Necromancer - 8. Blood

"Hello Peter's friend," Mum switched off the vacuum cleaner and turned to us as soon as we'd walked in the door. "It's Simon right?"

"Nice to meet you." He looked polite but didn't smile. Rigid, the arms at his sides stiff.

He'd studied my two-storey residence as we'd crossed the footpath. Eying the red tiled roof, how it curled over my arched bedroom window. The white-panelled home with the maintained gardens was probably like a movie to him. An unbroken home.

"Yes," I could see she was forming an opinion of him in her head. "You two should stay upstairs, I'm still finishing off down here. Me and Dad are going out for that work party, we won't be home till late." she said that last part to me. "Megan will be at Stacey's so you'll have the house to yourself. You'll have to sort out dinner Peter. No other friends over, understand? No parties."

"Alright." I gave a half-smile on my way past.

Simon followed me to the stairs and we hopped up quickly. He briefly paused at my sister's ballet shoes, slung over the railing. We went to my bedroom and I hopped onto the mattress, reaching under for my laptop. My crush stood in the doorway, surveying. I got a nice tingling at the thought of Simon Chernosky being in my bedroom.

"What do you think?" I asked him.

"It's nice."

He walked over to my cluttered desk, found the script for Enchanted Kingdom. I watched him flick over the pages lazily, my own lines were highlighted.

"Performances start at the end of next week. We're doing three all up."

"You like photography?" He'd wandered over to a pinboard where I'd set up some scenic photos.

"Sure, a little. I take photos whenever we all drive somewhere new as a family."

"Hm." Simon didn't go for drives with his step-Dad, I was sure of it. He'd drifted away and was now looking through the contents of my shelves. Toys and relics, each with stories a decade or more old. I only ever caught glimpses of Simon's bedroom. The floor had been messy, with no toys or posters in sight. Just a lamp on his desk where he could do his reading.

He stopped his slow venture around my room when he reached the headrest of my bed. Wiping a single finger down its arched edges.

"You okay, Simon?" He looked pensive.

"Fine."

I showed him my video games. Then I showed him the books in my cupboard. I was in the premier reading challenge in primary school, and I'd gone through a sci-fi phase. Simon had been sitting on the edge of my bed, but when I turned to show him my books he was standing behind me. Curious to know.

I heated frozen lasagne in the oven when it got late. Mum always had those easy meals on hand in case. I sprinkled extra shredded cheese and handed a plate to Simon. We ate in silence at the breakfast bar. It was just us in the house. He was still being pensive about something.

We had one heater, but it worked well enough to warm the room quickly. An imaginary fireplace. After eating I left our plates in the sink and we went upstairs.

"You look like you have a lot on your mind."

"I do." Simon admitted. "I read something about moving mists, so I need to go back over the websites and find it again."

"Really?" I was shocked. "So we will finally know what's going on in Scone?"

"Yes... I believe so."

We sat on my bed with our glasses of fruit juice. My heart was pounding again. If I cared about this mystery as much as Simon did, I'd offer to drive him home right now so we could find his old notes and finish the research together. The mystery was still relevant to me. But the thought of it was terrifying. Solving it sounded like plunging deeper into the rabbit hole. Truthfully I'd prefer to forget the mystery, curl up in bed and ignore Angela outside my window. Hope that it'd all go away and eventually blow over. Then my life could return to comforting normality.

What I wanted right now was this: Simon in my bedroom. The new guy I'd developed feelings for, maybe out of loneliness, maybe out of innocent imagination to ease my boredom. But the feelings were here now. I'd fantasized about him for months. And now here we were on my bed, two kisses already shared between us and he was still with me in this setting. It had to mean something. Setting my drink down I looked over his smooth darkish skin, his matted hair and dark eyes. Sitting in a slouch and pondering.

I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed, a comforting gesture. He smiled a little in appreciation. Posture still inward, holding his glass with two hands. I leaned over and kissed him, moving his head up with mine, moving my lips against his. Simon was again kissing me back. I moved myself against him, forcing him backwards. We were almost lying down when I heard the glass slip from his hands.

"Shit! Sorry Pe-" He was silenced by another kiss.

"Leave it." My hands were on him and I didn't want to stop for anything.

I loved kissing Simon. Not just his mouth but his body. The skin of his neck, jaw. Tasting and holding him down. His breath was harried, like mine. I slipped my hands under his shirt and started feeling up his warm body. I was hard again, I could feel my erection against his thigh. Kissing and then grinding. Simon surprised, but then clutching at me too. Catching some of the same desire.

I moved us so we were onto the bed, I was straddling him. Pulling that shirt up and over his body. Simon lifting up to help but then collapsing back down when there was even more of his skin available to kiss. His body was tight and lean. I crushed his lips with mine, kissed his jaw and neck. Heard him panting and felt his hands trying to take off my clothes. So I straightened up and pulled my shirt off overhead. The two of us kissing as we unbuckled our belts and jeans.

