Vacations From Hell Read online

  “What?”

  “The story about the vampire. What if he’s the vampire?”

  I almost laugh. “Oh, come on. Jay is not a vampire.”

  “He could be.”

  My Jay is not a vampire. “No he can’t.”

  “Yes he can! Think about it.” She rubs her temples. “We only see him at night.”

  “Not true. We saw him in the hot tub. That was during the day.”

  “Oh, right.” Her forehead creases. “But it was indoors! Ha! No direct sunlight.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You think it’s a joke, but he could be dangerous. If I were you I would stay clear of him. Don’t let him try to get you alone.”

  Let him? At this point I can’t force him to be alone with me.

  An hour later Liz is back, looking satisfied. “All good,” she says, lying back down in her chair. “Sister found.”

  Hailey claps. “Seriously?”

  “Yup.” She reaches into her bag and reapplies her sunblock.

  Hailey sighs. “Thank god. Where was she?”

  “She got up early and went to the spa. Ali must have been sleeping when she left the room.”

  “But I thought her bed was made?”

  Liz shrugs. “Guess she made it.”

  “Who makes her own bed on a cruise?” I ask.

  “You’d have to ask her,” Liz says with a shrug.

  Or not.

  The tension melts from Hailey’s face. “Omigod. That is such a relief.”

  “Hailey was about to report Jay for being a vampire,” I say, giggling.

  “I was nervous!” Hailey cries.

  Liz raises an eyebrow. “You think Jay is a vampire?”

  “Not anymore,” she says. “Although he does kind of look like a vampire. Don’t you think?”

  “What does a vampire look like exactly?” I ask, still giggling.

  “You know. Pale skin. Dark hair. Brooding eyes.”

  Liz smiles. “Sounds sexy.”

  “Vampires are sexy,” Hailey admits. “Brad Pitt? Sexy. Angel? Sexy. Edward? Super sexy. I would totally do it with a vampire.”

  Liz pokes me. “Speaking of doing it…”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Tonight is your last chance,” she continues. “You are going to find your vampire boyfriend and tie him down until you’ve done it. Enough is enough. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I say, pounding my fists against the lounge’s handles. “Tonight is the night. No idea what I’m going to say to him but—”

  “Why do you have to talk to him at all?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter.” I laugh.

  “Just try to get yours in the gutter, where it belongs.”

  “She has to say something to him,” Hailey says. “She can’t just start making out with him.”

  “I very much doubt he would mind that,” Liz says.

  “I don’t know why you’re going to waste your virginity on him anyway,” Hailey says. “Sure he’s cute, but he seems like a jerk. In all likelihood he hooked up with at least two other girls in three days. He doesn’t sound like a catch. He sounds like a player.”

  Liz waves Hailey’s words away. “Players are the best choices. Trust me. He’s the one. You’ll have a lot more fun.”

  I nod. I know she’s right. “So what should I do?”

  “Be fearless.”

  “Do what you want,” Hailey says. “But if I were you I’d shy away from hickeys.”

  When I see him at the bar, I know the time is right.

  This is it.

  He’s sitting by himself. Waiting. For me.

  Okay, fine, probably not for me, but he’s alone, isn’t he? Good enough.

  Hailey and Liz are in our room. Liz told Hailey she could borrow an outfit.

  I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. I can do this. I can do this.

  “Hi,” I say, my heart pounding. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  He gives me a gleaming smile. “You want to buy me a drink?”

  “I offered, didn’t I?”

  “It must be my lucky night,” he says, eyes twinkling. Omigod, he smells amazing. Musky and salty and absolutely delicious. I knew he would!

  “I think it’s definitely your lucky night,” I say, my cheeks burning. I can’t believe I just said that. I wave the bartender over. “What would you like?”

  “A Bloody Mary,” he says, and smiles at me.

  Really? People actually drink that? Liz would laugh out loud. Who knows, maybe it’s good. “I’ll have one too,” I tell the bartender.

  “Jay,” he says, and gulps down the drink.

