Author's notes: Really short opening chapter because I'm actually still working on this one off and on, but I figured it was time to at least post a small portion of it. Another solo work.
Her skin was cool, like the bed sheets beneath them. When her hair fell over his face and he breathed in the scent of Star, all Michael could think of was dried flowers and earth. Tasting her lips-her skin, he felt as if he didn't need to breathe. Though he'd come to the hotel that night desperate for answers, somehow he hadn't gotten any. Star was very good at changing the subject.
Then it was all over, and rather than linger at his side, she tangled her legs into the covers and pulled away. Star's became a puzzle about her that he couldn't solve. Michael was left alone on his side of the bed to dwell on half-formed thoughts and bad dreams. After an hour or so of drifting in and out of sleep, debating with himself whether or not to head home, he noticed something very strange. Wind. Brushing at his hair.
Michael cracked open an eye and sat up. He brought his injured hand to his face and examined the bandage wrapped around it. Should've gone to the ER or something last night. He couldn't even feel any pain anymore. Was it already that bad? He yanked the bandage off, prepared for the worst. But-nothing? His eyes flicked over Star's prone form. Would waking her do him any good? He doubted it.
Then the fire in the oil barrels died completely, and a coolly amused voice pierced the darkness, and Michael had to force himself not to jump up.
"Don't mind us, just coming back from breakfast. Marko forgot to grab donuts, sorry."
David. Whatever was happening to Michael, whatever Star wouldn't tell him, it was all because of David. Somehow. Michael's mind was racing to come up with something, anything to calm himself down. It could've just been a bad trip. Too much pot. A massive hit of acid in the wine. Funky Chinese food, even. But vampires? Right, sure. Sam just read too many monster comics, that was all.
Michael lowered his hand, forcing himself to ignore the nagging fear in his stomach that he was just kidding himself. He directed his attention fully at the group of snickering bikers, and god knew how long they'd been watching him. Despite the lack of any real light in the lobby now, he could still see them now that he knew where to look. Silhouettes and odd shapes. The red glow of a cigarette butt bouncing as David stepped forward with a smile playing on his lips. They were getting clearer by the second now that Michael had managed to shake the sleep from his eyes.
The assholes could've at least waited until he grabbed some pants before ruining what little was left of his night.
Star stirred at Michael's side, reaching out to touch his shoulder, reassuring and half-awake. Far warmer now in waking than sleep had made her. "Michael?" She asked, cracking open her eyes enough to glimpse his upturned face. She followed his gaze to the surrounding Lost Boys and jerked back from him, hurriedly wrapping her shawl about herself and curling back against her side of the bed while the sheet remained tangled about her bare legs.
Michael made a move to pull her closer, alarmed at her sudden change. "Hey, what's-" he began, only to be interrupted.
"-wrong?" David asked, focusing his gaze on Star. His eyes looked funny in the dying light of the oil barrels around them, now that he'd stepped close enough to one of them to be more than just shadow. He looked almost inhuman. Cold and amused.
"I'm fine," Star replied, staring ahead of her and making it a point to keep her eyes focused on some fascinating spot on the bed's moth-eaten canopy. "Michael was just leaving."
"Awwww, already?" Paul cooed, stumbling a little and grinning when Dwayne slugged him in the shoulder.
Michael bit back the unexpected sinking feeling in his stomach. They weren't serious. Exclusive. Only known each other a couple of days. Christ, she was living in the deathtrap hotel with a group of pot-smoking bikers. What did he honestly expect?
"Yeah, already," Michael replied to Paul's little jab. As soon as they backed the fuck off, he'd grab his pants and go. Give his pride a couple of days and maybe he'd be back to hanging out with them again. Or not. He didn't even know why he still wanted to after the weird reverse walk of shame he was about to make. She could've at least left him with the sheet to make this whole thing a bit less humiliating.
He kept himself in check throughout the entire painfully quiet minute or two it took him to scoop his jeans off of the ground and slip into them, while the rest of them drifted away, disinterested. At least he had that much. Once he was fully dressed, Michael tried to tell himself he didn't really want to look at Star again. It wasn't very convincing. She was still staring ahead at the canopy by the time he did look back at her. Wood crackled and popped when Dwayne tossed a couple of logs and gnarled sticks into one of the oil barrels, breaking the silence.