In our briefs now, I reached down and grazed my hand down Simon's stiffy. His eyes were lidded, accepting and hiding an arousal of his own. Even though I was so turned on, there was one thing I was willing to stop for. I cared about Simon, a lot. I needed to make sure this was what he wanted.

"Is this okay?" I pulled my mouth from his to ask. His eyes went down my chest and back to my face, lustfully. But I waited for his response.

"Yes."

"Do you want to have sex with me?"

"Yes, Peter."

I ducked down and kissed him slower, but just as passionately. Then I stood up and pulled down my briefs, eyes on him as I did it. Now naked. I moved to get things hidden under my bottom dresser drawer, closing my ajar door as I did.

Moving back to the bed I kissed Simon's bare chest. His hands were on my back and in my hair as I kissed him lower and lower. A fine trail of hair before I helped him out of his black briefs, slipping his erection in my mouth and feeling him immediately tense, his hands clenching into my hair. He was oozing already, I started bobbing my head while he hissed and moaned. My head was swimming with the idea of him.

After a minute of that I straightened and flipped him over, Simon let me. It made me wonder if he'd done this before. I squirted lube out of my bottle, and wiped down the crack between his smooth ass. He moaned when I widened him. Throughout I looked up to admire his back and body. He really was beautiful. That thought kept popping up in my head. Beautiful. I really wanted him.

I tore a condom out of its packet and rolled it over my erection. I was bigger than Simon, but I wanted to do this gently so he'd enjoy it as much as possible. Pressing against his entrance slowly, Simon groaning and gasping as I got the head of my cock in. One hand on his waist and the other against the bed. I dipped down to kiss his shoulder gently as I pushed in further. Simon winced as he adjusted, reaching over to grab my hand.

He gave cute pants when I started to thrust into him, I kissed the side of his face and neck as we moved. Hands pressing down on the small of his back, thrusting into his ass. Beautiful. He started moaning as I moved at a normal pace, those thin eyebrows pulled together, eyes scrunched and mouth open. I pressed one hand against the back of his neck, his moans egging me on. He was so sexy too. I couldn't keep my eyes off him.

I let out shallow grunts as the mattress jostled. A few minutes later Simon started gritting his teeth and clenching the sheet.

"Peter... fuck me." He wasn't looking at me.

"You sure?" I rubbed my hand down his back. The sudden intensity from him was surprising.

"Do it. Fuck me."

I picked up the pace for him. The sound of our bodies slapping together was louder in the room. Our breath was hurried, our heartbeats faster. My hand clenching his side, down to his waist, his ass. Simon groaning louder, me trying to relax his tense muscles with my hands. It worked up until his orgasm came.

Simon cursed and turned into my sheet to muffle his cry of pleasure. I'd felt the need to cum minutes ago but held off with willpower. I clenched and thrusted into him, my eyes drinking up the sight of Simon possessed by pleasure. I allowed my climax to come, and while Simon was still midway through his I moved with more urgency and then came as well. Curling against Simon's back, our warm faces together. A shaky groan followed by the final sweet thrusts. Then collapsing as it left me, trying not to pin my whole weight on him. Cool sweat between our bodies.

My bed wasn't a double, so I couldn't completely roll off him. My orgasm had been intense, I was panting in the waves of afterglow. Simon remained facedown and breathing. When I could comfortably move I slipped the condom off my limpening cock, tied and tossed it aside. I watched Simon, both of us still panting. He hadn't looked up.

"You can use the shower if you want to clean up." I spoke tenderly.

"Yeah..." Simon raised his head. That beautiful face I'd grown to love. Next time I want to do a position where I can see all of its expressions as we do it, I thought.

He climbed off the bed and slinked naked out of my room. I basked in the satisfying afterglow, thinking slowly. Simon came back after five minutes, his matted hair dripping, wrapped in a towel. He let it fall from his waist and started slipping his clothes back on.

"I made a mess on your sheets." He pointed out while hopping a leg into his jeans. I saw the sticky patch from where he'd cum.

"I've been meaning to change them anyway."

"When are your parents coming home?"

"Late late probably."

"Can you drive me home soon?" As he asked I sat straight up, crestfallen.

"It's only seven?" My mind ran through tempting propositions: we could watch a movie, we could talk, we could have sex again later... Hell, I'd be happy to drive us around looking for Tommy Phelps again if that was what he wanted.

"I have a lot on my mind." His dark eyes watched me as he slipped his shirt overhead, picked up his jacket.

"Okay... I'll shower and throw these sheets in the wash. Then we'll go, okay?"

He nodded his thanks.

Fifteen minutes later I drove Simon back to his house. He seemed comfortable beside me, relaxed even with his typical rigid posture. I was holding back my questions, because it didn't feel right to ask them. Was the sex okay? I knew it wasn't that, but maybe that had to do with it. Maybe I should've made my feelings more clear, but showing them seemed easiest: kissing Simon, initiating sex. I wished he'd talk more, I wished I knew where we stood.

