Almost Midnight (3 page)

She'd never heard of anyone puking up a vital organ, but odds were she was missing a lung right now. Thank God she had two.

“Lee called again,” her mom said, straightening Della's covers.

“Is he coming over?” Della managed to ask, torn between wanting to see him, and not wanting him to see her like this. Upchucking a lung didn't leave one looking their best.

“I told him he could, but he said his mom was worried you might be infectious.”

“She never liked me.” Della closed her eyes.

“Why would you say that?” Her mom stood up.

Because I'm half-white.
“I don't know,” Della lied and opened her eyes. “Because I'm too ballsy.”

Her mom squeezed Della's hand. “You are too ballsy. Too independent. Too stubborn. A lot like your dad. But I love him, too.” She brushed Della's bangs from her brow.

When her mom left, Chan stepped out of the closet. He edged up against the bed. “You're about to hit Phase Three.”

“How do you know?” she asked and oh, damn but every nerve ending in her body seemed to scream. If this was Phase Three, she didn't like it one damn bit!

“Your heart rate is increasing,” he said.

Della pushed her head back into the pillow and muttered some ugly words.

“Listen to me, Della. This is very important. When your parents come in here, you have to act normal. Whatever happens, we can't let them take you back to the hospital.”

“Why not?” she asked and moaned.

“There's too much blood there. You might lose it. Even the smell of blood might send you over the edge. The first feeds have to be controlled feeds.”

Another pain wracked her body and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. “Can I die from this?” She bunched up a fistful of blanket and squeezed. She hated being scared. Hated it because it was a sign of weakness.

His black eyes met hers. “Yeah.”

Another sharp pain exploded in her head. “Am I going to die?” Her thoughts shot to Lee. She wanted him to be here to hold her. If she died, she wanted to see him one last time. Then her thoughts shot to her little sister, Marla. Della had sworn to be there for her, to make sure no one ever bullied Marla, like they had her. For some crazy reason, Della knew her sister wasn't as strong as she was.

“No, you're not going to die,” Chan said, but Della saw the doubt in his eyes. “You're too hardheaded. Hardheaded Della can't die. You hear me? You can't die, Della. You're going to be strong.”

*   *   *

Two days later, Della slowly drifted awake. She'd slept fitfully for most of the past forty-eight hours. She recalled sitting up and pretending to eat when her parents came in, so she wouldn't get stuck going back to the hospital. And she remembered talking to Chan a few times. But she'd been so feverish and out of it that her memory was still hazy. She opened her eyes and quickly slapped her hand over them to block the sun spilling through her window. “Stop that,” she seethed.

“Who are you talking to?” Chan asked.

“The sun!” she growled and nearly cut her tongue on her teeth.

“It pisses me off, too. We're night people now. But it's about to go down.” Chan must have lowered the blinds, because the burning brightness faded. He continued talking. “As soon as your parents go to bed, we're going out. I need to educate you.”

“Educate me in what?”

“Your new life.”

She moved her hand from her eyes and looked around. The first thing she saw was the flowers. Red roses. Lee? Yes, she recalled her mother bringing them in and reading her the card. Lee said he loved her.

She smiled and realized she didn't hurt. Not her head. Not her gut. In fact, she felt … good. Strong. She felt more alive than ever.

“I'm well!” She stretched out her arms and did a little bed dance.

“Yeah, you made it. Scared me for a while there, but—”

“Where's my cell?” She wanted to call Lee.

“In the drawer, so I wouldn't have to listen to all the beeping. Your lover boy is worried about you.”

Right then, all their talk about vampirism ran through her head. Did she really believe? And if she didn't, how could she explain Chan? She pushed it out of her mind, and decided to enjoy not feeling like day-old dog poop for a few seconds before traveling down that road. A road she somehow knew was going to cause her a lot of pain.

