Chapter 19. Annette #2
“I think so, yes. Which means we should be able to help him, just like we’re helping Sage.” I headed for the stairs before she could press me for details.
Ronnie followed. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “What do you need me to do when we get up there? The charge in my baton should still be good. I also have a blackjack filled with silver shot. It was made by my great-great-grandmother for knocking out drunk werewolves.”
I stopped midway up the steps. “I didn’t bring you along to assault my grandson.”
“Then why? From everything I’ve read, you preferred to work alone. Why invite me? Not that I’m complaining about getting out in the field.”
“This isn’t the field. It’s my son’s home. And all I need from you is . . .” I scowled and looked away. “I just didn’t want to do this alone.”
He puffed up a little at that. “You have my axe.”
I stared. “You have an axe under there?”
“Figure of speech. From Lord of the Rings?” He sighed. “Jenny would have gotten it. The point is, I’m here for you. I’ve got your back, Ms. Thorne.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I said. “I would have brought Jenny, but I need her keeping an eye on Temple and Sage and that freaky cat.”
Morgan’s door was locked, but it was a simple button lock. A paperclip in the hole would pop it. Or I could just break the damned thing if it came to that. I was more than strong enough to punch through a hollow-core door.
Instead, I knocked lightly. “Morgan? It’s Grandma Thorne.”
“Go away.” His voice was deeper than usual, with a phlegmy gargle to it. He sounded strained, like he was having to force his mouth to form the words.
“Let me guess,” I said. “More side effects from Alex’s pills?”
“Don’t come in.”
I leaned against the door. “I know you’re scared and confused—”
“Oh my God, Grandma. Don’t try to act like you know how I feel.”
“You think you’re the only one who ever trusted the wrong person and came away with the magical clap?”
“Gross. I’m not . . . This isn’t . . . You just don’t get it.”
“I love you dearly, mon petit fils, and I’m trying to be patient, so shut up and listen.
I married my first husband when I was eighteen.
He was six hundred. Your great-grandmother warned me, but I was stupid in love.
I was also careless. A month in, I contracted vampirism.
He gave me the HV-5 strain, if you’re curious. ”
Morgan groaned. “This is so far past TMI.”
“I will rip this door off its hinges and drag you out by your ear if you keep interrupting.” I waited a beat to make sure he’d gotten the message.
“The infection never fully turned me. I had my bloodline to thank for that. But there were side effects. Changes I couldn’t control.
For a year or so, before I got the disease under control .
. . I did things I can never take back. I hurt people. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You’re a demon and a vampire?”
“No. Well, technically yes, but the vampirism is in long-term remission. I take pills every morning and evening to suppress the cravings and the predatory impulses, and to keep my iron levels up.” This wasn’t the conversation I’d expected to have with my grandson this morning.
Or ever. “The point is, I fucked up. I made mistakes that will stay with me to the day I die.”
Silence stretched for a full minute before he said, “I can’t believe my grandmother’s a vampire. Or that she said ‘fucked.’”
“Watch your language.”
“I get what you’re trying to say. I know what Noah and his friends did to you, and I’m sorry. But I haven’t hurt anyone.”
“Tell me about the shelf cards at the shop.”
He hesitated before answering. “The last one I did was ‘Five Series That Are Better than Harry Potter.’ I talked about Le Guin and Duane and Pratchett and—”
“Morgan Kay Davis, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He huffed. “It’s just a blessing Mr. Barclay taught me. Like a good luck charm.”
Oh, you sweet, summer dumbass. “And did Mr. Barclay suggest you put it throughout the bookstore?”
Doubt crept into his voice. “He told me it would boost sales.”
“Let me catch you up with events in the world,” I said. “Sage Parker tried to set the shop on fire last night. Normally, Temple’s magic would have protected it, but it turns out something has been weakening that magic from inside for several months.”
“Oh, shit,” he whispered. “Is everyone all right?”
The genuine fear in his voice gave me a surge of relief. Despite what was happening to him, he still cared and worried. “It took a lot out of Temple, but we’re okay. The damage could have been worse. We lost some inventory, but the shop is mostly intact.”
Insurance would cover the ruined stock, but every day we were closed for repairs was another day of lost sales. Alex’s scheme was getting costly. I pushed that thought aside.
“You think my drawings interfered with Uncle Temple’s magic.” There was a long pause. “Why would Mr. Barclay want to weaken your shop?”
“Sage said there was going to be a sacrifice.”
“What kind of sacrifice?”
