Althea. My third betrayal. I have given away Celeste, given away Jennie, and now Becky. Becky!
Her friendship with Becky played in her heart like slides in a darkened classroom: the first welcome, the encouragement at tryouts, the little speech of friendship when she made the squad. The phone calls, the laughter, the hair volume jokes.
I gave her to the vampire.
How many more will I give? When will it be over? Will it ever be over?
Becky’s mother kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Well,” she said, adjusting the blanket hem, “I’ll wait till Monday and see. But cheerleading is not worth your health.”
Althea no longer knew what cheerleading was worth. She knew only one thing. She was going home. She was closing those shutters, closing them forever, and if it was the end of cheerleading, the end of friends like Becky and boys like Ryan, well, she did not deserve them, anyway.
She felt tight and strong with resolve.
Nothing the vampire could say or offer would make Althea change her mind this time.
She drove over the hills and down to the bottom of the valley.
She parked sternly, with a solid pull on the brake, as if making very, very sure that she was going to stay and see this through. She shut the door of her car not with a slam but with certainty. She strode across her yard, marched up her stairs, and climbed upward.
Chapter 18
T HE TOWER ROOM WAS quiet and dusty in the sun. It felt of nothing.
There was neither power nor evil here. It was merely an empty room.
She ran her fingers through her hair, as if strengthening herself from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
She approached the first window. The glass pane lifted quite easily and stayed up. Leaning out of the tower, Althea took hold of one outside shutter.
It was made of wood. Paint flaked off even as she grabbed the rim. The wood felt punky and rotten under her fingers, and when she dug her nails into it, she knew she was leaving half moons of anger in the wood. The shutter whined on its hinges, as if calling out to the hemlocks.
But the sun shone on, and the shutter turned in.
Gripping the shutter with one hand, Althea reached for its mate. It did not move as easily. She had to lean way far out of the window. She was on her tiptoes now, her center of gravity off, her stance no longer safe.
How high she was.
Below her was not grass, but stone.
Far below.
If someone gave me a push … thought Althea. She swallowed, wet her lips, and leaned even farther out, grabbed the opposite shutter, and pulled. It took all her strength to bring the shutters together, but they were only wood, and she was more than that.
Her fingers were cramped and raw from hauling on the splintery, paint-peeling rims, but at last she brought their edges together. She swung the heavy metal clasp on the left shutter and shoved it through the iron circle sticking out of the right shutter like a black wedding ring, and the first pair of shutters was closed.
The louvers of the shutters were fixed, slanting down, and no sun penetrated at that angle.
Now the tower room was darker by a third. The dust seemed to lie more heavily on the floor, and the echo of her footsteps seemed quieter and less important.
Althea turned to approach the middle window. The air in the room thickened and became a wall. She had to lean against it, throw her weight as if against a great invisible wind. Turning sideways Althea hurled herself like a linebacker through the air of the tower room and reached the middle window.
The window refused to lift.
She fought with it. She could jiggle it a little, but not open it.
From somewhere outdoors, through the thin old pane of glass, she heard a laugh, like the sound of dry leaves rustling on pavement.
Althea yelled at him, “Laugh all you want! I’m closing these shutters, and when I’m done with that, you are done, too! You are finished! You are history!”
Like Celeste, thought Althea. Like Jennie. Like Becky. History. They had laughed
Her friendship with Becky played in her heart like slides in a darkened classroom: the first welcome, the encouragement at tryouts, the little speech of friendship when she made the squad. The phone calls, the laughter, the hair volume jokes.
I gave her to the vampire.
How many more will I give? When will it be over? Will it ever be over?
Becky’s mother kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Well,” she said, adjusting the blanket hem, “I’ll wait till Monday and see. But cheerleading is not worth your health.”
Althea no longer knew what cheerleading was worth. She knew only one thing. She was going home. She was closing those shutters, closing them forever, and if it was the end of cheerleading, the end of friends like Becky and boys like Ryan, well, she did not deserve them, anyway.
She felt tight and strong with resolve.
Nothing the vampire could say or offer would make Althea change her mind this time.
She drove over the hills and down to the bottom of the valley.
She parked sternly, with a solid pull on the brake, as if making very, very sure that she was going to stay and see this through. She shut the door of her car not with a slam but with certainty. She strode across her yard, marched up her stairs, and climbed upward.
Chapter 18
T HE TOWER ROOM WAS quiet and dusty in the sun. It felt of nothing.
There was neither power nor evil here. It was merely an empty room.
She ran her fingers through her hair, as if strengthening herself from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
She approached the first window. The glass pane lifted quite easily and stayed up. Leaning out of the tower, Althea took hold of one outside shutter.
It was made of wood. Paint flaked off even as she grabbed the rim. The wood felt punky and rotten under her fingers, and when she dug her nails into it, she knew she was leaving half moons of anger in the wood. The shutter whined on its hinges, as if calling out to the hemlocks.
But the sun shone on, and the shutter turned in.
Gripping the shutter with one hand, Althea reached for its mate. It did not move as easily. She had to lean way far out of the window. She was on her tiptoes now, her center of gravity off, her stance no longer safe.
How high she was.
Below her was not grass, but stone.
Far below.
If someone gave me a push … thought Althea. She swallowed, wet her lips, and leaned even farther out, grabbed the opposite shutter, and pulled. It took all her strength to bring the shutters together, but they were only wood, and she was more than that.
Her fingers were cramped and raw from hauling on the splintery, paint-peeling rims, but at last she brought their edges together. She swung the heavy metal clasp on the left shutter and shoved it through the iron circle sticking out of the right shutter like a black wedding ring, and the first pair of shutters was closed.
The louvers of the shutters were fixed, slanting down, and no sun penetrated at that angle.
Now the tower room was darker by a third. The dust seemed to lie more heavily on the floor, and the echo of her footsteps seemed quieter and less important.
Althea turned to approach the middle window. The air in the room thickened and became a wall. She had to lean against it, throw her weight as if against a great invisible wind. Turning sideways Althea hurled herself like a linebacker through the air of the tower room and reached the middle window.
The window refused to lift.
She fought with it. She could jiggle it a little, but not open it.
From somewhere outdoors, through the thin old pane of glass, she heard a laugh, like the sound of dry leaves rustling on pavement.
Althea yelled at him, “Laugh all you want! I’m closing these shutters, and when I’m done with that, you are done, too! You are finished! You are history!”
Like Celeste, thought Althea. Like Jennie. Like Becky. History. They had laughed
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