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It was even more disconcerting when Stefan spoke.
" Ave, Matt! Morituri te salutant," Stefan said cheerfully.
"Huh?"
"S'joke. A joke," Stefan said, enunciating more carefully. "Latin.
Hail, Matt. We who are about to die salute you. Salude!"
Matt stared.
"Mer'dith thought it w’s funny."
"Meredith knows Latin?"
"Yeah. Mer’dith"—Stefan held up one finger. It was hard to know whether it meant
"don't interrupt" or "let me tell you a few things, starting with . . . " and Matt didn't think he could stand still for a long speech. His heart was already pounding. Damn. Stefan could probably hear that. Probably? What would a vampire be more attuned to hearing than the muscle that pushed around the blood of its prey?
Does he know my mouth is dry, too? And that I want to run? Probably, Matt thought, bitterly. They've got senses that make humans look like those worm things that can only tell light from dark. Does he know what that makes humans feel like doing to vampires?
Vaguely shocked, he thought, how long have I wanted to punch him in the mouth?
Just once. Just once to see a fist and a vampire falling flat on his ass. Because of a real human person. Not me. Any real human.
But Matt could feel the tingling in his own fist clenched tightly.
Stefan had been talking for a while and Matt's brain helped him catch up by providing echoes of what he'd missed.
"Mer'dith knows a lotta things. Very smart. Bright. Ha. That's a joke, too. Ssee?
Because she's dark. You know? You don't wanna know. She's dark 'but comely.'
Humanss"—again that exaggerated hiss on the sibilant—"have so many prejudishes. Back in . . . not long ago, you know . . . your basic beautiful woman hadda be fair. Blond. All your lingwy—lingwa—language stuff showss how—"
Matt's hand unclenched. His mind trolled blindly.
"You're drunk!"
"Of coursse not." The silhouette straightened and tipped its chin up aggressively.
Stefan spoke with the exaggerated dignity and precision of the truly smashed. "Vampiress don't get drunk. It's just a brief physi—fizzy—fizheo—" The silhouette began shaking with silent laughter.
Amazement and anger gave Matt all the excuses he needed to do what he was already doing. He grabbed Stefan's dim arm and shook him, then bounced him off the dimmer wall.
"What's wrong with you? Are you crazy? You're supposed to be fighting the fight of your life—"
"Stop it."
"How did you even—?"
"Stop it."
"What kind of—"
"Matt. Stop it."
There was something in the voice that spoke directly to the human brainstem, like a dark shadow overhead telling a baby chick to freeze.
