Young Writers Society

Saturday, 8:00, route 42

Though dawn struck an hour before, the sun stays low in its winter path. The horizon remains painted with fluffy brushstrokes of pink and orange, and a layer of freezing fog still awaits sublimation. Outside Rick’s bus, four kids huddle over a phone, shivering and pointing gloved fingers at something on the screen.

Eventually, the group makes a decision, their simultaneous raising of heads signalling a consensus, and the four bound towards Rick’s bus. As they draw near, Rick realizes that it’s the same group from yesterday’s vampire incident, and he lets a grimace touch his face. They might be decent kids, but they attract trouble.

Sniffling, Rick pushes a button to open the door and waves the kids onwards. He’s seen their bus passes often enough that they don’t need to waste time standing in the doorway and letting in cold air.

“Ooh, the heater is on,” the short girl sighs. “This is much better than the last bus we took.”

“You’re such a wimp, Willow,” says the taller girl. “Drake and Martin don’t seem to mind.”

Martin pretends he has a wristwatch and stares at the sleeve of his jacket to avoid the conversation, but Drake smiles.

“I have a literal fire inside my intestines, and Martin is undead,” he replies. “Besides, weren’t you just begging Willow for one of her hand warmers, since you forgot yours at home?” He sets a hand on Willow’s shoulder and nudges her into one of the seats before sliding in next to her, making sure to keep his smug grin aimed at Divinity.

Smirking, Divinity tosses her hair and plops into the seat in front of the two. “I concede. I’m nice enough to not use blackmail anyways. So, how much of the symptoms list did you boys get through last night?”

Martin seats himself next to Divinity and laces his fingers together. “We actually got through most of it,” he says. “I have sharpened senses, night vision, a slight enhancement of physical strength, flexibility, and agility, and religious items make me fall asleep. As for burning in sun, I’ve already spent quite some time in daylight as a vampire, so I doubt I’ll burn up any time soon.”

“And before you ask, Divinity,” Drake adds, “it was a death-sleep. No pulse, no breathing, and his eyes were open.”

“Ooh. That sounds cool. Did you get the results back from the spit test yet?”

Shaking his head, Martin twists around in his seat to better include Willow and Drake. “No, but when the officers were questioning me, they implied that the more potent blood clotting agents have a rather interesting aftertaste, and I did taste something like pistachio ice cream after I, er, bit Willow.”

Willow giggles. “That’s actually kind of funny. Oh, and before I forget, can you all explain the genetics thing to me again? I didn’t really understand it yesterday.”

The bus eases into motion, and Divinity and Drake glance at Martin.

“Very well,” Martin says, “I’ll explain it, since Divinity apparently didn’t make it clear. The process of a vampire turning is rather like having a parasite invade the bloodstream, eat human cells, and then transform them into vampire cells. However, the original “parasite” also preys on red blood cells in order to transform them into more parasites.”

Willow bites her lip and furrows her brow in concentration. “Okay, I get that, but what was the thing about malaria?”

“Malaria is caused by an actual parasite, Plasmodium, which eats red blood cells. It doesn’t transform the cells, though, or act like a virus. Malaria is important, however, because in places where malaria is common, there is also increased occurrence of genetic variation which causes hemoglobin to fold incorrectly and therefore results in deformed blood cells. ”

“Or in other words,” Divinity cuts in, “sickle-cell disease.”

“Since Plasmodium won’t eat sickle-shaped cells,” Martin continues, “the disease is somewhat beneficial in places with malaria and continues to pass through generations. I happened to inherit an allele for sickle-cell from my mom, who is also a carrier, whose parents emigrated from Nigeria and are also carriers. And since this particular gene exhibits incomplete dominance, I did have a few sickle-cells floating around my bloodstream before my turning, just not very many. In addition, the vampire turning catalyst is incapable of transforming sickle-cells, so until all of those blood cells died, the turning couldn’t finish.”

Willow narrows her eyes. “Don’t red blood cells last a lot longer than four days?”

