Vampire Dawn Part 13

"Smart move."

I got up, headed for the door. As I was about to exit, he said, "Can I have my guns back? I do, after all, have a business to run."

I paused at the door and thought about it, then turned and set the pistols next to the shotgun. I said, "I'm watching you."

His eyes flashed. "I hope so, pretty lady."

I turned and left.

Chapter Twenty-nine.

"Your son was in a fight today, Ms. Moon," said Princ.i.p.al West.

I was in his office with Anthony, who was sitting next to me. Anthony smelled of fresh gra.s.s, sweat, and blood. His clothing was torn, and there were gra.s.s stains along his shoulders and knees. There was a small spot of blood on his shirt. He breathed easily, calmly, staring straight ahead. He didn't appear the least bit upset. This coming from a boy who used to cry if his sister gave him a noogie.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Your son, Ms. Moon, beat up a young man so severely we had to call an ambulance."

I gasped and faced Anthony. Now I could see the tears forming in his eyes. I didn't have much access to my son's thoughts, but I could read auras and body language, not to mention I just knew my son. Knew him better than anyone. And he was scared. Perhaps for what he had done. Perhaps for the harm he had caused. Perhaps for who he was becoming.

The princ.i.p.al continued, "From what I understand-and this has been confirmed by nearly a dozen other students and teachers who witnessed the fight-the school bully, a kid nearly twice the size of your son, and two of his friends were picking on a girl. Grabbing her. Apparently one tried to kiss her. And that's when your son stepped in."

Now my son looked at me for the first time. Tears were in his eyes and there was some dirt in his hairline, but what I saw most was the defiant look in his eyes.

"She was crying, Mommy. She kept asking them to stop. But they wouldn't. They kept picking on her. And no one would help her." He looked forward again, clenching his little fists in his lap. "Everyone's afraid of them, but I'm not."

No one said anything. The princ.i.p.al stared at my son. In complete disbelief, judging by the look on his face. A moment later, the princ.i.p.al continued the story.

Anthony stepped in, pulled the main bully off the girl. And not just pulled. Threw, apparently. The other boys jumped my son. The fight was chaotic. Fists swinging, bodies rolling. No one would help. No one would jump in. It was a third grader against three sixth graders. And then something miraculous started happening. One by one, the sixth graders started falling by the wayside, rolling out of the melee, bleeding and groaning and hurt, until finally my son had ended up on top, leveling punch after punch into the older boy's face. It had taken three teachers to pull him off.

The princ.i.p.al's voice trailed off and he looked again at my son with complete awe. Myself, I had never been prouder.

"The leader is in the hospital. Apparently they're st.i.tching his mouth and replacing some teeth."

Outside, I heard some excited voices in the various offices. The princ.i.p.al rubbed his face and kept staring at Anthony. Finally, he sat back in his chair.

"I've never seen or heard anything like this in my twenty years in teaching, Ms. Moon. What your son did...was very brave, very selfless, very admirable. But I have to suspend him."

"For protecting a girl?"

He smiled gently. "For fighting, Ms. Moon. We have a strict policy on that. The other boys will be severely dealt with, trust me. But let's let things cool off for a few days. Your son has caused quite an uproar. And, of course, there could be legal consequences."

A few minutes later, as Anthony and I exited administration offices, I couldn't help but notice everyone staring after us. The princ.i.p.al, secretaries, students and teachers.

Staring at the freaks.

Chapter Thirty.

We were at Cold Stone Creamery.

The place was empty. No real surprise there since it was the end of January, still cold even for southern California. Of course, the cold weather didn't stop the sun from searing my skin as I dashed across the parking lot. Now, as Anthony hungrily ate his bowl of ice cream, I sat huddled as far away from the windows as possible.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," said Anthony, in between mouthfuls of ice cream, a masterful concoction of chocolate ice cream, brownies, and Snicker bars, all prepared on a cold stone which, apparently, made the ice cream magical. I wouldn't know, but I think the brownie and Snicker bar had something to do with it.

"Sorry for what?" I asked.

"For fighting."

"Are you sorry for helping the girl?"

"No. She was crying."

"Are you sorry for hurting the boy?"

He thought about that. There was ice cream on his nose. "Well, yes. I didn't mean to hurted him so bad."

"Maybe you can apologize to him someday for hurting him so bad then."

"Okay, Mommy."

He went back to his ice cream, which was nearly gone. How he could eat ice cream so fast, I hadn't a clue. I distinctly recalled a little something called brain freeze. Anthony, apparently, powered through it.

"Tammy tells me that you can wrestle seven boys at once."

