Interview with the Vixen Page 11

  “Right?” Betty turns her body and pulls one knee up onto the seat. “You know what he said to me on Friday? That we’re all just friends.”

  “Ew!” Veronica makes a gagging sound. “Oh, you know, it makes me so sick when people blow off friendship like it’s nothing, and also, hello, Archie, you don’t get to date two different girls for a long-ass time and then pretend like there’s nothing romantic going on at all.”

  “That’s exactly what I said!” Betty frowns. “Well, I mean, I thought it. I didn’t say it. But I should have.”

  Veronica curls her tongue behind her teeth, a wicked smile. “Maybe we should just leave Archie exactly where he is,” she says. “I don’t know if he deserves to be rescued.”

  Betty laughs but shakes her head. “Tell me the plan again,” she says. “So I go in and pretend I want to interview your dad for the paper? Won’t he suspect I’m lying?”

  “Not when you show him the mock-up of the Entrepreneur of the Year feature you’re running,” Veronica says. “Which Dilton is already hard at work fabricating.”

  At Dilton’s name Betty narrows her eyes. “How exactly did Dilton Doiley become your number one partner in crime on this?” she asks Veronica. “I know he’s your lab partner but—”

  “I told you,” Veronica says. “He found me the morning after and then he was actually helpful. As partners in crime go, he’s pretty decent.” Then she shimmies her shoulders. “But he’s not a patch on my number one, Miss Elizabeth Cooper.”

  Betty sticks out her tongue. “Okay,” she says. “I’m in. But you have to teach me everything to protect myself in case it all goes wrong. Like those self-defense classes we took last year, but for paranormal creatures.”

  “Of course,” Veronica says. “Dilton and I have a whole armory going on.”

  Now Betty eyes her. “Seems like that’s not all you two have going on,” she says. “I mean, Dilton’s kind of cute, with those glasses and his freckles. Don’t you think?”

  “Dilton’s cute,” Veronica agrees, “but I am not interested in anything other than being friends with him. I think maybe I’m swearing off boys forever. They’re so much more trouble than they’re worth.”

  “True,” Betty says. “Besides, you have the whole vampire thing happening, it’s really a lot.”

  “Very stressful,” Veronica says, mock serious. “So very challenging for me right now; please, if you could just give me some space during this difficult time, it would be much appreciated.”

  Then she breaks and starts to laugh, and Betty does, too. Yeah, her best friend may be an undead creature, but at least the girl knows how to make a joke.

  SWEAT TRICKLES DOWN Archie’s temple, and he grits his teeth.

  Come on, come on. Just a little more, almost there …

  But the rope slips out of his grasp, and he slumps in the chair he’s tied to, exhaling noisily. He almost had it that time.

  Except that’s what he’s told himself every time he’s tried to undo the knots around his wrists—and he’s lost track of how many times that is, over the two days he’s been stuck in this room.

  He’s tired and hungry and maybe a little delirious. Has to be, right? Because if he’s not that means what he saw when he showed up to apologize to Veronica yesterday was really real: vampires and Veronica fighting her father and Dilton Doiley, of all people, mounting a rescue attempt.

  Vampires, in Riverdale. A lot of weird things happen here, but this really beats them all, Archie thinks. Next thing there’ll be freakin’ werewolves in town.

  He looks around the room he’s trapped in, like maybe in the past hour something will have changed. But it’s still the same stuffy guest room, a bed and a large ornate dresser and a velvet couch his only company.

  Archie tips his head back. If he strains, he can just about see out of the window, overlooking the circular driveway and the trees beyond it. At least he has this; at least he has the ability to tell what kind of time it is. To count how long he’s stuck here until somebody comes to get him.

  Somebody will come and get him. Right?

  Archie begins working at the knots again. Maybe he’s his only way out of here.

  But then he catches a flash of something moving outside.

  He drops the rope again and stretches as far back as he can, almost tipping the chair. It’s a car, he thinks, and the recognition clicks.

