Chapter 34
The back of the van held little light, probably because there were no windows. Even the glass in the rear doors was tinted and allowed barely any light inside, and a partition behind the cab hid the driver from view.
Sitting on a bench that ran the length of the van, Bastian tried to track their movement, figure out which route they were taking out of Vernazza. It was a good distraction from the image of Whitby that kept flashing in his mind.
Whitby chained and scared.
Whitby not wanting him to leave.
He’d heard her yelling as he was bundled into the van, which meant the council had been true to their word. Whitby was free. Safe, he hoped.
Bastian smiled. That was all that mattered.
He heard Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now,” and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.
Presumably the council were taking him somewhere quiet to finish him off.
He knew that the pain of the silver around his wrists would pale into nothing compared to the slow, agonizing death the Obliterati had in store for him.
Bastian buried his nose in his shoulder. There was still a trace of De Luca’s scent in the fabric. The smell of sandalwood, with a hint of clean perspiration. Bastian closed his eyes, pretending De Luca’s arms were around him, hugging him tight.
The more he thought about the inspector, though, the more he ached, knowing he’d never see him again.
No De Luca and no Whitby. That was a death in itself.
“Always a pity, losing one of our own,” a male voice drawled.
“Such a pity,” added a female voice.
Bastian startled. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone in the back of the van. The silver must be affecting him more than he thought. He turned his head, seeing three figures floating in the gloom. Three sets of eyes sparked intermittently as they caught snatches of light.
The Obliterati were in the van with him.
“We understand of course,” Ling said, picking her long, blood-red nails.
“It’s so difficult to control the fever—” Jared added.
“—when it takes hold,” Emmeline concluded, her brow wrinkled in a show of sympathy.
Their presence felt choking. Even though he didn’t breathe, Bastian’s airway narrowed and his lungs shuddered, as if an invisible toxin had entered them.
“For what it’s worth,” Emmeline added.
“Your suffering shall not go unwitnessed,” Ling said. “We shall—”
“Be with you until the end,” Jared concluded, his stone-pale hands clasped before him.
“Have you ever had a single unique thought among yourselves?” Bastian muttered, growing tired of their uncanny way of speaking.
Ling tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear. “On the contrary, we are completely individual.”
“We just prefer—” Jared added.
“To present a united front,” Emmeline said.
Bastian shivered, his mind consumed by the jagged slice of silver around his wrists.
He had lost any sense of time. It felt like an eternity since the fight in the apartment kitchen but perhaps that was just because the cuffs biting his wrists were such agony.
Time always stretched and contracted when you were in pain.
“You must know I am innocent,” he said.
Jared gave a light shrug. “It matters little.”
“The killer will strike again,” Bastian said.
A ghost of a smile played on Ling’s lips. “They can certainly try.”
“Difficult to hunt a ruin,” Emmeline said.
Bastian frowned. He looked into their blank faces, his gut squirming with dread.
“What are you saying?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer. Whitby had told him what the Obliterati did when they had captured their target.
“We have made certain,” Jared said, massaging the rings on his fingers.
“That we have localized the problem,” Emmeline said.
Cold fear trickled down Bastian’s spine. His mouth gaped at the thought of Vernazza burning, the image he’d feared since he learned the council had been summoned. The worst possible outcome.
He strained, trying to hear the sounds of Vernazza burning, sniffing the air in search of smoke.
But they were already too far away. He had no way to know if the carnage had begun yet.
All he heard was the rumble of the van’s tires on tarmac.
All he smelled was the faint chemical reek of the Obliterati.
It was as if they had been pickled. Preserved.
“You’ve sentenced an entire town to death!” he cried. “Why would you do that? What do you have to gain?”
“We have centuries of experience, kid,” Jared drawled.
“This is the best for everybody,” Emmeline added.
“You’re crazy!” Bastian yelled, anger smoldering through him once more. “You’re monsters!”
“Such rage,” Ling commented, shaking her head.
“Anger is like venom,” Emmeline said.
