Blood and Chocolate

Like someone your age? Vivian thought, repelled by the man's lack of loyalty to his son. She gave him a sultry look. "Well, some older men are attractive," she said in a purposely breathy voice, and watched him puff up like a rooster, "but I haven't met any for a while."

Luckily Aiden and Mrs. Teague came back before Mr. Teague figured out whether or not she'd insulted him, and Ashley removed her headphones to ask in a bored tone when dessert was coming.

"I'm gonna show Vivian my room," Aiden said.

Ashley perked up. "Whoa-oh-oh."

"Do you think that's quite proper?" his mother asked.

"Gimme a break," he mumbled. "You're all down here, aren't you?"

"I don't know why you'd want to show that room to anyone," Mr. Teague said. "But don't be long or we'll send the posse after you." He laughed self-consciously.

Aiden relaxed the moment they were alone. He nuzzled and kissed her all the way up the stairs while she squirmed and tried not to giggle too loudly. She wished his family was a thousand miles away.

"I'm sorry I mentioned the poem," she said.

He shrugged. "That's all right."

The woodwork in his room was painted black, and so were the radiators and the ceiling. The walls were covered with posters and hooks from which dangled such things as beads, tassels, and a fake shrunken head made from an apple. "My mom wouldn't let me paint the walls black," Aiden explained. "She said it would be hard enough painting over the ceiling when I finally left home, so I gave her a break."

I'll bet, Vivian thought, imagining the fight they must have had. "I'm painting my room, too." She told him about the mural.

He laughed. "I guess your mom's not too thrilled, either."

She shook her head. "Cute," she said, examining a plastic model of Godzilla that marched across the top of his black dresser, followed by half a dozen smaller Godzillas.

"Momzilla," Aiden said.

Next to the Godzilla family was a mound made of plasticine topped by a crucifix. She suspected it was meant to be a grave. A tiny doll's hand poked through the surface, like a corpse emerging.

"You've got a warped sense of humor, boy," she said.

Aiden laughed with her. "My aunt Sarah gave me the cross. It's real silver. She thinks I'm going to hell."

"Why's that?" Vivian asked. It seemed strange that one of his own pack would damn him like that.

"Oh, my long hair, I listen to Satanic music, and I have an unhealthy curiosity. She suggested to my mother that she burn my books."

"No!"

"Honest."

She walked over to have a look at those dangerous works of literature in his bookcase. Most were horror and fantasy novels, but at the end of the middle row sat A Witches' Bible Complete and The Druid Tradition. An Aleister Crowley paperback lay open, facedown on the top shelf.

"You believe this stuff?" she asked.

He looked relieved that there was no sarcasm in her voice. "Well, curious really. I mean, we shouldn't close ourselves to possibilities right?"

So he liked to be open to possibilities, huh? Was he open enough to accept the truth about her? There was a thought. Would he still care for her if he knew?

"You read Tarot?" she asked, picking up a pack of cards. It was the classic Rider-Waite deck.

"I haven't learned yet. I've got something about it here, though." He shuffled through some books.

"That's okay," she said. "I only wondered. My great-aunt uses that deck." It was easier to call Persia Devereux that than to explain. A pack was like family, and all older members were aunts and uncles. "She's very good."

"Cool. Your aunt reads Tarot. What other neat stuff does your family do?"