"You can. That’s my point. I didn’t throw a hissy over you talking to that guy, but I can’t watch a girl—two girls—on a stage singing? Without you going insane?"
They sat in silence for a while before Abby apologized. "But if you’re still thinking of trying to get with her," she added, "I wouldn’t. You don’t know what I know — that’s all I’m saying."
This had been a semi-dress rehearsal. There were new costumes to try on, and makeup tests. All the Puerto Rican girls apart from Sejal had already dyed their hair black, or tried to. Sophie’s fine blond hair was giving her trouble. It was more the color of mold.
Because it was a semi-dress rehearsal it was also the semi-official start of the Cleanest Dressing Room Contest. Each night Ms. Todd and Cat inspected the boys’ room and the girls’ room, and tallied the nightly winners. The losing gender would have to clean the better half’s dressing room on closing night, plus their own, before being released to attend the cast party. It was all a bald-faced ploy to get them to clean up after themselves, and it worked. It more than worked — you could only get a room in a fifty-year-old auditorium so clean, and this invariably sparked an escalating arms race of baked-good bribes, flowers, throw rugs…even the utter transformation of linoleum floored, white cinder-block spaces into gaudy nightclubs or the Garden of Eden.
Doug left the other boys behind to sweep and wipe mirrors. He didn’t care about the contest, and the ammonia smell was burning his nostril hairs. Outside, the sun was setting — he could feel it. He could feel his blood rising.
There were whispering voices, the furtive pssts and shushes of secrets leaking into the air. He could follow the wispy trails of their echoes, down the hall, through the woodshop, to the black-painted floors and red flowing curtains of the stage’s right wing.
Sejal and Ophelia were here. Doug lurked behind a curtain. Sejal was upset about something, and Ophelia was trying to smooth it over. He only picked up bits and pieces. To him the whispers were loud, rough, buzzing his eardrums like they were broken speakers, but they didn’t resolve themselves into useful shapes. Yet another part of being a vampire that’s not all it’s cracked up to be, thought Doug.
The thought surprised him. Wasn’t everything getting better? Wasn’t this new life so much better than the one before? There was a girlfriend and respect. Strength. But throughout, a glimmer of something inside him like a warning light on his dashboard.
Ophelia pressed herself against Sejal. Footsteps approached from behind.
"Why aren’t you helping the other boys?" asked Ms. Todd.
"Too many of us," Doug replied as he turned and walked back through the shop toward her. "We were getting in each other’s way. I promised to bring some sponges and stuff tomorrow." Not a bit of it was true.
Ms. Todd studied him. "You better tell Jay not to miss another rehearsal or he’s out."
She had actually been pretty clear about this when she’d called roll at the beginning of the evening. When Jay hadn’t responded, she’d made an announcement to all cast and crew that anyone missing rehearsals without an excuse would be cut, she didn’t care who they were, no exceptions. She’d made the announcement while staring straight at Doug, like Jay was his responsibility.
"Either Jay or his sister has to go let their dog out after class," Doug breathed. "They both have after-school things. If he didn’t come back, he must have had a good reason." This was true — Jay would have a good reason. With a dull pain Doug realized he hadn’t wasted a moment wondering what it was.
Later he walked with Abby to her car. She was talking to him or something. Doug was too occupied in contemplating what he’d seen of Sejal and Ophelia and what it meant. Only when Abby suddenly lowered her voice did he give her his attention, and then only to hear her say, "There’s a guy by my car."
He scanned the dark parking lot and fixed upon the small figure of Stephin David, standing just in front of the passenger door, arms heavy at his sides. Face flushed, probably from drink.
"I know him," Doug told Abby. "You go ahead home."
"With…without you?"
"Yes."
"I was hoping you’d drive. I feel dizzy."
"What? No, I’ll find my own way home. Don’t worry about me. Good night." He walked off toward the edge of the soccer field, leaving Abby to sway unsteadily under a yellow, moth-battered lamppost. Stephin gave her a clipped nod and came to meet Doug on the grass.
"What are you doing here?" Doug asked, looking around him. Cast and crew spilled slowly out of the auditorium. There were other students, too, here and there, coming from the quad or the track.
"I was in the neighborhood," said Stephin. "You’ve been so elusive, I had to find some way to grab your attention."
"Well, okay, you’ve got it. And good move, too: single guy, single gay guy, hanging out at the high school? You look like a child molester."
Doug knew he wasn’t supposed to throw Stephin’s sexuality in his face like that, but the man was making him supremely uneasy. He did not belong here.
Stephin said, "We play the roles in which we are cast. Every play’s a tragedy, if only you leave the curtain raised long enough—"
"God! Please, just…What do you want?"
Stephin took a moment before speaking. "I received an interesting message about your friend Victor. It seems Cassiopeia is under the impression he’s hunting his maker. It seems that you gave her that impression."
"Shit," said Doug. "That was…I didn’t mean to throw Victor under the bus like that, but I needed a diversion. It’s no big deal."
"I doubt Victor will see it that way. But can we be clear? Victor does not aim to find and kill his maker, with the intention of undoing his curse or for any other reason?"
"No," said Doug. "No, and I’m not even sure I want out anymore either. I…have to think about it."
"You should. It’s a big decision, an enormous responsibility. Consider all the people you may meet during your long existence. Souls you can’t even imagine. People not yet born. Would you deprive all these people the pleasure of your company?"
Doug chewed his lip and watched Stephin for some hint that he was joking. But his dead face was as illegible as ever.
"Of course, you have also to consider all the lives that may curdle at your touch. You could be a curse to others, something worth breaking. Such responsibility."
"Well, I guess I’ll just kill myself."
"Suicide is ungrateful."
In the parking lot engines cleared their throats, and red and white lights winked on. Doug was dimly aware that Abby had not yet pulled out of her space. She was just sitting in her car. Was she watching them?
"So, then…is it possible? Becoming normal again? You sound like you’re saying it’s possible."
"Hm. Well, I’ve been doing some research, purely with the intention of dissuading you from this course, you understand. But, I can’t lie — I’ve uncovered evidence that such a thing may be possible, if certain conditions are met. But do leave Victor alone. It has to be the head of the family — the oldest active vampire in the lineage. I think a stake in the heart may be necessary. You won’t do it, will you? Of course you won’t — you don’t even know who made Victor. And you with your newfound zest for life."
"Asa told me you only have to kill the next vampire in line," said Doug, though he wasn’t really sure what Asa had meant.
Stephin was silent for a moment, during which a steady pulse of red taillights passed like heartbeats behind him.