Read Online Real Vampires Don't Sparkle by Amy Fecteau - Free Book Online
Authors: Amy Fecteau
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Matheus had been very concerned, convinced the weight of her bun would cave in her skull. Brigitte possessed no affinity for children, especially boys, and had the empathy of a toadstool. Matheus hadn’t thought of her for years, but now flashbacks plagued his mind.
“Will it heal on its own?” he asked. “Or am I going to be deformed for all eternity?” Sarcasm riddled his tone, but he held his breath for Quin’s response. Dead bodies didn’t heal. He remembered that plot point from several different mystery novels. Then again, unless Quin had been extraordinarily careful for however long he’d been alive, some kind of rejuvenation must be possible.
“It will heal. Faster, if you feed.” Quin shifted, wiggling his shoulders and sliding along the uneven wall. They’d been put in a van, one of those featured in police reports on the more sensational cable news channels. The windows were blackened, and the floor showed marks where the carpet had been removed. Rivets covered the sheet metal walls, bits of paneling stuck beneath them. Matheus sat opposite Quin, one hand clutching a bulge in the wall. Every few seconds they bounced, jerking side to side as the van rattled along its path.
“No,” said Matheus. “I’m not doing that again.”
“Yes, you are.” A particularly big bump interrupted Quin’s stern glare, and sent the back of his head into the side of the van. Swearing softly, he inched forward until his knees knocked against Matheus’.
Matheus envied his ability to balance. Letting go of his makeshift handle would result in Matheus flying around the van like a seed inside of a maraca.
“Am not,” he said, delivering a tiny kick to Quin’s legs.
“Act your age,” Quin said.
Matheus had the sudden urge to stick out his tongue and give the two-fingered salute.
“You first,” he said. “Oh, wait, you can’t. Because then you’d be a pile of moldering bones.”
The van turned a corner, sending them both sliding toward the double doors. Matheus stuck out a hand to stop himself, a soft yelp escaping as he scraped his palm over an exposed screw.
Quin did not seem any more sympathetic to this injury than the one in his chest. Instead, he raised his eyebrows, looking down his nose at Matheus.
“That was a bit weak, Sunshine,” he said.
“My chest has a new air vent,” Matheus said. “I’m not at my best.” He frowned down at his new hole and poked it again. Quin let out a sigh, then Matheus felt a thumb brush over his cheek. He glanced up sharply.
“Dirt,” said Quin.
Matheus watched him for a few seconds, but Quin refused to do anything worthy of notice. Vibrations traveled through Matheus’ skull as he laid his forehead on the van door. They’d been in the van when he woke up; who knew how long they’d been moving before that. Hours had passed since Matheus had awoken. The state of the road made Matheus think they’d left Kenderton far behind them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the country. Matheus preferred to admire nature through screensavers and glossy photos in
National Geographic
.
“Where are they taking us?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Someplace wooded and uninhabited.”
“Why?”
The van turned again. The bumps increased, knocking them left and right like balls in a pinball machine.
Perhaps this was an elaborate meat tenderizer
, Matheus thought. He would resemble a Smurf, bruised dusky blue, by the time the van stopped.
“For the hunt,” Quin said. He handled the rough ride much better than Matheus, although he still grimaced as his bad wrist smacked against the side of the van. His splintered cheekbones contorted his skin as he spoke.
Matheus kept his eyes on the other side of Quin’s face. “What is that?”
Quin turned, positioning himself in the corner with his wrist tucked against his chest. He stretched out his long legs, the sole of one foot resting on Matheus’ thigh. His other hand rubbed over his head, making the
“Will it heal on its own?” he asked. “Or am I going to be deformed for all eternity?” Sarcasm riddled his tone, but he held his breath for Quin’s response. Dead bodies didn’t heal. He remembered that plot point from several different mystery novels. Then again, unless Quin had been extraordinarily careful for however long he’d been alive, some kind of rejuvenation must be possible.
“It will heal. Faster, if you feed.” Quin shifted, wiggling his shoulders and sliding along the uneven wall. They’d been put in a van, one of those featured in police reports on the more sensational cable news channels. The windows were blackened, and the floor showed marks where the carpet had been removed. Rivets covered the sheet metal walls, bits of paneling stuck beneath them. Matheus sat opposite Quin, one hand clutching a bulge in the wall. Every few seconds they bounced, jerking side to side as the van rattled along its path.
“No,” said Matheus. “I’m not doing that again.”
“Yes, you are.” A particularly big bump interrupted Quin’s stern glare, and sent the back of his head into the side of the van. Swearing softly, he inched forward until his knees knocked against Matheus’.
Matheus envied his ability to balance. Letting go of his makeshift handle would result in Matheus flying around the van like a seed inside of a maraca.
“Am not,” he said, delivering a tiny kick to Quin’s legs.
“Act your age,” Quin said.
Matheus had the sudden urge to stick out his tongue and give the two-fingered salute.
“You first,” he said. “Oh, wait, you can’t. Because then you’d be a pile of moldering bones.”
The van turned a corner, sending them both sliding toward the double doors. Matheus stuck out a hand to stop himself, a soft yelp escaping as he scraped his palm over an exposed screw.
Quin did not seem any more sympathetic to this injury than the one in his chest. Instead, he raised his eyebrows, looking down his nose at Matheus.
“That was a bit weak, Sunshine,” he said.
“My chest has a new air vent,” Matheus said. “I’m not at my best.” He frowned down at his new hole and poked it again. Quin let out a sigh, then Matheus felt a thumb brush over his cheek. He glanced up sharply.
“Dirt,” said Quin.
Matheus watched him for a few seconds, but Quin refused to do anything worthy of notice. Vibrations traveled through Matheus’ skull as he laid his forehead on the van door. They’d been in the van when he woke up; who knew how long they’d been moving before that. Hours had passed since Matheus had awoken. The state of the road made Matheus think they’d left Kenderton far behind them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the country. Matheus preferred to admire nature through screensavers and glossy photos in
National Geographic
.
“Where are they taking us?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Someplace wooded and uninhabited.”
“Why?”
The van turned again. The bumps increased, knocking them left and right like balls in a pinball machine.
Perhaps this was an elaborate meat tenderizer
, Matheus thought. He would resemble a Smurf, bruised dusky blue, by the time the van stopped.
“For the hunt,” Quin said. He handled the rough ride much better than Matheus, although he still grimaced as his bad wrist smacked against the side of the van. His splintered cheekbones contorted his skin as he spoke.
Matheus kept his eyes on the other side of Quin’s face. “What is that?”
Quin turned, positioning himself in the corner with his wrist tucked against his chest. He stretched out his long legs, the sole of one foot resting on Matheus’ thigh. His other hand rubbed over his head, making the
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