Evil Returns Page 8

  Her mother kissed her on each cheek. “Isn’t this a beautiful day?” she cried.

  Her father hugged her. “I do have a beautiful daughter,” he said proudly, holding her off for a better view and then hugging her again.

  Even her brother grinned and saluted.

  Always before she had seen them as worthless and herself as worthy. But was this true? She who worked with vampires? Just who was worth anything around here?

  “Last night at the game?” said Luke to his sister.

  “Yeah?”

  “One of my friends wanted to know who you were,” Luke said. He was pleased. He was proud. Luke—who used to be sickened that he had a blood relationship with Devnee.

  Blood. I must not think of blood.

  Her father spread strawberry jam on a toasted bagel and for a minute seemed to be sticking his knife into a jar of congealed blood.

  Devnee held on to herself, and for one queer horrifying moment her self seemed to detach as the shadow had, leaving her with nothing but the beautiful shell.

  “Which friend?” she asked Luke. She picked up her orange juice. It was crimson. She nearly spilled it.

  “Cranberry juice,” said her mother, chirping like a canary. “I thought it would make such a pretty change.”

  They sat together, eating hastily. Mornings were never leisurely. Too many people rushing to too many places. And yet she had time to look at her family, and see them anew.

  “Jesse,” said her brother. “Too young for you. But among your admirers, Dev.”

  No sarcasm.

  Their father said, “I’ve been thinking about that family portrait. I do want to do it. I’ve got such a nice family, and we’re at such a nice stage in our lives. We’ve fit into this town so well. We all love our jobs and school and house. Don’t we?”

  “A beautiful family,” agreed her mother.

  Devnee’s hair prickled. Her mother was much prettier than usual. Her mother was glowing and—

  No.

  No, the vampire had not also corrupted her mother.

  No, these things could not be. It was Devnee who lived in the tower, and Devnee who had made the bargain. Her mother was innocent. Had to be. That’s what mothers were.

  Devnee thought of the test to come. The meeting in the lobby. The crossing of the paths of Aryssa, Devnee, and the vampire.

  I can be kind or I can be beautiful. I cannot be both. That’s so unfair! He has no right to put me in that kind of situation.

  This is all his fault, for being hungry and greedy.

  None of this is my fault.

  Devnee gathered her school things, put on her coat, remembered her scarf and mittens, but did not put them on; carried them as colorful accessories instead. They went out the door, Devnee to her bus and Luke to his.

  Luke ran on ahead, because Luke ran everywhere, pumping muscles wherever he could, getting his daily pleasure from the mere throbbing of his own legs.

  She walked sedately after him, aware of her beauty; aware that she, too, sparkled like snow.

  Her shadow kept its distance.

  It came … but it was not attached.

  It was judging her. Waiting to see what happened in the lobby.

  Chapter 11

  IN THE LOBBY, ELEANOR, queenly and elegant, flourished a decorated cardboard box in which Sweetheart nominations had been dropped. It was a shoe box, the kind that in grade school you decorated with red construction paper and lace doilies and cutouts from women’s magazines, and cut a slit in the top of. Then on Valentine’s Day you collected those silly little cards from everybody in class. In grade school, the teachers made everybody be nice. If you weren’t going to give a card to everybody, you couldn’t give cards at all.

  And yet you could still tell who was loved and who was not. Perhaps the cards for the popular girls were larger. Or lacier.

  Perhaps the party given on Saturday included only a few. Perhaps the cupcake handed to you by the number one kid in the class had less icing on it than the one he gave to his real friend.

  But in elementary school, on Valentine’s Day, you had to be nice.

  “Hi, Devnee,” said Eleanor. “How are you today?”

  “Fine, thanks, how are you?”

  “Couldn’t be better. You look lovely. You must tell me how to put on makeup like that.”

  Devnee was wearing none.

  Eleanor opened the cardboard vote box, which was surely not proper democratic procedure, but then, as Eleanor pointed out, what is democratic about a princess?

  A pile of paper squares lay on the bottom of the box.

