Bleeding Out (6 page)

I take the SkyTrain home to Commercial Drive. When
I walk in, I smell chicken curry. I put down my purse and walk into the kitchen. To my surprise, it’s not Derrick cooking, but Mia. She’s even wearing an apron.

“Hey. That smells incredible.”

“Thanks. It’s my first venture into curries, so please, lower your standards. Derrick and Miles should be here in half an hour.”

“Patrick?”

“Out somewhere. Which is annoying, because he was supposed to buy raisins, but instead he bailed and I had to walk down to Norman’s Fruit Salad to get some.”

“How can I help?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

“Yeah.” I smile. “I can see that.”

“How was non-work?”

“It was—weird.”

“How’s
Lucian
?”

“Why are you saying his name that way?”

“Because you obviously stayed at his place last night.”

“He’s fine. We’re fine.”

She turns to look at me. She’s holding a plastic spoon. Her hair is tied back, and it looks like she could conquer the world. My kid. Only, she’s not my kid anymore, if she ever was. In a few months she’ll be in college. I don’t want her to recede. I want her to stay just like this, funny, angelic, armed.

“You guys are amazing,” she says.

“Are we?”

“You’re such a power couple. I love you both.”

“We love you back.”

“Sit down, Tess. Relax. Prepare yourself for a taste experience. It may end in ordering pizza, but at this point, it’s still promising.”

“That’s my favorite time,” I murmur, taking a seat.

When I was a little girl, I had a stuffed pig that I
used to pretend was my sister. I named her Judy. Once, my mother asked me what Judy’s voice sounded like, and I replied with confidence: “Medium-high.” To this day, I don’t know what I meant, but I do know that I took Judy everywhere. She and I would have long conversations about whatever I held dear at the moment. As an only child, I had no idea of what siblings actually discussed in the intimacy of their shared bedrooms. Whenever I was invited to a sleepover, I would ask my friends questions about their brothers and sisters. What did they look like? What games did they play? What was the pitch of their voices? I must have been annoying, but at the time,
I felt like a journalist. If I had a real sister, would she be just like me, or would she be my antipode?

As it turns out, I do have a sister, but I hope that we’re nothing alike.

I hear keys in the front door. A moment later, Derrick and Miles enter the kitchen, with Lucian in tow. He sees me and smiles sheepishly.

“We ran into each other at the grocery store,” he says.

Derrick is already cramming things into the fridge. “He was about to buy frozen Thai food. I couldn’t just leave him like that.”

“Makes sense,” I say. “Friends don’t let friends eat frozen entrées.”

He sits down next to me. “I’m stoked about curry.”

“I’ll tell you what I just told Tess,” Mia says. “Don’t get your stokes up. This could suck.”

“Fine. Stoke disengaged. I have no feelings about curry.”

“That’s better.”

Derrick opens a bottle of wine. By the time dinner is ready, we’ve moved on to a second bottle, and I’m starting to feel a bit more philosophical about my day. Sure, it’s possible that the story of my birth is an enormous lie. Why not just add it to the pile? Everybody lies. If we didn’t, talking would be unbearable.

Mia serves the curry, which is stellar. We’re about halfway through the second bottle of Shiraz when I hear the front door. Patrick walks into the kitchen.

“You’re home early,” Mia says.

“Yeah.” He has a weird smile. “Tonight’s business didn’t take as long as I thought it would. Dinner smells awesome.”

“There’s a plate for you in the fridge.”

Patrick grabs his portion and sits down across from me. His eyes are strangely cloudy, and I can smell something familiar on his skin. It’s almost—

“Have you been drinking?” I ask.

“No. I drove here.”

“I wasn’t talking about alcohol.”

“Tess—” Mia begins.

I shake my head. “You’re completely juiced.”

“I am not.”

“Patrick, your eyes are practically red.”

Anger flashes across his face. “What does it matter?”

“It matters because I can smell the blood on you.”

