Valentine's Day of the Undead Page 2

  Having Cliff around all the time—from when I wake up in the morning with fuzzy teeth, to late at night when I’m watching bad reality shows in my room and wishing Ethan was there to make fun of me for it—isn’t easy. I can tell Cliff wishes we were more than BFFs and allies in the war against black magic, and I admit there are times when I’m…tempted.

  I care about Cliff, and there’s no doubt that he’s a good-looking guy. Very good-looking, actually. And sweet, and a great friend and, apparently, quite a dancer.

  I watch him spin Terra out of a Lindy-hop combination with genuine awe. Who knew he could shake his groove thing like that?

  Cliff suddenly stops dancing and turns, catching my eyes across the crowded gym. He smiles and my cheeks heat, but thankfully it’s dark and he’s too far away to see me blush. He waves, and I wave back before turning my full attention back to loading more hot dogs onto the rolling cooking machine.

  I can’t let myself think about Cliff as anything but a friend. He’s here with Terra, and even if he weren’t, he’s not the guy for me. Ethan is my One. Was my one, until I ruined everything and cursed myself to a lonely life spent serving refreshments with extra relish to those smart enough to hold on to the person they care about.

  As if to underline my pain, the D.J. switches to a slow song, the lights dim, and all the shadows on the dance floor ease together in softly swaying pairs. Ugh. It’s the last straw.

  I drop the hot dog tongs on the table and reach for my purse. I need a break from the love fest. There’s no one in line for hot dogs, and it’s not like I’ll be gone that long. Just in case, I scribble “back in five minutes!” on a napkin and set it by the tongs. That should do.

  I hurry around the table and back toward the entrance to the gym. There’s a public restroom behind where the D.J.’s set up, but the girls’ locker room is located off the lobby. I’m more likely to get the privacy I’m craving out there. Of course, if Kitty sees me, she’ll probably insist on joining me and standing outside the stall while I pee. She’s been that intense about her guarding duties of late. It’s understandable considering the danger I’m in, but there are times when I resent having an Enforcer shadow. Like when I’m blowing my nose, or going to the bathroom, or in need of a few minutes to indulge in a Valentine’s-Day-Is-The-Worst-Holiday-Ever cry.

  Thankfully, Kitty is engaged in conversation with one of the other chaperones as I slip through the door and into the lobby. For a second I hesitate—worried that she’ll be freaked out if she turns her attention back to the hot dog stand and realizes I’m gone—but after a second, I decide to take the chance.

  The need to be alone is even stronger out here. Through the glass doors, I can see the parking lot, the last place I saw Ethan before he left for Nashville. If only I’d known he was going to be shipped out the next day, maybe I would have said or done something differently and he would have stayed. Or at least agreed to a long distance relationship. I’d still be missing him like crazy, but it would be so much easier to miss him if I knew he was out there missing me, too.

  By the time I reach the girls’ locker room and push inside, my throat is tight and it feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. I collapse on the benches by the lockers and bury my face in my hands, certain the sob fest is going to commence at any second.

  But it doesn’t. I’ve been working so hard not to show how miserable I am that my body has forgotten how it feels to be alone and safe to feel whatever I’m feeling.

  The heaviness just lies on my chest.

  Trapped. No way out.

  Just like me.

  Once upon a time, I thought being forced to Settle the dead was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. I would have done anything for my supernatural power to fade away, and be able to live a normal life. Now, everything is so much worse.

  Even if my power fades, my blood will never change. The bad guys are always going to be after me for the magically charged red stuff that rushes beneath my skin. I’m going to need bodyguarding for the rest of my life, and there’s a good chance that at some point, someone—me, or one of the people watching me—is going to make a mistake, and the bad guys are going to win.

  Maybe they’ll kidnap me and hold me prisoner in order to secure a steady source of witch blood. Or maybe they’ll drain me all at once, and leave my body in a ditch.

  Neither option sounds very appealing, and the future…

  Well, the future isn’t something I look forward to anymore. I hate walking this scary road alone, without Ethan by my side. Even if I could just hold his hand right now, I’d feel so much better. Ethan is a very, very good hand holder and never complains when I have a bout of profuse palm sweat. He loves me—palm sweat and all.

  And I love him, I always have. Even back when he was an arrogant jerk who treated me like a bratty little sister.

  Arrogant. Hmmm…

  Ethan is amazing, but he’s also proud.

  Maybe that’s the reason he hasn’t called me back! Maybe he’s up on his pride horse and can’t bend down far enough to pick up the phone. And maybe I’ve been up on my pride horse a little bit, too. I mean, I could have written an email or a text or at least left a voicemail, but I haven’t. I’ve been too chicken to put myself out there without some hint of how he’s feeling.

  But can I really afford to be a cowardly baby? When my one shot at true love is at stake?

  “No.” The word sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet locker room. It echoes, rings in the air, inspiring me like a call to battle. My phone is out of my purse, and Ethan’s contact information pulled a second later.

