Okay, he thought when he could stand again. Okay, and he snapped that tree limb free of its trunk and cleaned it of smaller branches. Right, and he ran toward the lights of the city.
Even if he hadn’t had a pretty good idea where Victor lived, Doug could have followed him home. He was arguably the only vampire wolf who’d trespassed through the seminary grounds in a while, probably the only one who had crossed Lancaster Avenue that evening. Certainly the only one who’d threaded the Taco Exchange drive-thru so recently that the paper-hatted attendant was still pressing his clotted, dumb-struck face against the cashier’s window.
Victor lived on a narrow street lined with the sort of smallish, vertical houses that were all stairs and U-turns. Doug stood panting at the bottom of Victor’s driveway, the tree branch in his hand. He’d lost an opportunity, sure, and that was stupid of him. He’d let Victor talk his way out of a staking. It wouldn’t happen again. Victor had obviously acted while in wolf form, and he couldn’t remember the details anymore. Each time doubt reached in with its wet fingers, Doug banished it with thoughts of Jay. Jay in the hospital room. The largely theoretical tableau of Jay bloody and helpless in his own living room, kitchen, or backyard.
He crept up the driveway, tasting the air. The concrete under his feet was cracked into puzzle pieces and stained with faded, continental shapes. Grass grew optimistically through the cracks.
He couldn’t really expect to be able to sneak up on another vampire, Doug realized. He would just have to stay on guard. He ignored the front door — nobody ever entered through their own front door — and stepped up a small, steep flight of stairs to the side door. But, no — the trail cooled here. Where was Victor?
The driveway ended at an open carport. It was a good place to hide, a good place to wait for someone who was following you.
"I’m coming, Victor," he said in a soft voice that he trusted would be heard by wolf ears. "I don’t care. Get the drop on me if you want, I know how low on blood you are."
The carport was crowded with the detritus of modern life — paint cans and mulch and cracked flowerpots formed a car-shaped bunker around a dull gray Accord. It sort of wasn’t a good place for an ambush, after all. Doug could barely move. A bright white square on the windshield of the car caught his eye. He prized it free of the wiper blade and it unfolded in his hand.MOM — I’m going to see a man tonight. I’m going to see if he’ll give something back to me.I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I’m sorry for sneaking out. I know I said I’m not on drugs, but I kind of am, too. It’s hard to explain.If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t come back. Send police to the ugliest house facing Clark Park in West Philly. Send a lot of police. Tell them he has a lot of guns, and he deals drugs to kids. And that he’s only there in the daytime.I’m so sorry.Victor
Doug folded the note again and put it in his pocket and thought for a long time. All right, he sighed. I’m going to Clark Park. It seemed so far away, and he’d been running all evening. If he wanted to be prepared, he needed blood.
That was okay. He knew a couple places he could try on the way.
33
Vant
THEY SAT in Cat’s room, not doing their homework. Sejal was not doing her Pre-Cal and Cat was not writing an essay about the Louisiana Purchase.
"Honest, I don’t think she’s told anyone," Cat said. "I heard it from Abby. You were all downstairs at the same time — maybe she overheard you?"
"I did not exactly ask Ophelia to keep it secret anyway," Sejal said. "I was only nervous. I couldn’t stop talking."
"So you really think Doug’s a vampire? Really really?"
"I don’t know. Tell everyone I was only joking, yes? Tell them…Lord, tell them it is just a saying in India, and that I was misunderstood."
"That’s good," said Cat. "That’ll work."
There was a lull. Cat made as if to read a page in her textbook, the same page she’d been reading and rereading all night. Sejal pushed some numbers around, and looked askance at a plastic shopping bag that was just visible inside her backpack.
"But do you see why I might think it?" asked Sejal.
"I don’t know…a vampire?"
"I thought you believed in the vampires."
"I…kind of believe in them when they’re on TV, but we’re talking about Doug."
"Okay, fine."
"I mean, I know he’s changed this year, but—"
"I was probably just hopped up on Niravam. Is that right? ‘Hopped up’?"
"It’s awesome, if you’re trying to sound like my dad."
"I got rid of it. The Niravam. I flushed it. I’m sorry."
The doorbell rang, followed immediately by four crisp knocks. Cat pushed up to her feet and scrambled out of the room, down the stairs. In distant tones Sejal heard Mrs. Brown bluster, and Cat say, "I told you, never answer the door!"
Sejal returned to her math and kept her head down for half a minute before she heard a faint cry, from Cat she thought, as if some little terror had just been squeezed out of her. Sejal rose and ran to the top of the stairs. There were police officers by the front door. Just like from the American cop shows.
"How?" said Cat to the officers. She had her arms folded tight into her chest, her fists pressed up against her chin. "Is he going to be okay?" Mrs. Brown put her arm around Cat, and Cat leaned into it. Mr. Brown appeared now from the living room.
"They’re telling them about Jay," said Doug, behind her. Sejal flinched, turned. He was there in the hallway. She opened her mouth to scream. "Don’t scream," said Doug. "You already screamed, and they didn’t come. They’re too busy with their own stuff."
Sejal nodded. She had already screamed and they didn’t come. Had she?
"Don’t make any noise," said Doug. He was curling his arm around her, cutting her off from the staircase. Downstairs voices were rising. Cat was upset, Mr. Brown asked someone, "Just what are you implying? That my daughter is hopped up on drugs?" Sejal ducked Doug’s arm and rushed back into the bedroom. She fumbled with her book bag, with the flimsy loops of the plastic shopping bag inside. Everything had the tarnished tunnel vision of old films and nightmares. Finally she produced a clove of garlic and a pocket Bible that someone had handed her on South Street. She had also been handed three nightclub flyers and an ad for carpet cleaning before she’d learned to keep her hands at her sides, but at least she’d gotten the Bible. The contents of her little bag had seemed embarrassingly crackpot only moments ago, but now she brandished them like they were the chakra of Vishnu.
Doug was in the doorway. When he came near, she got a foggy feeling, a feeling she was certain now that she’d had before.
"What are you holding those for?" asked Doug. "Here." He approached, and Sejal backed right up to the wall, pressing against it until the pushpins dug into her shoulder blades. Doug took the Bible, and she dropped the garlic.
"Come sit on the bed," he said.
"What did you do to Jay?"
Doug looked horrified. "How can…It’s what Victor did to Jay. And now I have to settle things with Victor. Then I can be a better person, like you said. But first…I have to do one more bad thing." He took hold of her wrist.
"It does not work like that," Sejal shuddered, and she thought, Victor, too? "You have to be it all the time. You have to be it for yourself and no worries about the other fucking people."