They were all still watching me, with nearly identical expressions of disgust and distaste. Some of them looked older than me, some even younger, but they’d all been around for centuries, whereas I was the brand-new model . . . the first in decades.
Hence, the guinea pig—but mainly because I’d grown up in the modern age, with swipe cards and internet and food from machines. I trusted all that stuff, at least in theory.
They hated it.
I rolled the can indecisively in my hand for a few seconds, staring at the splashy graphics—the vampire fangs framed the blood type nicely. “How do you think they got away with getting these made?” I asked Eve. “I mean, wouldn’t somebody think it was a little strange?”
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Michael, don’t you pay attention? Out there”—meaning, anywhere except Morganville—“it’s just a big joke. Maybe they thought it was for a movie or a TV show or a new energy drink. But they don’t think about it like we do.”
I knew that, even though, like Eve, I’d been born and raised in Morganville. We’d both been out of town exactly once in our lives, and we’d done it together. Still, it was really tough to realize that for the rest of the world, our biggest problems were just . . . stories.
As hard as Morganville was, as full of weirdness and danger, Out There hadn’t been a walk in the park, either. Though I wished I’d been able to go to a really big concert. That would have been cool.
I was still turning the can around, stalling. Eve grabbed it from me, popped the top, and handed it back. “Bottoms up,” she said. “Oh, come on, just give it a try. Once.”
I owed her that much, because the black choker around her neck was covering up a healing bite mark. Vampire bites closed quickly, and usually without scarring, but for an awkward three-day period, she’d be wearing scarves and high necks.
It was typically Eve that she was also wearing a tight black T-shirt that said, in black-on-black Gothic-style lettering, good girls don’t. awesome girls do.
She saw me looking at her, and our eyes locked and held. Hers were very dark, almost black, though if you really got close and looked, you could see flecks of lighter brown and gold and green. And I liked getting close to her, drawn into her warmth, her laughter, the smooth hot stretch of her skin. . . .
She winked. She knew what I was thinking, at moments like these, but then as she’d once told me, smugly, most guys really aren’t that complicated.
I smiled back, and saw her pupils widen. She liked it when I smiled. I liked that she liked it.
Without even thinking about it, I raised the can to my lips and took a big gulp.
Not bad. I could taste the aluminum, but the blood tasted fresh, with a bitter streak that was probably from the preservatives. Once I started drinking, instincts kicked in, and I felt the fangs snap down in my mouth. It felt a little like popping your knuckles. I swallowed, and swallowed, and all of a sudden the can was light and empty, and I felt shaky. I don’t usually drink that much blood at one time, and I’m more of a sipper.
I crushed the can into a ball—vampire strength—and tossed it across the room into a trash can, basketball style. It sailed neatly through the narrow circle.
“Show-off,” Eve said.
I felt great. I mean, great. My fangs were still down, and when I smiled, they were visible, gleaming and very sharp.
Eve’s smile faltered, just a little. “Really. Showing off now.”
I closed my eyes, got control, and felt the fangs slowly fold up against the roof of my mouth.
“Better,” she said, and linked arms with me. “Now that you’re all plasmaed up, can we go?”
“Yeah,” I said, and we got two steps toward the door before I turned back, got the card out of my pocket, and slid it through the machine’s reader again. Eve stared, blinking in confusion. I chose another O negative (“This Blood’s for You!”) and slipped the warm can into the pocket of my jacket. “For later,” I said.
“Okay.” Eve sounded doubtful, but she got over it. She turned back to the crowd of vamps watching us. “Next?”
Nobody was rushing to swipe their cards, although one or two had them out and were contemplating it. One guy scowled and said, “Whatever happened to organic food,” and went to the counter to get a fresh-drawn bag.
Well, I’d done what Amelie had asked me to do, so if it didn’t work, she couldn’t blame it on me.
But I did feel great. Surprisingly, the canned stuff was better than the bagged stuff. Almost better than when Eve had let me have a taste straight from the tap, if that’s not too sick.
I felt them watching us. Eve and I weren’t the most popular team-up in town . . . humans and vampires didn’t mix, not like that. We were predator and prey, and the lines were pretty strictly
drawn. In vampire circles, I was looked at as either pitiful or perverted. I could imagine what it was like on Eve’s side. Morganville’s not full of vampire wannabes—more a town full of Buffys-in-the-making.
Our relationship wasn’t easy, but it was real, and I was going to hang on to it for as long as I possibly could.
“What do you want to do?” Eve asked, as we stepped outside into the cool Morganville early evening.