Michael didn't clear his throat before he spoke, focusing on holding back any hint of emotion in his voice beyond cool disregard, "I guess I'll see you later."
That finally got her attention. For a second. Her eyes flicked over him once or twice, and she re-adjusted her shawl about her shoulders, "goodbye." Michael really fucking hated how sorry she sounded right now. It'd be better if she didn't. Like he'd just been some panicked pity fuck on a slow night.
With friends like these-Michael began to wonder if it was even worth it just to have someone to hang out with, right before David caught him on the steps of the lobby exit, hand firmly gripping the shoulder of his jacket.
"Hey," David gave him a quick nod, "don't let her get to you," he advised quietly, "she's fun for about five minutes. Pulls that trick all the time."
Michael knocked David's hand away, unable to hide the agitation in his voice now, "is that right?"
"Yeah, sure," David glanced back towards the bed, where a shroud of thin fabric covered Star's empty eyes and sirensong lips, "Star's not really one of us. Too flaky. I'd like to get rid of her." There was an unspoken 'but' hanging in the air.
He wasn't lying. Michael didn't know exactly why he believed David, but he did. It was at least something to balm his wounded pride.
When he stumbled home and had the terse little chat with his mom that made him feel like the best son in the world, Lucy's pain-stricken face was a great way to finish off one of the worst 'days' he'd ever had. Sam asked him about taking care of his problem, and Michael just shrugged him off too. He didn't know what to say. Right now, all Michael really wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and forget for a few hours.
Lucy Emerson. Kind. Gentle. Meek. She wouldn't fight him. She had raised two boys herself, so she should have no trouble adapting to a much larger family. Perhaps he was rushing this, but Max so seldom met women like her. If Santa Carla didn't have such a lovely beach, and if the meals weren't so readily had here, he might have moved on to a much more civilized city. Somewhere the girls dressed like ladies and the boys buttoned their shirts.
Oh well, he thought, fate had his awarded his patience tenfold with this woman. She wouldn't be like the others, either. Certainly not. This time Max had made it very clear they were not to eat their mother. He had put a lot of trust in David recently, especially given how well they boys seemed to be treating their new siblings. It would get much better once Lucy was his, and they had their wedding dinner. The whole family should be fully turned by then. If not, there should be enough food to go around.
Thorn paced Max's bedroom floor, huffing and scratching at the bleach white carpet. The master vampire tried to ignore him, focusing instead on his bathroom mirror. It was fortunate, he mused, that on one's own property, without the need for an invitation, casting a reflection was not a problem. He straightened his lapels and ran the comb through his hair one last time.
The chill in his bedroom was almost immediate. Then there was the little matter of the papers flying off of his study desk, and the bookshelf rattling while several encyclopedias toppled to the ground.
Max adjusted his collar, refusing to look behind him, "I do wish you would use the door. Just once."
If he cared to step out of his master bathroom, he would see Marko scratching lewd words into his coffin lid. As it stood, the sound in itself was bad enough. Max had no doubt Paul would soon rile Thorn up, as well.
"Window was open," David's voice rang out, malicious and amused all at the same time. How much like a snake his eldest boy seemed at times, fangs dripping with unspent venom whenever he decided to toe the line of how far Max allowed him to go.
"Things are going to change around here pretty soon, boys," Max warned, finally satisfied that he looked the part of the handsome future husband and stepfather to a pair of far more respectful sons than his own, "which reminds me. Before I join Lucy for supper tonight, I'd like to know why you haven't given any of my blood to Michael or Samuel yet. I had hoped you would be good friends by now."
He didn't much like the sound of that striking match, which forced the master vampire to storm from his bathroom towards where David stood by the open window, lighting his damned cigarette. Before the flame could catch, Max removed the offending cigarette from David's hand and threw it out the window, "not in the house."
The blonde's false smile disappeared for only an instant, but certainly long enough for Max to catch it.
"How do you know we didn't give them any blood, huh?" David asked, flicking his burnt-out match onto the carpet. Dwayne stood behind him, quickly hiding a smirk by turning his head to the side.
Max would not let them bait him tonight. He would remain calm, and cheerful. Civilized. "I would have felt it," he pointed out, "just like I can feel the blood in all of my children," he grabbed David's chin firmly and gave him a good, patronizing shake. "There is no greater link than a father to his children."
