went off inside the house.
Mom was crying. I held her arm and the two of us entered the house, Matt trailing behind. Once I had crossed the threshold I said, “Dad, come in.”
He did, looking very tired. “Thank you, dear.”
We sat down on the couch, Matt looking back and forth, confused and conflicted. I couldn’t blame him. Mom continued to sob, but turned away from Dad when he tried to comfort her, though she let me hug her.
Matt’s three little brothers, Mark, Luke, and John, crept down the stairway. Mark looked about ten, Luke about seven, and Matt had told me that John was five. They took a look at Dad and screamed, “It’s the vampire! It’s the vampire!” and ran back upstairs. They must have heard the commotion–indeed, I wondered if there was anyone in the neighborhood who hadn’t.
A stovetop fan, the kind you turn on to whirr away the smoke and heat of cooking, hummed loudly from the kitchen. Shawn returned with a wooden chopstick broken in half. He gave one half to Matt. “This is in case Ferdy tries anything,” he murmured.
Dad laughed with that same awful, hollow sound. “I’m very intimidated at the prospect of death by chopstick splinters.”
Matt cleared his throat, putting the chopstick in his pocket as if he didn’t know what else to do with it. “So let me get this straight. Mr. Anghel is a vampire, Mrs. Anghel is a werewolf, and Dianne is a. . . something?”
“A shapeshifter,” I said. “Parts of me change into wolf parts when I get really emotional.”
“I guess that explains a bit.”
“Yeah.”
The five of us looked at everything except for each other.
The kitchen fan turned off, and Mrs. Spiralli, a round, flushed woman with messy brown hair and a kind smile, bustled out. “Oh, you’re here already? I’m so sorry. Something is wrong with that fan and when it’s on I can’t hear anything at all. My husband unexpectedly had to stay late at work. He’ll be here in about half an hour. Would you like a drink?”
The adults all stared at her blankly. Matt seemed uncomfortable.
“I’d like a grape soda if you have any,” I said.
Chapter Twelve
Confuse Me
I aspire to reach adulthood, and love many of the species, but at times I simply do not comprehend them. Dad and Shawn sat across from each other at the dinner table, one quietly sipping blood with a straw, and the other eating a chicken casserole in uneasy silence. Mom managed to put on a false front and chatter about pleasant nothings to the Spiralli couple; she mentioned that she and Shawn dated briefly in college, but left out her biting-him-and-him-stalking-her bits. They seemed to find it sufficient answer to why the two enemies were glowering at each other in barely contained hostility. I felt considerable pity for Matt’s very nice parents. Sorry I can’t be more descriptive than that, but that was really all I could say about them. Mr. and Mrs. Spiralli exemplified niceness, being friendly and generous but not particularly interesting or tactful.
By slicing his throat with an imaginary knife and discreetly mouthing a few sentences to me, Matt managed to communicate that his parents were having a hard time dealing with his uncle being a werewolf. He believed it would be best not to tell them that other supernatural beings existed, or else it would. . .
“Make their heads explode?” I whispered. His pantomime was confusing.
Mr. Spiralli noticed what was happening. “Care to share something with the rest of us, Matthew?”
Matt dropped his fork to the floor, very red. “Nothing.”
“Tell me, Dianne,” Mrs. Spiralli asked, smiling, “do you have a boyfriend?”
Matt had disappeared under the tablecloth under the pretence of getting the fork back. It usually doesn’t take someone five minutes to retrieve silverware.
“No,” I said as airily as I could manage. “I’m not interested in boys. Not at all. Not even a tiny bit. In fact—”
“Di, it’s okay,” Dad said, nudging my shoulder.
The two sets of
Mom was crying. I held her arm and the two of us entered the house, Matt trailing behind. Once I had crossed the threshold I said, “Dad, come in.”
He did, looking very tired. “Thank you, dear.”
We sat down on the couch, Matt looking back and forth, confused and conflicted. I couldn’t blame him. Mom continued to sob, but turned away from Dad when he tried to comfort her, though she let me hug her.
Matt’s three little brothers, Mark, Luke, and John, crept down the stairway. Mark looked about ten, Luke about seven, and Matt had told me that John was five. They took a look at Dad and screamed, “It’s the vampire! It’s the vampire!” and ran back upstairs. They must have heard the commotion–indeed, I wondered if there was anyone in the neighborhood who hadn’t.
A stovetop fan, the kind you turn on to whirr away the smoke and heat of cooking, hummed loudly from the kitchen. Shawn returned with a wooden chopstick broken in half. He gave one half to Matt. “This is in case Ferdy tries anything,” he murmured.
Dad laughed with that same awful, hollow sound. “I’m very intimidated at the prospect of death by chopstick splinters.”
Matt cleared his throat, putting the chopstick in his pocket as if he didn’t know what else to do with it. “So let me get this straight. Mr. Anghel is a vampire, Mrs. Anghel is a werewolf, and Dianne is a. . . something?”
“A shapeshifter,” I said. “Parts of me change into wolf parts when I get really emotional.”
“I guess that explains a bit.”
“Yeah.”
The five of us looked at everything except for each other.
The kitchen fan turned off, and Mrs. Spiralli, a round, flushed woman with messy brown hair and a kind smile, bustled out. “Oh, you’re here already? I’m so sorry. Something is wrong with that fan and when it’s on I can’t hear anything at all. My husband unexpectedly had to stay late at work. He’ll be here in about half an hour. Would you like a drink?”
The adults all stared at her blankly. Matt seemed uncomfortable.
“I’d like a grape soda if you have any,” I said.
Chapter Twelve
Confuse Me
I aspire to reach adulthood, and love many of the species, but at times I simply do not comprehend them. Dad and Shawn sat across from each other at the dinner table, one quietly sipping blood with a straw, and the other eating a chicken casserole in uneasy silence. Mom managed to put on a false front and chatter about pleasant nothings to the Spiralli couple; she mentioned that she and Shawn dated briefly in college, but left out her biting-him-and-him-stalking-her bits. They seemed to find it sufficient answer to why the two enemies were glowering at each other in barely contained hostility. I felt considerable pity for Matt’s very nice parents. Sorry I can’t be more descriptive than that, but that was really all I could say about them. Mr. and Mrs. Spiralli exemplified niceness, being friendly and generous but not particularly interesting or tactful.
By slicing his throat with an imaginary knife and discreetly mouthing a few sentences to me, Matt managed to communicate that his parents were having a hard time dealing with his uncle being a werewolf. He believed it would be best not to tell them that other supernatural beings existed, or else it would. . .
“Make their heads explode?” I whispered. His pantomime was confusing.
Mr. Spiralli noticed what was happening. “Care to share something with the rest of us, Matthew?”
Matt dropped his fork to the floor, very red. “Nothing.”
“Tell me, Dianne,” Mrs. Spiralli asked, smiling, “do you have a boyfriend?”
Matt had disappeared under the tablecloth under the pretence of getting the fork back. It usually doesn’t take someone five minutes to retrieve silverware.
“No,” I said as airily as I could manage. “I’m not interested in boys. Not at all. Not even a tiny bit. In fact—”
“Di, it’s okay,” Dad said, nudging my shoulder.
The two sets of
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