He stands up. “
God
. Why do you always have to stigmatize me? I drink blood. I’m a fucking vampire, Tess.”

“Watch your language.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of monster. I can smell the materia on you, but I don’t make you feel like shit about it. Why are you always getting on my case about something that I can’t control?”

“I’m only asking you to show a little restraint. When you come to dinner all blissed out on heme, it’s like—”

“What? Like I really am a demon who drinks blood to survive? Or would you prefer that I keep that part of my life a secret?”

“I’m not saying that—”

“Both of you knock it off,” Mia snaps. “Patrick, sit down. I cooked, and we’re going to have a normal, insult-free dinner.”

Patrick looks at me expectantly.

I sigh. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being a hypocrite.”

“And a necrophobe.”

“I’m dating a necromancer. How can I be necrophobic?”

Lucian glares at me. “That’s like saying you can’t possibly be racist because you’re dating a person of color.”

“Sorry. Please don’t ask me to read Gloria Anzaldúa again.”

“I swear,” Mia says, “if you don’t shut up and eat this food that I lovingly prepared, I will kill each and every one of you.”

I reach across the table and take Patrick’s hand. “Darling. I’m sorry. There’s no part of you that I don’t love.”

“I could do without his morning farts,” Mia says beneath her breath.

I kiss his fingers. “I even love those.”

Miles makes a face. “Can we change the subject?”

“Absolutely.” Derrick refills his glass. “Any suggestions?”

Lucian grins. “How about first loves?”

I stare at him. “You really want to go there?”

“I prefer discoursing on love to talking about vampire farts.”

“Fine. You first, then. Who was your first love?”

“You.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Language,” Patrick says. But he’s smiling.

I shake my head. “Dude, you’ve been alive since before the Spanish Civil War. You’ve had way more experiences than I have. You expect me to believe that you never fell in love with a single person before we met?”

He shrugs. “I’ve loved people. I’ve been attracted to people. But it was all shadowboxing. You’re my main event. You’re what matters.”

I don’t know what to say. Everyone’s staring at us. I’m afraid I might throw up or start crying. Possibly both.

“I’m your boxing metaphor?” I whisper.

“You’re my beloved.”

He kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you wish you weren’t in a room surrounded by your family. I blush.

“Great,” Derrick says. “Someone’s supposed to top that?”

I grin. “Go ahead. I know exactly what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, do you?”

“I think I do.”

He sighs. “Man. You do know me well.”

“So who was he?” Miles asks.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Wait until you hear mine.”

“Okay. His name was Stuart. He was my camp counselor.”

“Oh wow,” Mia says. “Finally, something dirty.”

“Nothing happened! We ate marshmallows and played ‘The John B. Sails’ on the ukulele. All I could do was admire him from afar.”

“Aw.” Miles kisses him on the cheek. “That’s creepy.”

“Please don’t sully my campfire romance.”

“You’re right. It’s sweet.”

“So.”

“So what?”

Derrick gives him a look. “I told you mine.”

“Ah—”
Mia leans in closer. “Now I’m curious. Who was it that captured the heart of Miles Sedgwick?”

“It’s a bit tragic.”

“More tragic than Derrick stalking his camp counselor?”

He glares at Mia. “I was eleven. I wasn’t stalking anyone.”

“Hush,” I say. “Continue, Miles.”

Miles looks momentarily uncomfortable beneath the weight of our eyes. Then he shrugs and fiddles with his hearing aid. “His name was Phil. He was blond. We defiled his tree house.”

“Whoa.” Derrick high-fives him. “Way to go.”

“When his family moved, he left me all of his comics. Sweet boy.”

I look at Mia. “You’ve been awfully vocal about getting people to tell their stories. What about you?”

“What about me, Tess?”

“You know I hate it when you use my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I—” She looks down. “It’s stupid.”

“I wanted to get into Stuart’s kayak,” Derrick says. “There’s no judgment at this table. Love is love.”

