Fang Girl (9 page)

Mum was nodding. Dad said nothing, his expression neutral, but his artist eyes were scrutinizing Ebon as intently as if preparing to paint him. Zack just looked utterly thrilled with everything.

I crossed my arms over my chest, scowling. “And I suppose you’re going to say that Hakon is actually the good guy here.” Despite my sarcasm, I was badly shaken. In retrospect, Lily’s voice was starting to sound a little too smug, a little too unnecessarily mysterious. And it was hard to doubt the sincerity of someone who’d confronted two armed men for me.

Ebon hesitated. “Hakon is … Hakon. I cannot claim that he is the gentlest of souls. He was born a Viking, which gives him a perspective sometimes at odds with current mores. But his greatest desire is simply for order and peace. It is he who keeps us hidden and safe from mortals—and who keeps mortals safe from those Blood who would otherwise prey indiscriminately upon them.
Which is why your sire is adamantly opposed to him.”

“Hmm.” Dad’s tone was noncommittal. “And you work for this Hakon? Is he your sire?”

“Alas, no. My own sire is … currently in retreat, forcing me to find an alternative patron.” Ebon spread his hands, palms up. “It may perhaps stand as a testament to Hakon’s character that it is he that I chose to swear myself to, and although I am not of his Bloodline, he accepted my oath.”

“So … that kind of makes you my adoptive cousin or something?” I had a sinking feeling that vampiric social relations were going to prove even more complicated than school cliques.

He cocked his head at me. “No. Why?”

“Lily said Hakon was her sire’s sire.”

“I see.” Ebon rested his elbows on his knees, his face pensive. “So she does indeed seek to conceal her true name and nature from you. She is not Hakon’s descendant,
ma chérie
. She is more ancient than that. She is more ancient than my own sire’s sire, who once fought in the great Colosseum at Rome. She is, in fact, the very oldest among us. She is a Bloodline unto herself. She has always walked alone, seeding war in her wake but creating no descendants … until you.”

“Why?” Mum said, her voice sharp with anxiety. “Why Xanthe?”

Ebon shook his head slowly. “We do not know. But it can mean nothing good. When Hakon learned of this, he dispatched as many men as he could muster to hound your sire, to keep her from returning to complete whatever plan she has.”

I swallowed. “You keep saying ‘your sire.’ What’s her real name?”

Ebon hesitated again. “Perhaps it would be best if you continued to think of her as Lily.”

“Mr. de Sanguine.”
I
wouldn’t argue when my mum used that tone. “Tell us.”

Ebon struggled for a moment, looking conflicted, then let out a long sigh. “Her real name,” he said, “is Lilith.”

M
esopotamian mythology.” As usual, Mum barged into my room without knocking. Going straight to my desk, she started unloading books one by one from her massive shopping bag. “Talmud commentaries. Kabbalah traditions. Chronicles of the Vikings. Scandinavian cultures from the seventh to tenth centuries. The French Revolution.” She dropped the last book onto the teetering pile. “The librarians must think I’m writing an incredibly odd research paper.”

“Good evening, Xanthe,” I muttered to my own reflection in the mirror. “How are you? Why yes, Mum, I’m recovering nicely from last night’s traumatic events, thank you for asking.” I screwed the top back on my
lip gloss and turned around with a deep sigh. “Mum, what’s all this?”

“Research.” She pointed at each group of books in turn. “Ebon. Hakon. Lilith. Though that last one is a little speculative. French aristocrats and Viking warriors have solid historical evidence, but I’m dubious about the existence of a ten-thousand-year-old demon.”

“What, and vampires are perfectly logical? Anyway, of course there has to be a Lilith. There’s always a Lilith. In vampire books,” I explained, at Mum’s blank look. I waved a hand at my own bookshelves. “She’s always the vampire queen or ultimate sire or some such. And she’s usually an utter skank. Um, no offense,” I added to the air in case Lily was listening in. “Anyway, Lilith turns up in loads of religions and myths as the mother of demons or whatever, so it makes sense that she’d be real, right?”

“Hmm.” Mum did not sound convinced. “And what does she say about all this?”