Sitting on the side of the bed, she remembered Chan propping her up on pillows and telling her to fake being okay every time he heard her parents walking up the stairs. She couldn't remember how well she'd done, but probably not too badly because they never bundled her up to take her to the hospital.

She stood, stretched, and looked down at the chair positioned by the bed. And bam, she was slammed with the memory of Marla, her little sister stepping inside the room. She'd held Della's hand and cried. Cried silently because even her sister knew how her dad hated weakness. Marla's words played like sad music in Della's head
. “Please don't die, Della. You're supposed to help me, help me learn to be strong like you.”

A big ache filled Della's chest. She was so glad she hadn't died and let Marla down.

Looking at the window, she had a vague memory of … standing on the roof.

“Did we go somewhere?”

“Yeah, you were getting cabin fever—needed to sort of test your wings. You did good, too.”

Suddenly, she recalled moving at amazing speeds and feeling the wind in her face. What was real?

Her stomach growled. “I'm starved,” she muttered.

Chan pointed to a big plastic cup with a straw. “You didn't finish your breakfast.”

She reached for the drink and sipped. A thousand different flavors exploded in her mouth. Berries, dark chocolate, tangy melon. Flavors she didn't even recognize, but somehow knew she couldn't live without now that she had sampled them.

“What
is
this?” She licked her lips and immediately started drinking again.

His right brow arched. “It's what you'll be living on from now on. Blood.”

She almost gagged, then stopped herself. She'd bitten her tongue before. “Blood doesn't taste like this.” She yanked the top off and stared at … at what looked like blood.

“How can…”

“Nothing will taste like it did before. Don't you remember gagging on the chicken soup your mom brought you?”

She looked at her cousin and vaguely remembered trying to eat the soup. “Tell me you're lying.”

“Sorry. Everything is different now. No use in me trying to sugarcoat things. Just accept it.”

She stared down at the thick red substance in her cup. “This can't be real.”

“It's as real as it gets.”

“Oh, God!” She put the cup on her nightstand and stared at it. “What kind of blood?”

“AB negative. O is better, but I couldn't find any.”

“That's … that's human blood?” Her stomach churned.

He nodded. “Animal isn't nearly as good. But you'll learn about that in time. I have a lot to teach you.”

She cupped a hand over her mouth and stared at the cup. But even as the thought of drinking blood sickened her, even as a part of her vowed not to become this monster, her mouth watered for another taste, another swallow.

She hadn't ever known real hunger or thirst, but this … the feeling that said if she didn't finish what was in that cup right now she might die, had to be the closest thing she'd ever experienced.

Chan went to grab the cup. Before she knew what she was doing she lunged, knocked him across the room, and grabbed the cup.

He laughed. “I figured as much.”

She finished the drink, and looked up at Chan. “I need more.”

“I know. Right after you turn, you're ravenous. I think I put down fifteen pints my few first days. But you're going to have to wait until after your parents go to bed.”

“I want it now,” she hissed, not even recognizing her own voice.

*   *   *

“They didn't card me?” Della said, following Chan into the club several hours later. The place was dark, lit up by only a few candles, but amazingly she didn't have much trouble seeing. Or hearing. Noise, crowd noise, the chattering of different conversations, and people shifting in their chairs, came at her from every direction, but somehow she could shut out the parts of it that she didn't want to listen to. However, the ambience didn't stem from the noise or the lighting. Energy vibrated in the place. Della felt it, felt it feeding her, like some forbidden drug.

“The only card you need for this place is right here.” He touched her forehead.

Immediately, Della remembered the weird things she'd been seeing on everyone's forehead. She grabbed his arm. “What is that? The forehead thing?”

He grinned. “It's your ID. All supernaturals have the ability to read brain patterns, and eventually you'll learn to tell who is what. And if you concentrate just a little bit you can get behind their shields and know if they're friend or foe.”

He pointed across the room. “Look at the guy in the green shirt. Tighten your eyes, and stare at his forehead and tell me what you see.”