After stopping the car I asked in a serious voice "Is everything okay, Simon?"

"Yeah... it's just my step-Dad. And that website, I'm almost sure..." he trailed off.

"I'll see you later right?"

"Of course." He unbuckled his seatbelt and went to go.

"Simon." I went to kiss him but he stopped me, a finger against my chest.

"Not in front of the house." The black ute was in the driveway. We said our goodbyes and then I watched him go. Drove home feeling a little disappointed and conflicted. Worried. But still happy, very very happy.

*

Sunday I didn't hear from Simon. Several times I typed up a half-message only to stop and delete it before sending. Once or twice I had to resist the urge to call. I shouldn't be the one always initiating, if Simon wants to talk to me he should send the first message. He should know how I feel. Right? But maybe he didn't understand proper protocol. Maybe he was always going to wait for me to message first.

Or maybe he didn't want to talk to me. Monday morning I texted his mobile, just to see if he wanted me to pick him up for school. He messaged back saying he wasn't feeling well. I frowned at the phone and drove to school by myself.

There was no Simon in roll call, so at least he hadn't lied about that. I spent Ancient History with Erin, and then did homework on my free period. It was a little brighter today, a bit warmer. First lunch I stood in rehearsals, my theatre friends around me. Circling the corner of the stage in my medieval garb and trying to recite lines with a distracted mind.

"Peter!" chubby Alannah called to me from amidst the lighting crew. I looked down to see Simon standing by the doorway, hands buried in his pockets. As antsy as if he were here to sell me drugs.

My heart jumped at the sight of him and I was flooded with relief. Then I searched the auditorium for Ms Worrall and could see her in a corner talking to the younger students who would be playing as dwarves. She was against socializing with outsiders during practice, but she hadn't noticed Simon come in. I hopped down the stage exit steps and went to him, feeling silly in my cape. Simon didn't even seem to notice what I was wearing. He stepped up as soon as I got close.

"Can we talk somewhere?"

"Sure... lets go backstage."

I led him away in my princely attire, beyond the thick black curtains. The conversation in the main room was muffled. Here it was darker, wood-panelled floor with stage-lights overheard and equipment nearby. Simon leaned forward with urgency, voice low and hurried.

"I figured it out."

"What?" I felt jarred as my mind switched railroad tracks. The maybe/maybe-not harmless monsters seemed so not important, not here at least, when compared to me and him. I thought Simon might've been here to talk about us, but once again that seemed to take the backseat of his interests. I looked away and wiggled my lips, cleared my throat while he watched me intensely. His stupid obsessions. "What did you figure out?"

When I looked back into his eyes he was hesitant. He didn't trust me to believe him. But I could tell the conclusion he'd come to was difficult to say. My face smoothed over as I watched. "Simon, what is it?"

"Angela Preaker is a vampire." He made himself say it. Then waited for me to laugh, but he looked entirely serious. We both knew how ridiculous it sounded, and he was right – I couldn't believe it.

"You said yourself that supernatural beings don't exist. They're not credible, remember? What about Pagan club?"

"Listen Peter... I've done the research. Remember how the girls in Pagan club were arguing over Edward Cullen last week? How much vampires were changed from their original roots? Sparkling models instead of bloodthirsty monsters?"

"Yes..."

"Well the truth is, the image we associate with vampires isn't the original one either. Original vampires were a lot like ghosts. The old lore on them is so extensive, but isn't known in modern vampire lore anymore. They don't cast reflections or have shadows."

"They can fly..."

"They can transform. The original Dracula could take the form of a bat, or a black dog, or... mist. Vampires can't cross running water. They are repelled by crosses and garlic. They can't enter a house without permission. Sunlight makes them combust. They sleep in coffins during the day and survive by drinking blood. They can hypnotise people. And... Dracula could raise the dead."

"Holy shit."

"I talked to people who knew Angela." Simon said darkly. "She was sleeping with Tommy Phelps. They weren't dating, he must have figured she wasn't popular enough for him. But she liked him. I think she was invited inside, she hypnotised him into killing himself. She raised him after so he would be with her, he'd have to obey her."

"No way." I had to step away from Simon and turn. The lore explained everything. Every last little thing. Tommy wasn't raised by witches. He was raised by his vampire ex-lover. A vampire we'd met in the forest but escaped from. A vampire who'd come to meet us face-to-face outside our houses, but couldn't hypnotise us into inviting her in. To drink our blood. "Simon. If there is a vampire out there, how come she's not killing anyone? Doesn't she need blood?"

"She might be hunting in the city to stay unnoticed in Scone. But Angela disappeared seven months ago, Tommy was only raised from the dead just over a week ago. Dracula had a fasting and feeding cycle, maybe she only needs to drink a full body of blood once a month too?"

"If you're right... we really are in danger." I looked up and clenched my fists, raised my jaw. "Tommy may not have reason to hurt anyone. Angela does." I remembered the mist sprinting eagerly toward me, thwarted by the stream. "I think she is thirsty."