Mr. Christopher was out of his sedan first. He towered over all of the parents, even Mr. Cooper, who was a little over six feet. Mr. Christopher raised his hands in the air like he was surrendering. “Everyone’s safe,” he said, his voice loud over parental anger and concern. “No one’s hurt.”
Vince and I stepped up to the group, hiding behind Mr. Christopher. Vince was studying his feet and I was fidgeting with my backpack.
“Abigail Rath,” Mom said. “What were you thinking?”
“Get in the car, Vince,” said Mrs. Cooper.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Get in the car.”
Vince went away with his parents like a condemned man. I had planned to confess to my role of being instigator in the hopes that it would go a little lighter on Vince. I guessed that would have to wait until tomorrow. I huddled a little deeper into my sweater because of the cold.
“Reginald?” said Mr. Christopher. “A word?”
Dad stepped aside with Mr. Christopher. Mom and I watched the Cooper-mobile drive away. I smiled at Mom. She didn’t smile back, so I made my expression neutral. “Um...so, hey, good news! The XP-215 works on a person!”
“Not in the mood, Abigail. Get in the car.”
Mom joined Dad and Mr. Christopher while I watched them from the backseat. Dad laughed at one point, but one look from Mom sobered him right up. As soon as they had what Mr. Christopher thought was the whole story, they joined me in the car.
Dad belted himself in. “So,” he said. “Off to kill a vampire?”
“Yeah.”
“How could you do this? Skipping school. Staying out all night.” Mom turned to face me. Her hair was frizzy. That was a real sign that she was worried and strung out. “Didn’t you think about how worried we’d be?”
Turnabout was fair play. “What? I don’t worry about you when you go out at night to take care of a werewolf problem or something?”
I caught Dad grinning in the rear view mirror. “Palpable hit, Polly.”
The vibrations from Mom’s disapproval hit me in the backseat. Dad stopped smiling. “Look,” I said. “Dad’s not a spring chicken anymore. Anything could happen. He could get backhanded by a flesh golem, or mauled, or something. No offense, Dad.”
Dad tilted his head. None taken. He knew he was pushing fifty and he was slowing down. “And you thought, since I’d need some help, you’d better start practicing?”
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s it, exactly.”
Mom wasn’t in the market, because she wasn’t buying the patter Dad and I were selling. I knew as long as Mom was with him when they went out, Dad wasn’t in any danger. My mother could get any creature to surrender by threatening to take away its television privileges.
“What were you thinking?” My mother’s eyes gleamed the evil punishment glare, which made her glasses flash. It was a supernatural eye disease or something. “You could have been killed.”
“No, Mom,” I said. “Ned isn’t a good vampire.”
“My child,” said Dad, “most vampires aren’t good.”
“I mean that he’s inept. He needs to go to vampire school. He really did want to meet Vince.” Which opened up the whole idea that vampires might have feelings. Which didn’t matter when they would fang you as soon as look at you. Girls around vampires are often portrayed as suckers. I’m no sucker.
The vampire is the sucker. Except for Mr. Christopher, who was the exception.
“Abigail, are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said. “Um...I was wrong to do it, and I will never sneak out hunting the undead again without your permission unless it’s really a dire emergency.”
The stony silence from the front seat was my answer. I yawned and tried to move as little as possible.
We reached home. The glowing car clock said it was one a.m. I unlatched my seatbelt and opened the door.
“Abigail!”
I froze.
“We will continue this discussion in the morning. There will be consequences.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It’s probably impolitic to mention it, but I slept well, just like the dead. Not the undead.
In the morning, I made up my mind in those first waking minutes to face my punishment with the kind of dignity that would do credit to the name of Rath, and to reduce Vince’s sentence as much as I could. It was good it was the weekend, because getting up early to go to school under a cloud of punishment and a lack of sleep would have been a downer for the whole day. This way I could lick my wounds and get some composure back in time for Monday.
There would be consequences at school too. No Wolcroft girl was a skipper. We were all academic hardcores. However, I would worry about Wolcroft if I survived the wrath of Mom over the weekend.
I was going to have to fake being sorry. Yes, I was sorry I made them worry. No, I wasn’t sorry for having monster hunting in my DNA.
As I was brushing my teeth, I tried to predict where the parents would go with the punishment. Dad seemed to be on my side, which made sense. He loved his job, and he loved his daughter. I mean he knew I’d done something wrong, but he often ran interference for me, softening the blow.
On the other hand, I was sure I’d crossed some sort of line with Mom. She spent most of her life studying the occult from the comfort of her study, performing amateur chemistry experiments and
