Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Simon stood in the empty alley, ash settling around his boots like gray snow.
The bass from Rosie's still thumped through the brick wall. Inside, people were still drinking and dancing, completely unaware that four vampires had just died fifteen feet away from their overpriced drinks.
Simon wiped ash from his stake. 10:23 PM according to his phone.
He had until morning to file his report. Until morning to explain why he'd killed four random vampires while his actual target had bolted.
No, he had to find Charlie.
But Charlie could be anywhere.
Simon had tracked dozens of vampires. Old ones who thought they were clever. Young ones who thought they were invincible. But they all had patterns, territory or covens.
Charlie had none of that. Three weeks old, living off ketchup packets, working at a convenience store, he barely qualified as a vampire, let alone one with escape plans.
Which meant he'd run on pure instinct.
Like a panicked vampire chicken.
Simon moved through the alley, looking for any sign of direction. No blood drops—Charlie hadn't been injured. No disturbed trash cans or scraped walls that would indicate a panicked vampire learning to control super-speed.
Just nothing.
Simon circled the block, weaving through Friday night crowds thick enough that even a vampire moving at supernatural speed would have to slow down.
But Simon didn't see frightened or startled or knocked-over pedestrians.
So he scanned the buildings instead. Fire escapes. Ledges. The kinds of paths a frightened vampire might take when the ground felt too dangerous.
There—a bent railing on a fire escape three stories up. That looked like fresh damage, maybe.
Simon took the same route, hauling himself up easily. His enhanced strength made it trivial, and from the fire escape, he could see more damage. Scratches on brick where fingers had scrambled for purchase. A window screen nearly torn from its frame.
Charlie had gone up and east, deeper into downtown where the buildings grew taller and the lights grew brighter.
Simon followed, rooftop to rooftop, reading the story in disturbed gravel and scraped ledges. Charlie's path was erratic. No logic to it. Just away, away, away.
Three blocks. Five. Eight.
The trail went cold at the edge of the financial district where a twelve-story apartment building faced a thirty-floor office tower across a six-lane street.
Too far to jump, even for a vampire.
Simon stood at the edge, staring across. Charlie had been terrified, running on adrenaline and instinct.
Had he managed to fly?
That would be impressive if it wasn't so inconvenient.
No, for now Simon would assume that a three-weeks-old fledgling had not managed to fly.
Down, then. Charlie must have gone down.
Simon descended to street level, but the sidewalk was useless. Too much foot traffic, even at—he checked his phone—10:51 PM. The city's nightlife was just getting started, and any trace of Charlie's passage had been trampled by hundreds of sneakers and questionable life choices.
According to the notes Simon had taken, Charlie's apartment was seven blocks from here.
Might he have run there?
It was a possibility… and Simon needed to start somewhere.
Unsurprisingly, the building was in the poorer part of town. When Simon got there, he realized that the front door's lock had been broken, probably some time ago. In the meantime, someone had wedged it permanently open with a chunk of wood.
Inside, the elevator had an OUT OF ORDER sign that looked older than Charlie.
Simon took the stairs.
By the fourth floor, the hallway carpet had given up pretending to be carpet and settled for being a vague suggestion of floor covering. Simon found 4B at the end, next to a window with a small hole in it.
The door was locked.
Simon knocked, then knocked again when there was no response.
Then he picked the lock. It took him less than a minute.
The studio apartment was maybe three hundred square feet, but someone had tried to make it home.
Discount store string lights zigzagged across the ceiling. A twin bed pushed against one wall had a patchwork quilt. The fabrics seemed mismatched and naturally the bed was unmade, but still, it looked vaguely cozy.
It definitely didn't look like a vampire's lair.
Simon shifted his gaze to the walls, catching on a print of Van Gogh's Starry Night and a calendar with red circles around night shifts at the Stop & Stock. Last Thursday had "Brent - sushi night" written in small handwriting, then crossed out.