  “Oh, I know,” I say brazenly. “I mean, nice to meet you. I’m Kristin.”

  Crap. Should I have told him my real name? Does it really matter?

  “Since it’s my lucky day, maybe we should hit the tables,” he says. His teeth are tinged red.

  He does look a little like a vampire. Not that he is. Of course he isn’t.

  My heart starts pounding. Can I really do this?

  “We could,” I say, and lean in toward him so he can see just a little bit down the top of my shirt. Hello, fearless me. “Or maybe you want to get out of here?”

  His eyes light up like candles. “Seriously?” He grins. “Yeah, I’m up for that. Wanna check out my room?”

  “Do you have a roommate?” I ask, my heart thumping.

  “No. But I have a balcony.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, downing the rest of my drink for liquid courage.

  He takes my hand. “Come with me.”

  Here we go! I did it! Okay, I didn’t do it yet, but I am in the ready position.

  We are standing on his balcony. The sky is liquid black and sprinkled with shining stars. The wind blows through my hair and makes my skin tingle. I hold on to the banister and take a deep breath of sea air.

  “Nice out here, huh?” he asks.

  “It’s amazing.”

  He puts his arm around my shoulders. “So,” he says.

  “So,” I respond. I turn back toward him. Here it is. My chance. All I have to do is not chicken out.

  His face inches closer to me. And closer. I’m breathing his salty smell. I can almost taste him.

  And then…we’re kissing.

  We’re kissing!

  Yay!

  He kisses me harder. He runs his fingers through my hair. He lowers his hand to the small of my back and pulls me into him. He stops kissing me only to tell me how beautiful I am, which is so nice. He’s so nice.

  Oh my. What am I doing? Can I go through with this?

  I don’t know. I feel sick.

  I don’t think I can do this.

  I can’t do this.

  I pull back.

  “I’m sorry, James. I mean Jay. I mean…” I have to get out of here. “I thought I could do this. But I can’t.”

  “Huh?” he says, startled, eyes blinking open.

  “I have to go. Now. Trust me.”

  “But, but…” He grips my shoulders. “We’re not done.”

  Excuse me?

  “You can’t lead me on like that and then not finish what you started,” he says, his voice low and rumbly.

  “I don’t think that’s the way it works,” I tell him.

  “I think it is,” he says, pulling me back toward him.

  “No, it really isn’t. I’m not ready.”

  “You seem ready to me.”

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am ready. I try to relax. I take a deep breath. This is what I want. He certainly deserves to be my first.

  “Hmm,” I say, taking a deep breath. I kiss the edge of his lips. And then his cheek. And then I nibble on his ear. Carefully. And then I move down to the top of his neck. He just smells so delicious. Tasty. The real Parfum de Vie—scent of life. Hungry, I kiss his neck. Lick his neck. Lick off the aftershave. Yum.

  “That feels so good,” he murmurs.

  I open my mou
th wider. Here it comes. I’m ready. I can do this. Be fearless.

  I sink my teeth into his neck.

  “Hey!” he screams. “That hurts.” He tries to pull back.

  Now it’s too late to go back. It’s time. I pull him back toward me, steady his face between my cold hands, and bite him again.

  Liz was right. This isn’t that hard.

  As he pointlessly struggles to get away, he asks, “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Because I’m thirsty, I think but don’t say. I’m too busy drinking.

  “What…are you?” he mumbles just before he passes out.

  I swallow a mouthful of blood. Much better than a Bloody Mary. “I’m a vampire,” I explain, and then finish him off.

  I did it. I did it!

  My first time. I have to admit, I’m kind of proud of myself.

  Once I’ve drained his body, I heave it over the railing and watch him disappear into the blackness below.

  After I hear a soft splash, I let myself out.

  I find Hailey and Liz alone on the pool deck.

  Hailey is lying across a lounge chair, her eyes wide open, her arms and legs trembling.

  “Yay, you did it!” Liz says. “Full?”

