Vampire High Sophomore Year - By Douglas Rees Page 0,16

know why cities turn buildings like that over to artists? Money. Money follows art around like a lost puppy. Even Uncle Jack can understand that. I’ll cut him in.”

“Good idea,” I said. “Dad’s always wanted to be part-owner of an abandoned building with a wannabe painter in it.”

“I am not a damn wannabe,” Turk snarled. “I produce. I sell.”

“Good night, Turk,” I said. “Good luck with Dad.”

I went back down the ladder.

I heard it thump up behind me.

I had to admit, I was glad Turk was home safe. But what kind of nut job cousin did I have?

“Buy me a mill, Uncle Jack. I want to paint my pictures there.” It was like she was still making spaceships out of cardboard.

But as I got into bed, I thought that maybe Crossfield could be the topic of my impossible research paper for Gibbon’s history class. It wasn’t a blinding flash of inspiration. I wasn’t even very interested in it. But Turk was sort of right about the place. It hadn’t been beautiful, but it had been intriguing in a twisted kind of way. Like a car wreck. There might be a story there.

8

Mom, Dad, and I were sitting around the breakfast table the next morning. We looked just like one of those paintings of happy families you see on old magazine covers, except that we didn’t look happy. Dad was scowling, and Mom’s lips were a thin line in her face.

Turk slouched into the room, poured a cup of coffee, grabbed my toast out of my hand, stuffed it into her mouth, and swallowed it with the coffee.

“Thanks,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Good morning, Turk. It’s nice to see you. Are you all ready for school?”

“Turk, we were very worried about you last night,” Mom said. “We had no idea where you were, or if you were all right. You could at least have called. Please don’t do that again.”

“I didn’t have anything to say last night,” Turk said. “But I do now. Uncle Jack, I need some space of my own. Like one of those old mills in Crossfield.”

“What is this with Crossfield?” Dad said.

“It’s the next big thing,” I said. “Urban decay. Better catch the wave while you can, Dad.”

“Cody!” Dad said. “Anyway, Turk, do I understand you correctly? Are you asking me to buy you an abandoned mill?”

“Yeah,” said Turk. “I know just the one I want.”

“Oh,” said Dad. “Good. Just wanted to be sure. No. I will not buy you an abandoned mill.”

“I knew it,” Turk said, and slammed out of the kitchen. She got into her car and peeled away from the curb, leaving me to wait for the school limo.

I relaxed in the car with the usual morning crew: Anton, Istvan, Janos, Anastaizia, Gizi, and Trescka. They were the same kids who’d snubbed me last year, walling me out behind their special language. Now things were different.

“Come and rest beneath the shadow of our wings, O radiant horse,” Gizi said, and giggled.

“Your horse is beyond deserving,” I said.

And then we all switched to English.

New Sodom went past the windows slowly, and it was another beautiful day, the morning sun bright on the houses and the shadows extra dark under the trees.

It was perfect—the weather, the quiet car, the jenti chatting softly about little things with each other and with me.

So I said, “Hey, anybody know the story on Crossfield?”

And the chatting stopped and the car was real, real quiet.

Finally, Istvan said, “No.”

And Anton said, “Not really.”

And Janos shrugged.

And Anastaizia, Gizi, and Trescka looked out the windows.

When we got to school, everyone hurried off and left me except Gizi, who said, “Some things…,” and shook her head.

Which was clearly all the explanation I was going to get.

Now I was really curious. And when I was curious about anything jenti, I could always ask Justin for a straight answer.

But Justin and I didn’t have classes together in the morning. And it wasn’t until dinner that we saw each other.

Ileana was with us, and there was an empty seat. Turk had started sitting at a table by herself. She was across the room, writing in a black notebook and shoving her food into her face without looking at it.

“Listen,” I said. “Turk visited Crossfield last night.”

No reaction from Ileana.

Justin said, “Oh.”

“So anyway, she came home with this weird idea that my dad should buy her one of the old mills and let her turn it into a studio. The whole thing.”

“Hm,” Justin said.

Ileana put down her fork.

“But