From the moment it set in that he was holding my friend’s head in his hands up until I fell asleep in his arms hours later, Bo was wonderfully tender and kind.
He’d very gently laid Summer’s head down somewhere out of my line of sight and then picked me up and carried me inside. He didn’t stop until I was bawling my eyes out in the warm cocoon of my bathroom, buried chin deep in hot, frothy bubbles.
Some time later, when my fingers were well and truly pruned, Bo had come back for me. He’d helped me out and discreetly assisted me to dry off and dress.
Then he had carried me to my bed and laid me down, turning me on my side and spooning me from behind. He had lovingly stroked my hair and my arm, sweetly kissed my shoulder and my neck and softly whispered beautiful things into my ear until I fell asleep.
My last memory, after I had finally calmed enough to consider sleep, was of Bo tracing my cheekbone with the tip of his finger and his cool breath tickling my jaw.
“I’m so sorry, Ridley. I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured.
The next morning, my first thought when I opened my eyes, the one right after Bo of course, was of Trinity. I sat up and searched the room for some sign of Bo or his glimmer, but it appeared that he was already gone.
With haste and an urgency I hadn’t felt before, I threw back the covers and got ready for school. On the way, I dialed Aisha’s number over and over and over again, but got no answer. I prayed that I wasn’t too late.
I’d made up my mind that it was finally time to tell those that I cared about, those that were close to me and appeared to be in danger, that the ghost stories were real—and that they have very sharp teeth.
Every mouth at school, of course, was talking about what had happened with Carly. I was inundated with questions. I suppose it was just human nature, but it was very disturbing to see, up close and personal, how much people relished the details of an atrocity like that. Everyone wanted to know what exactly had happened to her, right down to what she was wearing and what her insides looked like.
Needless to say, I had very little to say to anybody. Not only did I not have any desire to disrespect Carly by sharing details like that, the police had specifically asked me not to tell anyone the specifics of the crime scene until they gave me direct permission to do so. They even gave me a little incentive to do as they asked. It came in the form of a veiled threat where they would charge me with obstruction of justice if I made the mistake of revealing something important to any of my friends.
I wanted to tell the police that most of my friends were either dead or monsters, but I didn’t. I just nodded and agreed in all the right places.
I couldn’t find Aisha all morning. Between classes I called her phone, but I always got her voice mail. With every hour that ticked by, I held onto the hope that she’d be at school by lunchtime, like she had on Monday. Unfortunately, lunch came and went with still no sign of Aisha.
Since there was no cheerleading practice tonight, I decided to drive by Aisha’s house before going home. I wasn’t really surprised to see that there were no cars in the driveway and no indication that anyone was home. Both her parents worked, so…
After knocking on every door I could get to, I hopped back in my car, frustrated. I promised myself that I’d try again after dinner at Savannah’s. Surely someone would be home by then.
It was during the drive to Savannah’s house, as I was reliving events from the previous night, that I put two and two together from the short conversation between Summer and Trinity. I finally remembered why the name of the elderly attack victim in Sumter sounded familiar. Maggie Jenner was Trinity’s grandmother. She made organic soaps and shampoos and sold them in a small store in downtown Sumter.
Trinity had given me a set of lavender bath products two years ago for Christmas when she’d drawn my name in the Secret Santa. Obviously, ours were never that secret.
Trinity’s reaction over the death of her grandmother puzzled me. As cold and heartless as she was when she was human, I had no doubts, especially after the accident and what she did to Savannah, that she was even less conscionable as a vampire.
But then there was her reaction to her grandmother’s grisly death. She hadn’t sounded heartless; she’d sounded a bit heart broken actually. Was it possible that Trinity might still have a decent streak, somewhere deep down?
She’d been obsessed with Devon and had probably absconded with him the night of the accident. That’s what Bo and I had both concluded. Yet, Savannah said that Devon was back, that she’d seen him and talked to him. Was it possible that Trinity hadn’t killed him? That she’d merely captured him and then had a change of heart and let him go?
By the time I pulled up at the curb in front of Savannah’s house, I had decided that I’d tell Savannah about Trinity and Lars. If Devon was really back and I was wrong about Trinity, then Savannah could be in danger. The very least I could do was to tell her the truth and warn her.
I figured that Savannah would be in her room, as she’d been every other time I’d visited her, and I planned to tell her right away. Unwittingly, however, Savannah threw a kink in my plan. When Mr. Grant let me in, Savannah was in the kitchen helping him cook.
“Get in here and help me cut vegetables. It’s your fault I’ve been put to work and only the meanest type of person would give a knife to a blind kid,” Savannah called from the kitchen.
I blushed and Mr. Grant patted my arm, closing the front door behind me.
“She’s kidding. She just takes some getting used to.”
I just smiled politely and followed him into the kitchen.
Savannah was at the island, carefully cutting carrots and dumping them into a salad bowl. Watching her wield the sharp instrument did bring Mr. Grant’s judgment into question.
“What she doesn’t tell you is that she blackmailed me into letting her use the knife.”
Oh. Now that sounded like Savannah. Again, I smiled.
“What can I do to help?”
“You can wash your hands and cut some peppers,” Savannah said without hesitation.
“I can do that.”
After I cleaned up, I joined Savannah at the island and helped her dice vegetables and prepare the salad and toppings for dinner. It was the most fun I’d ever had helping out in the kitchen. The banter between Savannah and her father was light and playful, overflowing with love and affection. Even more than before, I envied their relationship.
“Gourmet- ha! I could make a better lasagna than you any day of the week.”