She looks at Patrick for a second. He seems on the verge of saying something, but keeps his mouth shut.

“It was just some guy in the fourth grade,” she says. “I don’t even remember his name. He talked to me a few times—whatever. I haven’t lived long enough to have the kind of stories that you all have.”

I feel like she’s lying, but I don’t know why. Embarrassment? Remorse? Maybe she hasn’t fallen in love with anyone yet. It was stupid of me to press her. The last thing a teenage girl wants is to discuss romance in front of her family.

“You’re still figuring things out,” I say. “You’ve got all the time in the world. And, Patrick? What about you? I know you’ve been busy magnating it for the past few years, but before that—”

I almost say
when you were human
. Man, I’m really batting a thousand in the insensitivity department tonight. I bite off the words and simply smile. I hope it
resembles the smile of an attentive parent rather than that of a bitchy misanthrope who may be the smallest bit necrophobic.

“Patty Smalls,” he says. “We met in kindergarten. She had freckles, and she gave me a scratch-and-sniff valentine. It’s one of the few things I remember from before I was turned.”

Mia grins. “Hot.”

“Shut up.”

“All right, Diotima,” Derrick says. “You’re the only one left. Spill. Who was your first love? And don’t say me, even though we both know that you once had a wicked crush.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy.”

Everyone’s looking at me. Everyone’s smiling. The cold, ineluctable truth is that I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love. I’ve had feelings. I’ve lusted, coveted, longed for what I couldn’t have. I’ve been with people in the dark. Probably too many. But if love is the astonishing nude trust in Lucian’s eyes, then—

Then?

I love you all,
I want to say.
I love you so much it kills me. I’d set fire to myself to keep any one of you from harm. That’s what I’m certain of.

“My math teacher,” I say weakly. “He looked cute in flannel.”

Mia gives me an odd look.

Now we’ve both told a lie.

I wake up to an empty house. It’s the wine’s fault
. I give myself a few more minutes of lucid-dream time, then drag myself out of bed. Lucian’s shirt hangs from the doorknob. It’s unlike him to leave clothing here. He may love me, but he’s pretty cagey about his things. I put it on, and find that it fits surprisingly well as an overshirt, in addition to smelling nice. My jeans are starting to smell like bad cookies, but I know I can wring one more day out of them. I argue with my hair for a while, finally combing it into a weird bun that makes me want to punch the mirror, but at least I can go outside. I check my phone as I’m going downstairs. There’s a text from Derrick inviting me to lunch at Milestones, which he knows I can’t resist due to the circumference of their Bellinis. There’s nothing from work, which disappoints me, although I’m not completely sure why. Any day without an autopsy should be good, right?

I have an hour before I have to meet Derrick. I grab the 20 bus, which sparks and rocks on its cables until we reach the west end. I walk down Granville, which smells like pizza and pot. I don’t really know where I’m going. The gathering clouds threaten rain, but don’t quite deliver. I find myself standing in front of a familiar building: a club, formerly Moonbase, which has been renamed Blood Drive. Vampires think they’re so damn clever. This was where I first met Lucian. At the time, he was working for
Sabine Delacroix, who ran the club when she wasn’t busy killing people.

I stare at the door, which has been painted black. This is where everything started. I remember Lucian offering me a beer, and Sabine placing her hand on my leg, a hand that would later choke me. I remember seeing Patrick, asleep, hooked up to machines that scrutinized the progress of his virus. It wasn’t that long ago, but I feel like whoever I was then is gone. I blinked and missed her.

The door opens as I’m standing there. A familiar vampire walks out, wearing shades. It’s the same bouncer who talked to me years ago.

“Hey.” I smile. “Remember when you smelled me?”

“Of course. How could my nose forget?”

“You haven’t changed.”

“I’m dead.”

“Well, it suits you.”

“Thanks. Is there something you wanted?”

“I was just in the neighborhood. I like the new name.”