There were photographs too. Charlie grinning with an older couple at what looked like a graduation, Charlie and a muscular guy (Brent?) at the beach, Charlie in a ridiculous Halloween costume Simon couldn't identify.
In the corner, a small bookshelf sagged under its load.
Fantasy novels with dragons and swords, a dog-eared copy of something called "The Name of the Wind" that looked like it had been read a dozen times, a self-help book about finding your purpose after twenty-five tucked between cookbooks.
On top of the shelf sat a collection of smooth stones, a snow globe from somewhere called Bellingham, and a coffee mug that said "I don't rise and shine, I caffeinate and hope for the best."
That one almost got a chuckle out of Simon as he moved on to the kitchenette.
It consisted of one hot plate, a small sink, and a mini fridge.
The dishes in the drying rack had collected dust—cleaned but unused since Charlie's turning—but next to them sat a potted succulent that had somehow survived against all odds.
A sticky note on the mini fridge read, "Remember to water Marvin" with a smiley face. Marvin, presumably, was the succulent.
On the small table by the window, Simon found more books. Two more fantasy novels, a guide to meal prep on a budget, and underneath them…
A notebook.
Simon picked it up. The cover was plain black, edges worn from being shoved in and out of a bag. He opened it.
Day 3 (I think?)
Okay so I'm a vampire now. That's a thing that happened. How do I even start processing this?
Pros:
- Apparently I can hear really well now
- I don't need to sleep as much (more time to read?)
- I'm technically immortal which sounds cool in theory
Cons:
- I FAINT AT THE SIGHT OF BLOOD
- This seems like a design flaw
- Why would anyone turn someone who faints at the sight of blood INTO A CREATURE THAT NEEDS BLOOD
- I'm going to die (again)
Simon flipped forward.
Day 4
Tried tomato juice. Threw up immediately. Beet juice was somehow worse.
The hunger is getting bad. I keep thinking about the customers at work. About their necks. Their wrists. The way I can HEAR their blood moving now.
That's messed up, right? That's really messed up.
I can't be that kind of person. Monster. Whatever.
There has to be another way.
More pages.
Day 9
Ketchup packets are keeping me alive. Barely. I feel like garbage all the time but at least I'm not biting anyone.
Mom called. I couldn't answer. What would I even say?
The hardest part isn't even the blood thing. It's that I was FINALLY starting to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I had that appointment with the career counselor next week. I was going to actually try for once.
Now what? Do vampires even have careers? Do I just work at Stop & Stock forever?
Is this it?
Simon turned more pages, watching Charlie's careful handwriting document his attempts to survive. Trying cherry syrup. Discovering he could eat solid food but it did nothing for the hunger. The night he almost bit a customer and had to lock himself in the stockroom.
Day 18
Saw another vampire today. He said I smelled like hot sauce. He told me to stop playing human and just feed already. Said I was an embarrassment to vampires everywhere.
Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm just making this harder than it needs to be.
But I can't. I can't hurt someone like that. I can't be the reason someone else's life gets ruined.
The last entry was recent.
Day 20
Brent knows something's wrong. He keeps asking if I'm okay. If I need help.
I've told him. I said, "I'm a vampire but I'm a really bad one"
He doesn't believe me. And why would he? I'm a joke.
I'm so tired. All the time. The ketchup packets aren't enough anymore. I can feel myself getting weaker.
There has to be a better way to do this. There has to be.
I just need to figure it out.
Simon closed the notebook carefully and set it back down on the table.
He muttered a curse under his breath. He had to find Charlie. He had to. Walking disaster that he was, Charlie would never make it by himself. He'd get himself into danger.
Simon couldn't allow that.
Not wanting to examine his motivations too closely, Simon looked around the apartment once more.
He spotted a phone charger plugged into the wall. Did Charlie have his phone with him?
He might. It was worth a try, in any case. Simon had gotten the vampire's number the same way he'd gotten his address, from the employee file the convenience store kept in a database.
Scrolling through his phone, he found it and hit Call.
