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“Do you believe in vampires?” I asked, half a sad laugh on my tongue.
Kyrie shook her head furiously. “No.”
“Neither did I.” I said, staring at the window, wanting to leave, to end this sad confession.
“And now?” Kyrie asked. “What’s going on, Nicholas?”
I wiped at my eyes. “What if he was right? What if Markus was right? What if the myths are real?”
“They’re not. It’s just … stories.”
“So is the Bible,” I spat, regretting it the instant it came from my mouth.
Kyrie looked wounded. “Stories … we need them.”
“To lull us to sleep? To tell us about the past? Secure our future?”
“Nicholas, you’re scaring me. Tell me what happened. We were just at school an hour ago …”
“I think a vampire is doing this.” I hated the words and how I sounded like a madman blaming bad things on the bogeyman. When I looked at Kyrie, I saw a look I didn’t want to see. Concern. Worry. Not for a vampire coming into her room and grabbing her next but worry for me. Fear for my fucked up head.
“Nicholas ...” she started.
I cut her off. “I know. I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to scare me. You don’t have to. I’m already scared.”
“I’m not trying to scare you. I’m trying to …” I tried.
“I want to find out who did this, who’sdoingthis … but we can’t do that if we’re chasing made-up monsters.” Kyrie sighed.
I wanted to tell her what Sorina did, about the blood, about her teeth. I wondered if I was losing it and if the years on the ranch were finally catching up. Was I becoming like Markus? “Sometimes the monsters are real,” I said. It’d always been men, women, the humans of this world. I didn’t believe in fairytales and the omens humans made up to justify their cruelty. But now I didn’t know what I believed.
Kyrie softened, indulged me. “Then … who is the vampire in his town? Are you still reading that book?”
I remembered her seeing the worn copy ofSalem’s Lotin my locker.
I nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not—”
Kyrie stood, walking to her bed. There was one book on her nightstand. One. The Bible. She placed her hand on it, and I looked away.
That was not the answer. Not really.
I held Sorina’s secret—her sharp teeth and black eyes—in my chest like a promise, a part of me I couldn’t let go of.
If I said what she was, what I’d seen, I’d be putting a bullseye on her. But I didn’t think she was the one doing this. She spoke ofhim, of someone else.
The Deacon lives on the hill, above the lake, above the island.
He scared me.
And he had Valerie hanging on his every word. I remembered the look on her face when she sat in her car talking to herself.
I’d been mad she wasn’t worried about me.
But maybe I was the one who should worry for her.
* * *
