“It’s ok. I need to be getting home anyway. It’s Christmas. Mom and Dad will be opening presents soon.” Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles. She was like a talking doll or something, robotic and distant, her voice very childlike.
“Do you, um, do you think it’s a good idea to go home when you’re…you’re…like this?”
“Like what?” She still had that dazed, faraway look in her eyes.
“Leah, you’re obviously going through some, uh, changes and it might not be the best time, the safest time for you to be around your family. You think?”
“I’ll be fine. Look,” she said, holding her spread hands up in surrender. “Am I trying to hurt you?”
No, she wasn’t. Not now, anyway. But what if I hadn’t awakened when I did? I shuddered at the thought.
I looked into her oh-so-innocent eyes, but I was not deceived. I had the distinct impression that Leah was unstable—in a big way. And I was no help. I had no idea what to expect, what she was capable of or how her “condition” would progress. I mean, I didn’t think that having seen a few old 80’s vampire movies and Twilight made me any kind of an expert on bloodthirsty creatures.
“No, but—”
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured me mechanically.
I didn’t know how I could keep her here if she really didn’t want to stay, so I decided to take another tack. “Hey, maybe I could come with you. I mean, this is my first Christmas without Dad and I really don’t want to be alone.”
She looked at me blankly for several seconds before she said agreeably, “Alright.”
“And then maybe we could come back here together so I don’t have to stay by myself,” I added, hoping I wasn’t laying it on too thick.
“Alright,” she assented once more in her sing song voice.
“Good,” I said rising to a standing position and backing a safe distance away from her mouth. “Do you want to shower here or wait until you get home?”
“I’ll wait.”
“Ok. I’ll be quick and then we’ll go,” I said, hoping she’d be alright while I bathed. “Why don’t you make us some coffee?”
Almost as if she were unaware of doing it, Leah made a face that said coffee didn’t appeal to her in the least. Yet, she agreed. “Alright.”
I left the bathroom and bedroom doors cracked hoping I’d be able to hear anything amiss. I was somewhat relieved when the smell of coffee wafted into the shower.
As I was hurriedly smearing lotion on my skin, I caught sight of my shoulder in the mirror. It looked like the “tattoo” had spread. A lot.
I took a small handheld mirror and turned my back to the sink so I could see my entire posterior. I was right. The markings had exploded since my tryst with Fahl in the woods last night and the configuration had changed as well.
A single flame started at my tailbone. It spread upward in a v-shape, widening as it went, licking its way toward my head in shades of pale orange, red and blue. As it neared my armpits, it spread from left to right all the way across my back. But then the flame tips twisted into twirling translucent vines with tiny green leaves and delicate purple flowers. That pattern decorated the upper half of my back and my shoulders then tapered to a point at my neck, disappearing into my hairline at the base of my skull.
They were lighter than before, like a soft stain on my skin, beautifully colored and shimmering. Some spots were so pale they were almost undetectable. But as I watched, they appeared to move, like living, breathing flames and flowers. The colors swirled and faded and shifted. It was like watching a Chia Pet grow.
For a moment I was enthralled. Then it occurred to me that the designs were a result of my dealings with Fahl, that they served as a constant, physical reminder that my time and my life were limited. That’s when my anxiety rose.
To my amazement, as my distress increased, so did the vividness of the colors and shapes. It was like they raged as I did, thriving on my anger, becoming darker and darker, pulsing with color
I lowered the mirror and closed my eyes, trying to calm my tumultuous feelings. I used Dad’s old trick and counted to ten. When I felt a little less agitated, I picked up the mirror and opened my eyes to look at my back again. The markings were already fading back to the translucent hints of color on my skin.
I lowered the mirror again. I couldn’t stop the squeal that erupted when I saw Leah standing in the bathroom door staring at me. She’d moved so quietly I hadn’t even heard her push the doors open wider or come into the bathroom. That or I was just that preoccupied. Either way, not good.
“Leah, you scared me,” I said, breathless all of a sudden. I pulled my towel up to cover myself. Then irritation set in. “Don’t you knock?”
“I heard your heartbeat speed up again. I came to see if you were alright,” she said matter-of-factly.
On the one hand, I was relieved to hear her sounding more like Leah than a talking baby doll. On the other hand…
“I’m fine. Sorry to have worried you,” I said sharply.
“When did you get that?” She was looking behind me, at the mirror over the sink, at my tattoo.
“A few months ago,” I answered casually.
“Lucky for you tattoos are in,” she snorted then turned and walked out of the bathroom.
I turned toward the sink and put the handheld mirror away, saying to no one in particular, “I don’t know if my nerves can make it through the holidays.”
Less than an hour later, Leah and I were walking through her front door. We hadn’t called ahead. Leah wanted to surprise her parents.
When we rounded the corner into the living room, it was empty, but I could hear Mr. and Mrs. Kirby talking quietly in the kitchen just beyond. Leah stopped suddenly, her arm striking out, lightening fast, to grab my wrist as I continued on in front of her. The grip of her hand was like silk-covered steel as she pulled me back to her side.
“What is it?” I asked as I turned to Leah.
She was sweating and panting, saliva pouring down her chin in thick rivulets. Her eyes were wide and they darted around the room nervously. Her nostrils twitched as she smelled something and I could see the tips of several teeth, extremely pointy teeth, peeking out from below her upper lip.
“Carson, they smell so good,” she said, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Her fingers squeezed even tighter around my wrist. She moaned and threw her head back, lifting her nose into the air and inhaling deeply. “Ahh,” she breathed, her chest heaving.