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“I don’t know who this Zeb person is, and I don’t particularly care. I am referring to the widely circulating public opinion that you and Walter were involved in a passionate affair, ” she said, the hint of a smirk giving her youthful features a cruel, unnatural twist. “That he broke it off because you were too possessive and ‘clingy.’ And that you attacked him at the Cellar and set him on fire in a jealous rage.”
“Why—why—why would anybody say that?” I stammered. “Why would I get involved in a passionate affair with anybody right after turning, much less a passionate affair with Walter? And what do you mean by circulating public opinion? Does that mean a bunch of vampires are sitting around gossiping about me?”
“Our social circles tend to be rather limited but close-knit. We do enjoy it when a little excitement spices up an otherwise dull conversation,” she admitted. “And once you are the subject of a story our community enjoys repeating, it’s difficult to convince the tellers that it’s less than the absolute truth. It’s a fault of our species.”
“You all sound like my mama and her friends.” I leaned heavily against the counter. “I don’t know which part is worse, that people think I set Walter on fire or that they think I dated that mung bean.”
“As you know, if these stories were true, the council would be far less sympathetic to your case. We can support self -
defense or a legitimate battle to the death. But we can’t just let vampires run around throwing matches at each other because of lovers’ spats.”
“Trust me, it’s not true,” I told her. “I’d never met Walter until that night, and he’s the one who attacked me, not the other way around.”
“I’d hoped as much,” Ophelia said. “You seem to have better taste. On that note, you should also know that there are certain stories circulating about you and Dick Cheney, stories that were told with a bit more zeal.”
“Stories about our being bosom companions with no hint of sexual tension whatsoever?”
There was the nasty little smile again. “Stories about the two of you committing indecent acts in the bathroom at Denny’s.”
“What?”
“And the photo booth at the mall. And the Sanderson crypt at Oak View Cemetery.”
“Well, that’s just in poor taste,” I complained. “None of those stories is true, either.”
“You wouldn’t be the first young vampiress that Dick Cheney has…charmed,” she said, her smile fading.
“I haven’t been charmed,” I insisted. “My relationship with Dick is nothing more than a budding friendship based on ridiculously inappropriate banter. Where is all this stuff coming from? Why am I suddenly the Lindsay Lohan of the vampire set?”
Ophelia shrugged. “If they behave themselves, new vampires slip unnoticed from one group to the other, quietly accepted by the vampire community. But you seem to have an enemy. Someone is trying to keep you alienated from other vampires, to keep them suspicious of you. I can’t track the rumors back to a specific source; it’s always something heard from a friend of a friend of a friend, which is typical for the Hollow. Did stories like this follow you around when you were living?”
“No. I mean, other than the typical mean girl stuff in school. Mary Rose Davis accused me of pleasuring our school football team with the aid of Jell-O products, but she was just angry that I beat her for Beta Club treasurer.” Ophelia obviously was not prepared for this mental image and did not respond. “Oh, and Craig Arnold told everybody he ‘made me a woman’ in the back of his pickup after Homecoming. The truth was he was finished before he could get my panty hose down, and then he threw up on my dress. But he told everybody in our grade he’d given me the ride of my life…oh, and that I was frigid and lay there like a dead fish.”
Ophelia glared, tilting her head at me. “I’m sorry, was that an attempt at bonding with me because I appear to be a teenager?”
I sighed. “Generally, I was well liked when I was alive. Not exactly popular but certainly not the target of slander and possible public execution. And I haven’t had any run-ins with anybody since I was turned, except, of course, Walter.”
“Until you can figure out who might wish you harm, I would advise you to keep a low profile. Avoid situations that can be misconstrued. Don’t give us a reason to question your actions further.”
“But if you know I can lie to you, if you don’t believe any of this, why am I still being investigated?” I asked.
“Because the council answers to higher authorities in the vampire community. Even if we cannot supply real justice, we have to give the impression that we’re trying. Otherwise, the delicate balance of power we have built since the Coming Out will topple down on our heads.”
“So I’m a cautionary tale?”
“In a word, yes.”
“I’ll be good,” I promised.
“Excellent. Good night,” she said, pinching my cheek in an extremely patronizing manner. She turned on her high heel and walked toward the door.
“Can I ask one more question?”
“Good night.” She continued out the door without looking back.
“Well, that was cryptic and unhelpful,” I muttered, walking around the counter to the mini -fridge where Mr. Wainwright happily stocked a supply of Faux Type O for me. I drank it cold, which gave it a sort of rusty aftertaste, but I was too distracted to try to find the microwave.
My genetic propensity toward denial was just keen enough to allow me to put off connecting the nighttime visitors to my house, the car vandalism, the attempted dog poisoning, and now these unholy rumors about me being the sluttiest vampire since Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. And sitting there, propped against the counter, drinking my frigid fake dinner, I finally allowed myself to mull over the circumstances that had led me here.
