Covet (Clann)

waved me after her down the stairs and into the kitchen.
    Leaning a hip against the island, she crossed her arms and scowled at me. “Fine, you caught me. Happy? I’m going to a party. But don’t tell Mom or Dad or they’ll kill me, okay?”
    I let the silence grow, pretending to consider it while I moved past her to the fridge and dug through the shelves full of plastic containers in search of leftovers.
    Finally I sighed loudly. “Okay. But you’ll owe me one. Why all the secrecy, though? You’re in college now. So what if you go to a party? Why not just tell them the truth?”
    “Mom was acting weird after we got home. She said Aunt Cynthia called her while Dad and her were out getting ice cream. Aunt Cynthia said she thought she and Uncle James were being stalked or something. Said they both kept feeling like they were being watched wherever they went. They were wondering if anything like that was going on with any other descendants. So now Mom’s doing her whole overprotective thing. It was her idea that I stay here tonight so I wouldn’t have to walk across the campus in the dark.”
    Aunt Cynthia was Mom’s sister. We went to visit Uncle James, Aunt Cynthia and their two kids Kristie and Katie in New York City every year, usually for New Year’s Eve.
    I spotted a clear plastic container full of shrimp etouffee. Mom had been experimenting with her book of Paula Deen recipes again. I stuck the container into the microwave and hit the auto reheat button. “Huh. Aunt Cynthia’s not usually the paranoid type. Did Mom say anything more specific?”
    “No.” Circling the island, Emily stopped the microwave, opened one corner of the container’s red lid, then restarted the microwave. “Anyways, I’ll be home long before they wake up, so don’t wait up, okay?”
    “Have fun. Call me if you need a safe ride home.”
    “Thanks, little brother. But I don’t plan on drinking tonight. Which means I’ll probably wind up as everyone else’s designated driver.” She stopped the microwave two seconds before it could ding, covering her tracks as always in case our parents heard us down here and came to investigate.
    “Keep the top down. They can barf over the side instead of on the floorboards,” I joked, grabbing a spoon to stir my now steaming food.
    “Gross. But good idea.” Nose wrinkled in disgust, she grinned and waggled her fingers over her shoulder as she snuck out the kitchen door to the garage. A minute later, the garage door creaked its way up. I grinned, imagining my sister silently cursing the noise as she tried to make her getaway.
    I grabbed a can of soda and the food, burning my fingertips on the container’s hot bottom, and ran up to my room to wolf down my snack while watching an old episode of South Park .
    But something was wrong, and for a change it wasn’t just my relationship with Savannah.
    Something about that whole conversation with Emily seemed…off. Her smile after being caught had been a little too sheepish. And she’d totally dodged answering the question of whether her friend was male or female. And then there was that hesitation and the way her eyes had flashed before her confession, and how she’d neatly brought up family gossip as a distraction.
    She was lying.
    I’d seen her do it to our parents too many times to mistake it tonight. But why would she lie to me? She’d never lied to me, at least not that I knew about.
    I’d have to see what clues I could get out of her tomorrow over breakfast.
    * * *
    By the time I made it downstairs the next morning, Emily had already gone back to college. Mom said Emily had claimed she had a ton of homework and studying to catch up on.
    Yeah right. She knew I was on to her and was running off to hide out at school.
    I tried calling her a couple of times later in the weekend, but apparently she wasn’t taking any calls from suspicious brothers.
    She was definitely up to something. The question was what?
     
     
    SAVANNAH
    After Tristan left my bedroom, I went downstairs and made the required rounds through Dad’s party, smiling and pretending I was having a great time. But the minute the guests began to leave, I headed right for the kitchen fridge then my room, blood-laced juice in hand.
    It was the first time I actually appreciated the escape that the blood memories offered.
    The next day, Dad let me sleep in, deciding we could go car shopping on Sunday instead. After forcing my body through a half hour of tai chi and a