“Hurting the house hurts Temple,” I said. “With his spells failing, it would be easier for Alex to get to us. As sacrifices go, a century-old wizard, a Hunter of Artemis, or a half-demon are what you’d call high-value treats. Jenny thinks he’ll come for either me or Uncle Temple.”
“I don’t believe you.” The quaver in his voice gave him away.
“I think you do, Morgan.”
He didn’t answer.
As gently and firmly as I could, I said, “I need you to open the door now.”
After a long pause, the lock popped and the knob turned. The door cracked inward. I pushed it wider. Ronnie started to follow.
“Wait here.” I stepped inside.
The lights were off. Morgan’s head was bowed, and he’d tugged a blanket over his head and shoulders. But the makeshift hood didn’t completely hide his face.
“Well, that’s not great, is it?” I asked. I was picking up Jenny’s habits, using ironic understatement to hide my anguish.
Morgan’s skin was like grease, black and smooth and glistening. His hands were the same. Here and there, the skin swelled like blisters.
I pushed his blanket back. He still had his hair, though it was as slick as anything Travolta had sported in the seventies. His eyes were bloodshot but human. His clothes were damp. I touched the back of my hand to his forehead. The skin was cool and slightly tacky.
He flinched and tried to pull away.
“Have you taken any more of those pills since last night?”
He huffed indignantly. “Of course not.”
Which meant his transformation was accelerating on its own, without the need for more shoggoth goo. “What other changes have you noticed?”
He poked one of the blisters on the back of his hand. “These are growing into eyeballs. They’ve been swelling up all morning. Four more have opened.” He turned his face away. “Do you think Aunt Jenny and Uncle Temple can fix me?”
“I’m sure.” I lied so convincingly, I almost believed it.
He grimaced, showing teeth that were disturbingly white against the black of his lips and mouth.
“It’s getting harder to think straight. Like I’m dreaming and none of this is real.
All night, I couldn’t tell if I was asleep or awake.
I’d sit in my bed, trying to remember where I was.
I kept getting up to leave, but I didn’t know where I was going. ”
I took his hand and squeezed.
He made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “I fucked up, Grandma. I’m scared. What if I can’t come back from this? What if I’m like this forever?”
“Let us help you, Morgan.”
“Whatever I’m becoming, promise me you won’t let me hurt anyone.”
Until that moment, I’d managed to hold back the tears, but the naked fear in his words broke me. Silent sobs shook my body. I fought to keep them in, to keep Blake and Ava from hearing. They needed me to be strong. They needed hope and reassurance.
“Tell me where to find Alex,” I whispered.
“I can’t tell you.” He turned away and pulled his hand from mine.
I’d forgotten about the pinky swear. “Morgan—”
“I can’t tell you,” he said again. He reached into his pocket, pulled his phone free, and typed his passcode. Then he stared blankly at the screen. “What was I doing?”
My throat knotted. I swallowed the grief and fear and gently took the phone from his unresisting hand. “I think you were trying to help.”
I checked his text messages for anything from Alex or the other “chemistry club” kids: nothing. They probably used a more-secure app that automatically deleted messages after a short time. I scrolled through email, his contacts, even his calendar. Then I opened the Maps app.
There, under the “Recents” list, were all the addresses Morgan had searched for in the past month. Most were familiar: a convenience store, a couple of fast-food places . . . and a pinned address downtown.
I showed it to him. His lips tightened, and he nodded silently.
I took a screenshot and texted it to my own phone, then kissed Morgan’s greasy forehead. “I love you.”
He squinted at me. “Grandma? I don’t feel very well.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of this. I promise.” I stepped back. “Ronnie, I need you to take Morgan back to the shop.”
Ronnie entered the room and looked Morgan over. “Whoa. Is he . . . Do you think that’s safe? What if he goes full shoggoth-cat?”
I wiped my face. He was right. Whatever was happening to Morgan was progressing too quickly. He hadn’t become dangerous or violent yet, but who knew how long that would last. “Grab sheets from the hall closet. How much do you know about tying a man up?”
“Not much.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got an expert here to teach you. We’ll get him safely restrained. Then, after I’ve left, I want you to call Jenny and Temple. Tell them what’s happened to Morgan, and that I’ll be back soon.”
Ronnie frowned. “Where are you going?”
“To end this.” I knew Jenny wouldn’t approve. She’d spent most of her life trying to atone for the hellish things she’d done. She’d want to get through to Alex, to save the friend she remembered.
After seeing Morgan, I had no such compunctions. Forget her “no killing” rules. I was only half-demon, but I was going to bring the full wrath of Hell down on Alex Barclay’s head.
“Things are about to get fun. In the words of the great Ash Williams, ‘Come get some.’”