Chapter 7
7
Ashley
E sther had looked at her mouth. That was a classic romance move. It’d been a few years, but Ashley read romance. She knew that was a move. And now they were walking up the stairs—where bedrooms were kept—Esther’s cute ass right there in front of her, rocking those black jeans, and Ashley had to wonder, was this night shifting into date territory? Sure, Uncle Pete was down there mucking up the atmosphere but also pushing them upstairs to some privacy.
No, she was getting carried away by the moment. What would twenty-year-old Ashley do? Ashley spun around, pointing like a compass at the three doors at the top of the stairs. “Which one is yours?”
“Oh, these are Uncle Pete, Jason, and the bathroom.” Esther pointed at each door, eliminating them one by one.
Ashley stopped her spinning. Did Esther not have a room? She knew Esther didn’t live here permanently, but she assumed they were headed to Esther’s room. Ashley’s pondering was interrupted by the squeaking of old springs. Esther had pulled a cord from the ceiling, opening a hatch and unfolding a ladder staircase.
“I’m up here.” Esther climbed the steps, disappearing into the empty, black rectangle.
Ashley grabbed the ladder, waiting until a yellow glow illuminated the hatch before starting up. A waft of cool, stale air and dust molecules flowed down to her as she climbed. As though the space hadn’t been properly aired out in a while.
“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess. It’s technically only half-finished. But rent is free, and it’s close to campus, so I can’t complain.”
Ashley reached the top, her hand resting on the rough plywood floor as she pulled herself up the rest of the way. The space in front of her was a mess. On top of the bare plywood was a tightly packed maze of boxes and stuffed trash bags. In the far corner was a fully assembled Christmas tree. And over all of it, the sloping ceiling showed bare beams filled with puffy insulation, trimmed professionally in brown paper as though waiting to be properly covered in drywall and made into a real room if only someone had the time. Ashley scanned the boxes of old toys and out-of-season clothing, wondering where Esther could possibly fit.
When she turned, it was like she was in a different world.
A thick layer of blue and red vintage rugs hid the rough floors. The brown paper ceiling was disguised beneath mandala tapestries tacked in place. And the bare wood beams running horizontally between the arches of the ceiling were looped with strings of lights, giving the space a warm, yellow glow. A plain mattress, propped on recycled pallets and covered with a slightly mussed, white linen duvet, dominated the center of the space, and in the far corner under the round window rested a vintage tufted armchair next to a small, overflowing bookshelf.
As though entering a holy place, Ashley stepped cautiously, reverently into Esther’s room.
“It’s beautiful.”
Esther stood in a corner by the chimney separating the two halves of the attic, her attention on Ashley, as though waiting and judging Ashley’s reaction. There was something disarming about the way Esther watched the world. Like she saw through the face Ashley presented, the smiles and the cheerful words, to whatever she was in the dark.
They certainly couldn’t have that, so Ashley pasted on an especially bright smile and moved to the far side of the room, plopping into the armchair. It wasn’t until she was seated on the worn cushion that she noticed the record player on the floor and the crate nearby with a handful of vinyl. She combed through them like the nosy busybody she was. It was a small collection of about ten. All vintage and mostly classical music, though there was Barbra Streisand’s album, Wet . She plucked it up and held it so Esther could see, only raising a brow in question. Esther walked closer. A blush traveled up her neck and colored her cheeks. Delicious.
“It’s my mom’s.” Her answer was almost apologetic.
“Barbra’s a classic,” Ashley said, tucking the album back with a shrug. “What do you have in the player? Please tell me it’s Debussy.”
“Are you a fan of Debussy?”
The quick way Esther asked had Ashley regretting making the reference. Here she was, trying and failing to make Twilight references when Esther actually cared about Ashley’s musical taste.
“He has some good ones.” Probably . But Ashley only knew the one.
A glance at the bookshelf proved Twilight was nowhere to be found. Bram Stoker’s Dracula was there though, which also made sense. Esther seemed like the type to enjoy the darker classics. She’d probably love talking to Claribel about the authors Claribel had met and eaten over the years.
On second thought, she should probably keep Esther away from Claribel.
Ashley picked up the book resting on top of the shelf, half-heartedly flipping through the pages. “I used to love to read, but…” She broke off, years of solitude flashing before her eyes. She pulled them back into the box in the back of her mind where she kept them. “I haven’t had a chance in a while.”
“You could borrow one,” Esther offered. “If you’d like.”
If she’d like? Sharing books was a sacred thing. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.” Esther shifted from her spot by the bed and knelt in front of the shelf. “I couldn’t fit my whole collection. Some of these I’m borrowing from Uncle Pete.” Her fingers combed through the spines.
Ashley slid off the chair to join Esther on the floor. The space was small, and she sat close enough that only a whisper of space separated her knee from Esther’s.
“Which one would you suggest?” Ashley asked.
Esther’s smile faded, and her shoulders pulled up. Her hand fiddled with her ear, hidden within her curls, as her gaze—darting across the shelves—turned more frantic than loving, and Ashley realized her mistake. Esther didn’t give advice.