“It kills you from the inside,” Jared added.
Bastian struggled with his restraints again, but that only caused the silver to cut deeper. He bit down a pained cry, thinking about De Luca and Whitby, the people of Vernazza, and feeling that scalpel-sharp prick of rage at the injustice of it all, at the Obliterati’s unnatural calm.
In that moment, as rage sliced his insides, a simple truth suddenly became clear, as if the ripples in a pool had stilled, revealing an image.
The anger he had been fighting to control wasn’t something to be ashamed of. It wasn’t a burden that needed to be kept under lock and key.
Anger was pure in its purpose.
Sometimes anger keeps us alive, he had told De Luca.
He hadn’t truly believed it himself until now. Bastian had tried to free himself from anger, but anger had seen him through his darkest days, and it still had its uses. He understood that now.
“Anger means we’re alive even if we’re dead,” he spat at the Obliterati. “It tells us we’re alive. That there’s still hope.”
“How human of you.” Jared laughed.
“So young,” Ling added.
“A shame you won’t be around long enough to experience the truth,” Emmeline said.
Jared pressed his palms together in prayer.
“Once you conquer anger,” he said.
“You conquer the world,” Ling finished.
Bastian opened his mouth and hissed at them. “Why would you burn Vernazza? Those people did nothing to you.”
“Oh, but they did,” Jared said.
“They denied us a feast,” Emmeline added.
Bastian didn’t understand. “A feast?”
Ling bent forward, her face skeletal as she whispered, “They summoned us, and the reward was two measly vampires. They might as well have spat in our faces. They will suffer for their impudence.”
Bastian still didn’t understand. They weren’t making any sense. He wanted to throw himself at their stupid dispassionate faces. Instead, he threw himself at the van doors. Rammed his shoulder against them. He had to do something. He had to help De Luca and Whitby.
The doors trembled under his weight but held strong. He prepared to try again, but then he sensed a change in the back of the van.
The air had thinned. Cooled.
Bastian felt it in the way you feel the sudden cold when stepping into the shade on a hot summer’s day.
He peered over his shoulder at the Obliterati, wondering if they had felt it, too, and realized that the Obliterati looked different.
They had gathered together, floating as one in the middle of the van, and they were staring at him.
Their eyes had doubled in size. Six glistening, milky orbs shone at him with lethal intent.
Their mouths had stretched wide, revealing full sets of razor-sharp teeth.
A line of drool stretched from Jared’s chin to the floor of the van.
Bastian trembled as he realized that they were what had caused the sudden change in the atmosphere.
As one, the Obliterati floated closer to him, gnarled hands outstretched.
“What are you doing?” Bastian asked, pressing himself back against the side of the van.
“The time—” Jared gurgled.
“Has come—” Emmeline added.
“For you to face the True Death,” Ling said, her voice a low, excited purr.
Bastian struggled to comprehend. He had thought they were transporting him to his sentencing, where he would be pressed to death, just like the vampire from Whitby’s story.
Three hollow clicks resounded through the van as the council’s jaws unhinged. Their mouths gaped wider, sharklike teeth glinting white, and Bastian felt sick as he realized what was about to happen.
The Obliterati were going to feed on him.
They were going to drink him dry.
He was the feast.
It suddenly dawned on him what the Obliterati did. They didn’t come to a town because they felt duty bound to protect humans from killer vampires—they came to feed.
And vampires were their prey.
The reward was two measly vampires, Ling had said of Vernazza. Bastian realized that they had expected a feast. An infestation of vampires that would slake their thirst. That was why they had set fire to the town. As punishment for their failure to provide a suitable number of vampire victims.
A chill crept through Bastian as the council’s yellow eyes bulged at him. He had no idea what would happen to him if they drained him. Would he die? Truly die? Or would he be reduced to a withered husk? A living corpse devoid of the slightest hint of life?
He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want the Obliterati anywhere near him.
He struggled back across the bench.
“I taste horrible,” he said, desperately reaching for something that would hold them at bay. “Bitter as a pickled lemon. Ask anybody!”