  No. It’s Betty’s car.

  Horror takes over him. If Betty comes inside the house, there’s a strong possibility she’s going to end up exactly as trapped as he is.

  As he watches, Betty gets out of the car and starts up the steps toward the house. She’s probably here doing exactly the same thing he was, except she’s not going to find Veronica, either.

  I have to warn her.

  “Betty!” Archie calls, and then stops. What if Mr. and Mrs. Lodge hear? Or that other guy, the creepy one who seems to be running things—is he still around? If they know Betty’s out there, she might not get the chance to get away.

  Archie thinks fast and begins to shuffle the chair closer to the window. It takes more effort than he expected, or maybe he’s too weak after two days with no food or water. But he eventually gets up to the window, and from this angle he can see Betty almost directly below him, waiting outside the front door.

  He slams his shoulder against the window. Look up, Betty. Look up.

  IT’S TUESDAY, AFTER school, but Betty didn’t go. They had too much prep to do, and besides, Betty wasn’t sure she could get through a whole day of classes and Vixens practice acting like everything is exactly the same, without using her cheer voice to yell, “THERE ARE ACTUAL REAL-LIFE NOT-IMAGINARY BLOODSUCKING VAMPIRES RUNNING AROUND THIS TOWN!”

  Now Betty pastes on her parentally approved smile as she rings the bell. She’s trying her best to be calm, to be completely on board with this new world she’s suddenly been thrust into. She’s nowhere near as freaked out as she was when Veronica first told her, but it’s still … weird. That monsters are real.

  She thinks of Veronica and what she’d said yesterday. I know you think I’m a monster now.

  She’d sounded so sad when she said it.

  Betty shakes her head. Veronica is not a monster. Sure, in the literal sense maybe she is, but she’s still the same V Betty’s always known and loved. Just now with a few … bonus features.

  Betty scans the grounds as she waits. It’s quiet out here, at the Lodge mansion. She’s always known that, but never before has it seemed so sinister. Usually coming to Veronica’s means they can be as loud as they want and no neighbors will complain. Now she realizes that there’s no one to help if things go wrong. No one to hear if she screams.

  A thud comes from somewhere above, and Betty’s about to look up when the imposing front door swings open. “Mr. Lodge!” she says brightly. “Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me.”

  Hiram Lodge is wearing what Veronica always calls his Off-Duty Look: a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off his watch, black jeans, and dark loafers that probably cost more than Betty’s beat-up car.

  “No problem at all,” Hiram says, beckoning her inside. “You know it’s always a pleasure to be interviewed by my favorite journalist in town.”

  Betty laughs as she follows him inside, playing her part carefully.

  Act like you’re just doing a profile on him, Veronica has told her several times. Just get him started talking about his life and keep it going. Oh—ask him who his biggest inspiration in business is. He loves talking about Elon Musk, god knows why.

  “Can I offer you a drink?” Hiram takes the stairs two at a time as he leads Betty to the study. “Water, soda, fresh juice?”

  Betty slows as she comes to the study entrance. This is where Veronica was attacked by the strigoi guy. Is he here? He’s running the whole operation, according to both Veronica and Dilton. Maybe he’s in the house somewhere, just waiting to get Betty, too.

  And where is Archie? Down i
n the basement? Locked away in the attic? She can’t hear him at all, and wouldn’t he be calling for help? If it were her trapped, she’d be screaming, yelling until her throat was raw and going until she ran out of energy to continue. But no; it’s silent.

  Maybe he’s already dead.

  She’s aware of Mr. Lodge watching her, and Betty crosses the threshold, bright smile back in place, willing the thought out of her head. “Juice is fine,” she says. “Is Mrs. Lodge around? I’d love to get a couple comments from her, too.”

  “She’s at a board meeting right now,” Hiram says. “But I’m sure she’d be happy to chat another time.”

  No Hermione. Betty’s not sure whether that’s a help or a hindrance. It makes one less person for Veronica and Dilton to avoid, but it also means that Betty’s truly alone with Hiram.

