Braced to Bite (Book 1: Half-blood vampire series)

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

     I slept like the dead, if you can pardon the pun. I awoke sometime before dinner, the once mouthwatering scent of pot roast and tiny red potatoes wafting into my room, bringing me slowly to my senses. Stretching like a cat, I enjoyed the aroma of Monday night dinner but didn’t have the salivating anticipation I once did. My mom made the best pot roast and I was suddenly angry that I could no longer enjoy it.

     If I’d known that my last meal was going to be a side of brown rice at the local teriyaki stand I would have rethought my order. I was now on a permanent liquid diet and the killer was, I doubted I would be able to lose those remaining six pounds. Oh, the injustice of it all!

     I changed into jeans and a sweater, pulled my hair back with a clip and grabbed a pair of retro Foster Grants. The big frames made me feel as though I were a famous Somebody trying to escape the paparazzi unrecognized. That sounded much better than Newly Undead Nightstalker hiding funky yellow eyeballs.

     I loped down the stairs and stopped short on the bottom step. Mom, Dad and Aunt Chloe were just sitting down to dinner.

     “Why didn’t you call me down?” I was annoyed they hadn’t waited for me. Dinnertime—except when practice and games interfered—was sacred family time, no excuses were accepted, and they’d started without me?

     “You were sleeping so peacefully, dear, I didn’t want to disturb you. You’ve had such a rough time,” Mom said.

     I sniffed and made my way to the table. I was somewhat mollified by my mother’s excuse but still, I was a vampire, not a porcelain doll. I wasn’t going to break if woken up to join the family for dinner.

     I sat in my usual spot and marveled at the amount of food Mom prepared.

     “Isn’t this a little overkill for the four of us?” I asked skeptically.

     “Yes, a little,” Mom replied, a bit embarrassed. “It’s just so many people came by yesterday when you were still missing and dropped off food. The fridge is overflowing.”

     I used to wonder why people brought food to families who suffered a tragedy, but not anymore. Who wants to cook dinner when their daughter was missing, possibly dead?

     “Well, it looks great,” I said and meant it. I really, really meant it. And I couldn’t have any of it.

     I shoved back from the table in a fit of self-pity. “I’m gonna go watch some TV.”

     I sullenly stomped to the family room and turned on the television, blatantly disregarding the no-TV rule during family dinner. Mom was having none of it.

     “Colby,” she said in a warning tone.

     “Oh all right, fine! I’ll go in the other room.” I snapped off the TV. Jeez, you’d think dying would buy you some small privileges, but noooooo.

     I went to the formal living room with the stiff, ceremonial furniture and plopped down. Instead of watching the boob tube, I started thumbing through a fashion magazine. I was a quarter of the way through “How to get that special someone to ask you out” when someone knocked on the door.

     I jumped up to answer it, ready to invite one of the well-wishing looky-lous in to convince them I was really fine when I stopped at the door and sniffed the air. Something didn’t seem right. Sure, the delicious aroma of pot roast still hung in our house but I detected something else. Something sweeter, like chocolate chip cookies.