  “Stuffed,” I say. “Extra delicious. Fantabulous. Even better than Checker Boy, or the old bartender, or hot tub girl.”

  “Fresh is always better than leftovers.”

  “You are absolutely right.”

  “Although you didn’t taste Ali or Carly,” Liz says. “They were pretty tasty.”

  I look down at Hailey, who’s staring into the sky, still trembling. “I thought she’d be overboard by now. You decided to change her instead?”

  Liz nods. “Yeah. You don’t mind, do you? I like her. I think she’ll be fun. I gave her the choice, of course. She said she was up for something new. She doubts her mom will even notice she’s different.”

  Laughter wafts from the other end of the deck. We look up. Two college guys are walking over to us. One of the guys is wearing a Yankees hat.

  Hailey pushes herself up on her elbows.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She nods, and then, her hand no longer shaking, points to the guy in the hat and whispers, “Dibs.”

  I Don’t Like Your Girlfriend

  CLAUDIA GRAY

  Part One

  VACATION CHECKLIST

  sundress

  sandals

  black bikini in case I am feeling brave

  purple one-piece in case I am being chicken

  stovetop autoclave

  sunglasses

  crushed clamshell

  snake venom

  moth wings

  iPod

  SELF-IMPROVEMENT GOALS

  This year at the Outer Banks I will:

  be nicer to Theo, who Mom swears looks up to me even if he shows it by putting dead starfish in my shoes

  review stuff with Mom alone after coven meetings so I don’t forget it all before we get home

  ignore Kathleen Pruitt’s bitchery because I am too good to stoop to her level

  “I know you’re methodical, but this is ridiculous.”

  Cecily Harper looked up from her notepad to see her father standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a smile on his face. She underlined her last words with a theatrical flourish. “You know, making lists is one of the seven habits of highly effective people.”

  “Honey, I’m used to your lists,” her father said. “You started making them as soon as you could spell. But your suitcase—you packed all your clothes by color.”

  She looked at her open suitcase on the bed. The whites were nestled at one end, the blacks at the other, with the brighter shades in between. Shrugging, Cecily said, “Well, how do you do it?”

  Affectionately he tousled her hair. This was slightly annoying, because she’d just fixed her ponytail, but Cecily didn’t worry about it for very long. She was much more worried about the fact that her father had caught sight of something unusual in her suitcase.

  He picked up the vial of moth wings and frowned. “What is this?”

  “Uh.” Cecily tried to think of a lie, but she couldn’t. “Um…”

  His expression shifted from curiosity to disgust. “Cecily, are these—bug wings?”

  Tell him the truth.

  “Yes.” Flushed with daring, Cecily added, “They’re moth wings for magic spells.”

  Dad stared at her. “What?”

  “Cecily, don’t tease your father.” Her mother stepped into Cecily’s bedroom and briskly took the jar. “Simon, these are soap flakes. Bubble bath. They make them look like moth wings and eye of newt and all that sort of magical stuff now. I think it’s some Harry Potter thing.”

  “Harry Potter.” Dad chuckled. “Those merchandising guys don’t miss a trick, do they?”

  Mom tucked the jar back into the suitcase and shot her daughter a warning look. But her voice was cheery as she said, “Let’s hurry up, guys. We should leave for the airport in about fifteen minutes. Sweetheart, would you check on Theo? The last time I saw him, he was trying to sneak Pudge into his carry-on.”

  “For Christ’s sake.” Dad started down the hall. “All we need is for the Department of Homeland Security to detain us because of the hamster.”

  As soon as her father was out of earshot, her mother muttered, “Do we have to have this talk again?”

  “I’m really sorry I endangered all our lives.” Cecily tossed her hair melodramatically, clutching her hands in front of her chest like a silent-movie heroine. “What if Dad tries to have us burned at the stake? Whatever shall we do?”

  “Load your bag in the car, all right? And don’t even think about pulling a stunt like that once we get to North Carolina. The others aren’t going to cut you as much slack as I do.”