  It wouldn’t matter if she was here, Betty realizes a split second later. She’s a vampire, too. She can’t be trusted any more than he can.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Hiram says. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  As soon as he’s out of the room Betty drops her smile. She doesn’t sit but instead rifles through her bag for the vial Dilton gave her before she left, holding it up to the light so the clear liquid inside gleams.

  Just for precaution, Veronica had said as Dilton gave her the holy water and pure silver cross and a small bag of crushed garlic, mixed with other herbs. You only have to use them if things go bad. Otherwise, just stick to the plan. Keep him talking, me and Dilton get in and out with Archie, and then you leave once you get the all clear from me. Understood?

  Betty had nodded and said yes.

  But now she looks at the holy water sluicing in the vial as she turns it end over end. She’s going to stick to the plan, all right.

  Only, her plan’s a little different from V’s.

  Steps sound outside the study, and Betty hides the vial in her palm. Hiram reenters holding two glasses: one with orange juice, and the other with a dark amber liquid inside. “Here you go,” he says, holding the glass out for Betty to take.

  But she puts the hand without the vial in it up to her mouth. “Oh,” she says, “is that orange juice? I’m so sorry, I should have said. I’m allergic.”

  Hiram raises his thick eyebrows. “Allergic to … orange juice?”

  “I know.” Betty shakes her head. “Weird, right? There’s some kind of enzyme in it. I can’t eat oranges at all. Gives me hives.”

  “Oh.” Hiram takes a step back at that, as if Betty might burst into an itchy rash right then and there. “Would you like something else instead?”

  “Water would be great.”

  She sees his nostrils flare, no doubt annoyed at her fussiness. But he can’t act on that annoyance, can he? Not if he wants a glowing profile in the paper. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and sets his own drink down.

  Yes.

  Betty watches him leave again and wastes no time. She darts over to the glass table and unscrews the lid of the vial. The weaponized water slips into Mr. Lodge’s Scotch with barely a sound, and she picks the glass up to quickly swirl the liquid around.

  The idea came to her as soon as Dilton showed her the vials he was keeping in an old test tube holder. If holy water burned on skin contact, Betty thought, then it made sense it would burn on the inside, too. And maybe more—it could act like any kind of drug, possibly knock him out or make him unable to control his body. (Okay, so she’s making a giant assumption here, but she’s not a science genius like Dilton.)

  Even if all it does is hurt, then it’ll be enough. A person—well, a vampire—burning from the inside out is not going to be hard to get past. Then she won’t have to worry about keeping him occupied long enough for Veronica to release Archie—he’ll be incapacitated, and she can help V and show her that she’s taught her father a lesson.

  Maybe then he’ll learn to stop assuming that girls like her and Veronica are not a threat to him.

  She swirls the liquid some more and then sets the glass back down, carefully centering it in the ring the condensation had left on the table.

  By the time Hiram returns with her water, Betty’s sitting on one of the uncomfortable couches, her notebook and phone ready to record on the table. “Thank you so much,” she says, accepting the fresh drink from Mr. Lodge. “Okay. Are you all ready to get started?”

  Hiram sits on the opposite couch and pushes his sleeves up, then reaches for his glass.

  Betty holds her breath as she watches him raise it to his mouth, take a large sip, and swallow. “Ready now,” he says with a sleazy grin.

  And Betty grins back. Yes. Enjoy your poison. “Perfect,” she says. “So, first of all: Who would you say is your biggest inspiration as an entrepreneur?”

  VERONICA AND DILTON wait until at least ten minutes have passed since Betty entered the house, and then Veronica leads Dilton to the garage.

  They take the back stairs up to the second floor, and Dilton says they should separate but Veronica stares at him. “Are you kidding me?” she whispers. “I’m not having you die on my watch. I’ve met your mom now. She’s very nice. I’m not telling her I let her son get eaten by a stray vampire.”