Max did not miss Marko's snicker or the way David's lip curled up in a near-snarl. Cute.
"Watch it," Max advised in David's mind, pushing the thought at him so harshly that he knew his eldest would spend a good hour or so reeling from the headache. Max did let his boys run somewhat wild in Santa Carla, but he wasn't above reminding them of their place. The old blood stains on his basement floor were a testament to that fact.
Satisfied, Max released his hold on David's chin and mind, "now, if you'll excuse me, I have a dinner date to see to." He pointed towards his open bedroom window, "why don't you boys go have some fun of your own. Grab something to eat. I don't care who you kill tonight, just be sure to clean up the mess when you're done."
When the phone began to ring, the boys took that as their opportunity to leave, stirring up twice as much wind as they had when they'd arrived. Max glowered after them. If he hadn't known better, he would swear Dwayne had knocked the Tiffany lamp off of his dresser on purpose.
If Michael hadn't spent most of the day sleeping, and if he hadn't left his stereo in Phoenix, he'd probably be moping with Neil Young music right about then, or some stupid power ballad mix tape his freshman girlfriend had made for him. As it stood, the rest of the Emerson household was thankfully spared any acoustic guitars, synthesizers, or the painful demand from the bottom of Lou Gramm's soul to know what love was.
At some point, maybe between boiling the noodles and twisting Sam's arm to get him to take out the garbage, Lucy Emerson's mom senses started tingling. They'd already been activated by Michael's behavior, but they were primed now for a nice, long conversation now that he'd had at least ten hours to get all of the sleep he'd so desperately needed.
Easing open the bedroom door, Lucy peered in at her eldest son. He was awake now, for what it was worth, glaring drowsily at the ceiling in the dark. "You know, I could really use some help with dinner. Max is going to be here soon."
"Not hungry."
"You haven't eaten all day," Lucy turned on the light, wiping her hands on her apron when she realized how dangerously close she'd come to getting garlic butter on the light switch. "Micheal, honey, please just tell me what's wrong. Believe it or not, I do remember being a teenager. I might have some perspective on this sort of thing, whatever's bothering you."
"I had a bad night," he admitted, letting his guilt get the better of him. He'd been feeling off pretty much since the night he met Star. Maybe some of it was the bad weed, or the wine, or the schedule he was keeping. They hadn't even been in Santa Carla for a week, and he felt like he was going crazy.
Lucy turned on the light, approaching Michael's bed and patting his feet to get him to make some space for her to sit down. The mattress didn't even squeak. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to." She looked up at the ceiling, a wry smile on her lips, "god knows this move wasn't easy on you or Sam. Just don't fall into bad habits, sweety." She looked back at him, "things only get worse when you do. I should know. I spent seventeen years dealing with bad habits." Namely from her ex-husband, and Michael and Sam's dad.
"Yeah," Michael replied, more than aware Star could turn into one of his worst habits if he ran into her again. Right now he just wanted to cool down and maybe sleep a little more. It was almost dark out anyway. He could tell that much through the broken slats in his window shades. It kind of bugged him that he'd managed to do so much damage to them just by having a bad trip. He really hoped he hadn't been climbing out of the window when he'd thought he was flying. Maybe Sam could fill in the details later.
"I really want you to meet Max. I think it-" she hesitated, placing a comforting hand on Michael's calf, "-I think it would be good for you. For me. He's nice. If I call him now, I could change dinner to tomorrow night. After last night's mess, and this afternoon…" she trailed off.
"Afternoon?" That got his attention. "What happened?"
"It's just been a bad week," she shrugged it off, proving that they could both keep secrets. "I'll call him. He's probably still at home getting ready, and maybe it's better if Max comes over when you're feeling better anyway."
Michael sat up, "mom-"
"I love you," she cut him off, "he'll understand. If he's worth dating, he'll understand."
As much as it felt like this should be some grand moment, the climax of an afterschool special, he didn't really have much to say. The desire he'd had that morning when he got back to the house that maybe he wouldn't go back to the boardwalk or hang around David's gang seemed to just vanish. Whether it was the crushing weight of mom guilt Lucy was piling onto his back, or the need to just do something stupid to get over Star, he wasn't really sure. Plus, he could swear he'd heard Sam talking on the phone earlier when he'd had to get up to use the bathroom. Something about garlic cheese and holy water crotch baths. Michael wasn't too sure he really wanted to meet his brother's friends tonight. They sounded like whack jobs.
