Vampires Never Get Old - Zoraida Cordova Page 0,50

answer.

THEO: i love your dire voice, b. okay. ask me.

BRITTANY: is there anyone who knows the real theolinda?

THEO: i’ll answer if you will.

* * *

THEOLINDA

The bathroom of the Root & Ruin has a single exposed lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. I sit on the grimy toilet seat after scrubbing my tongue. It’s a good thing I carry an emergency kit in my purse—bandages, mints, mini-toothbrush, Midol, ibuprofen, TUMS, a hydration tablet that crumbles to Pixy Stix dust, lip gloss, three colors of lipstick, an emergency hundred-dollar bill, ID, pepper spray, and a pocketknife.

I wet a napkin I got from Latino Joker and dab it on my cheeks and my neck. Oh my God. Brittany is a vampire. Her friends are vampires. That’s why she doesn’t take pictures. That’s why she joked about it being a “vampire filter.” I knew it was too cool to copy. But these people, they’re not cool. They’re dangerous. I should have trusted my instincts when it came to Imogen.

Can they smell my fear like sharks? Was that cute boy testing me by giving me blood? I pop another mint to get rid of the metallic taste, but the ghost of it is still there. I take long, deep breaths.

Okay okay okay. I can handle this.

Can I, though?

I could barely handle when I got into The New School instead of Columbia. I could barely handle when my brother used my library book for rolling paper. This is just—not how I expected the night to go.

Brittany owes me an explanation.

Then it hits me—I’ve spent the last two years texting with a vampire. She could have easily found me. Drunk my blood and all of that vampiry stuff. Why didn’t she? There were so many times when she could have met me at one of the places I recycle for photos. God, I’m a stalker’s dream and that’s the first thing I’m changing starting tomorrow.

Brittany could have killed me at any moment. Instead, she talked to me. Instead, she was my friend.

Then why isn’t she here?

I take another breath. I toss the napkin on the floor and look in the mirror, which is surrounded by decades of graffiti.

“I am Theolinda Cecilia Romero de Reyes and I have too much to lose.” I tug at the corners of my eyeliner to smooth out the smudges, reapply my lipstick, and walk back out into the party.

The music is deeper, like a metallic heart that beats at a steady, rhythmic pace, and everyone here seems to have been waiting for me to show myself.

“We were getting worried,” Imogen says, standing from the love seat.

The girl in the neon bandeau dress has blood on her clothes. The older woman on the leash is slumped over at a strange angle, not moving, and even though Imogen is talking to me, all I can think is I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.

“Where is Brittany?” the guy with the mustache asks.

“How should I know?” I say, trying to sound much braver than I actually am.

I can feel the tension building as every vampire in this place turns toward me and I back up against the bar. There’s a soft groan and I turn to find the bartender slumped between two vampires, eyes rolled back as they drink from each wrist. I shut my eyes and let out a yelp.

“Where?” the boy with the wolfish grin asks. “It’ll be better for you to tell us.”

“Is that why you came?” I shout. “To yell at her?”

There is a consensus of shrugs and nods.

“You’re all horrible!” I say. “It’s her birthday.”

“Don’t you get it?” Imogen asks. “Brittany has no birthday. Brittany hasn’t aged for two hundred years. And I’m starting to think that neither will you.”

Imogen is behind me before I can blink. Her hand is cold around my neck. I reach for the hairspray in my pocket. She does not get to bite me. I take aim, shut my eyes, and press down hard. Imogen screams and shoves me hard against the bar.

The vampires closest to me begin to cough. Others get ready to lunge. Using the distraction, I scramble to my feet and climb on top of the bar. If I run across, over a dead body and two drunk vampires, and if no one manages to grab me, I can make it to the exit.

Shoot your shot.

I get ready to run. Pale hands grab at me, the steady bass of the music pulses against my eardrums, and I know in this