At first all Della saw was his forehead and then … “I see … swirly lines.”

“Now look at my pattern. Do you see the similarities?” Chan asked.

“Yes. But they're not identical,” she said.

“Not identical, but he's vampire. Brain patterns are like tracks in the snow—sooner or later, you'll be able to know what kind of animal made that print.”

She nodded and glanced around the room.

“Look at that big guy's pattern, the guy in the black coat,” he said.

She did. The pattern was completely different. Horizontal lines and …

“Now look deeper. Keep staring. Open your mind.”

She concentrated and what she saw was black and dark and gave off the impression of danger. She took a step back.

He laughed. “It's okay. He's not going to hurt you. Not here, anyway. But meet him in a dark alley, and who knows.”

“I wasn't scared,” she insisted, but she knew it was a lie and she heard her own heartbeat speed up as if punctuating the fib.

“You should be. He's werewolf and not someone you want to associate with.”

Della remembered. “The doctor. He was a werewolf and he didn't seem … bad.”

“They are all bad.” He looked around. “There's a fae, the pretty brunette in the pink dress. Well, she's half fae, half human.”

Della tightened her brows and recalled the pattern of the nurse in the hospital. “I think I sort of understand. But if these people don't get along, how come they come to the same bar? And why would they work together?”

“Because some supers think we should live as one big happy family. Like humans who want to live alongside lions. And I admit I've had my fair share of fun toying with a few breeds.” He wiggled his brows. “Especially humans. It's fun to play with our food.”

Della took a step back. “You're human. How can you…”

“I told you earlier, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I'm not human anymore. Neither are you. You need to start looking at humans as prey because that's all they are for us.”

Della put a hand over her mouth. “The blood earlier, you didn't … hurt anyone.”

“Got it from a blood bank.” He glanced away, almost too quickly, as if he were lying. “Oh, see the little guy in the black shirt? Check his pattern out, but … if he looks this way, glance away, quick.”

Emotions swirled around Della's chest. She stared at Chan.

“Look at him, Della. This is important. You need to know this shit.”

“Why?”

“Because he's a shape-shifter. You need to be able to recognize them so you can stay clear of them. They are one pissed-off breed. All that changing forms messes with their psyche. Most of them would just as soon kill you as speak to you in passing.”

Her emotions were again swarming in her chest.

“Don't worry,” Chan said. “Where you're going to live, you won't—”

Della recalled vague snippets of conversation about leaving her family. She couldn't do that. “Chan, I…”

“I'm taking you back to Utah with me. It's a vampire community. I'm actually thinking about joining a gang, and if you want to, we both can—”

She shook her head. “Even if I wanted to go with you, my parents would never let me go.”

“Which is another reason we're here. There's a guy here, a mortician, he's going to help us fake your death. How do you wanna go, car crash? Maybe you fall and hit your head when you get out of the tub. He's really good.”

Della stood there staring at him, the dark candlelit atmosphere making it seem surreal. Instantly, she remembered how Chan's parents had been devastated at his funeral, how his little sister and hers had cried. How Della had wanted to cry, but her daddy kept looking at her and reminding her she had to be strong.

“No,” she said to Chan. “I won't do this.”

“You don't have a choice.”

“No!”

And just like that, Chan disgusted her. She had to get away from him. Away from everything he was telling her. She shoved him hard. Harder than she intended to. She saw him fly across the room. She didn't wait to see him land, or even to see if he was okay. She took off, darting between tables until she saw a door and ran for it. That room was even darker—only two or three candles were placed on a bar. She darted away from the light, hoping to hide, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

Suddenly a guy grabbed her by her forearms. “Slow down, sweetcakes. You okay?”

Sweetcakes?
She looked at him, but with the tears in her eyes her vision wasn't quite focused. Suddenly his forehead opened up and she saw his pattern. She didn't know what he was, but when she looked deeper, she got a sleazy feeling.