Vampires Never Get Old - Zoraida Cordova Page 0,85

a warped reflection in Ben’s soda can, a blank canvas, a pair of blackberry-colored lips.

“What time?”

“Pick you up at nine,” says Ben. “And you better make your move. Calliope Burns won’t wait forever.”

II

[Saturday]

Juliette hovers outside her sister’s room.

She’s about to knock when the door swings open under her hand and Elinor appears, obviously on her way out. She looks Jules up and down, taking in the starry tights, the short black dress, the polish on her nails already smudged because she can never seem to wait for it to dry. “Going somewhere?”

“Party,” says Juliette. “Could you, I don’t know…” She gestures down at herself as if Elinor has some transformative magic instead of just good taste. “Help me?”

Elinor laughs, a soft, breathy sound, doesn’t check her watch. Reggie will wait. She motions toward her vanity. “Sit down.”

Jules lowers herself onto the cushioned stool in front of the well-lit mirror, examining the line of lipsticks balanced along the back edge as Elinor hovers behind her. They both show up, of course; she’s never understood the logic behind that myth. Juliette studies her sister in the reflection—they’re three years apart, and, side by side, the differences are glaring.

Elinor’s hair is silver-blond, her eyes the deep blue of summer nights, while Juliette’s hair is a dingier shade, more straw than moonlight, her eyes a muddy blue. But it’s more than that. Elinor has the kind of smile that makes you want to smile back and the kind of voice that makes you lean in to listen. She is everything Jules wants to be, everything she hopes to become. After.

She remembers Elinor before, of course; it’s only been a few years, and the truth is, she’s always been delicate; beautiful. But there’s no question that now she’s more. As if that first kill took who she was and turned up the volume, made everything sharper, stronger, more vibrant.

Juliette wonders what she’ll be like with the volume turned up, which parts of her will get loud. Hopefully not the voice in her head, doubting everything, or the nervous energy that seems to steal across her limbs. That would be her luck.

Elinor’s fingers slide through her hair, and she feels her shoulders loosen, her tension melt. She doesn’t know if this is a vampire power or just a sister one.

“El,” she says, chewing the inside of her cheek. “What was it like?”

“Hm?” her sister says in that soft, cooing way as she touches a curling iron, testing its heat.

“Your first kill.”

The moment doesn’t slam to a halt. The world doesn’t stiffen or still. Elinor doesn’t stop what she’s doing. She simply says, “Ah,” as if everything about Jules is suddenly clear.

“Is it really so important?”

Elinor considers, a slow shrug rippling through her. “It’s as important as you make it.” She twists Jules’s hair, pins a piece of it out of the way. “Some believe it’s just the doorway, that it doesn’t matter which one you pick, as long as you go through.” She works her magic, taming Jules’s hair into ribboning curls.

“Others think the door determines the place beyond. That it shapes you.”

“What do you think?”

Elinor sets the curling iron aside, turns Jules toward her, one finger lifting her chin.

“I think it’s better if it means something.”

A soft brush slides along her cheekbone.

“It didn’t mean anything to Dad,” says Jules, but Elinor clicks her tongue.

“Of course it did. He took his best friend.”

Her stomach turns. She didn’t know that. “But he said—”

“People say all kinds of things. Doesn’t make them true.” Elinor dips a small brush into a pot of liquid liner. “Close your eyes.” Jules does, feels the tickle of the line along her eyelid. “Mom went a different route,” continues Elinor. “She took a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was the last word on his lips as he died.” She laughs a small, soft sound, as if telling a joke.

Juliette opens her eyes. “What about you?”

Elinor smiles, her perfect red lips parting a little. “Malcolm,” she says in a dreamy way. “He was beautiful, and sad.” She looks past Jules in the mirror. “He didn’t struggle, even toward the end, and he looked so peaceful when it was over. Like a sleeping prince. Some people want to die young.” She blinks, returning to herself. “Others put up a fight. The most important thing is never to let them get away.”

Jules looks down at the array of lipsticks on the vanity, starts to reach for a coral, but Elinor shifts her