The Silver Kiss by Annette Curtis Klause

“What a shame. This is the kind of night onelikes to go home to a hot meal.” He saw her lips quiver with unbidden amusement. “I said something funny?”
    She smiled fully now. “I’m sorry, but you don’t look … I mean … well, the way you talk. It’s not how I would expect someone in a leather jacket to talk.”
    Had he made a mistake? He didn’t talk much to people. They were a temptation. They were food. One did not talk to food, or learn its speech patterns. It all changed so fast while he remained the same, watching it go by in flashing colors between the night. No. She was smiling. Somehow it pleased her, this discrepancy. It made her feel more at ease.
    â€œIt was a whim,” he said, stroking the leather.
    â€œIt looks good on you.”
    She wishes not to offend me, he thought. He was happy with that. How silly that it made him happy.
    â€œDo you live near here?” she asked.
    â€œClose.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œIt’s temporary.”
    â€œAre your parents looking for a permanent home in Oakwood?”
    â€œMy parents are dead.”
    She looked aghast at her faux pas. Her hand rose partially to her mouth.
    â€œIt’s all right. I’ve been alone a long time.” He took her hand and lowered it gently. She was alone, too, he guessed, that was why she cared so much. Her hand wassoft and thin; it prickled him sweetly. She tugged her hand back, and he knew she had felt it too. He disengaged. He would not press.
    She was quiet again. They walked. Once she looked as if she were almost ready to speak, ready to tell him something, but she changed her mind. He wished she had told him, because he wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to know about her. This is not my nature, he thought. This is not the beast. But, for that moment, he felt as if the beast were unraveling from him in a fresh wind. He was thinking of questions to entice her to speak when they reached her gate. He held it open for her, feeling disappointed that the walk was over.
    She stopped at the front door and turned to face him firmly. Simon got the message. This is as far as I get. “I hope you feel better soon,” he said, acknowledging the barrier.
    Her stance relaxed as she felt his compliance. “Thank you for walking me home. It shook me up, seeing that. I expect we’ll read about it tomorrow.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œMy name’s Zoë,” she said, almost as an afterthought.
    â€œZoë,” he repeated softly, like distant bees.
    â€œWhat’s yours?”
    He looked at her and, trapped in her eyes again, felt impelled, but his name caught in his throat. He had not told it in so long that it felt too intimate to reveal it, likegiving away a portion of his true self. Yet her eyes were intimate also, stealing into him, opening locked doors.
    He breathed his name. “Simon.”
    â€œGood night, Simon,” she said gently, and turned.
    He reached for her urgently, “Wait.”
    She halted and glanced back, worry flickering in her features.
    He calmed himself. “If I come to see you here, will you invite me in?”
    She gazed at him a moment, assessing him. “Yes, I think so.”
    He could smile now, and perhaps that was why she still hesitated. She was very close. He leaned closer, mouth parted to inhale the scent of her. Was it dark veins that called to him, or her soft lips? He didn’t know. It made him dizzy. She almost swayed to meet him, her eyes drowning him, but she blushed and turned to the door again.
    â€œGood night.”
    â€œUntil next time,” he whispered as she closed the door.
    Walking back to the shops, he saw the boy with his mother. They had stopped so that she could adjust the scarf around his neck. I’d like to tighten it, Simon thought, and slipped into the shadows.
    â€œChristopher,” the mother said, “you’ve been to the store several times now. I don’t