  My thumbs fly across the keys as I make my Valentine’s Day confession. I pour out my soul, holding nothing back. I tell Ethan exactly how much I miss him, how much I care, and how desperately I wish he was here with me tonight. I finish and hit send before I can talk myself out of it. And then I sit there, rereading the message again and again, trying to imagine what Ethan will think when he reads it.

  Will he get it tonight? Will he respond? Or will he let the message fester in his inbox for another week or more while I languish in misery and—

  My phone trills and leaps in my hand. It’s Ethan. He’s already texted me back!

  Me too. All of it. I missed you so much I jumped in the car after class today. I’m almost to the Carol exit. Be my Valentine and meet me at Sonic in fifteen minutes?

  I type back “yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” and jump to my feet in a spontaneous, spastic victory dance. It’s all I can do not to squeal out loud! Ethan misses me! Ethan still loves me! Ethan’s almost here! And I’m going to be alone with him in fifteen minutes!

  Alone. I freeze mid wiggle and my hopes crash back to earth.

  Ethan and I can’t be alone. Kitty will be right there in the car with us. She might be cool enough to sit at one of the outdoor tables at Sonic and avert her eyes for a few minutes, but that’s it. And considering it’s barely above freezing outside, even a few minutes will be a lot to hope for. If I want this reunion with Ethan to be a real reunion, I’m going to have to take ditching my bodyguard to the next level.

  Once again, I hesitate, torn between respect for Kitty and what’s she’s trying to do for me, and the desperate need to be alone with Ethan. Really alone. Just him and me and a Sonic hot fudge sundae—his perfect, all weather snack food—in the back seat of his Mini Cooper. I can already taste how much better the fudge tastes when it’s licked from Ethan’s lips.

  Ethan’s lips. They must be mine. All mine.

  At least for a few minutes.

  Then Ethan and I can come back to the dance, put Kitty’s mind at ease, and become a pair of swaying shadows on the dance floor. Sigh. As Hamlet would say, “tis a consummation devotedly to be wished.” And I’m not talking about offing myself. I’m talking about kisses. Ethan kisses. Kisses that make me feel magical in a way that has nothing to do with zombies or witches.

  Decision made, I head for the locker room bathroom, and the window tha
t will dump me out on the left side of the gym, far from the prying eyes of any pom squadders or Enforcer body guard types who will wonder where I’m going if they catch me sneaking out the front. I rode here with Kitty, but I don’t need a car to get to Sonic in fifteen minutes. If I run, I can get there in ten, and be waiting when Ethan pulls into our usual spot.

  Ethan! Our spot! Tonight! Almost right now! This Valentine’s Day isn’t going to be the most wretched night ever, after all!

  It’s going to be wondrous and perfect, served warm, and smothered with the sweet sauce of true lovers blissfully reunited. I’m so certain everything’s going to be fine that even dropping out the window into the cold, dark night doesn’t give me the willies. Yes, it’s true that every other time I’ve snuck out a window in my life disaster has followed, but not tonight. Tonight is a night for magic and miracles. I am certain of it.

  I hit the ground and run for the road without a single look back.

  February 14th, 9:36 p.m.

  Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight?

  Elvis’s voice oozes from the speakers at the abandoned Sonic drive-in, echoing off the plastic overhangs covering the parking spots, syncopated by the harsh buzz of a broken electric menu. The street leading to the last burger joint before Carol turns into a maze of subdivisions is dark and still, and the only sign of life is a gathering of crows picking at a furry, dead thing beneath the sputtering streetlight at the corner of Main and Needle Lane.

  Eerie. Creepy. With tremble on top.

  The sign flashing orange in the drive-through window says the place is open, but apparently freezing cold weather doesn’t put the average Carol, Arkansas citizen in the mood to grab burgers and ice cream and eat in the car.

  I cross my arms and huddle tight to the side of the building, taking comfort in the fact that I can hear people moving around inside if I really try. Otherwise, it would be easy to start dwelling on how much this moment resembles the beginning of a horror movie.

  Girl alone? Check.

  Usually cheery setting made creepy by the fact that it’s utterly deserted? Check.

  Romantic old music that will be made scary as hell when played over footage of Girl Alone being hacked to bits by zombies/mutant wolf creatures/axe murderers/escaped mental patients possessed by demons/evil clowns? Check and check.

  Of all those, zombies are the only thing I’m equipped to combat, and I’d be happy to avoid contact with the feral undead tonight.

  I shiver. “Come on, Ethan. Where are you?” I check my phone again just to make sure that it’s really been thirty minutes since Ethan’s text. It has.

  Fortunately, however, Kitty didn’t text me until five minutes ago. I texted her back saying that the four chilidogs I ate were having an adverse effect on my delicate digestive tract, and that I was just finishing up in the bathroom. I promised I’d be back at the hot dog stand in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.

