The Awakening (on hiatus)

Blood Sucking Vermin

Kerri, who has the sharpest hearing of anyone I know, sniffs in annoyance. She shrugs off her leather jacket. "Here. Wear this. It's freezing outside. I'm headed to bed, anyway. This night has been shit."

She hands me her jacket, and I slip it on, allowing her pungent perfume and clove smell to envelop me. "Thanks for this. We'll be back pretty soon."

"I trust your brother to keep you safe." She leans toward him, and I can't help but notice her taking a long, deep inhale in the direction of his neck. In addition to her amazing hearing, her sense of smell is like a bloodhound's. One of the many perks of being a vampire, I guess.

"Sure, sure," he says, stepping away from her as if she's got leprosy. Weird.

Kerri clomps away, disappearing behind the door to the stairwell. John looks at me and raises an eyebrow. "Ready?"

Even though it's almost two in the morning and cold as a witch's tit, we make our way outside.

"Seriously, John. It's been so long. Where have you been? I've been worried sick. Every time I ask Mom and Dad, they say they don't want to discuss it. Or you."

"Yeah, I've been pretty much disowned."

"I don't understand. I've never understood." John was four years older than me, so by the time I started college, he'd already graduated. After getting his diploma from Colby College in Maine not far from where we grew up, he took a year off to travel in Europe, and then enrolled in the London School of Economics. Frequent letters and infrequent, expensive long-distance calls had been our only connection for two years.

I'd planned on visiting John this semester, but the weird falling out with our parents had made me hesitate.

Now that he's here, guilt washes over me. Our parents are difficult even during the best of times. John's been on his own, in a foreign city. Why didn't I make more of an effort to call him? I could've used the money from my work study job in the college financial aid office to buy calling cards. Instead, I used my paycheck to buy new Betsey Johnson dresses at that store on Newbury Street.

I'm a terrible sister. But John also hadn't made much of an effort, and his last letter, which came only a few weeks ago, said that he'd found a group of friends in London. I'd worried a little less about him after that. "I'm sorry about Mom and Dad," I say softly.

"I'm not." John's voice is flat and loud. It echoes against the pillars of the highway underpass, the one I walked through earlier that evening with Matteo. I shiver, recalling those hours with him. What would John think of Matteo?

"What happened between you, anyway?"

"I'll tell you when we get inside, out of the cold." He's wearing jeans, black boots, and a black wool coat. Also a black knit cap. Somehow it makes him look quite English and proper. Even his speech has adopted a twinge of British formality, mixing with his Maine accent.

"Okay." We continue in the darkness, the temperature seemingly dropping with each step. "It is freezing out here. Jeez Louise."

"Stop it. You don't need to be nervous around me. I'm your brother."

"Well, of course I'm nervous. I haven't seen you for years, there's some big rift between you, Mom and Dad, and then you show up out of the blue, in March. Why aren't you in school? Surely you haven't graduated. What's going on? And you look different, too. I'm worried about you."

"You're the only one," he says softly. "You've always loved me more than anyone, Evan."

We're about to step from of the shadows of the underpass when I notice a man approaching us. It's one of the punk guys I've seen working at the record store in Kenmore Square. He's got jet-black, spiky hair and is dressed in head-to-toe leather. Handsome, but he's never given me the time of day. Nor Kerri. And god knows she's tried to catch his attention.