Two bluebirds. Beautiful. Lonny admired his work and rubbed my hands with alcohol to wipe away any germs, then another layer of gel. My hands throbbed, but he said the pain wouldn’t last long.
Morgan’s turn.
I had a delicious plan for Morgan.
She started to sit down in the chair, but I motioned her away.
Lonny was leaning over a sink against the back wall, cleaning his needle.
“What’s my tattoo going to be?” Morgan asked.
I raised a finger to my lips to silence her. Then I turned and pointed at Lonny. I began to mumble the words of the spell I had memorized the night before.
A new spell. Exciting for me, but also very stressful. What if I messed it up?
Morgan opened her mouth to speak, but I motioned again for her to shut up. Her eyes locked on mine as if she were trying to burn inside my brain and see what I was doing.
I mumbled the words quickly, so low that Lonny didn’t hear.
And when his knees folded and his eyes closed and he slumped against the wall, I darted forward and caught him under the shoulders before he could fall.
“Help me,” I shouted to Morgan. “Grab him. Help me put him in the chair.”
Morgan hesitated, then hurried over and grabbed Lonny’s other arm. “What are you doing?” she cried. “What on earth—?”
“It’s a sleep spell,” I said. “Hurry. Get him into the chair. On his stomach. I . . . I don’t know how long the spell will last.”
“This is crazy,” Morgan murmured. But she wrapped her hands around him, and we dragged him to the chair.
“Stop,” I said. “Let’s get his shirt off. Hurry.”
“Huh?” Morgan squinted at me. “What exactly—”
“No time,” I said. “I really don’t know how long he’ll be asleep.”
It was a struggle, but we pulled his shirt over his head. Then we dumped him onto the chair, tilted the chair all the way back, and rolled Lonny onto his stomach.
His arms hung limply down to the floor. They were totally tattooed and his shoulders were covered in ink. But his back was clean.
I grabbed a needle and fumbled with the switches on the unit until I got it to hum to life.
“What are you doing?” Morgan demanded, hands pressed against her waist. “Tell me!”
“It’s your birthday surprise,” I said. My voice came out high and shrill because of my excitement. Am I really going ahead with this?
“Please,” Morgan pleaded. “Explain. Tell me.”
“I’m going to make Lonny keep his promise to you,” I said. “I’m going to tattoo your name across his back.”
Morgan gasped. “Are you serious?”
I laughed. “Of course, I’m serious. He promised you, didn’t he?”
“But . . . but . . . you can’t . . . You—”
“Watch me,” I said. I lowered the needle to the black ink cup. Got it whirring. Pressed it to his back. It pierced his skin, and I made a short black line.
I motioned to Morgan. “Help me. Hold him down. This is harder than I thought.”
She hesitated. “I don’t think I want to help.”
“Come on, girl. Don’t spoil it!” I cried. “This is your birthday treat!”
Lonny was breathing softly, his mouth open a little, eyes shut. I pressed the needle against the pale skin of his back. “Oops.”
The needle slipped. I jerked the needle away from the puncture mark I had made. Bright red blood spurted up from Lonny’s back.
Morgan let out a scream.
More blood splashed up. Had I hit an artery or something?
I glimpsed a spot of blood on the back of my hand. Without thinking, I raised the hand to my mouth and licked the blood off.
“Mmmmmm.”
A river of bright red blood trickled down the crease in the middle of Lonny’s back. I dipped a finger in and tasted some more. “Hey, tastes good,” I murmured.
Lonny breathed softly and didn’t move.
I brought my head down and licked some warm blood off his back. It felt so good on my tongue, and the sweet-sour iron taste made me crave more.
“Morgan? What are you doing?” Morgan shrieked at me. “Have you gone crazy?”
I licked more blood off his back. So tangy. So . . . satisfying.
“Morgan, come try it,” I said, waving her over. “I never knew . . . I mean, I never knew it was so delicious.”
The flow of blood slowed. A long line of it had already dried on Lonny’s skin. I took the razor he uses to shave the skin and dug another cut, a long horizontal line just below his shoulders.
A new fountain of blood splashed up. I leaned over, let the warm liquid flow against my lips, and took a long drink.
“You’re sick!” Morgan cried. “This is sooo sick! You really are a Fear!”
She grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away. I jerked my arm away from her and licked the warm blood—so tasty and delicious and real—like drinking life itself.
I took the razor and sliced another deep cut. I wanted the tasty nectar to be fresh, fresh and hot.
“Stop it! Are you some kind of vampire?” Morgan shrieked. “Stop it! Stop it!”
“Try it,” I rasped, my voice deep and hoarse, like an animal voice. “Try it, Morgan. Try it.”
“Noooooo!” she screamed, backing away, hands pressed to her red cheeks. “No! Morgan—please!”
The blood spurted up. I drank it like at a water fountain. So rich and warm and thick. It gurgled down my throat, splashed over my lips. I knew my face was dripping with the hot blood . . . Lonny’s hot blood. But I didn’t care.
“I never knew . . . ,” I growled at my friend, in a voice I’d never heard before, a creature-voice from deep inside me. “I never knew . . . I never knew.”
