Free Vampire Island by Adele Griffin Page A

that one time, right after the malted milk shake had been invented.
    Her gaze wandered over to a tall, skinny couple standing at the front desk. They looked sick. Not just any kind of sick. Their lips were liverish, their skin lima bean green, their eyes bugged out and glassed over. Lexie was pretty sure she’d seen that illness before. In fact, she was almost certain she’d once had it herself.
    “I’m very sorry,” the receptionist was telling the sickly couple, “but without your Social Security numbers, you won’t be permitted to see a doctor.”
    “We need help,” wheezed the man. “We even quarantined ourselves. We could have pneumonia, or a stomach virus, or yellow fever, or typhus, or dropsy.”
    “Or worse,” coughed the woman. “Much, much worse.” Her fingers twisted the black enameled beads of her necklace. Watching, Lexie felt momentarily hypnotized by the necklace’s sparkle and glow.
    “Even if any of those extremely awful things are true…” The receptionist upturned her hands. “You’re not in the computer file. And if you’re not on our records, then you don’t exist.”
    “We do exist. We’re standing right here.”
    “I need more proof,” said the receptionist. “That’s how paperwork works. Our on-call doctor will be out in a few minutes, if you’d like to speak to her.”
    The couple shuffled off to wait in plastic chairs.
    Lexie knew what had to be done. The Argos would want her to risk it. According to the terms of the New World truce, Old Worlders were encouraged to assist fellow Old Worlders. Even if this couple wasn’t fruit hybrids, they were definitely newly arrived Old Worlders who had very likely gotten food poisoning off a New World delicacy. Lexie remembered a few years ago becoming quite ill from jelly beans which, as it turned out, were neither made of jelly nor bean, and contained no healthy, natural fruit preserve whatsoever.
    Leaving Mrs. MacCaw, Lexie hurried over. “Excuse me. I’ve seen your symptoms before,” she said. “You two have been poisoned. If this hospital can’t help you, I can concoct my mother’s ancient remedy. Just tell me where you live.” Then Lexie uttered some words of the Old World to show that she was a friend.
    The couple’s expressions changed. Their clammy fingers squeezed Lexie’s wrists as they whispered their address in Old World language.
    “That’s easy,” Lexie answered. “You’re right in my neighborhood. I’ll prepare it tonight, and by tomorrow morning it will be on your doorstep.”
    “Thank you,” croaked the woman.
    “Don’t thank her yet,” gasped the man. “We’re still sick.”
    And then they were gone.

Hudson
9
AN OLD HOUND KNOWS THESE THINGS
    O ut of the corner of his eye, Hudson watched his sister tornado over. One minute she was plunked down at the sixth grade’s lunch table. Next second, she stood at the head of his.
    O Glory Be! O Joyful Tidings! Up until the moment Maddy rapped on the table for attention, Hudson had been worried she’d ditch her end of the bargain.
    Kids fidgeted before she’d said a word. Like all the other grades, Mr. Apple’s fourth was pretty much incredibly terrified of Maddy.
    “Hand over your lunches, brown-baggers,” Maddy ordered. “Chop-chop.”
    One by one, children surrendered their lunches. Only the spitballing lunkhead kid feebly protested. “Why should I?”
    “Because,” answered Maddy, “you don’t want to make me mad, do you?” Her nostrils flared. In the bright lunchroom light, all color drained from her brown eyes, turning them pale as cream, then white, then crystal clear, and then brown again. So quick and so chilling that nobody could say for sure what had just happened. Yet it was enough to send a tingle down every spine, including Hudson’s.
    Ever since Maddy had confessed that she needed to fulfill her nonvegan destiny, Hudson had noticed his sister embracing her killer instinct. She sucked down the scant winter supply of