Blood and Snow 1 Page 2

  Her face fell. “Did you invite them?”

  I grabbed her elbow and we walked into the video store together. “I did invite them, told them to meet at my house at ten-thirty. They might show.” I decided to change the subject. “Are you going to crash at my place tonight?”

  “No, my parents are taking me to the Cape this weekend.”

  It was my turn to frown. “How come you didn’t tell me?” I really needed to talk to her.

  “I just found out, silly.” She smiled. “Besides I’m sure the guys will keep you company.”

  I hid a sigh. There was no way I could talk to the guys about my feelings for their brother. That’d be… gross.

  “Let’s find us a scary movie, something that’ll let me snuggle up with Gabe. I hope they show.” She swiveled around and I knew she was searching for Gabe because that was what I did.

  Abruptly my mind registered what she’d said. “Wait. What? Gabe, why Gabe?” There were six other brothers, all of them good looking. Besides, I thought she liked the new guy, Chace. “What about Chace?” I paused mid-stride. Her glossed lips pouted and her perfectly lined eyes got all dreamy. She looked like one of my stepmother’s figurines.

  Cindy headed toward the horror section and started browsing. She picked up a movie. I plucked it from her hands and put it back on the shelf. After several movie denials she said, in a hushed voice, “All the girls like Chace. Besides, I talked to him and…” she shrugged. “He isn’t for me.”

  I had a feeling Chace hadn’t gushed over her, which was what most guys did, including my guys, my best friends.

  “And Gabe,” she went on, “Well he’s totally gorgeous, and so sweet.”

  She’d noticed he was sweet. When? How? Had he done something to impress her recently? This was just not good.

  “How about S—” She held up the movie case.

  I grabbed the movie from her well-manicured hand, cutting her off. “Please, no. Not Scream again. That movie is terrifying.” I shuddered. The first five minutes, with the girl hanging in the tree… ugh, it gave me the heebie jeebies. “What about a love story, like Titanic or The Lucky One? That one has Zac Efron, and I know you like Zac Efron.”

  She paused a moment, debating, then shook her head. “Not if the guys are coming. We need gory death, and sex, and gory deaths during sex.”

  I groaned inwardly. Should I tell her I had a crush on Gabe too? Even as I thought about telling, I cringed. If Gabe knew Cindy was interested, there’d be no contest. I glanced sideways at her. She was wearing a baby blue mini skirt with a sleeveless white peasant shirt. On her feet were strappy silver sandals, which matched the thin silver bracelets on both of her tiny wrists. Her hair was down and curled to perfection. Her honey skin had that just-lotioned look.

  I glanced down at my black Converse, gripping my tee shirt the way Gabe had. He’d said it was sexy that I wore his old tee shirt. I seriously doubted that.

  It felt like something inside me deflated. Maybe if I told her how I felt... “Cin,” I started.

  “Aha, this is the one.” She held up the case.

  “Okay.” I agreed without looking at it.

  Chapter 3

  Gatsby, my gray rescue cat, snuggled next to me. He purred softly, like he didn’t have a single worry. I absently stroked his ears while I tried to block out the frightening images on the TV screen. Cindy hadn’t chosen Scream, but Urban Legends, another horror movie from the nineties.

  We weren’t sitting next to each other. I was sprawled out on the leather couch and Cin sat in the burgundy high back. She had a bowl of plain popcorn on her lap and a diet soda placed precariously on the brown-carpeted floor.

  The family living room was medium sized and outfitted with furniture that would be considered eclectic. Nothing matched, but it didn’t matter. The couch, chairs, end tables, coffee table, TV, lamps, and curio cabinets all seemed irrelevant in comparison to my stepmother’s fairytale collection.

  On every surface stood, or hung, a statuette or painting. I’d counted once. There’d been over six hundred figurines placed around the house, and the number kept increasing. I mean, talk about extreme.

  Cindy thought it was funny. She especially loved the Cinderella figurines, probably because she looked identical to them. Young girls would stop her in the mall and ask if she was the real Cinderella. My stepmother agreed and even gave her a Cinderella figurine for a birthday.