“They actually last about one-hundred and twenty days,” Martin replies, “but I imagine the changes in blood chemistry eventually disabled my sickle-shaped cells.”

“Wow,” Willow breathes, leaning back in her seat. “That’s a lot to take in. It’s amazing that you’re adjusting to this so quickly.”

Martin shrugs and scratches the back of his head. “The faster I can get used to being a vampire, the faster I can go about answering all the other questions I have. I still can’t figure out why, after all this time, a vampire finally appeared in Franklin City, or why he chose to turn me, and since he was killed in one of those hit-and-run events, there’s no way to ask either.”

A moment of quiet settles over the group before Divinity takes a breath and shoots a glance at Martin. “I think I can answer your first question,” she says. “The last sightings of any powerful creatures or vampires in the Franklin City area were in the nineteen-twenties, right before the purchase of the Talisman estate. I don’t have proof that the Talisman estate has anything to do with your vampire or Willow’s spirits, but there’s no way this is just coincidence.”

“You’re probably right.” Furrowing his brow in concentration, Martin nods and scratches his head harder. “The Talisman estate is likely connected with the reappearance of spirits and vampires, and it’s well-known that Mr. Talisman sold the estate because of the death of his last descendant, Marcy Talisman.”

“Speaking of Marcy Talisman and your vampire, Martin,” Drake says, “do any of you think the serial case of hit-and-runs could be connected to the Talismans by anything other than Marcy Talisman’s death?”

Divinity raises her eyebrows, but with her head tilted back over the seat and her chin in the air, she looks more comical than concerned. “Why do you ask? Do you know something?”

“No, it’s just a feeling. The truth is, the hoard item I needed to turn into a full dragon was stolen by a blonde woman, and my grandfather sent someone to—quote unquote—take care of it. He’s not a nice man, you see, and I’m worried that the hit-and-run case is a result of him trying to get revenge on the thief.”

Martin shakes his head, sending Drake a sympathetic look. “I doubt there’s any connection besides Marcy Talisman. Anything else would make this too easy. If you want to look into the case though, or even help, I’m capable of dropping hints for my dad or Officer Brimston.”

“I suspect my grandfather’s secretary, who’s a supervillain, but I don’t know what super power the man has. Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have even brought this up. I don’t know what I was thinki-

“Wait.”

At the sound of Willow’s squeaky voice, Drake turns his head to look at her, Divinity grunts in confusion, and Martin lets his mouth drop open just enough for his fangs to show.

“You all act like this talk is pointless, but you’re planning on investigating anyways, aren’t you?”

A beat of tense silence follows the question, and then Willow’s friends erupt into a chorus of excuses and poor jokes. Their noise fades out as she groans and hangs her head in resignation.

“You three are going to be in so much trouble,” she mutters, but then, with dramatics bordering on Divinity’s level, Willow flings up her head and heaves her shoulders in a sigh. As she speaks, a red splotch spreads over her nose and cheeks. “But you’ll be in more trouble if you get hurt, so if you’re going to go sleuthing, we might as well stick together for safety.”

Divinity beams. “Willow, are you suggesting an investigative team? I never thought I’d hear that out of you.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Of course, Divinity ignores Willow’s protests and reaches over to deliver a patronizing pat on the head. Drake breaks into an adoring smile and wraps an arm around Willow’s shoulders, squeezing her in appreciation, and Martin lets a tiny gleam in his eyes show through. Still blushing, Willow suffers through the celebration with her lips pressed together as tightly as she can manage.

When the happy moment ends, and Drake still hasn’t removed his arm from Willow’s shoulders, she crosses her arms and puffs out her cheeks, glaring with all the embarrassed fury she can muster.

“Fine,” she grumbles, “we can be a team. Now when’s the stop for doughnut store?  Because that is the reason we came out this early, right? To have fresh doughnuts for breakfast?”

Divinity grins with obvious faux sweetness and gestures out the windows, where a field of picket signs and advertisements roll past. “We missed it already,” she says, “so I guess it’s back to planning our team, hm?”