Page 51 of Fang Fiction

Except…

The closer she got to the bridge, the more Tess’s panic cleared, and her stomach roiled in knots of uncertainty. They were almost there—if she kept Artie going at this speed, she’d be across the bridge and back inside Bar Between in just a few minutes. And maybe Callum would be okay. Or maybe something was really wrong, and he’d die in that meadow. Or the other vampires would return to finish what they started, and it would be all Tess’s fault that Octavia and her brother were never reunited again.

Goddamn it.

Tess tugged gently on Artie’s reins, and he pulled to a stop.

“Come on, boy,” she whispered. “We need to go back.”

She pulled to turn him around, and they started galloping back the way they came. Tess hoped they’d get there fast enough, that Callum would be safe and just as she left him when they returned. Somehow, she’d get Callum onto Artie and back to the compound; Nantale trusted her (she thought), and hopefully she’d believe the truth about what happened. And if Tess still didn’t feel safe, she could always head straight back to the crystal bridge, her conscience clear. She could take Artie and leave tomorrow, or any day she liked, once she got Callum safely home. The longer she rode, the more strongly she felt that this was the right thing to do.

Until they were almost back to the meadow, and a boom like a crack of thunder rang out—except it was louder, closer, and a thousand times more terrifying than any thunder Tess had ever heard.

Artie whinnied and bucked into the air, and Tess clutched the reins to keep her seat—he wanted to take off running, but she turned him around to see what had caused the boom—it sounded like it came from somewhere near the crystal bridge—

Except when they turned around, she saw the bridge was no longer there—at least, not in any state where she could cross it.

Something—someone—had set off an explosion at the foot of the bridge. An entire section of it was gone—the crystal broken off in jagged splinters. Huge chunks of it floated in the churning river, glittering in the bright sunshine.

It was a shocking sight on its own, but even worse as Tess realized what it meant:

Without the bridge, she had no way to get back to Bar Between.

She was trapped on this island, just like the vampires.

Chapter 12

Excerpt from Octavia Yoo’s notes, kept on the Isle

Can’t sleep again, brain won’t stop turning. When K. came to Seoul, C. was so sure standing up to him was the right thing. But I can’t stop thinking—what if that’s what landed us here? (I don’t mean literally. I know K. is dead, C. was there. Hates talking about it, goes all silent on me. Understandable, I suppose.)

Still, it’s strange. Makes me think of ghosts and after-lives—something to do with River Styx? The waters of the river would destroy any ships except ones made of bone. Maybe a ship of bone would get me off this island.

After Joni went back to her apartment, Octavia stayed at Bethesda Fountain until about three a.m. before deciding she absolutely couldn’t sit there one more second. She was hungry, uncomfortable, and, most of all, she was bored out of her fucking mind. There hadn’t been even a hint of odd light, let alone a full-on portal. But this night didn’t have to be a total waste, did it? She was free of the Isle, out in New York City, and she looked fucking good.

She still had the eighty bucks she’d taken from Nicky’s wallet the other night; that would definitely be enough to get her down to an after-hours club where she used to party in Alphabet City. She was tempted to leave Joni’s things in a bag behind the bench for Joni (or whoever, really) to collect at their leisure, but she was actually enjoying the old episodes of Buffy, so she threw the iPad and sleeping bag into Joni’s shopping bag to bring back to her hotel.

So much in the city had changed since Octavia’s involuntary absence, but the grimy all-night Ukrainian dumpling place by Tompkins Square Park was still there. Octavia was relieved to see that Pavlo, the curmudgeonly old man who was a cross between door guy and security guard and occasional dumpling chef, was there too, sitting at the big table in the window and playing cards with his friends in their frumpy leather jackets, same as always.

“No,” he said when he saw her. “After all this time? My Octavia is return?”

“Pavlo, you angel!” she cooed and kissed his cheek. “Can I leave all this with you?”

She held up her shopping bag, he nodded, and she descended the unobtrusive stairway in the back of the restaurant. Octavia had no desire to see what that basement looked like during the day, but in the last hours before dawn, it was dark and hot, bathed in red light, with ice-cold vodka flowing freely and bodies writhing to music with pulsing bass lines. After a couple of shots, Octavia was feeling loose and languid.

She scanned the women in the bar, who were mostly straight (she could work with that if she had to) and very drunk (she refused to work with that, no matter what). Her eyes fell on a woman standing in the corner, scrolling through her phone with a slightly over-it expression on her face. She was tall and curvy, with thick thighs, pouty lips, and shaggy brown hair, wearing ripped black jeans and a faded white tee thin enough that Octavia could make out the lacy green bra beneath it. Octavia snaked her way through the crowd to stand beside her.

“You’re too sexy to be in a place like this.” She grinned.

The woman rolled her eyes. “What, are you dealing or something?”

Octavia looked at her intensely. “Do you really think you’re not so beautiful that I would ignore every other person in here for a chance to talk to you? Because you are. And I did.”

This was why Octavia could never understand vampires who glamoured humans into sleeping with them—it was so much more fun, so much more delicious, when they gave themselves over to her willingly, even ravenously, fully of their own volition. The woman’s lip gloss tasted like strawberries. Octavia made out with her the whole subway ride back to Brooklyn, and the sex was so good she damn near forgot to draw her suite’s blackout curtains before dawn.

—

“Octavia! Octavia, are you in there?”