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“Ow,” I grumbled, rubbing my bruised nose. “Stupid vampire stealth. Why’d you stop?”
Cal pointed to an oddly inorganic shape, nestled in a little clearing among tall pines. The prefabricated metal walls reflected dull grayish mint green in the light of the full moon, covered with an artfully shredded green tarp, made up to look like leaves. This was a new building, well maintained. And judging by the closely trimmed grass surrounding the concrete pad, it had been visited recently. In fact, most of the ground in the surrounding area was cleared. It had been harvested. Something had grown there in neatly furrowed rows. I couldn’t estimate the size of the plot, because of the darkness, but it had been sizable.
“That …” I said, squinting at the heavily draped outbuilding. “Seems out of place.”>I flipped to the end of the book, to June 2005: Found a rather sizeable plot (6m by 4m) of this strange root plant today in an area off County Line Road. It’s clearly a “wort” plant, note broad flat leaves, and small white flowers with greenish-yellow stamens. Similar to an illustration of bloodwort,* but leaves seem too different. I didn’t take a cutting because it just felt, well, wrong somehow. There was something very off-putting about the plant, a bit like approaching poison ivy and knowing you’re about to do something that will bring about itchy misery. Iris wasn’t keen on it, either, so we left it alone. *Illustration found on page 233 of “An Illustrated Guide to the Flowering Plants of Europe.”
I opened the book to show Cal my mother’s sketch, which bore a striking resemblance to the illustration in the book. “My mom wouldn’t have had access to books like Jane’s; otherwise, she might have known what she was looking at. So, how are all of these obscure foreign plants finding their way here to rural Kentucky? I mean, other than the warm, humid climate, the two places have nothing in common. And why is there a patch of it growing in a field in the middle of nowhere? There are no houses in that area near County Line Road. I don’t know if there ever have been, so it’s not like it’s some remnant of a Civil War era garden.”
“Where is it?” he asked, pulling out a map of McClure County.
I compared my mom’s notes, which included a meticulous notation of the exact longitude and latitude of the location, with the county map and pointed. “Right there.”
“Do you think the patch might still be there?”
“Anything’s possible,” I said, shrugging.
“You have been a tremendous help,” he said, kissing my forehead. He bounded off the couch and was down the stairs in a flash. By the time I reached the ground floor, he was reaching for the front doorknob.
I called, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“The location mentioned in your mother’s cutting journal.”
“It’s the middle of the night. It could take us hours to find the right place and hours more to get the information you want, which could leave us stranded in the middle of the woods at sunrise. That would not be good for your complexion.”
“I could be there in far less time if I went alone,” he said, casting me an apologetic look. “I would move faster without you.”
“But you wouldn’t know what you’re looking for,” I countered.
“I am capable of following a map and your field guide.”
“But short of a little sign that says, ‘My name is (blank) and this is my poisonous plant farm,’ which is doubtful, you won’t be able to interpret what you see there. You need me.”
“How many more reasons are you going to give me to delay until tomorrow?”
“As many as it takes. I’m good with lists,” I said, innocently batting my eyes. Cal growled in frustration. I nipped the tip of his nose and smirked at him. “Admit it, honey, you need me. Rescuing you from kitchens. Stealing valuable documents. Personal forest tours. I provide a comprehensive, invaluable service.”
“I do need you,” he said quietly. Without finishing that thought, he sighed, resigned, and slumped up the stairs to the reading nook. Snickering quietly to myself, I heard him mutter, “Should have been in the Athena cabin.”
14
A hungry vampire is a dangerous vampire. Have alternative blood sources at the ready at all times.
—The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires
The next sunset found me strapping on the hiking boots and the Jansport backpack I’d been using for these little excursions since high school. After massive apologies for her unauthorized school-night outing, Gigi announced that she had plans for the evening. Despite her assertions that she’d been at Ben’s so he could help her with a PowerPoint presentation for her final AP history project, my initial instinct was to ground her.
But Cal insisted that it was a good idea for her to be out of the house for the night. In fact, he was so insistent that I bit back my irritation at his interfering. Cal was worried, whether it was some unseen menace he felt coming or the idea of leaving Gigi unchaperoned in the house where Ben could come by for a “visit.” So Gigi was heading to Ben’s, where both parents were present and had a “the bedroom door stays open at all times” policy.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” I asked, double-lacing my boots as we prepared for our outing.
He seemed insulted by the question. “I am stronger every day.”
I was a bit disappointed that he didn’t flex his arms to prove his point. (Don’t judge me. I like arms.) He was getting stronger, strong enough to leave the nest, so to speak. My time with him was coming to a close. I could feeling it slipping away like a clock winding down. I cleared my throat, eyeing his battered motorcycle boots, which would be pretty damn uncomfortable after a few miles. “I’m just saying, you don’t seem like the outdoorsy type. Do you even ride a motorcycle?”
“A few of them over time. There happens to be a motorcycle in my garage at this very moment,” he retorted. “And I slept outdoors for almost ten consecutive years.”
“I know you hate when I point this out, but that was a while ago.”
“You know you two sound like the Bickersons, right?” Gigi giggled, bounding down the stairs and settling between us on the couch.