  What was weird though? Out of all the figurines, paintings, pillows, dishtowels, and clocks, there wasn’t a single Snow White. There were several castings of the Seven Dwarves, the wicked Queen, the Prince, and even an apple, but no Snow White. I’d asked her about it once when I was eight and realized she was missing. My stepmother said, “My darling, I don’t need a Snow White figurine because I have you.” At the time I thought it was sweet and tried to hug her, but now… I don’t know, it just seemed strange.

  “For goodness sake, Snow. Open your eyes. You’re going to miss the best part,” Cindy hollered, throwing a piece of popcorn at me.

  It smacked me in the forehead. I tried to glare. She giggled, which sent me into a laughing fit.

  “There isn’t a best part in this movie. It’s icky and it makes me feel icky.” That was the truth, the reason I hated horror movies. I didn’t like how I felt while I watched them, and especially after. The movie was almost over. Cindy would leave, and then I’d be alone in my old, creaky house with only my cat for company.

  “Are you kidding? Watch this. It’s classic.” She pointed at the screen as she talked with popcorn in her mouth. “Here it comes.”

  I couldn’t and scrunched my eyes closed, wishing I had earplugs to block out the screaming, the spine-chilling music, and the terrible acting.

  As I lay there, working to think about anything but the death and mayhem going on, something bizarre happened. An image popped into my head and began playing like a movie. I tried to shake it, but it was as though my brain had been hijacked.

  A man stood in the trees behind my house. I got the feeling he waited for me to do something. Several of the guys—Sebastian, Bart, Salvatore, Heathcliff, and Daniel—plowed out of my back door and wrestled each other as they trampled down the stairs. They laughed heartily. I followed along with Dorian, but Gabe wasn’t there. They were tossing something back and forth and I was trying to intercept it.

  Suddenly they all stopped and their faces turned grave. Sebastian had the thing I was trying to get in his hands. He and the others circled me. There was a coppery stench in the air and it made my mouth water. Sebastian opened his hand. The thing, whatever it was, beat rapidly, and blood dripped from his fingers.

  The guys began speaking together, their voices monotone: “Lips red as rubies, hair dark as night. Drink your true love’s blood; become the Vampire, Snow White.”

  “I want it.” Taking the bloody thing in Sebastian’s hand, I brought it to my lips. It beat faster and faster.

  In that moment I knew it was a heart, the heart of my true love, but that didn’t matter. Sinking my teeth into it I tasted the blood, felt it run down my throat. Like liquid pleasure. I shuddered.

  A cackle rang through the night and a profound darkness entered my body.

  “Now you are mine.”

  I screamed, grabbing one of the decorative pillows from the couch, and covered my mouth.

  Startled, Cindy threw the popcorn bowl in the air. Fluffy kernels scattered everywhere. Gatsby gave me an evil eye, rose, and casually jumped off the couch. He sniffed a popcorn kernel before darting from the room.

  “Merde,” she swore in French. “It isn’t that scary.” She skulked off her chair and started picking up the mess.

  I crossed my arms, embarrassed. “Sorry,” I whispered, unable to stop the trembling in my limbs or the chattering of my teeth.

  Chapter 4

  “Gatsby, c’mon, kitty-kitty,” I called quietly into the darkness and waited to hear the soft patter of his running feet. After five minutes he still h
adn’t come.

  Obviously must be upset with me over the screaming fiasco, I thought, shutting the screen door but keeping watch.

  Cin had left already with a quick hug and a promise to call Sunday afternoon when she returned from the Cape. The guys hadn’t ever shown, and Gatsby didn’t seem to want my company. Stifling a shiver, I wrapped my arms around myself. I wasn’t cold so much as unsettled. The disturbing dream thing along with that horror movie had me all messed up.

  Unconsciously I searched the wooded area behind my house, checking between the low hanging branches that smelled of peppermint, their leaves soft as butterfly kisses.

  Would he be out there? The man who watched me in the dream?

  A noise like crunching leaves pulled my head in its direction. My heart beat fast like a thumping rabbit. Something moved. Opening the screen door, I stepped out onto the small terrace, hoping it was Gatsby. “Here kitty-kitty,” I called, hearing the strangled fear in my voice.