“Nothing. I can’t get a signal, not even at the bottom of the garden.” I hadn’t dared go farther than that, for fear that the vampire hunters would jump me again. “But Zack’s phone isn’t working either. Maybe the station is down or something.” I picked up one of the
books from the Lilith pile. The front cover had a painting of a fair-haired woman who seemed very happy to see the anaconda encircling her naked body. I had to admit, she did look like Lily sounded. “Mum … I
am
really fast and really strong. I think that means that my sire has to be pretty old. So that part of Ebon’s story checks out. And the werecat and paper-clip guy make a lot more sense if they’re hunters rather than spies for some ancient vampire Elder. But … I don’t know about the rest.”

“That’s what these are for.” Mum patted the stack of history books. “Here, I’ve prepared a list for you.”

I took the clipboard she handed me and leafed through the papers dubiously. “What is this, an undergrad French history exam?”

“Exactly,” Mum said in triumph. “So we can find out if this Ebon really is who he claims to be. You can subtly work questions into normal conversation.”

Yes, I could just see myself ever so casually asking Ebon to explain the composition of the États-Généraux in under two thousand words. He’d never suspect a thing. “Why don’t you do this?”

“I tried while you were getting dressed. He’s able to turn any inquiry into vague small talk about the
weather.” Mum glared at the books, as though they had somehow failed her. “I think he might be under orders to only talk to you.”

“I’ll … be there in a minute.” I turned back to my pale and slightly worried-looking reflection. “I just need to redo my hair.”

“Xanthe.” Mum took the hairbrush out of my hand. “You look very nice already. Stop fussing.” She paused, studying me in the mirror. “Is that why you’ve been hiding up here? Worrying about how you appear to him?” Her voice fell into familiar lecturing tones. “Now, Xanthe, you know that’s a culturally indoctrinated neurosis imposed by patriarchal—”

“God, Mum! Sorry if I want to make a good impression on the only boy of my own species I know!”

“I’m sure he likes you very much,” Mum said soothingly—then her tone sharpened. “He hasn’t
said
that he likes you very much, has he?”

“
Muuuum
! No!”

“Good,” she said, relieved. “So there’s no need for anyone to be anxious, is there? All you have to do is talk to him. Find out who he is.”

I fidgeted with my lip gloss, looking down. There was no way that I could tell Mum that I already knew
exactly
who Ebon was. It was obvious.

Three words:

My.

Soul.

Mate.

All the signs pointed to it. He was the first vampire I’d ever met. He’d saved me from certain death, kind of. He had unlikely hair, an exotic history, an unbelievably sexy accent, and, for God’s sake,
leather trousers
. It was inevitable. I was going to go down there and fall madly in love.

This
sucked
.

I had enough trouble with the mysterious sire who might or might not be an ancient demon, the Viking vampire who might or might not run an evil empire, the zealots who might or might not be out to kill me, and the family who absolutely, definitely,
would
weird out and do something totally embarrassing in front of my fellow vampires at some point. Not to mention the werecat and his van-driving friend, probably lurking behind the hedges even now. I totally did
not
need to add eternal love to my towering stack of problems. Sure, it was likely to all come out okay in the end, but there were bound to be misunderstandings and fights
and long brooding fits punctuated by fiery glances. And I’d probably find myself gazing longingly at him when I should be scanning the treetops for paper-clip-wielding maniacs.

“Xanthe?” Mum touched my elbow. “What are you worried about?”

“Nothing.” Ebon probably wouldn’t even like me until something suitably dramatic happened to make him realize his true feelings. I squared my shoulders. “Guess there’s no point delaying it.”

“It’s a conversation, not an execution, Xanthe.” My mum studied my face, and her own softened. “You really are nervous, aren’t you? Xanthe, let’s talk about this. I’ve been a teenage girl”—this, I felt, was
extremely
unlikely—“and I remember what it was like. You can share your concerns with me. I’ve gone through the exact same thing.”

“What, having to subtly interrogate an ancient, undead French aristocrat who may or may not be telling the truth?”