They weren’t listening.
“Stop,” Bastian pleaded. “Whatever you’re about to do—”
As one, the Obliterati lunged for his neck. Bastian braced himself for the pain of their teeth in his flesh, but in that instant, a thunderous bang jolted him nearly off the bench.
“What the—” he began, but then he was lifted into the air.
His shoulder struck the side of the van, pain vibrating through his collarbone.
He tumbled over onto the ceiling, vaguely aware that the vampire council were also being tossed around like undead dolls.
The van was rolling. Why was the van rolling?
Bastian crashed down to the other wall with a groan, and the van stopped moving.
Finally, the world stilled.
Bastian lay face down against cold metal, his shoulders twinging. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, the silver burning like twin, white-hot lassos around his wrists.
Light spilled in, and he saw the back door of the van was open. A figure jumped inside, taking a second to assess what they found before grabbing hold of Bastian and pulling him toward the light.
Bastian would know that touch blindfolded.
“De Luca,” he said.
“Can you move your legs?” De Luca asked, that mix of silk and steel in his tone making Bastian shiver with delight. But no. De Luca couldn’t be here.
“Darling, you have to get out of here,” Bastian said.
“No time, tesoro.”
De Luca propelled him through the door, into blinding daylight.
A police car sat a few feet away, engine running.
Through the back window, a furry face watched with worry.
Whitby. Bastian’s gut seized with relief.
His vision darkened a fraction, and he realized that De Luca had put a pair of sunglasses on him.
It helped to dim the glare but still Bastian’s worry burned bright.
“You’re going to get in trouble—” he began, but then a voice spoke over him.
“That was unexpected,” Jared drawled from the back of the van.
The Obliterati remained in the shadows of the vehicle, hovering in midair.
Their faces had returned to their usual placid states, and they stared out at De Luca with interest. Bastian suspected they couldn’t leave the van without burning up.
He felt the sun heating his own unprotected skin, and knew he had to get under cover soon.
“Inspector,” Ling said, eyes flashing at De Luca.
“This is wholly ill-advised,” Emmeline added.
“Stay back!” De Luca warned, brandishing a large, ornate crucifix. Colorful jewels winked in the sunlight, set into sculpted bronze. The council members hissed and threw hands before their eyes, blocking out the sight of the religious artifact.
“Old-school,” De Luca said, flashing a smile at Bastian. “Figured they would be.”
“What are you doing?” Bastian demanded.
“I thought it was obvious,” De Luca said. “Get into the car. Now.”
“Not without you—”
De Luca growled with irritation, then bent to pick up a white bucket that sloshed with water.
“Twice blessed at the Church of St. Margaret of Antioch,” he said, loud enough for the council to hear.
“Now let’s—” Emmeline began.
“Be civil about this,” Jared said.
De Luca drew the bucket back and grunted, “I’m done being civil.”
He hurled the holy water at the monsters floating in the van.
The Obliterati screamed. They hissed and cursed and shrieked with fury.
Bastian watched with a mixture of horror and glee as their skin wept red, then slid from their faces, revealing dead gray flesh and charred yellow bone.
Rancid smoke belched and coiled around them.
They retreated into the shadows of the van, howling and screeching in rage.
“What was that about conquering anger, dears?” Bastian called.
The van shook a moment longer, stinking smoke erupting from the doorway, then, after a moment, quiet fell. The van stilled. There came no more screams.
“Do you think they’re dead?” De Luca breathed.
“I really hope so,” Bastian said.
“Let’s get out of here,” De Luca said, grabbing Bastian and pushing him toward the police car. De Luca opened the rear door and shoved Bastian inside. He landed face down against the seat, hair spilling around his face.
“So rough,” he said.
“Bastian!” Whitby cried in his ear. A coarse tongue scraped his cheek, and Bastian chuckled.
“Hey, that tickles!”
He rolled onto his side, just far enough to see De Luca hop into the driver’s seat, hit the accelerator, and speed them away from the wreckage.