  The noise grew more intense. I’d let the screen door slam behind me, and now reached back, grabbing the handle. Opening it, I put a hand to my throat.

  If it is the man, what should I do? I won’t be safe in the house. I so needed a cell phone.

  I was about to turn when two guys stumbled out of the trees and fell onto the grass, laughing uproariously. A scream escaped my lips before I could stop it. I clamped a hand over my mouth, realizing it was just Salvatore and Bart. That’s what my eyes told me; the rest of me was frozen in fear. I wanted to laugh with them. They’d only been teasing; it’s what they did. I’d done it to them on more than one occasion: snuck into their yard and scared them.

  “You should see your face,” Salvatore said, rising and coming toward me. “I should’ve taken a picture.” Tears were streaming down his face from laughing so hard. Bart was in a similar state. I still couldn’t move.

  In the dream Salvatore had been holding the bloody heart, the heart of my true love. The brothers had been tossing it around like a football. And I’d tasted it. The remembered feeling of pleasure washed through me.

  “How-how could you?” I stammered, tears filling my eyes and streaming down my cheeks. “You know I’m all alone. You could’ve been a psychotic murderer.” I rushed into the house, letting the screen door bang behind me.

  I’d seen their stricken faces and knew they hadn’t meant to do any harm, but I couldn’t act rationally. Sobs wracked my body and snot dripped from my nose. I ran up the stairs, past my parent’s unused bedroom and the bathroom and finally stopped at my room. Flinging open the door, I launched myself onto the bed and buried my head in my purple pillows.

  A gigantic meltdown was coming. The dream had started it and the guys scaring me ignited it. Now there’d be no stopping it.

  All my sadness, my loneliness, my pent up hurts and fears seemed to crash into me. Wave after horrible wave…

  Why had my mother died? Why had my father remarried such a cold, uncaring woman? Why did they have to leave me alone all the time? Why did my dad choose her over me? Why was I such a dork?

  The questions went unanswered, probably always would. My life was what it was, and most of the time I accepted it, even enjoyed it. Right now was not one of those times. I’d fallen into my enormous chasm of hurt and allowed myself to sink in.

  “Hey, is there a pity party going on in here?”

  At the sound of his soft voice I stiffened. There was a thud, and then I felt the bed give as four soft paws jumped up.

  “Gatsby invited me. I hope you don’t mind if I join you?”

  Two feelings swirled through my heart at once: relief and embarrassment.

  Relief because I was glad he’d come and brought Gatsby so I wouldn’t be alone.

  Embarrassment because I was a blubbering mess and he’d see me, and I’d never be able to look him in the face again.

  Casually wiping my eyes and nose on my pillowcase, I said, “Gabe, what are you doing here?”

  The bed dipped as he sat. His warm skin so close to mine sent tingles through my belly.

  “I told you Gatsby invited me, and I never miss a pity party, especially not one thrown by my beautiful best friend, Snowflake.” There was laughter in his voice. He was trying to make me feel better, but that wasn’t the point of a pity party. You weren’t supposed feel better. It was about misery, and that’s what I wanted. Him saying I was beautiful just added to the many waves of hurt. It wasn’t true, and having him rub that in didn’t help.

  “Go away,” I said.

  He answered by scooting closer, and I felt my body respond to his nearness. “I’ll go away when I know you’re feeling better. Professor Pops knows I’m here. He also has Salvatore and Bart on bathroom duty tomorrow. He wanted me to be sure to tell you that.”

  “Huh,” was all I could utter, though I had to smile. “Serves them right.” I sniffled.

  He shifted his weight and pushed me over slightly, then I felt something fall over me. It was the quilt my mother made. Tears filled my eyes again and I squeezed them shut.

  “Now, I’m just going to lie down next to you until you fall asleep. I’ve already locked up the house, but I’ll lock the back door when I leave, okay?” I heard Gatsby growl, and the thud when Gabe dropped him to the floor. The bed shifted as he got comfortable.

  Then there was only breathing.

  He meant it. Gabe was just going to lie there with me. I took a deep breath and relaxed. It reminded me of our overnighters when we were younger, sleeping out on the trampoline in our sleeping bags. The seven of them and I all started out at normal distances from each other, but by morning we’d all slid into the middle, a pajama-clad mash up of arms and legs.

