Chapter 26
Everyone stays grim and silent as I lead us to Stryker’s office. The suite is magically protected. We’ll be safe there.
It’s more than I can say for the children we just abandoned.
“How many of those kids are going to get killed because of what we just did?” My voice is like gravel.
Collin’s chest sags, avoiding my eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t see the future.” It’s a clear cop out, so he mumbles. “But the vampires were badly hurt. A lot of them.”
“And they’ll need fresh blood to heal…” There are rocks in my stomach. “How many of the kids are required for their ritual?”
Collin shakes his head, then briefly glances at the ancient tome still under my arm. “I can’t remember what was in the book. Even what the exact ritual is. It doesn’t stay with me.”
“So it could just be one? The rest could be expendable?”
He nods.
I turn to Rafa, in case he has any questions.
He just stares forward, jaw tight. He’s still gripping his shotgun.
I kept close to him on our way over here, tried to use my body to hide the weapon.
There was hardly anyone in the Financial District, but for all I know, someone’s already called the cops on us. Would serve me right.
The elevator doors open with their usual clatter.
The metallic sound echoes louder against my heavy mood.
No one’s here on a Saturday evening, so the hallway is dim and empty as I usher us to the office of Sarah Stryker, Paranormal Investigator.
(An actual hero.) Once I close the door behind us, the protective runes around the frame and windows trace in with a lavender sheen that only I can see.
The taste of sour apples fills my mouth.
No one with malevolent intent will be able to enter.
As Collin would say, we’ll be grand.
There are a lot of things that I want to do right now. Cry. Kick something really hard. Scream at the top of my lungs. Check in with Rafa, who is just standing by the door, arms hanging at his sides like a zombie.
But there’s only one thing I should be doing. And I should have done it from the start.
I unlock Stryker’s office and step inside.
On the shelf of one of the large oak bookcases rests a long, thin black box full of small bones.
It’s one of the more benign trophies Ms. Stryker claimed from a clutch of evil wizards some years back.
She never really had any need for the thing until I became her intern.
A couple months ago, she taught me how to use it “in case of absolute emergency.”
It’s evil, foul magic that feels greasy on my palms as I place the bog wood container on her desktop.
I draw back my arms and reflexively rub the tips of my fingers together to reduce the slimy sensation.
It’s only when I flick my gaze down to check for actual physical residue that I see the blood.
My right hand has several cuts. Small bits of glass from the Molotov cocktail I shoved into the vampire are embedded in my skin.
The cuff of my gray sweatshirt is crusted with streaks of rusty burgundy.
Didn’t notice it before. Now that I do, the little wounds sting.
Again, serves me right.
(No burns, though.)
“You should use the first aid kit in the second drawer to clean those up. They could go septic.” Collin is next to me. Concern pinches his face.
I ignore him and reach inside the box. The little bones—mostly metacarpals and mostly human—are more or less uniform in size and are currently interlocked in a jigsaw pattern.
But they can be arranged into letters, which is what I do, removing the few I don’t need and ignoring the impression of needle-like grubs burrowing into my fingers with every touch.
Ms. Stryker was fairly sure whatever effects this artifact could have on me wouldn’t be permanent.
I don’t have enough bones to get fancy, so I spell things out as succinctly as possible:
BIG VAMPIRE NEST
KIDS IN DANGER
ME TOO
HELP
I almost leave out the “me too,” but whether I deserve to be saved or not, my gut tells me it’ll make her respond faster.
I don’t expect to get that response anytime soon. Not only is time screwy between the different planes of existence, but she’d have to notice that her own bone box changed, and it’s probably shoved way down in her Go Bag. She might not even have it with her.
It could literally be days before she gets the message, which means this is just the start of calling in the cavalry.
Vampires will be too much for regular cops, so I’ll have to figure out how to get the Feds involved.
Ideally without outing myself as a predatory demon—but those kids can’t wait, so it doesn’t really matter what happens to me.
I’m honestly not even sure who to call, though.
Does the Department of Homeland Security have a hotline I can pull up on Google?
I turn to ask Collin when the bones in the box begin to shift and softly click against each other.
