Page 18 of Evil Hearts

The stories make for some pretty sick movies, not gonna lie. And the special effects nowadays are so good that it actually looks like someone’s getting hacked in half on the screen. So cool. But Juliette doesn’t act like a Nosferatu should. Doesn’t look like a depraved monster with uncontrollable bloodlust.

If anything, she’s been a pretty gracious host. I pull my knees into my chest as we fall into silence again. Then she starts humming. It’s a melody I don’t recognize, which is surprising considering I know a lot about music. She knits and hums, and I find myself smiling while I listen.

“That’s pretty. What is it?” I ask.

She looks up at me and shrugs again. “’Non, je ne regrette rien.’”

“Oh,” I say, as though what she said totally made sense. It didn’t. I’m at a loss, here as far as our next steps are concerned. I guess I could always just … leave. But then what? Get staked by the Helsings? I might need to be here for a couple of days, at most.

“Thank you for saving my life,” I say.

She looks up from her knitting and nods. “You’re welcome.”

I’m about to say something else when my stomach rumbles. Loudly. Embarrassed, I clap my hands over my gut and laugh nervously. When I was alive, I suffered from generalized anxiety disorder and unfortunately that followed me all the way into undeath, stomach pains and all. Could be worse. I once knew a guy who was turned that retained his IBS into undeath. Our existence could be such a joke sometimes.“Shit. Uh, sorry. Guess I forgot to eat before I had to make a daring escape,” I say, smiling.

Unsurprisingly, Juliette doesn’t smile or acknowledge my joke. Instead, she puts her knitting down and stands up. Then she grabs a threadbare black cloak from her cot and throws it over her shoulders. She pulls the hood over her head and makes her way out of the “salon.”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Hunting,” she says.

Yeah, no. There’s no way I’m getting a woman to hunt for me. I’ve never been one of those macho-types, but even I have my limits, and allowing this teensy wisp of a woman to get me my dinner is one of them. I rise to my feet and hurry through the tunnels to catch up with her.

“Hey,” I call to her, but she doesn’t look back at me. She continues walking at a fast clip, and I struggle to keep up while also watching where I step. “Hey. Juliette. Stop. Don’t … don’t do this. I’m fine. I can wait.”

Juliette approaches the rusty metal ladder on the far side of the wall and places her foot on the lowest rung. “Stay here. I won’t be long,” she says calmly. But something about this doesn’t feel right. What if she’s seen? What if the Helsings get her? I’ll have no way of knowing. I grab on to her elbow as she ascends the ladder, and she turns to bare her fangs at me.

“Yeah. You’re very scary. Big, bad Juliette. I get it,” I deadpan. “But let me come with you, at the very least. I can help.”

Juliette stares at me like I just suggested we go out for karaoke. Which, honestly, might help this girl loosen up. I wonder what her go-to song would be.

“It’s too dangerous,” she says. “Leave it to me.”

“Yeah, our entire existence is dangerous, sweetheart,” I say. She bares her fangs at me again, only this time she adds a convincing hiss that makes me take a step back. “Seriously, Juli. I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.”

Juliette makes a strange, garbled little sound that’s almost … cute. And then she blinks. “Juli?”

I nod and grab onto the ladder to pull myself up behind her. “Yeah. Juli. That’s what I’m calling you. You can call me Scott or Scotty, whatever you prefer. Or dumbass. That works, too, and I respond to it.”

Juliette lets out another strangled sound, and it’s then that I realize she’s flustered. I made this big, bad Nosferatuflustered. Pride swells in my chest. I did that. Me. And here my mom said I’d never be popular with the ladies. Take that, mom! You were wrong twice in one day!

A few moments pass, and Juli doesn’t move. It’s like she’s frozen in place.

I pat her heel. “Juli. Juli? You okay up there? Are we going, or…?”

Juliette flinches and looks straight up toward the manhole cover. “Y-Yes. Sorry.”

We continue our way up the ladder and crawl out like a couple of Ninja Turtles, and I quickly look around to make sure the coast is clear. We’re in the middle of a dead-ass street in front a few Chinese restaurants. Not a soul in sight. Good.

I rub the back of my head and say, “Okay, I’ll be Michelangelo and you can be…” I look Juliette up and down. She stares at me blankly. “Yeah, I think you’re more of a Donatello or a Raphael. I mean, I could totally see you as a Raphael, but you don’t reallysnark at me so much as just … loom menacingly.” I snap my fingers and point at her. This earns me a deep frown from her. “Fuck it, you’re right. You’re definitely more of a Master Splinter type.”

Juliette puts a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. “What are you talking about? You’re so stupid, you know that, right?”

I frown when I realize this poor girl’s never seen the Ninja Turtles before. Oh, crap. Has she even seen television before? Considering she skulks about wearing a cloak and lives in the sewers, I’m going to guess … no. Probably not.

That won’t do. I know a lot of vampires prefer to live in the past, usually around the time they were turned. Our kind has trouble moving forward. It’s as though our first deaths are a fixed point in time and every moment after doesn’t count.

Screw that noise. I’m going to live, dammit.

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