- 4 -

It was crazy. Actually, if we were being technical, it was a game. That was where scaly, fangy monsters existed—in games and in movies and in make-believe. I was sort of an expert in that area. Real life only had real monsters, the ones that looked and talked exactly like people but would stick a knife in someone they knew. Just rotten humans. Like my dad. Not . . .

It felt stupid to even think it.

Not vampires.

But she wouldn't lie. Or if she would, it wouldn't look like this. Chrissy was the type to tell lies like, "I'm fine," or "You're not a coward." Before she talked to me about it, I wouldn't have been surprised to find out she didn't even know the word vampire.

Was it just a big joke on me?

This could be a knife, and it sure hurt like one.

I got my bag, and since I didn't know what to do with the note, I just shoved it in with my DM stuff. When I got home, there was a dog barking from behind a fence, and a girl came out to feed it treats through the chain-link. She had red hair. Like Chrissy.

I was staring. I waved, and her expression told me to mind my own.

The whole point of bullying was to show off. If Chrissy was making a joke out of me, where was the audience? Where was the faithful posse following along and elbowing each other and making sure everybody knew what a good joke it was?

She wasn't like that.

So maybe she had fangs.

And maybe she could bleed out on someone's floor and be up and walking the next day. Playing D&D. Misspelling her own name in a cheer.

I smiled.

I probably should have run. I was still debating it, but first I had to at least try talking.

She agreed to meet me in the woods again. Same spot. If she'd been jumpy before, it was nothing like now.

"I don't bite," I said. "Uh . . . do you?"

"I know it sounds crazy," she whispered. She kept her eyes on the picnic table, her white knuckles fisted in her skirt.

"I said you could tell me anything."

She looked up.

"Thought maybe we could talk about it. Like . . . what happened when you started . . . bleeding." Since my face wouldn't make the right smile, I at least tried for an encouraging grimace.

She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a sob. She broke down right there on the bench, gasping for breath and choking on tears, and after I flailed uselessly for a minute, I finally had enough sense to go around to her side and sit next to her and hold her. She clutched my shirt in such a way I thought it might tear right off, which would have made everything ten times as awkward. But the fabric held steady, and after several minutes, Chrissy started to steady, too. My shirt was soaked, but we'd been there before, and better tears than blood. Her hair was soft under my chin. She smelled like cupcakes. That was crazier than the vampire thing.

She whispered an apology, and I said something dumb like, "It'll wash out."

And then she started the story.

It started with nightmares. Trapped in a coffin, attacked by bats. And always a man with fangs and a deep, growling voice. She was hardly sleeping. Then she saw him in real life.

"Jason didn't," she said quietly. "He said I was imagining things."

Everywhere she went, she saw a bat. Not a normal one; she said the wings didn't bend right, more like spider legs than wings. A mouth full of teeth. Goosebumps pricked my neck as she described it.

Then I had the chance to ask the question that burned at me most: "Why come to me?"

Chrissy shrugged, her shoulders still tucked under my arm. "I thought if I really was imagining things, drugs could help. Take it away. And if not, I thought you might have the best chance of knowing about vampires. At the very least, I figured you wouldn't tell me to just pray it away."

"No," I agreed. "Not my style."

"But it was too late. I'm just glad he didn't get you, too."

I stiffened. "This . . . this thing attacked you? That's what happened?"

I could still picture the blood pouring from her neck, turning her uniform red. Her slack features. Part of me had thought she was dead already.

Her voice shook. "It was so fast, and I couldn't move. I just . . . woke up in the hospital."

Right in my house. I hadn't heard a thing.

No wonder her mom had called for my arrest.

"My neck healed overnight," Chrissy went on, "and no one could explain it. Except my mom, of course. She called it a miracle—the answer to her prayers. Whatever. I couldn't tell her otherwise."

That explained the walking-around-the-next-day.

Still.

"Just because this thing attacked you," I said, "that doesn't make you . . . a vampire. Right?"

She sat up with a sigh. I didn't like that sigh at all.

"I can prove it." She swallowed. "But it's awful."

"You're not gonna bite me." I gave a nervous laugh.

"Just stay there."

Chrissy stood up and moved away, kicking through the leaves. She stood next to a tree and took a deep breath. She gave me one quick glance. Her expression said she had no choice but to hit a kid with her car.

And then she—

SHE—

Turned into a bat.

I shrieked. Full-throated, glass-breaking shriek.

The bat shrieked back at me with a mouth full of teeth. It flapped with stupid spider-leg wings. If I would have had a big rock within reach, I would have smashed it on the spot.

Then it was Chrissy.

I shrieked.

She shrieked.

I fell off the bench. My clothes had never been bulkier, tying every limb down while I was trying to pull it all together. I got dirt in my mouth.

"YOU'RE A—"

"I KNOW!"

"YOU JUST—"

"I KNOW!"

"Ohhh, I don't like this," I moaned. I dragged myself up, sat panting against a tree. The most beautiful girl in school sat on the other side of our small clearing.

And she was also the ugliest bat in existence.

Not that it would have been any better if she was a pretty bat. Maybe a little. Those teeth!

"Ohhh," I moaned again, pressing my head with both hands. It couldn't press away the image.

"At least I found out during spring break," said Chrissy. "If I'd been at school, someone would have just killed me with a textbook. I wouldn't even blame them."

Part of me wanted to laugh, but the rest was still recovering.

After a moment, she said, "But that's it. I haven't . . . wanted blood. My mom has crosses all over the house, and I haven't shriveled up. Maybe I'm actually a werewolf. The worst werewolf ever."

As if there were any good options.

She didn't look at me. "If you want to run, now's the time."

I sure wanted to.

But I didn't.

I didn't run.