I left Alexander at the pottery booth, approached the girls, and tapped them on the shoulder.
Simultaneously they turned toward me. I realized I didn’t have an explanation for Alexander or Aunt Libby as to how I knew these two goth girls. In one moment Onyx and Scarlet would be giving me a huge hug and I would have to explain the origin of our acquaintance. They obviously didn’t go to Dullsville High. They weren’t distant relatives. And explaining I’d met them at a vampire club was most especially not going to fly.
But when our eyes met, their expressions appeared vacant.
“Have we met?” Scarlet asked.
My heart dropped. I felt the same feeling I had in school when I was five and tried to play kickball with catalogue cutout neighborhood kids and they took the ball from me and went inside. For the last two nights I’d partied with these girls, and we’d instantly bonded like we were old friends. I had clearly been mistaken. Then it hit me. They were fearful of my revealing their identity.
“I thought you were someone else,” I said knowingly, but still saddened.
“We get that all the time,” Scarlet said.
The girls eyed Alexander, who was now catching up to me.
Onyx gave me a quick wink before they turned and walked away.
“Who was that?” Alexander asked, grabbing my hand.
“I think I saw her at the Coffin Club,” I said truthfully.
“Speaking of which, what did you do last night?” he asked.
“Well, you’ll never believe it.”
“You went to the Coffin Club!” he exclaimed.
“How did you know?” I asked, bewildered.
He pointed to the faded bat on my hand.
“Oh, that…” I said.
“Raven, I’d asked you not to go. I don’t want to appear like an overprotective boyfriend, but…Promise me you won’t go back.”
“It’s not as sinister as it sounds,” I defended. “I went with Aunt Libby. In fact, it was her idea.”
Alexander seemed surprised yet relieved.
“Did I hear someone say ‘the Coffin Club?’” My aunt, a few feet away from us, spun around and proudly displayed her black fingernails. “We had the best time ever! We drank Insane Asylums. I felt at least ten years younger.”
Alexander smiled. I could tell he was imagining my aunt trying to conjure up ghosts at the bar.
“Maybe we should go,” my aunt suggested to Devon. “Have you been?”
I waited desperately for Devon’s answer. Though he was older than the combined ages of two average clubsters at the nightspot, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d checked it out.
I was intrigued to hear his response.
“There’s supposed to be an underground club inside. A real vampire hangout.” He laughed.
Alexander and I locked eyes.
“We didn’t see that when we were there,” my aunt admitted. “Sounds like fun.”
“It’s just something I heard,” he said to me.
How would Devon know about the vampire hangout? I could only fathom he must have visited it himself.
We continued on and passed a booth with blown-glass ornaments and figures.
“We’ll catch up to you,” I called to my aunt, and pulled Alexander inside.
Alexander studied the artisan blowing glass into a tiny elephant.
“I have strong suspicions about Devon,” I whispered.
“What do you suspect?” he asked, mesmerized by the flaming torch.
“That he’s a…” Then I turned his face toward mine and mouthed the word vampire.
Alexander laughed and returned to watch the artisan sculpt the tiny trunk.
“It’s possible,” I persisted.
“Yes it is.”
“See? Then you believe me! Devon doesn’t like to have his picture taken, and Aunt Libby says his stares are hypnotic. He didn’t show up until after sunset, and now he’s talking about vampire clubs.”
“So what if he is?”
“Then we have to warn her.”
All at once Alexander wasn’t interested in the sculpture. “You don’t want your aunt dating a vampire?” His midnight eyes couldn’t hide the sadness inside him. I was making Alexander feel that same awful feeling I’d felt when Scarlet didn’t acknowledge me or when my classmates ostracized me. After all, Alexander was a vampire, and I’d just told him I didn’t want my own aunt dating someone of his kind.
“I didn’t mean…” I said, reaching out to him.
“But you did,” he argued flatly.
“No—that’s not what I meant.” Then I realized I had meant it. My eyes welled up with tears.
Alexander led me away from the crowd and in between two booths. He sidestepped a puddle of Coke while I despondently plunged right into it.
He brushed away a tear that had trickled down my cheek.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I began. “I’d never—”
“I know,” he said, then continued in a soft voice. “Raven, you have reason to be concerned. It’s not like dating someone outside your religion, class, or comfort zone. Vampires by nature are deadly to mortals. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since we met.”
“That’s why I said what I did. But you aren’t like that. So maybe Devon isn’t, either.”
“First of all, we don’t know what Devon is or isn’t.”
“If he is and he’s like you, then it would be awesome!”
“Or he could be like Jagger. That’s why I’m protective of you. Don’t you understand?”
“But Alexander, there are vampires who are just like you.”
“What do you mean?”
I was ready to tell Alexander everything about the underground club when Aunt Libby interrupted. “You have to see this painting,” she said, grabbing my arm. “You won’t believe it!”
Unrelentingly she dragged me through the crowd, weaving in and out of festival-goers until we finally stopped at a booth in front of the firehouse.
On an easel, beside a painting of a vase full of flowers, was a picture of me. Dressed in my scarlet and black corset prom dress, wearing lace gloves, and carrying a black parasol, I was standing outside the Mansion. Three bats hovered around me—one with green eyes, a smaller one with blue eyes, and one with one blue and one green. Up behind me at the attic window, the curtain was slightly pulled back and a silhouetted figure watched over me.
In the corner of the painting was a big blue ribbon.
“This looks exactly like you!” Aunt Libby remarked.
Devon examined it, then me. “It certainly does.”
“It is me!” I exclaimed.
“Who painted this?” Aunt Libby asked the festival volunteer. “We have to find this person.”
“There was no information on the artist. Usually they attach a picture, website, and bio. But the artist must have wanted anonymity.”
“It looks flawless, like a photograph,” my aunt observed.
“We’ve been getting inquiries and requests to buy it all day.”
“You can’t sell it,” my aunt began, “until we find out more about it.”
“It does bear an uncanny resemblance to you,” the volunteer commented. “Do you know any artists?”
Devon, my aunt, and the volunteer searched the painting for a signature. I stood in awe while Alexander hung back.
“Here it is!” my aunt exclaimed, like she’d just spotted an egg on an Easter hunt. In the corner, embedded in a spider’s web, was the name “Sterling.”
“Sterling…That’s you—,” my aunt announced to Alexander.
Devon and the volunteer turned to Alexander.
“This is why you stayed in town?” I asked Alexander.
“Jameson insisted I enter,” he said self-consciously.
“That’s my niece,” my aunt declared proudly. “And her boyfriend is the artist.”