be a touch—ah, obsessive, about items being arranged precisely to our liking.”

  “Yeah, but look, I already made a pile for small leather-bound books.” I pointed at my stack. “See?”

  He coughed, sounding embarrassed. “Small leather-bound books with an odd number of letters in the title.” He gestured apologetically at the stack he’d started. “Small leather-bound books with an even number of letters in the title.”

  I stared at him. “You have got to be joking.”

  “I’m older than you. I’m afraid the tendency strengthens with age.” He restored the last book to the table and sat back on his heels, clasping his hands together. “Many of the Elders have such exquisitely refined taste, they can’t enter other people’s houses. It’s not that they can’t come in without being invited—it’s simply that, if they do, they are overcome by the desire to clean up.”

  “Huh.” I leaned back against the sofa. Ebon was somehow much less intimidating, now that I’d seen him flat on his back under an avalanche of vampire romances. “What was that you were saying about being brave?”

  “Uh …” Ebon looked as if he was trying to find his place in a script again. “Oh yes.” He cleared his throat. “It is dangerous, but there is a way we can hunt down Lilith, if you are willing to learn the powers of the Bloodline. For you—and you alone—have a direct connection to her.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, I know, she can spy on me.” I wondered what Lilith was making of all this, if she was listening in. “How does that help?”

  “That bond is a two-way path.”

  I sat bolt upright. “You mean I can look through her eyes? And sense where she is?”

  Ebon hesitated. “You should not attempt to link with her senses yet—not only is it considerably more difficult, it could be highly dangerous. I fear that should you open more fully to her than you already are, she could strengthen her unholy link with you and enslave you to her own twisted desires.”

  I remembered how reasonable and persuasive Lily had sounded. “Right. Let’s not do that. What can I do safely?”

  “I can teach you to master the other power, of feeling her direction through the pull of the Bloodline. She cannot hide from you, any more than you can conceal yourself from her.”

  “Holy sh— uh, I mean, wow.” Lily hadn’t bothered to mention that. “Is it hard? How does it work?”

  “The Bloodline is like a river, in which we exist as naturally as fish.” Ebon’s long, pale hands swam through the air in demonstration. “You will find that there is a current to the Bloodline, which flows from sire to childe. A sire may reach downstream to all of his descendants, though with more distant generations the power of the Bloodline is spread out and weaker—he can still use their senses, but for less time, and he cannot precisely sense their location.” Ebon splayed his fingers out like a branching stream, then closed them again. “But with his direct children, the connections are sufficiently strong and focused that he may use it to tell which direction they are from him. Likewise, a vampire can reach upstream, against the current of the Bloodline, to his direct sire—though no higher, as the force of the Bloodline is simply too strong to battle upstream to one’s sire’s sire.” Ebon raised one finger. “As Lilith’s only direct descendant, you and you alone possess the power to locate her. I can teach you now, if you are ready.”

  “Hey, it’s not like I had anything else planned. Let’s do it. Um, what am I supposed to do?”

  “It is like listening to the beat of your heart.” His voice lowered, rich and hypnotic. “Except that rather than feeling the tides of ordinary blood, you attune yourself to the gentler call of Blood.” I still couldn’t work out how he could say the capitalization. “But you must be careful not to allow yourself to be swept away. Center yourself firmly in your own body, then look inward, and feel the beat of Lilith’s heart sustaining you, flowing into your veins. Then, simply t
urn in the direction of the current.”

  Feeling a bit stupid, and uncomfortably aware of Ebon watching me, I shut my eyes. Without breath or heartbeat, my body felt like an empty cathedral; a vast, silent space, in which even the tiniest sound would echo like thunder. I tried to let my mind expand to fill that expectant void, attuned for the slightest motion.

  When we’d lived in a flat, I’d sometimes find myself humming a song under my breath for no apparent reason, only to realize that the music was coming through the wall, from one of our neighbors—too quiet to hear unless you were listening for it, but loud enough for my subconscious to have picked it up. The Bloodline was like that. With my mind turned inward, I could feel something running underneath my own senses. There was the echo of a pulse fluttering in my still chest, the sensation of air expanding my unmoving lungs. Flashes of color sparked behind my closed eyelids, streaking together like an Impressionist painting. And beneath it all, the tide of my blood ran like a river, stretching out beyond the confines of my skin.

  One current seemed to be flowing inward, into my veins, just as Ebon had said. But there was also something else....

  “What do you feel?” A strange hint of excitement edged Ebon’s whisper. I peeked at him from under lowered eyelids. His body was taut, poised to catch my next words.

  What was it Lily had said? Your Bloodline isn’t normal.... And if Hakon knew, you’d already be dead.