  Her mother hurried off, unbothered by the latest in their many tiffs on this subject. But Cecily felt angry with herself for making a joke of it instead of trying to talk this through.

  Usually she tried hard to respect the rules of the Craft, rules Cecily had memorized before she’d turned eight years old. Most of the rules were sensible—the necessary reins on the incredible powers that they worked with. The fact that she knew those rules backward and forward was one reason that she was already a fine witch.

  In Cecily’s opinion there was another reason. She didn’t only memorize the rules; she pushed herself to understand the reasons behind them. For instance, it was one thing to know that the Craft forbade witches to use their powers to undermine the wills of others; it was another to understand why that was wrong and how misusing the powers that way would corrode both your ability and your soul.

  Yet there was one rule Cecily could never understand, the oldest of them all: No man may know the truth behind the Craft.

  Dad—who knew nothing about the single most important thing in the lives of his wife and his daughter—called, “We’ve got to drop Pudge off at the O’Farrells and get to the airport within one hour. Unless nobody wants to go to the beach house this year!”

  Cecily shook off her melancholy and zipped her suitcase shut. Time to go meet the coven.

  Of course, none of the men involved knew the annual Outer Banks trips had anything to do with witchcraft. They all believed that this was a reunion of “college friends”: six women who remained very close and wanted their families to know one another. So each year they rented a couple of North Carolina beach houses within walking distance of one another and split them between the families. The trips had begun before Cecily was born, so by now the six husbands were good friends too, and they liked to say that their kids were “growing up together.” Cecily could happily have skipped the experience of growing up with Kathleen Pruitt.

  “We have a coven at home,” Cecily had complained last month when she’d asked to skip the Outer Banks for one summer. “Why can’t we just spend extra time with them instead of hanging with the witches you practiced with in college? I learn more th
at way.”

  But her mother wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted that some covens had a special energy that made it worthwhile to keep in touch and someday Cecily would understand. When Cecily tried to explain that a week with Kathleen Pruitt was like six months in hell, Mom had said she was being dramatic. (Mom might have understood if Cecily had told her about that stunt the year before, when Kathleen had loudly claimed on the beach that Cecily’s tampon string was hanging from her swimsuit, which it so was not. But Cecily could never bring herself to speak of it.) So the Outer Banks. Again.

  At least they were at the beach. Cecily, who loved swimming in the sunshine, thought that was every summer’s silver lining.

  Except, of course, if it was raining.

  “The weather report swore this front would stay south of here,” Dad said, turning up the windshield wipers of the rental car to top speed.

  Theo kicked impatiently at the back of their mother’s seat. “You said I could swim as soon as I got there. You promised.”

  “I’ll bet the storm blows over soon,” Mom said soothingly.

  Theo would not be consoled. “We can’t even use the Jacuzzi tub if it’s raining!”

  Cecily looked at the heavy dark clouds with foreboding. What could be worse than spending a week with your worst enemy? she thought. Being trapped inside with her and your whiny little brother because of the rain. That’s worse.

  Then she reminded herself of her goals not to worry about Kathleen Pruitt and to be nicer to Theo, who was only eight years old and couldn’t be expected to have any perspective. “Hey, remember the foosball table in the front room?” She poked his shoulder. “Last year, you couldn’t beat me, but you’re bigger now. You should challenge me to a rematch.”

  “I guess that would be okay.” Theo sighed, still pretending to pout. But Cecily could see the gleam of mischief in his eyes. When she threw the foosball game, he’d be thrilled.

  When they reached the beach house, a couple of her mother’s friends rushed out to greet them, storm or no storm. Mrs. Silverberg, Ms. Giordano—they looked so ordinary, in their mom jeans and pastel-colored polo shirts. No man alive (nor most women) would ever guess the powers they taught to their daughters. Now they shouted hellos while raindrops softened the sheets of newspaper they’d tented over their heads, and there were big hugs for everyone. Cecily tried hard to look enthusiastic, though it was difficult while she was getting drenched.