  She’s not sure where her father will have put Archie for safekeeping, so the only option is to check everywhere. They go room by room, avoiding the study, where Betty surely has her father deep into telling childhood stories by now, and with each empty space Veronica gets more frustrated.

  It helps a little when she gets to her own room. For a moment she wonders if her dad might have put Archie in there, some kind of silly little message, but when she opens the door it’s the same as always. She wants to run in and dive beneath her crisp white covers, gather up all her clothes and accessories and vital beauty products, but it would take time they just don’t have.

  She darts in and grabs a lipstick anyway, and when Dilton frowns she flips him off. “This is important,” she says. “Stop devaluing femininity because you think it equates to weakness, Dilton.”

  “I wasn’t!” he protests, but Veronica is already on to the next door, slipping into the library.

  The room with its tall shelves of books is empty, and she’s about to leave when she takes a second look at the papers strewn across the table in the center of all the books she knows neither of her parents have read. “Dilton.” She waves him in. “Shut the door.”

  Dilton does as she says and stands beside Veronica, leaning over the papers the same way she is. “What are these?” he says. “Blueprints?”

  Veronica runs a finger over the thin paper covered in blue lines, mapping out a tall building. “Yes,” she says, “but not for one of ours.” That, she’s sure of—Veronica knows the ins and outs of every building her family has developed. Sure, she’s had to sneak into her father’s study and steal peeks at the documents to do it, but she does it anyway. Her father is always telling her that she doesn’t understand the intricacies of his projects, that she doesn’t have the right kind of business brain to click in the company. Sometimes she thinks—hopefully, wrenchingly optimistically—that he says those things deliberately, knowing that they fuel her, knowing that it only makes her want it more. But deep down she knows he says them because he really thinks that about her. To her father, she’s just smart enough to be the face of Lodge Enterprises, smart enough to network well at the various receptions and galas they have, but that’s where it ends—

  She stops. “Wait.” Beside the blueprints is a sheet of names that she hadn’t noticed before, and Veronica picks it up. She scans through the list and—of course.

  “I think this is the Blossoms’ new hotel,” she says, the realization sparking and settling into truth. Flipping through the blueprints, it starts to come together in her mind: the tall arched windows on every floor, the entranceway with its fountain and columns, the double-height ballroom. Veronica’s watched it going up, day after day for the last six months, and it’s done now, finally, ready to be unveiled.

  Thi
s Friday. The gala.

  “It’s Friday,” she says to Dilton, slapping the list down. “The opening of the Blossoms’ hotel. That’s where they’re going to get everyone. Think about it—everyone important in town’s going to be there. And my dad was pissed that the Blossoms didn’t cut him in on the development. That’s where they’re going to hit.”

  “And do what?” Dilton says.

  Veronica glances up at him, her eyebrows pulling together. “Turn them all,” she says.

  There’s a loud crash from somewhere upstairs that makes them both jump, and Dilton looks up and then back at Veronica, his serious eyes narrowed. “Archie,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  Veronica leaves the plans where they are and follows Dilton, both running as fast as they can, all attempt at keeping quiet abandoned. There’s no way her dad didn’t hear that noise, too, Veronica thinks. Keep him there, B. We’re almost done.

  They go up another flight of stairs, and Veronica looks from door to door. Behind the middle door is her parents’ bedroom. The one on the right is a guest room, and on the left, their screening room. Then the hall goes on, leading to a guest bath and another unused room.

  Another thud comes.

  It’s definitely from down the hall, so Veronica takes off, and when she reaches the last door, she tries the handle only to find it locked. “Archie?” She presses close to the door. “Are you in there?”

  “Ronnie!” the muffled call comes back, and Veronica pulls a bobby pin out of her hair. It’s been a while since she’s picked a lock, but the muscle memory is there.

  Veronica slides the pin into the lock, and the tip of her tongue sticks out of her mouth as she twists and angles just so, waiting for the tumblers to fall. Dilton leans close, watching over her shoulder. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Yes,” she says, “but maybe I could concentrate more if you weren’t right in my face—”