Vampire High Sophomore Year

19



I’m thinking we want to open on Halloween,” Turk said.

She was standing in the big open space on the first floor, gnawing delicately on her thumbnail. Above her head were a couple of seniors, wings spread, working on the ceiling fixtures.

“Good choice. Halloween’s on Saturday this year,” I said. “But what’ll we open with?”

Turk gave me a disgusted look.

“My show. Duh,” she said. “It’s going to be right here.”

“Oh. Yes. I meant, ‘What else will we open with besides your magnificent creations?’” I said. “You know—like the basic idea of the whole thing?”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Turk said, brushing her chin with her sleeve. “We ought to hit up every community arts organization in New Sodom and offer them space here that night. It’s time to start getting political.”

“Political how?” I said.

“Come on, Cuz. Do I have to explain everything on the planet to you? We need people on our side. And the best way to get that is to give them something first. We offer them a venue. They come in and do their thing. Their friends come, and pretty soon they’re our friends, too. That’s when this thing will really take off.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s political already,” I said. “Political enough that my best friend and my girl broke up with me. Political enough that whatever friends we do have have had to help us in secret. The only jenti who’ve worked here up front are Gregor and his gang, and Ms. Vukovitch and her guys. And all of them are from Europe. The Crossfield thing doesn’t mean as much to them. And just for the record, no gadje at all are showing up to help.”

“That’s what I mean. They need to get past that,” Turk said.

I had deep reservations about Turk being able to make friends with anybody. But even if she could, we only had about a month. And whatever arts groups we had in New Sodom probably weren’t sitting around with ready-to-run programs in their pockets. Say somebody wanted to put on a play: it would have to be selected, cast, and rehearsed. Same thing for a concert. Even I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

But that was the same day they finished the wiring, and Ms. Vukovitch purred, “Okay, guys, time to test the whole system. Turn on every light in the place.”

When we did that, the mill changed into something it had never been before. It glowed. The walls were deep, warm red; the scarred old floors had a soft yellow gleam.

The little wigwam we’d built in the lobby looked shabby and out of place, but it seemed to be saying, “Remember how all this started.”

All of us—me, Turk, Ms. Vukovitch and her boys, and Gregor and his guys—went from room to room admiring what we’d done.

“Great job,” Turk said at last. “Gregor, you and your thugs can clean up my messes anytime.”

“Pah,” Gregor said. “We did none of it for you. But you are right. We have made this into something very acceptable with our work.”

“Acceptable, my left wing,” Ms. Vukovitch said. “It is a palace.”

“Let’s go outside,” I said.

It was hard to believe, but the old place was nearly ready for its new life.

The sun was down. A chilly wind was coming up from the river. Crossfield looked as dark and lost as always. But the lights glowing behind our windows fell on the barren ground in every direction. The crisscross patterns of the windows looked like the narrow stone paths that held down the past all around us. But these were not part of the past. These were the future, if we could make it happen.

“How’s this, Mercy?” I wondered aloud. “Is this good enough? Anyway, we’re almost ready.”

It was a palace. A palace of light.