Startled, I peer over the edge to see each one in motion, rotating and sliding into new positions.
Some of the bones I removed even leap over the sides of the container to join their macabre friends.
Finally, they settle into words:
MEET AT MY HOUSE NOW
DONT CONTACT ANYONE ELSE
HELP ON THE WAY
I stare at the yellowed skeletal fragments for a long moment, not sure what to make of them. I know Ms. Stryker’s home address—it’s in Hunter’s Point—but I’ve never been there.
“Why wouldn’t she want me to contact anyone else?” I ask, glancing at Collin. “Why would she even mention that?”
His eyes flick up to the side for a couple seconds, before he looks back at me and shrugs.
“Haven’t a clue, Alvin. Maybe she’s not sure who we can trust?” He doesn’t speak with his usual chipper confidence. I can’t tell if that’s because he’s skeptical, or if he’s just as shell-shocked from the vampire lair as I am.
But whatever, this is still unequivocally good news, right?
In fact, it’s exactly what I need: a real expert, a real hero, swooping in to clean up my mess.
I should be clicking my heels, and any hesitation I feel must be because I know, after this, she’ll for sure be done with me.
Children are going to get badly hurt because of my incompetence.
Because I had the selfish arrogance to think I could handle this on my own without any guidance, any supervision.
Whatever else happens, my dream of being a paranormal investigator is over.
But that doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t matter why she’d want to keep this on the down-low. Ms. Stryker will know what to do. She always knows what to do. And if she were here, she certainly wouldn’t need to explain her reasoning to the foolish intern who got himself in way over his head.
I straighten up from the desk and move toward the door. “She said ‘now.’ So let’s get moving.”
Collin stops me with a gentle touch. “Please just take the first aid kit from the desk. I’ll help you sort that wound on the way.” When I frown, he adds, “Rafa’s a bit cut up, too.”
And that’s why he’s the Avatar of Knowledge and I’m just a stupid incubus boy—because knowing it might help someone else totally trumps my sulky desire to keep suffering.
I scowl harder and snatch the kit from the drawer.
And since I already turned around, I also stash the book in the safe with the bagged demon head before locking the door behind me and joining Rafa in the reception area.
(Stryker might want to see the ritual, but if this ancient tome really is what the vamps need, it’s safer here behind the office wards.)
I find Rafa perched on the edge of the couch. His Kevlar duster is off. He’s bent over, staring ahead, meaty forearms resting on his thighs, hands hanging down between. The shotgun rests against the couch next to him.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway to Ms. Stryker’s office.
He glances up at me, haunted.
“I, uh, heard back from my boss. She wants me to meet her at her house. Now. She says help is on the way.”
“That’s good,” he replies, muted. The muscles of his face barely move. Like his arms, his features just droop.
I know I should say something. He just found out his dead dad is not so dead and is instead an evil monster—but I have no idea how to comfort him, because I’ve never had any actual friends.
I should have asked Collin for the best way to handle this.
He could have told me the right words. But it’s not like I’m going to go back into Stryker’s office to have a private conference with the Avatar, so I sit next to Rafa, place the kit to my side, and just state the obvious.
“You didn’t know. What had happened to him, I mean.”
He shakes his head, confirming. “I was always told he’d been killed.
Both my parents. That the vampires were so savage, there wasn’t anything left for a funeral.
When they sent me back East, they said I shouldn’t come back, because it would be too hard, emotionally.
That there was nothing for me in San Francisco anymore.
But he’s been here all this time… And he sounded… ” His words trail off to a whisper.
I finish for him, realizing. “…Like he used to. Like when he was alive.”
Stryker’s told me that some older vampires can keep up the appearance of a person for a short period, like to get themselves dressed and walk down the street with a friendly smile before they grab you. But they’re still essentially animals. You couldn’t have a conversation with one.
But what if that wasn’t the case? And what if it was someone you knew?
“I saw it in his face, Alvin. My father. He’s still in there.” His expression is hollow with agony.
“And you think you might be able to reach him?” There’s no skepticism in my voice. If it were somebody I loved who’d gotten turned? I’d want to believe I could get them back, too.