“I mean, which is your favorite?” Ashley asked quickly.
The tension in Esther’s shoulders loosened at the change in wording. Ashley resisted the urge to rub Esther’s back like she was soothing a scared animal.
“They’re mostly old reads,” Esther said, “so I don’t know how many you’ve read already. I’ve always loved Poe.”
Maybe she would hate Claribel.
“What’s your favorite of his?” Ashley’s legs were losing feeling from kneeling for so long, so she shifted off her legs, her knees pointing to Esther. In a burst of confidence, or maybe recklessness, she placed her hand on Esther’s ankle in that small stretch between jean and sock, her thumb resting lightly on the knob at her joint. Esther didn’t move or say anything, but Ashley heard her heart rate pick up.
A chuckle that was only a quiet puff of air escaped Esther, and she turned her attention from the books to Ashley. “You want me to pick a favorite? Impossible. And where would I begin? Favorite short story? Favorite poem? Something scary, romantic, a mystery?”
Esther shifted to her side too, and Ashley’s hand was brushed away in the motion, but their socked feet ended up touching. This felt more intimate.
“Start where you want,” said Ashley. “I want to hear everything.”
“I probably sound like a creep, but when it comes to short stories, I love his dark stuff. ‘The Pit and the Pendulum,’ ‘Masque of the Red Death,’ ‘The Cask of Amontillado.’ More revenge and torture than mystery. But with his poetry, I’m all about the tragic love like ‘The Raven’ and ‘Annabel Lee.’ Though there’s something to the hopeless fortitude of ‘Eldorado.’”
“I think I read ‘The Raven’ in school.” Ashley laughed. She was way out of her element but wanted to keep Esther talking.
“Here.” Esther pulled a large black book from the shelf without even looking for it and shoved it into Ashley’s lap with a thump. The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe .
“Esther, this is your copy.” She didn’t know how to express what this meant to her. “He’s your favorite.”
“Please, I have half of them memorized.” She shifted closer, and her next words were confident. “Besides, you’ll bring it back to me.”
Ashley was still unsure. Taking this book was a commitment, a promise that this one-time not-date would happen again, but she hugged the book to her all the same. “Why don’t you give advice, Esther? I know it’s not because of silly things like recommending a bad haircut or a restaurant where everyone got food poisoning. Everyone does that from time to time.”
Esther’s mouth opened and closed like she might say something and changed her mind. Ashley stared, riveted, until Esther settled with, “Read a few of the stories. You don’t have to read them all, but tell me which one you liked, or hated, and when you bring it back, I’ll tell you.”
A lock of hair fell in front of Esther’s face, taunting Ashley. It was cliché. Super cliché. But her hand moved anyway as she shifted forward and brushed the piece of hair back behind Esther’s ear. Ashley still wasn’t even sure if this was a date or friends or just two classmates hanging out. Was Esther leaning forward?
Ashley leaned in too, ever so slowly. She heard Esther’s heart beating fast as they inched closer. She counted the pale freckles speckling Esther’s nose. Felt her warm breath ghosting Ashley’s cheek. It was important Esther made the final move.
Something behind Esther’s ear stung Ashley’s finger, and she yelped and jumped back. The sting turned into a burn that sank into her skin as she tried to keep back tears and hold in her fangs from their instinctual fight-or-flight reflex. They extended anyway, and she had to pout slightly and turn her head to hide the canines poking out between her lips. With a shuddering breath, she pulled them in and turned back, studying Esther’s face to see if she noticed.
“Are you all right? What happened?” Esther reached for her hand, and Ashley reluctantly released her fist so they could both look.
At the end of her ring finger was a perfectly burned cross, still steaming from the contact. Ashley pulled her hand back and looked at Esther’s ear. As she suspected, a small cross dangled from the end.
This was a mistake.
She shouldn’t be up here in this private space, sharing books and pushing back hair.
She was a vampire. Even if she didn’t have the Family telling her to keep apart from the humans, there was so much baggage that came with being with her—with being with a vampire—and she couldn’t put that on someone.
“I should go.” Ashley stood, practically jumping over Esther in her haste to get out of this close romantic setting. She stubbed a toe on Esther’s platform bed but ignored the shooting pain. It took the last of her control to keep a human speed while descending the steps.
“Ashley, wait.”
But she couldn’t wait. Maybe Esther hadn’t seen her teeth, but she’d seen the burn. It wasn’t subtle. Anyone that knew the lore knew what that meant. Esther had Dracula on her freaking shelf.
“Tell your uncle I said thank you for the dinner,” she called over the creaking of Esther running down the stairs. She slipped on her shoes, praising the speed of ankle boots, and ran out the door without looking back.
Outside, Ashley didn’t bother with human speed. She needed to get out of there. She couldn’t see Esther ever again. Maybe she could drop the class. Would this night compromise her entire mission?
It wasn’t until she was back at the Family’s house and in her room that she realized she still had The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe tucked safely under her arm.