“I’ve had to talk to boys at parties. Now”—taking hold of my shoulders, she steered me to my chair, and sat down opposite me on the bed—“tell me all about it. Don’t worry about the vampire for a moment. Your
father and brother are keeping him occupied—”

“WHAT?”
I went from seated to fully vertical in under a nanosecond. “You’re letting
Zack
talk to Ebon?”

She blinked up at me. “Ye—”

I was out the door and halfway down the stairs before she’d finished the word. This was an utter disaster! I’d had to publicly disown Zack in eight different schools, and half the time he’d still managed to get me thrown out of the cool cliques. Even now, his weirdness could have driven Ebon out of the nearest window. Zack could be showing Ebon his collection of goggles. He could be expounding on his latest comic book obsession. He could be—oh my God—
talking about me
.

I burst through the door to the living room, smashing it off its hinges in my haste. Ebon leaped from his seat at the noise. In one fluid motion, he whirled to face me, dropping into a combat crouch with fangs bared and weapon raised, ready to strike.

It would have been a lot more impressive if he hadn’t been threatening me with a wireless gamepad.

“Hey, Janie,” Zack said, taking advantage of Ebon’s distraction to pummel the vampire’s in-game avatar.
CRITICAL HIT!!!!
flashed across the TV screen in excited red letters. “You want to play next?”

“Good evening, Xanthe.” Dad was standing behind Ebon’s now empty chair. “Do door handles offend your vampiric sensibilities now?”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “Uh, Dad? What are you doing with that paintbrush?”

“What? Oh.” Dad looked down as if only just noticing he was carrying a two-foot-long camel-hair brush. “I was, uh—”

“Never mind.” I’d just spotted the way that he’d carved one end of the wood into a point. I hoped Ebon hadn’t realized my dad was threatening him with art supplies. “Er, hi, Ebon.” I narrowed my eyes at my brother. “Zack hasn’t been boring you, has he?”

Ebon dropped the controller as if it were a live spider. His ears were bright red, but he swept an elegant bow in my direction. “Your brother is most charming,” he said, thus convincing me that he could lie
really well
when it suited him. “He has been kind enough to entertain me while we awaited the gift of your presence.”

“He’s really good, Janie. He didn’t know this game, but he picked up all the special moves right away.” Zack paused the game and swiveled round in his chair. “Hey, Ebon, is that a vampire thing? To go with the superspeed and stuff?”

“Ah, not precisely.” Ebon hesitated, glancing sideways at me. “But I am over two hundred years old, after all.” There was a glint of wicked secrets in his ice-blue eyes. “I have acquired a great variety of skills over the centuries.”

The way his French accent caressed the rolling
r
’s made it clear that most of those skills did not involve pressing buttons. At least, not on controllers. Oh God, I did not just think that. I tore my eyes away from him, embarrassment sweeping over me from head to toe.

“I guess you must have played everything since …” Zack was evidently searching his mind for something suitably prehistoric. “
Doom
. D’you remember, like, floppy disks?”

Ebon’s white-blond eyebrows rose. “My young friend,” he said, sounding genuinely amused, “the first computer I ever saw was made out of clockwork. I was utterly astounded when Mr. Babbage made it multiply two numbers together.”

“Oh, great,” I groaned as Zack’s eyes went as round as steampunk goggles. “Ebon, you are really going to regret letting him know that you met actual Victorians.” Zack was already out of his chair, drawn irresistibly toward Ebon like a small and badly dressed
history-seeking missile. I grabbed him, lifting him into the air. “Oh, no you don’t. We’ve got to discuss vamp stuff, not gaslight fashions. Out!”

“But …” Zack’s feet pedaled at the air as I swept him away. “Babbage … difference engine … gears …”

“I said ‘out’!” I kicked him out the door, glaring until he reluctantly set off for his room. “And no eavesdropping!” I shouted after him, then turned back to Ebon and Dad. “We
do
have vampire stuff to talk about, right?”

“Indeed.” Ebon hesitated, looking at Dad. “Ah, monsieur, I do not wish to appear ungracious after you have so kindly invited me into your own home, but there are private matters of the Blood I must discuss with Xanthe.”