  Her name was written again and again: Devnee Fountain, Devnee Fountain, Devnee Fountain for Valentine Sweetheart.

  “Of course, these are only nominations,” said Eleanor. “We don’t know till the Sweetheart Dance who has actually been voted Sweetheart.” She laughed a knowing, superior laugh. “I’m not worried, though. Are you, Devnee?”

  Devnee laughed, also, equally knowing, equally superior.

  A boy she did not know smiled nicely at her. “Guess you’re going to be the Sweetheart, huh?”

  She gave him her flirtiest smile. “Are you voting for me?”

  He blushed. He shuffled a little, embarrassed by attention from somebody as important and special as Devnee. “Well, actually … I guess I’m voting for my own girl,” he said. And put his arm around a plain and ordinary girl at his side, and smiled at her. Smiled with love.

  Devnee’s heart hurt.

  For one incredible moment she actually yearned to be his girl—to get his vote no matter who was prettier.

  But she set that thought aside.

  William came into the lobby. What a hunk he was!

  She waited for William to come to her and say something sweet.

  But his eyes were elsewhere. His eyes were on Victoria. Devnee was amazed. Impressive as Victoria was, interesting, intriguing, smart, all that—still, William could do so much better. William could have Devnee.

  But William’s eyes lingered on Victoria, and eventually he grew courageous and let his hand linger on her, too. Just barely. Just the back of her waist. But Victoria seemed oblivious to William’s intentions. That was an act, of course; nobody on earth could be oblivious to William.

  Aryssa walked in.

  Perhaps it was an exaggeration to say “walked.”

  She slumped in, dragging her feet. She moved as if she were a dead weight on the end of a tow rope.

  Hardly anybody looked at her.

  Only Victoria seemed to recognize Aryssa. “Aryssa,” said Victoria, going over instantly, not even noticing as William’s hand fell from her waist, leaving him behind without a thought. “Aryssa, what’s wrong? You really look down and out!”

  Aryssa’s smile did not quite appear. It was just a feeble slow lip twitch. “I think I—I think I’m tired,” she said.

  “You should have stayed home another day,” said Victoria. “You don’t look well enough to be in school.”

  “It’s the last day for nominations for Sweetheart,” said Aryssa. “I wanted to be here.”

  Several people looked at her with disgusted laughter and pity. They whispered softly to each other. Devnee knew what they were saying—that lump? A dance queen? Please.

  Eleanor said softly to Devnee, “Aryssa’s let herself go so badly. I don’t know how she could possibly be anybody’s Sweetheart. She looks more like anybody’s candy wrapper. Ready for the trash.”

  Eleanor’s group laughed meanly.

  Be kind to her, thought Devnee, a little shocked.

  A dark path oozed out from a crack in the marble. The crack was filled with a strip of gold, and the purity of the gold remained intact, even though the dark path tried to compromise it.

  I could be gold, thought Devnee. I could give up my beauty. Right now. Aryssa could go back to who she is, and people would still admire her, and she would have Trey.

  And I would be kind.

  And plain.

&nb
sp; Dull.

  Unloved.

  The dark path unrolled, like a stained and moth-eaten carpet.

  She stared at it, wondering where it was going, where it would stop, who would trip on it and fall in.

  “Hi, Devnee,” said another boy. “Going to be Sweetheart soon, huh?”

  She smiled back as sweetly as she knew how, to show that her heart was a match for her beauty.

  William caught up to Victoria and said, “Aryssa, you want me to drive you back home? You really look wiped out.”

  Victoria gave him a look.

  William did not know how to interpret it and looked nervously back.

  Victoria said to Aryssa, “William and I are nominating you for Sweetheart, Aryssa.” She gave Aryssa a hug.

  Devnee thought of the last person to give Aryssa a hug and quivered.

  Person? said the vampire in her head. Really, my dear. I am not a person.

  Get out of my mind! said Devnee silently.

  Why? I like it in here. It’s so similar to my own.

  Devnee flinched, and Eleanor, next to her, said in that snippy successful voice, “Problem?”