  Hopefully she won’t go looking for me in the loo. And hopefully Ethan will get here soon, and we can make it back to the dance before Kitty has a coronary. I’m sure Ethan would rather spend at least some of our limited time together alone, but his late arrival is going to make that impossible. We’ll have to settle for snuggling on the couch after the dance with Kitty or Barker standing guard outside the front door, and Cliff asleep down the hall.

  Ugh. Cliff. Ethan doesn’t know that Cliff is living with my family.

  I meant to tell him one of the many times I called, but he never called me back. What will he think when he finds out? Will he believe me when I tell him that Cliff and I are strictly friends? Or will he assume that our proximity has led to intimacy of the more-than-friends-and-magically-connected-supernatural-creatures variety?

  My nervous stomach cramps and my palms start to sweat despite the fact that it’s freezing and I’m only wearing a thin red sweater, black miniskirt, silky hose, and combat boots. I look down at my outfit critically. The miniskirt is short, but not sexy short, and the sweater is downright modest. I’d planned on serving hot dogs tonight—and figured red was a good call in case I got messy with the ketchup—not reminding my one true love of my lusciousness.

  But then Ethan always thinks I’m pretty, even when I’ve got dark circles from not sleeping well, or I’m wearing my saggy-in-the-butt sweat pants and one of Dad’s old t-shirts. He thinks I’m pretty because he sees me with the eyes of love. Just the same way I see him.

  See him. I see him! Ohmygod, there he is! There’s the Mini, pulling into the last spot on the right!

  He shuts off the car and steps out into the light of the “Eat More Cheeseburgers” sign. My breath catches and I prepare for the electrical charge that always zips and zaps along my nerve endings in the presence of Ethan. The boy affects me on a visceral level, like being electrocuted but much, much nicer.

  I brace myself, prepare to sizzle, but…the sizzle doesn’t come. I meet his eyes and smile. He smiles back, but even his signature grin doesn’t light me up from the inside the way it usually does.

  He seems…different. His shaggy hair is even shaggier and hangs down into his eyes, giving him a vaguely messy vibe, and his black jeans, sweater, and coat are a somber choice for Valentine’s Day and more modern gothic poet than his usual skater-inspired wear. But the small changes in his appearance aren’t responsible for the strange feeling in my chest as I hurry across the concrete to meet him. It’s something else, something in the expression on his face that’s…troubling.

  He’s smiling and seems perfectly happy, but I don’t feel that instant connection. What’s wrong? Is Ethan still mad at me—no matter what he said in his text—or is something more insidious to blame?

  What if my betrayal has permanently soured things between us? What if we can’t ever regain the trust that made our relationship the most honest, intense kind of love I’ve ever known? What if the magic is gone forever and it’s all my fault?

  “Hey,” he says, when I stop a few feet away. “You look beautiful.”

  Even his voice sounds different. He’s holding back, or…something. For a second I’m tempted to break down and beg him to forgive me for The Great Kissing Betrayal all over again, but decide that mentioning Cliff—or the kiss—is probably stupid. It’s better to be myself, and show Ethan that I’m still the same girl he fell in love with in September, no matter how many things have changed since then.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” I say. “I’m so, so glad you’re here.”

  “Really?” he asks, eyes searching mine. “I was afraid you’d be angry, or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Or that you’d already have a Valentine.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I know I left without saying good-bye and things have been different between us. I wouldn’t blame you if you’d…lost interest.”

  Oh my god. Is that why he seems so strange? Is he crazy?

  “Ethan, no,” I hurry to reassure him. “I mean, I think we have a lot to talk about, but you’re…” I swallow, suddenly nervous to say out loud the things I wrote to him less than an hour ago. “I meant that text. There’s no one I’d rather be with tonight than you.”

  He smiles, that grin that makes his dimple pop, and my heart does a happy dance in my chest. Everything is going to be fine. He’s smiling and we’ll work our way through the angst. The important thing is that he’s here. He drove all the way from Nashville to be with me tonight, and I’m not going to let a little awkwardness get in the way of making this the best, first Valentine’s Day ever.

  “So what do you say we get out of here?” He nods to the car. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “Oh, no! I didn’t get you anything.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, opening the passenger’s door. “I don’t need anything but you.”

  “And I don’t need anything but you.” I pause in front of him—tempted for a moment to show him I mean what I say with a kiss. But I decide it doesn’t feel quite right yet, and slide int
o the car. He shuts my door and circles around to his side. “Really,” I say, once he’s settled. “I feel awful that I don’t have anything. Why don’t you keep the surprise and—”

  “It’s not that kind of surprise.” He starts the car and backs, steering through the deserted drive-in and turning onto Needle Lane.

  “What kind of surprise is it?”

  His dimple pops again. “The kind that won’t keep in a box.”

  “Oh. Good. I’m not real big on surprises in boxes lately.”

  “Understandable,” he says, smile fading. He was there when I got the hand in a box from my bio dad. We found it in this very car, perched innocently on the seat in which I am now seated. Shudder. “That’s why I thought this would be better,” he continues. “It’s more of an experience present than a hold in your hand present.”