Leaving behind a bunch of helpless kids at the mercy of a nest of enraged vampires.
26
Everyone staysgrim 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.
We’re riding up the Aston Building’s rickety 1920s elevator. I’ve turned my head away from Rafa to look directly at Collin, not even trying to hide that I’m talking to an invisible being.
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 whatwas 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. (Anactualhero.) 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 wizardssome 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.