  “Of course not,” said Devnee, laughing.

  Kindness brightened the receiver. Aryssa was recovering slightly because Victoria was being nice. Because William was there. She didn’t look beautiful again, of course, but at least she didn’t look like a dead body.

  Devnee was relieved. She didn’t have to do anything after all. Aryssa was going to be fine. Devnee did not have to get involved or sacrifice anything. Victoria would take care of it.

  She had answered Eleanor correctly. There was no problem.

  The dark path rolled on.

  The shadow of Aryssa, the shadow of Devnee, and the shadow of the vampire intersected on the gleaming marble, and for one moment they could not be distinguished. They had, as shadows do, blended.

  Interesting, said the vampire in her head.

  Go away, said Devnee.

  I actually thought you would be kind, said the vampire. You come from a kind family. I attempted to enter your mother’s mind, you know. She could not quite communicate with me. That happens with nice people. Honor required that I give her daughter a second chance.

  Go away! screamed Devnee.

  He did not answer. His dark path stayed in the lobby.

  I didn’t have to be kind, Devnee told him. Victoria was kind for me.

  He laughed.

  They could almost hear it, the students in the lobby, and they looked around vaguely, as if trying to identify the sound.

  Nobody can be kind for you, my dear, said the vampire. But I don’t mind, of course. I have you now. There’s no escape, my dear. You and I, Devnee Fountain, are a team.

  “Now you go home, drink a gallon of orange juice, take tons of vitamins, and sleep all weekend.” Victoria beamed at Aryssa. William got out his car keys. “Then you’ll be fine.”

  She won’t be fine, thought Devnee. I stole her fineness. You can nominate her for all the Valentine’s Day Dances in the world and she still won’t be fine. Because I decided against it. I chose beauty over kindness.

  Trey entered the lobby from the opposite end. He did not see Aryssa, or Victoria, or William. How could he? The glitter and glitz of Devnee took up all his attention. He galloped across the room toward her.

  He was tough, and half violent, stunning without being handsome.

  And I was right, thought Devnee, getting ready for Trey. Beauty over kindness any day.

  But “any day” no longer existed for Devnee Fountain.

  The old Devnee—her days had been any old day, one blending seamlessly into another, dull, fogged, pointless days.

  Now the days spun and sparkled.

  The exciting crowd burbled around her, and she within it. Aryssa did not come back for a week, and when she did, even Victoria and William seemed only to half know her. Aryssa was a half person.

  Devnee was relieved.

  Now she need only half worry.

  Aryssa probably couldn’t even tell what had happened. Aryssa was just a thing now. A half event. To whom people gave half their attention.

  Or none.

  Chapter 12

  A VALENTINE’S DAY DANCE.

  Thanks to a generous parent in the restaurant business, it was not held in any gym or cafeteria, but at the Silver Cloud. This sounded to Devnee like a Montana ranch or an America’s Cup sailing ship.

  It was a perfectly named restaurant. Silver walls—yes, silver! They reflected a thousand times more than the dark marble of the school lobby. Crystal prisms hung from a thousand ceiling lamps, and tiny hidden lights, like miniature Christmas tree lights, rimmed unexpected ledges. Rainbows flitted from one crystal to another, and colored shadows danced on the silver walls.

  The high ceilings were hidden by something gauzy that Devnee could not quite see; truly cloud-like.

  She felt airborne. Felt ethereal. Felt beautiful.

  She floated, because silver clouds floated.

  Trey was a wonderful dancer, and the dance was a wonderful dance.

  And Devnee Fountain had no competition in the beauty department. She had never been worshiped. She had never even been noticed. And at this dance, she reigned.

  Something had changed inside her as well.

  She could feel things happening in the room, happening in other people, that she had never felt before.

  She knew, absolutely knew, that every girl in the room wished she could look like Devnee Fountain. She could feel their wishes. The room was full of wishes. Quivery, like gelatin, the wishes cluttered the room, and she felt as if she were swimming among them.

  Wishes for beauty, for grace, for love, for boys, for more, and more, and more, and more.