When Michael snuck out later that night, after Lucy had gone to bed early, his brother's door was cracked open just wide enough for him to catch a glimpse of Sam inside sitting on the edge of his bed with Nanook, whispering into the phone. All day. Jesus Christ, when gramps saw the bill he was going to have a heart attack.
"Tomorrow night. Yeah, just shove the mirror in your pants. It's got a crank? Where'd you find a mirror like that?" Sam continued, leading Michael to question whether Sam was the one who really needed help right now.
"That one," Paul whispered in their minds as he pointed over the railing at a girl hocking beaded necklaces with painted shell charms. He winked at a passerby on the beach; liked to toe the line between impish pestering and threats. They all did.
Dwayne eyed Paul's intended target, "can't you wait until the party?"
"You think he's gonna go through with it tonight?" Marko asked as he poked David in the shoulder, referring to the head vampire and master of dorks they were stuck with for a 'leader'. The almost-senile ancient who gave orders they only half-heartedly followed.
"Nah," David took a drag off his cigarette, leaning over his handlebars, "he likes to have an audience. Watch, give it a couple of days and he'll drag us out for some stupid fucking speech first. Ten to one it'll be the good old family spiel. He loves that one."
"He should just slip her a mickey and get it over with," Paul complained.
David grinned, "that's what I'd do." His eyes were following one particular brunette on the boardwalk now picking his way through the crowd. He'd let Michael come to them. "Max is an idiot."
Whatever Max did or didn't do, the boys had their own plans tonight. They'd been playing games with this gang all year, picking off a couple here and there who took the bait too easy, staying far away from the surf just to let them think they were equals. And really, four against twelve or fifteen wasn't fair at all. The'd had to even the numbers just a little, right?
"So what's the plan?" Dwayne asked aloud, just sudden enough to startle a couple passing them. Tonight was supposed to be Star's last chance. She'd disappeared with Laddie right after sunset, which had been no surprise. When David and the boys first woke that evening, they could still smell her perfume wafting through the lobby. Old flowers and orange peels. Somehow she seemed to think that would cover the scent of death. Kinda funny. That smell was the only thing they really liked about her anymore.
"Max wants a god damned family so bad, he can make one himself. I'm sick of doing it for him. We'll deal with her when we get home," David replied with a dark smirk, signaling the others to be quiet just as he flicked his cigarette over the railing, right into a passing cloud of hair spray and sun-fried perms. It just barely missed. Too bad.
Laddie loved the boardwalk. He loved the flashing lights and the music, the hall of mirrors and the ferris wheel. He loved sticky sweet cotton candy on his fingers and water gun games. Not so long ago, just before summer, he'd lost his parents in the crowd, and a nice man with glasses gave him fruit punch and a sucker while he waited for them to find him.
The nice man took him on all the rides, let him eat all the cotton candy he wanted, and promised it could always be like that. He was too happy to go home. The first night. It was never that good again.
The second night, he woke up on a pile of old blankets in the dark. The nice man didn't seem so nice anymore, and the guys who took him to the boardwalk after that to get sick on cotton candy and spinning rides didn't bother to smile. He was hungry. Thirsty. Nothing seemed to fix that. Except-
"Laddie," Star urged, pressing the bottle into his hands, "I know you don't like it, but you'll feel better. We're going on a trip."
"How'd he find it?" Laddie asked, fingering the gold and silver metals around the bottom. They'd stolen the bottle a few days ago and kept it hidden, tucked away under Star's bed.
Star shook her head, "he didn't. I guess he had another one," she ran her fingers through Laddie's hair. Like his mom used to. "We're going on a trip for a few days, okay?"
"They'll find us," Laddie said flatly, "they always do." He didn't have the tone of a terrified child, or an innocent. Laddie had seen what they could do. He had smelled the blood from their parties, kept wrapped under Star's shawl when she'd whispered calming words to him, barely able to control herself. He was tired. Laddie just didn't want to fight this any more.
"They won't find us," Star promised, "not this time," and she sounded just as sure as she always did. It helped Laddie hang on just a little longer. He took one long swallow from the bottle and passed it back to Star. There wasn't much left.