Chapter 16. Lorena #2
“I’m not defending his behavior,” I qualify, “and he obviously has more power and agency than Jane. But take his situation with Bertha—”
“Thank you!” says our teacher, cutting me off. “Sounds like you have also read farther than the class, so maybe let us hear from someone else—”
“As I said, he does what he must to survive,” says William, who’s turned halfway around in his chair to stare at me. “Like all men, he thinks of himself first and foremost—”
“But he doesn’t represent all men—”
And hearing how I sound, I amend, “I mean, all people!”
“Yes, I realize he is a fictional character,” says William, and even the director smirks. “Do you?”
Once we’re back in our room, Salma asks, “What was that about in class?”
I shrug, still feeling sheepish for losing control like that. “Guess I’m passionate about Charlotte Bronte.”
“You’re passionate about something,” says Tiffany, and she and Salma trade knowing looks.
“William and I are just friends.”
“Then why do you sound so disappointed?” asks Salma.
“Are you scared of Mommy finding out you have a boyfriend?”
“Cut that shit out,” Salma snaps at Tiffany, then she winces like the act of saying that physically strained her.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I have a headache.” Salma sits down at her desk, digging out her notebook from her book bag like she’s done talking.
“Just answer one question,” says Tiffany, who doesn’t seem to be finished with me yet. “Are you really this naive and oblivious that you have no idea what’s going on with you and William, or do you just not want to talk about it?”
Salma looks up like she wants to know the answer, too.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say in a low voice.
“Glad we cleared that up.” A cheerier Tiffany sits down at her desk and opens up her notebook to start working.
Salma drops her gaze from mine, and I can tell she’s hurt. I grab my pen and sit down next to her, at my desk. Then I snag her notebook.
“Give it back,” she says as I flip it over and turn it upside down. Opening to the last page, I write:
I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s HER. This is all new to me, and she isn’t exactly Sensitive Barbie.
I slide the notebook back to Salma. She reads it and the lines of her face soften only slightly. Then she grabs her pen and writes back.
I don’t know why she’s pure ice with you. I asked her on the bus ride to Harvard and she pretended like she didn’t know what I was talking about. Just give her time. I’ve been getting to know her, and Tiff is actually pretty cool.
I read the message a few times and force my face not to emote.
My time with the vampire is coming at a price.
I’m losing my best friend.
Salma snags her notebook back like she forgot something and tacks on another line: Has W made a move yet?
I hate lying to her, but for her own safety, I have to.
Just flirting. I mean, it’s only been a couple of days. What about you and T?
She sits up and writes a whole paragraph in response:
He’s a great kisser. I like him, but you know me—I don’t do relationships. I think he’s like that, too. Right now, I don’t think anything matters more to him than the LUB. He’s obsessed with reviewing those books. It’s like he just knows there’s something written somewhere.
The green text crosses my thoughts again.
I’ve only been in that basement room once, but since it’s where William awoke, there must be a connection to him.
A couple of hours later, the three of us head down to dinner.
“What’s that?” asks Tiffany as we approach the dining hall.
The wall near the entrance is blanketed with papers, and on closer inspection, I see that they’re the sign-up rosters for every approved club. A pen hovers by each sheet of paper; they hang from ropes taped to the wall.
“I don’t see morning announcements,” says Tiffany after a minute.
“I don’t see occult club, either,” says a disappointed Salma. I scan the names: newspaper, yearbook, drama, chess, debate, film, robotics … and my gaze locks on Shakespeare club.
Even more surprising than its ratification is the fact that someone has already signed up.
William Pride
I stare at the name, then I look through the dining hall’s open entryway, in the direction of our table. He’s already seated and looking right back at me.
My belly tingles, probably because I know he’s going to demand his own dinner soon. Just the thought of him biting me again makes my knees tremble, so I shove it to the back of my mind.
I avoid his eyes as I pick up my plate from the table, and I walk over to the buffet. Trevor is standing by the staff table and arguing with Director Minaro.
“But it’s a sport played on every school campus in the country—!”
“And no one is keeping you from playing, Mr. Cross. You are welcome to do that in your spare time on weekends, but it will not satisfy the requirement of participating in at least one school-sanctioned club.”
Zach stands behind Trevor, and Tiffany joins at his side. Other students head over and line up behind them; it looks like a lot of people didn’t get what they wanted.
“They don’t have the equipment at the moment to have televised morning announcements,” huffs Tiffany as her heavy plate clatters onto the table.
“She said I’m welcome to set up a table in here and recite the morning’s announcements during breakfast—as if that’s the same thing!
” She turns toward Salma. “Why didn’t you fight for your occult club? ”
My best friend shrugs.