"Sometimes ten."

I think my eyes bulged a little, but Anthony was too busy dragging his plastic spoon along the inside edge of the bowl to see my reaction. His little face was the picture of concentration. Ice cream was serious business.

"That's a lot of boys against just one boy, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "I guess. I dunno. Maybe I'm just stronger. Can I have another ice cream?"

"One's enough. I'm making dinner soon."

He stuck out his lower lip the way he does when he wants something. He hardly looked like a kid who just sent the school bully to the hospital.

I said, "Do you like being so strong?"

He gave me a half-a.s.sed shrug, since he was still officially in pouting mode. "It's kinda cool, I guess." Then he began poking his fingers through the Styrofoam bowl and wiggling them at himself, then at me. "Ice cream worms!"

I took the bowl from him. His fingers, I saw, were now covered in chocolate ice cream. He pouted some more.

I said, "Do you wonder why you're so strong?"

He shrugged, though some of his pouting steam was dissipating. "Not really."

I looked at my son. He was still quite little for his age. Too little to be beating up three school punks. Too little to be wrestling a whole group of kids. His dark hair was thick and still a little mussed, no doubt from the fight. He showed no signs of having fought three older boys, although he had put one in the hospital. I suspected a legend was being born about him as we sat here at Cold Stone, whispered throughout school. His life, I suspected, was about to forever change.

No, it changed seven months ago, I thought. When you changed him.

When I saved him, G.o.ddammit!

I took a deep, shuddering breath. Presently, Anthony was using his fingertip and a few chocolate drips to make shapes on the table. Circles. Happy faces. Sad faces. Such an innocent boy.

What have I done?

"Anthony," I said. "I need to talk to you about something very important."

He looked up, terrified. "But you said you weren't mad, Mommy."

"I'm not mad, baby. This is about something else."

"About Tammy?"

"What about Tammy?"

"Because she smells so bad?"

And he started giggling, so much so that he pa.s.sed gas, too. This led to more giggling and a scowl from the Cold Stone manager. And when a wave of ga.s.sy foulness. .h.i.t me, I leaped up from the table, grabbed his hand and we made a mad dash to the minivan, where Anthony continued giggling. Myself included.

Laughing and burning alive.

Chapter Thirty-one.

Anthony knew the drill.

He knew that Mommy had to have the shades drawn in the car. He also knew that Mommy tended to shriek when sunlight hit her directly, so as I faced him in the front seat, as I pulled my knees up and kept my arms out of any direct sunlight, he didn't think much of it. Mommy, after all, was sick.

Or so he thought.

It's time, I thought. Time to tell him the truth.

Easier said than done. At least eight different times I opened my mouth to speak, and at least eight different times nothing came out. While I sat there opening and closing my mouth, Anthony played his Gameboy. There was still chocolate on his nose.

I pushed through the nerves and fear and got my mouth working. "Anthony, baby, I need to talk to you about something important-and, no, it's not about Tammy's B.O."

He giggled a little, then looked over at me, suddenly serious. "I'm sorry about those boys, Mommy."

"I know you are, honey. Put the Gameboy down. I want to talk to you about something serious, something related to what happened today."

"Related?" he asked, scrunching up his little face.

"It means 'connected.'"

"Like how relatives are connected."

"Yes, that's right. You see, Mommy is..." Except I couldn't finish the sentence. I paused and thought long and hard about the wisdom of continuing it. I paused so long that Anthony looked up at me, squinting with just one eye the way he does sometimes.

He needs to know. He has to know. It's only fair. He can't grow up not knowing. But he's so young. So young...

"Are you okay, Mommy? Is the sun hurting you bad?"

"I'm okay, baby." I took in some air to calm myself, then plunged forward. "Anthony, I'm not like other mommies."

He nodded. "I know. Because you can't go in the sun."

"That's part of it, honey. You see, I'm different in other ways, too. I'm stronger than other mommies."

"Stronger?"

I raised my arm and flexed my bicep, although I don't think much of anything flexed. "Yes, stronger. In fact, I'm stronger than most men, too."

"You mean strong like me," he said.

"Yes."

"Well, duh, Mom. I'm only your kid. Kids have the same stuff their mommies have. But only half of the daddy's."

Now I was confused. "Only half of their daddy's?"

"Duh, Mom. Kids come from their mommies, not their daddies."

"I see," I said. "Very logical."

Anthony nodded as if he'd spoken the truth. Then he turned to me, squinting with one eye again. "Is Tammy strong, too?"

"No. She's not like us."

"Why not?"