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Another nod, which means I have confirmation that Cher and Taline were playing with things they ought to have left alone. Zagiri didn’t just randomly appear to the girls; she was summoned forth, which doesn’t happen accidentally, and can be dangerous. Then Zagiri led the girls to this book.
Why?
Avet, Sevan, and I are experienced trappers. For us to poke at the dead for answers is risky. For inexperienced non-trappers? It could be a death sentence.
If Zagiri attacked the girls, our puzzle is unfortunately about to be solved. “Why did you show Cher and Taline this book?”
In lieu of a yes or no response, the book in my hand begins to shake. Pages flutter without anyone touching them, landing with purpose on a section that is marked, “Serum for Vampiric Reversal”.
My mouth falls open and my heart bangs in my chest.
My arm hair stands on end, so I know this is my third clue.
All three girls are from trapping families.
Taline and Cher very much knew that they were entering the room of a trapper who had been abducted by one of Bel’s creatures. They conjured Zagiri’s spirit so they could speak with her.
Zagiri led them to a potion that is supposed to reverse the effects of vampirism.
My nose scrunches at the translucent form of the mousy girl whose black hair floats like she is suspended underwater. “But this isn’t possible. Vampires are humans that have died with vampires’ blood still in their system. Their venom puts their victim in a vulnerable state, tangling their limbs so they are too clumsy to escape. But if a vampire wants to turn his prey into the undead, they feed their victim a little of their own blood and then kill the human. After three days, all traces of humanity are gone, and the vampire’s thirst takes over.”
Everyone knows that. Well, every trapper knows that.
Zagiri shakes her head, telling me that what I know to be true isn’t exactly accurate.
I glance back down at the page, noting the complex equations that make little sense to me with my flimsy GED. “Humans can turn into vampires, but there’s no such thing as a vampire who turns back into a human.” I motion to her equation. “This is futile.”
A spitball flings over my shoulder and nails Zagiri on her forehead.
That’s what I should have done—dosed a wad of paper with Ararat basil extract and lobbed it at the spirit. It marks the spirit with a tracking system that tethers them to our plane of existence, so they can’t vanish all over again. The spirit then feels a tug toward their body and often will lead you to their decaying form. Dead useful in locating missing bodies. The vial of Ararat basil extract acts as a compass and can guide the user to the body, so we can put the spirit to rest.
That’s supposed to be the point of a conjuring—to put a spirit to rest. But right now, I have a hard time believing we would have stumbled upon this newest clue without Zagiri. I almost don’t want to put her spirit to rest. Not until we have Cher back.
Not until what Cher and Taline were doing starts to make sense. Because right now, none of it feels real.
Avet holds the vial of Ararat basil extract in his palm. “Don’t worry,” he consoles the spirit, who frowns at Avet. “We’ll set you free.”
But none of that feels important anymore. In fact, everything in my life that once made perfect sense is now scrambled and useless as the truth unfolds before my eyes.
I wanted this. Well, part of this, anyway. I left trapping because we were putting down cursed creatures, killing things that used to be people, and who had no control over their current decisions. Teachers, mothers, doctors, and every kind of person turned into something unholy when Bel’s curse took them over.
I couldn’t do it anymore—kill people who weren’t aware of all the damage they were doing—so I quit the game.
It never occurred to me that a cure might be conceivable.
Cher and Taline were trying to undo nature’s curse on the undead—a feat which I have always understood to be impossible.
Whatever I thought we were dealing with, now I am certain it is nothing compared to the enormity of what is yet to come.
18
ZAGIRI’S PLAN
I don’t want to be around people, which isn’t anything new. But talking about world-changing topics at a greasy diner makes me itch to return to my home. Some things deserve the reverence of privacy and not a happy ditty from the fifties playing in the background.
“A cobb salad,” I order, my eyes still scouring the yellowed page.
“We don’t have that on the menu, sir,” the waitress replies.