  I’d always been the first to wake up and I’d lie there, listening to them breathing, and wish that was how we could be every night. Me and my brothers, sleeping under the stars.

  But my stepmother had pointed out that they weren’t really my brothers. They were boys, and all boys only had one thing on the brain. By the time we turned ten, the sleepovers had ended.

  After a while, I fell asleep.

  In my dreams there were arms wrapped protectively around me, my back tucked against his chest, legs intertwined. I heard a whisper. “Snow, my Snow. You aren’t alone.”

  My heart soared with happiness in the dream and I whispered back, “Gabe, don’t leave me.”

  “Never, Snowflake.”

  Chapter 5

  The sun peeked through my sheer purple bedroom curtains, its brightness burning my eyes. I was on my side, facing my alarm clock, which said seven o’clock. Solid breathing came from behind, tickling my neck. A weight pressed against my hip—Gabe’s arm. All that had happened last night came crashing back, and he was still there, in my bed with me. I held my breath and slowly rolled onto my back. Gabe shifted. A smile curled his lips.

  “It’s a bit early for a Saturday, Snowflake.” His words were low, heavy with sleep.

  Sexy, my mind uttered, and my heart responded by beating rapidly.

  Before I could give him a comeback, my nose registered the sultry smell of bacon.

  “Someone’s cooking,” I whispered.

  “Do you think it’s the psychotic murderer? He’s going to feed us before he slays us?” he asked, mischievous.

  I punched him in the arm. “You heard me last night?”

  “Snowflake, I think the whole town heard you.” He opened his eyes then. Two beautiful pools of green searched my face, lingering on my lips before focusing on my eyes. My face bloomed red and I looked away. “I love it when you blush.”

  “You do?” I couldn’t believe he’d stayed and we were lying next to each other. All night. Did he like me? What about Cindy? Should I tell him she had a thing for him? His hand rested on my stomach and I wondered if he could feel the electricity buzzing beneath.

  “Snowflake, I do.” He rolled onto his side and I did the same, his fingers creating goose bumps as they moved back to my hip. Our noses practically touched, and I suddenly
worried about morning breath. I hadn’t brushed my teeth. I turned in my lips, pressing them together. He started laughing. “What are you doing?”

  Cupping a hand over my mouth, I said, “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

  He pulled my hand away. “Don’t care.”

  Finally finding a snappy comeback, I replied, “Yeah, but what about your morning breath? It might singe my eyelashes.”

  He laughed and rolled off the bed. “You have a point. Let’s go see what the psychotic murderer is cooking along with that bacon.”

  I grinned, thankful and disappointed that the moment had ended. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  He raised his eyebrows in question and I glanced in the direction of my bathroom. “Ah,” was all he said as he went to the door.

  A bolt of agony shot through my heart. I didn’t want him to leave. I’d clung to him in my dreams last night. Awake, I realized I didn’t want to stop. I needed him, with his incessant playfulness and thoughtfulness. On top of that, well, he was hot. “Gabe,” I called, hearing the tremor in my voice.

  He turned back, concerned. “Yeah, Snowflake?”

  “Thank you.” I looked down, unsure. My feelings for him were new, and a part of me wished I could go back to just being his best friend.

  He walked around the bed to where I stood and gripped my tee shirt that used to be his in his hand, making a fist, pulling me to him. He lifted my chin with a finger but I kept my eyes down, focusing on his masculine hands that were big, but not too big.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  I nodded, unable to understand why tears stung my eyes. He pulled me into his arms and I reciprocated with a fervor I didn’t know I possessed. Tucking my face in his neck, I held on as though my life depended on it.

  We stayed that way a long time, until I heard snickering from the doorway.

  “Professor Pops wanted me to tell you both to come down for breakfast.” It was Bart.

  I cleared my throat.

  Gabe whispered, “Never, Snowflake.” And he gave me a pointed look. My heart leapt into my throat. Maybe last night’s words and the way he’d held me hadn’t been dreams.

  “Promise?” I examined his face, his eyes, to see if he was serious.