  She was glad they were so far away from the tower, and the shutters, and the hemlocks of the vampire.

  Too many wishes here for him.

  A hundred girls in a hundred pretty dresses swirled by, and their wishes throbbed in her ears and pulsed against her heart.

  How easily his fangs …

  “Why are you doing that?” said Trey.

  “What?”

  “Putting your hand over your mouth like that.”

  She had not been aware of doing that.

  “Every time you laugh, you cover your mouth,” said Trey. “I mean, what for? Something wrong with your teeth?”

  Her laugh was tinged with fear. Did her hand know, as the shadow had known, that Devnee was no longer right? Was the hand trying to cover her up, as the shadow was trying to escape? If she looked in a mirror right now, along with the beauty, would she see long, pointed, dripping—

  She laughed. She said, “Silly habit. Now I’ll break it.” She kissed Trey on the cheek.

  Trey kissed her back. On the lips. “Keep breaking it,” he said.

  They were doing this when William and Victoria waltzed up. They didn’t really waltz, of course; Devnee had never actually seen anybody waltz. But they were so graceful together the only possible dance word was waltz.

  Victoria said, “I was just wondering, Trey. Not to be rude or anything.” She smiled gently at both of them, and then especially at Devnee. “But I phoned Aryssa and couldn’t get much out of her. What exactly is wrong? Why isn’t she coming back to school?”

  Trey frowned a confused little-boy frown, as one bewildered by global events beyond control. “I dunno,” he said. Very little boy. Carefully not associating himself with a former girlfriend gone weird.

  “Well,” said Victoria, “her spirits are so low these days that the rest of us have done a lot of thinking, and we think that in order to make her feel better, maybe coax her back, get her laughing again, all that—”

  What was coming here? Devnee felt terribly threatened. She tried to keep a sweet kindly smile on her face, but she was trembling all over. What had Victoria done?

  “—we should elect her Sweetheart even though she’s not at the dance,” said Victoria. “I’ve got enough votes,
I think.” Victoria repeated her kindly smile, and Devnee wanted to swat it.

  Where did Victoria come off, snatching the Sweetheart crown away from Devnee minutes before she won it? I am the most beautiful here! thought Devnee. And those are the rules.

  “That’s a great idea,” said Trey, who clearly could not care less.

  “Isn’t it?” said William, who clearly cared a lot. “Victoria thought of it herself.” He stared adoringly at Victoria. Then he turned to Devnee. “Do we have your vote, too, Dev?”

  The blackmail of it.

  What could she say, here in the middle of the room, with admirers listening? No, you can’t have my vote! I want me!

  “Of course,” said Devnee warmly. “That’s a lovely, lovely idea, Victoria. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.”

  Victoria gave Devnee a thorough look. Victoria definitely knew that Devnee would never have thought of it, and if it had been suggested, would have vetoed it with all her power.

  And so Aryssa was elected Sweetheart. It was unanimous.

  And the night, which had been Devnee’s, became Victoria’s.

  Victoria had not even been nominated, and yet she became the dance’s real sweetheart. Because she had one: a truly sweet heart.

  Devnee had to stop using the electric blanket because the wiring in the house was so old and faulty it kept failing, and she’d wake up freezing under this paper-thin nothing. Now she had two wool blankets and a thick puff of a comforter. Devnee wrapped up mummy-style.

  “Really,” said the vampire mildly, “this is not necessary.”

  Devnee simply looked at him. “It’s necessary,” she said.

  His cape fluttered around him like pond scum.

  “Get out of my room,” said Devnee. “I want to be alone.”

  He was amused. “You are never alone now, my dear.”

  It was true. She had not been alone in many, many days. He had infected her, and she carried him like a virus in her soul. I wish he would disappear, she thought. Just leave my beauty and disappear. I wish I were as smart as Victoria. I’d think of a way to outwit him.

  The vampire’s laugh rattled like hard candy falling on a bare floor. “You have a most interesting mind, my dear. Filled with wishes. You are never satisfied. I like that in a girl. Opens many doors.”