Chapter 49 Beck #3
Beck ran. There was a shot as he slid beneath the gate like a baseball player coming into home base.
He barely registered the others screaming, or that Adi had the sword extended through the gate, swinging hard for the rope.
But the blade was too dull. Adi let out a roar as he swung, cut, sawed—while Fitzy and Symphony rushed toward them.
The rope frayed. One strand. Two—
The weight of the iron bars snapped the final strand. The gate plummeted to the ground, separating them from the castle room.
Symphony reached through the gate, clawing at Adi. He jumped back, plastering himself against the stone wall.
“Oh, come here, Adi. Why must you always make everything so difficult?”
Fitzy stuck the gun through the bars and fired again—once, twice—but must have realized his aim was too limited from this angle and stopped firing, leaving Adi to sink down against the wall, shaking.
Holy hell. Symphony was really going to stand there and watch Fitzy kill her own child.
Fitzy refocused on Beck as he scrambled across the spongy ground.
Beck dived behind the nearest gravestone as the gun fired again.
The bullet pinged off the marble, sending bits of stone and dust flying over Beck’s shoulder.
He covered his head and curled into a tight ball, pressing against the stone.
Then— Click. Click.
Fitzy swore loudly, the sound salty and metallic in Beck’s mouth. “It’s out of ammo!”
“You’d better have more, Fitzgerald.”
“Beck,” whispered Sierra.
He peeked over his knees. Sierra and Carter were crouched beside the wall of the mausoleum, staring at him with horrified eyes.
“You’re hurt,” Sierra said.
He stared at her, not comprehending. He wasn’t hurt. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might do permanent damage to his rib cage, but he wasn’t hurt.
Then he noticed the wetness on his skin. He looked down. Saw the deep crimson spreading across the side of his shirt. Realized that it wasn’t Fitzy’s voice making him taste blood.
Which was so . . . so weird. He knew about people going into shock. But still . . . shouldn’t he have felt something?
The iron gate clanked as Symphony rattled it.
“Mom, what the hell?” Adi cried. “Why are you doing this?”
“You wouldn’t understand, you selfish brat,” Symphony snapped.
Fitzy laughed. “Guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Shut up, Fitzy! I’ve heard enough out of you tonight.”
“I’ve heard enough out of you to last a lifetime,” he retorted.
While they argued, Beck listened to the sounds of metal and mechanics, of a handgun being reloaded bullet by bullet.
Fitzy had indeed brought extra ammunition.
“How do you two even know each other?” Adi yelled, sounding like he’d finally snapped.
“Oh, darling, we met plenty of times at the studio last season while Ranielle and I were discussing the terms of our agreement.”
“Did you just call me ‘darling’? You’re trying to kill me!”
“You aren’t exactly giving me a choice, are you?”
“Yeah!” said Adi, exasperated. “The choice is to not kill me.”
Symphony made a sound in her throat like he was being unreasonable. “I am not going to prison because you and your geeky little friends couldn’t mind your own business. Fitzy, what’s taking so long with those bullets?”
“I’ve been stabbed in the shoulder, bitch!”
Beck looked around, frantic for a weapon, or an escape, or hope, any sort of hope, really.
What he saw were two dozen creepy statues staring down at him, and the names of a bunch of dead people, and a mausoleum that might have offered shelter if it wasn’t for the keypad promising that he wouldn’t be getting in without a code.
He read the words on the door, chiseled into the marble:
THE FAMIL DRACULA
FROM D ATH WE H VE RISEN
IMMO TAL WE STAND
TRONGER IN NITY
UNDIVIDED BY U brAGE
OR DEATH
He stared, the words blurring together as sweat dripped into his eyes. It took a long time to notice the missing letters, but once he did, the clue was obvious. “Year sum,” he said to himself. Then, to the others, “We need to add the years together. That’s the code.”
“What?” snapped Sierra. “All of them? There are more than twenty gravestones here! We don’t have time . . . Crap, crap, crap. Where are the police?”
Beck looked at the nearest gravestone.
ABIGAIL COVALI B.
1766—D. 1792
And the stone beside it, with a name he recognized.
MORGANA DR?CULE?TI
B. 1449—
No death date because, of course, she hadn’t died. She was a member of the Dracula family. She was immortal.
“Not all of them,” he said. “Just the ones without death dates, I think. This one is 1449.”
Sierra and Carter exchanged looks. To see all the stones, at least one of them would have to leave the cover of the mausoleum.
“I can see two from here,” said Adi. “1517 and 1580.”
“Hold on,” said Sierra. “I need something to write this down. What can we—”
“No, I’ve got it,” said Carter. She closed her eyes, face scrunched in concentration. “We’re at 4,546 so far.”
Sierra shot her an impressed look, then glanced at Beck. “How many Draculas do we think there are?”
“There were six dinner guests,” he answered. Three more.
“I see another one,” said Sierra. “1702.”
“6,248,” Carter murmured.
Beck scanned what he could see of the cemetery, not knowing if the two remaining gravestones were to his left or right. Closer to the mausoleum . . . or closer to the gate.
He dared to lean forward enough to spy Adi against the stone wall. Adi met his gaze. His brow creased—Beck must’ve been looking pretty awful, if the worry in Adi’s expression was anything to go by.
Then Adi set his jaw with a look of grim determination. Beck had a flash of understanding seconds before it happened. “Adi, wait—”
Adi raised the sword and hollered, shoving the blade through the bars, straight into Fitzy’s gut. The gun dropped, skittering back toward the table.
Fighting his instinct to stay hidden, Beck grabbed the gravestone and used it to propel himself to his feet.
While Symphony howled a string of insults, Beck darted down the row of headstones, ignoring the first stab of pain in his side. Searching, searching . . . there! Vali Voyvoda.
“1537!” he shouted, skidding around one marker, ignoring the gargoyles leering down at him.
“Get the gun!” Fitzy grunted. “We’ll tell the police it was . . . self-defense.” His voice was garbled with pain. “Sierra attacked us. You were trying to protect your son.”
“You better not be dying, Fitzgerald,” growled Symphony. “I’ll need your testimony.”
“Just finish this!”
A gunshot made Beck jump. Adi was yelling and Carter was screaming and—there! Kristoph Draconem. “And 1655! That should be all of them!”
“9,440!” said Carter.
Sierra darted around the corner of the mausoleum. Beck met her at the door, but she was already inputting the code. 9-4-4-0.
The door unlocked, the most glorious sound Beck had ever heard.
“Adi, come on!” Sierra shouted.
Beck stumbled inside. Sierra and Carter followed. More gunfire. Beck lost count of how many bullets had been shot. He pressed his hands to his side and looked back, afraid he would see Adi lying face down in the graveyard, swathed in moonlight and mist.
But no—Adi was running, gripping the handle of the sword as he hurled himself over the nearest gravestone, charging into the mausoleum.
Behind him, still trapped beyond the gate, Fitzy was on the ground, covered in blood where Adi had stabbed him.
Symphony had the gun now, her face set with determination.
Another bullet pinged off the heavy marble door as Carter shoved it closed.
Beck followed the others down a set of stone steps, expecting to be free. But when he reached the foot of the stairs he found exactly what was advertised—the inside of a mausoleum.
And no apparent means of escape.