Under a Silent Moon

9

Chapter Nine: Deep Shade of Emerald

LANA

I set out tonight with a goal--I wanted to be dead. Instead, I've found somebody who already is.

I know about as much about vampires as the next teenage girl. I've read the books, seen the movies, watched the shows. Vampires are centuries-old creatures of the night with an unfaltering lust for blood, who sometimes burn or even sparkle in the sunlight. Some reside in coffins and are repelled with garlic. Others live in modern housing with really nice cars. I'm not sure exactly which one Zackary Ions is, but I know one thing for certain. It was morbidly hilarious.

After we're done laughing like children, I really don't know what else to say. See you later? Have a good night? How do I walk away from this uniquely odd situation and not think twice about it?

"Am I the only person who knows you're still alive?" I pause, contemplating my wording. "Well, you know what I mean."

"I think so," he responds, glancing over his shoulder as if the media might be on his trail at any second. "I've been laying low."

"Have you . . ." I begin, but cut myself off immediately for fear of being insensitive.

But he understands the implication and is already shaking his head. "No, I haven't hurt anyone yet."

There's something about that last word that sends a chill up my spine.

"Maybe we can talk somewhere else? Instead of in the shadows like a couple of drug dealers."

He grins at that despite himself but I can sense the hesitation he harbors.

"I don't know."

"What's it going to hurt?" I watch him as he deliberates silently with himself, and then add, "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"How can I trust you?"

Because I'll hopefully be gone soon anyway. "Because I have nothing to gain from it."

This must be convincing enough, because he follows me to a diner about a mile away from the club.

I cup both hands around my steaming coffee, willing my body to soak in the warmth. Being outside in the frigid air for this long with merely a thin jacket is taking its toll. I glance across the booth and see that the cold has not fazed Zack.

We sit in awkward silence at first. It's difficult to find something to discuss with a boy whom I have essentially nothing in common with, and given our current situation, it makes the gap even greater.

He's got his black hood draped over his face, casting his features in shadow. Before we entered the diner, I scanned the inside, searching for any occupants that might recognize us. Luckily for us, there's only four other people dining tonight: an older couple, a bearded motorcyclist, and a waitress who appears to be on her break, working tirelessly at a sudoku puzzle.

Zack's eyes seem to glow even under the shield of darkness. They're a deep shade of emerald that can't seem to meet my gaze directly. Without the serrated teeth and dilated pupils, this boy doesn't look so foreboding.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" I ask him, motioning to my beverage.

He waves away the suggestion. "I don't think my stomach could handle it."

"Right," I say, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

The waitress sitting at a table a few feet away from us shoots us a glare that I can't read. It's as if she can see right through us.