Straight to voicemail. Not even a ring.
"This is Charlie, leave a message, or don't, it's fine."
Even Charlie's voicemail greeting sounded apologetic.
Simon tried again, but the result stayed the same. The phone was either dead or turned off, and given Charlie's general life management skills, Simon would bet on dead.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
Simon pocketed his phone. He'd go back home and try to track Charlie's phone from there.
Before he left, he stopped, hesitated, and finally gave some water to Marvin.
The ride took twelve minutes. Simon's apartment building had working locks, a doorman who nodded in recognition, and an elevator that didn't sound like it was dying. The contrast to Charlie's building was stark enough to feel like an accusation.
And it wasn't only the buildings they lived in that differed, it was the insides of their apartments too.
Compared to Charlie's place, Simon's felt empty.
But Simon didn't let himself linger on that thought as he booted up his laptop and logged into the Organization's tracking system. It was one of the few perks of being their best hunter—access to resources that would make the NSA jealous.
He entered Charlie's number and waited.
The program churned through cell towers, triangulating the last known signal.
DEVICE OFFLINE - LAST PING: 10:18 PM
Five minutes before Simon had killed those vampires. Charlie's phone had died right as everything went to hell.
Typical.
The last location showed near Rosie's, but that was useless now. Charlie was long gone from there.
Simon pulled up the expanded data. The Organization's system didn't just track location, it pulled everything. Texts, calls, contacts.
The last outgoing text had been to someone named Brent at 7:42 PM: "fine. thanks for letting me crash"
So Charlie had stayed with this Brent recently.
Simon scrolled through the call history. Mostly the Stop & Stock, a few calls to someone listed as "Mom" that stopped three weeks ago, and Brent. Lots of calls to and from Brent.
Brent's full number was right there in the system, along with his last name pulled from carrier records: Brent Kowalski.
Simon checked the time. 11:51 PM. Not too late to call someone on a Friday night.
He dialed the number.
"Yello!" That was an awfully cheerful voice.
Simon pressed on. "Is Charlie there?"
"Charlie? No, why would he—who's this?"
So Charlie wasn't hiding at Brent's. Simon could hang up now, move on to the next lead. But—
"I'm trying to reach him. His phone's dead."
"Oh yeah, that sounds like Charlie. Sorry, I haven't heard from him since he went to work last night. Is everything okay?"
"He's disappeared."
"What do you mean, he disappeared? He should be at work at this time. Have you checked there?"
"He's not at work."
"What? But he was so stressed about keeping that job." Concern crept into Brent's voice. "Did you check his apartment?"
"Yes."
"Okay, now I'm worried." A pause. "Wait, you're not that stalker guy, are you?"
Simon blinked. "What?"
"The guy Charlie said was following him. With the stakes and the whole 'I'm going to kill you' thing. He was pretty freaked out about it, though I told him it was probably just someone really committed to the LARP."
Christ. Charlie had told Brent about him. And Brent had assumed it was part of the game.
"I'm not a stalker," Simon said, which was technically true. Hunters didn't stalk. They tracked.
"Okay, good, because Charlie seemed legitimately scared. Said the guy cornered him in a laundromat and tried to stake him. The commitment to the vampire roleplay is impressive, but that sounds like it went too far, you know?"
"Right. Too far."
"So who are you then?"
"I'm... a friend. I'm worried about him."
"So you're not from his LARP group?"
"I'm... adjacent to it."
"Cool, cool. Well, if he's not at work or home..." Brent trailed off. "This isn't like him. Even with the whole vampire thing, he's been really reliable about work."
"If he shows up—"
"I'll call you back at this number?"
"Yes."
"Got it. Hey, uh, find him, okay? He seemed really off yesterday. Like, more than his usual vampire thing."
Simon ended the call.
So Charlie wasn't at Brent's. Wasn't at work. Wasn't at his apartment. And his only friend thought his vampirism was elaborate roleplay.
11:56 PM.
Where the hell was Charlie?