“Well, you’ll have to sign up for something,” says Tiffany. “I’m thinking I’ll join the newspaper.”
“I signed up for the paper, too,” says Zach. “And film club—which you’re all welcome to join.”
I don’t mention Shakespeare club, and William doesn’t, either.
In fact, he doesn’t say a word all through dinner.
It’s only when we’re finished with our food that Tiffany looks at William’s plate and says, “You eat so little.” The vampire only served himself a couple of slices of pot roast and a tablespoon of mashed potatoes. “Yet you’re so … strong.”
She seems to be searching for the right word and lands on that one. I wonder how the vampire is able to digest food, and I make a mental note to ask him later.
“I eat a lot of protein bars,” he says, and for some reason Trevor’s gaze narrows on William, like the latter just said something strange.
I’m actually impressed the vampire came up with that save; I didn’t think they had those in the 1700s, but who knows—maybe protein bars are another thing that got written out.
“The LUB tonight?” I ask the others.
“What is the LUB?” asks the vampire.
Trevor glares at him. “None of your—”
“A library of unwritten books we found in the manor’s basement,” says Salma. “Want to join our secret club?”
“We said it would just be us!” Trevor cries out.
“Just our table-mates,” clarifies Salma, who looks unimpressed with his outburst. “Lore, show William where to go after dinner. We can meet tonight at ten.”
When the hall empties out twenty minutes later, William and I stay seated.
“The LUB is where we found you,” I tell him. “My friends have been going back there every night, checking out the books. They—well, mostly Trevor—seem to think there might be text written somewhere. Maybe there’ll be something about your kind.”
“They are all blank. I checked.”
Remembering what he said about Dracula, I say: “If the LUB revealed everything, it wouldn’t be a secret.”
A FEW hours later, we find the vampire waiting by the red rope. I told him to act surprised when he sees the place.
We cut down the passage to the dusty room with the tarps scattered on the floor because we never bothered replacing them. The guys are waiting for us in here. William goes straight to the wardrobe, and Trevor looks at me. “You told him this part, too?”
He sounds disappointed.
“Sorry,” I say.
Clearly, William was not an actor in his day.
When we get to the LUB, there’s something different about the bookshelves from the last time I was here.
“We’ve been rearranging them,” Salma says, answering my unasked question. “Those shelves are the ones we’ve already looked through.”
“The coffin’s empty,” Zach tells William as if to assuage any anxiety it might provoke. “We’re not sure why it’s here.”
Then he, Trevor, Tiffany, and Salma start pulling books off shelves and flipping through them. Like it’s old habit by now.
Yet as I look around, I notice something else that’s changed—the framed portraits are missing. I wonder if William took them and why none of my friends have mentioned it.
“Check this out,” I say to the vampire, leading him to the reading armchair. Under the guise of showing it to him, I ask under my breath, “Where did the three portraits go?”
“I have them.”
“But my friends would’ve noticed.”
“They came back the night after I awoke. I hid and watched to see what they would do. Zach noticed they were missing right away, so I had to compel them all to forget.”
My mouth goes dry. He changed my friends’ memories without a second thought. He shifted their realities.
And now I’m an accomplice to his crimes.
“Since you’re here,” Trevor calls out to us, “why don’t you help us look through these books?”
“Seems like a waste of time,” says William. “If most of them are blank, what makes you think there is a hidden message?”
“Haven’t you seen movies where they pull out the right book, and a secret door opens?” asks Trevor, and I’m fairly certain the answer is no. “We already found a tricked-out reading chair and a weird-ass coffin, so I’m pretty sure there’s more to these books, too.”
Trevor sets down the text he’s paging through and comes closer to us. “But if this room is too lame for you, you can go,” he tells William. “Maybe catch up on your Shakespeare.”
“Cursed ink!” blurts Salma, obviously trying to deflate the tension between the guys. “Maybe there’s a spell on these books, and that’s why we can’t read the ink. I wonder if we should be looking up spellbooks in the library.”
I know she’s being serious, but no one else seems sure how to react.
“I saw a documentary once about invisible ink,” says Zach. “You can use heat to reveal it.”
“Were the lights on when you first discovered this room?” asks William suddenly, staring curiously at the mass of glowing white wires overhead.
“I think so,” says Zach, and everyone starts looking around, presumably for a switch.
The lights cut out abruptly.
I hear a few sharp breaths as the place drowns in darkness, and Trevor asks, “See any glow-in-the-dark text on those pages?”
“No,” says Tiffany.
“Um, guys … look up,” I say. Without their illumination, the mass of wires is now invisible, exposing the room’s ceiling.
A message glows in the dark.