Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Praise for

DEADER STILL

“Deader Still is such a fast-paced, engaging, entertaining book that the pages seemed to fly by far too quickly. Take the New York of Men in Black and Ghostbusters, inject the same pop-culture awareness and irreverence of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The Middleman, toss in a little Thomas Crown Affair, shake and stir, and you’ve got something fairly close to this book.”

—The Green Man Review

“It has a Men in Black flavor mixed with NYPD Blue’s more gritty realism . . . if you think of the detectives as working the night shift in The Twilight Zone. It’s a book (and a protagonist) that is going places, and those who enjoy something fresh in urban fantasy will enjoy what they find. Strongly recommended.”

—SFRevu

“Deader Still is a refreshing, exciting urban fantasy with elements of romance and horror that will appeal to fans of Jim Butcher.”

—The Best Reviews

“A fun read . . . The pace moves right along, running poor Simon a little ragged in the process but providing plenty of action. If you liked Dead to Me, it’s a safe bet you’ll like this one even more.”

—Jim C. Hines, author of The Mermaid’s Madness

“Deader Still is a fun, interesting, and witty read. It is something a little different, with a male protagonist, tongue- in-cheek attitude, and interesting mystery.”

—Urban Fantasy Land

“It has a little bit of everything for the paranormal junkie . . . unique from a lot of the urban fantasy genre. This is a fantastic series.”

—Bitten by Books (5 tombstones)

“Nice touches . . . There is a lot to like here.”

—VOYA

DEAD TO ME

“Simon Canderous is a reformed thief and a psychometrist. By turns despondent over his luck with the ladies (not always living) and his struggle with the hierarchy of his mysterious department (not always truthful), Simon’s life veers from crisis to crisis. Following Simon’s adventures is like being the pinball in an especially antic game, but it’s well worth the wear and tear.”

—Charlaine Harris, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Dead and Gone

“Part Ghostbusters, part Men in Black, Strout’s debut is both dark and funny, with quirky characters, an eminently likable protagonist, and the comfortable, familiar voice of a close friend. His mix of (mostly) secret bureaucratic bickering and offbeat action shows New York like we’ve never seen it before. Make room on the shelf, ’cause you’re going to want to keep this one!”

—Rachel Vincent, New York Times bestselling author of Prey

“Simon Canderous is the kind of guy who can do magical things with his hands . . . literally. With only his wry sarcasm, self-deprecating humor, and preternatural ‘talent’ for psychometry to keep him out of trouble, Simon navigates the supernatural underbelly of New York City with a style and panache worthy of a thousand sequels.”

—Amber Benson, author of Cat’s Claw

“Urban fantasy with a wink and a nod. Anton Strout has written a good- hearted send-up of the urban fantasy genre. Dead to Me is a genuinely fun book with a fresh and firmly tongue-in-cheek take on the idea of paranormal police. The laughs are frequent, as are the wry smiles. I’m looking forward to seeing what he does next.”

—Kelly McCullough, author of MythOS

“Written with equal parts humor and horror. Strout creates an engaging character . . . clever, fast paced, and a refreshing change in the genre of urban fantasy.”

—SFRevu

“In much the same vein as Mark Del Franco’s Unquiet Dreams or John Levitt’s Dog Days, Strout’s urban fantasy debut features plenty of self-deprecating humor, problematic special powers, and a quick pace, with the added twist of overwhelming government bureaucracy. Strout’s inventive story line raises the genre’s bar with his collection of oddly mismatched, entertaining characters and not-so-secret organizations.”

—Monsters and Critics

“Imagine if Harry Dresden or Angel had to work in a poorly run office, dealing with office politics and red tape. It’s a great debut.”

—CHUD.com

“A wickedly weird debut from a writer who makes being dead sexier than it’s ever been before. And who doesn’t love a debonair, divination-having, ghost-seducing, cultist-abusing detective in New York? Imagine Law & Order but with hot ghostly chicks, rampaging bookcases, and a laugh track.”

—Carolyn Turgeon, author of Godmother: The Secret Cinderella Story

“A strong debut . . . Seeing the world through Simon’s eyes is a funny, quirky, and occasionally scary experience. Strout’s world will be well worth revisiting.”

—Romantic Times

Ace Books by Anton Strout

DEAD TO ME
DEADER STILL
DEAD MATTER

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

DEAD MATTER

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY Ace mass-market edition / March 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Anton Strout.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eISBN : 978-1-101-18534-6

ACE Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

http://us.penguingroup.com

For my father,
who wears his pride in me like a badge of honor.
I work every day to be worthy of it.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once more we leap into the breach, dear friends. I’ve missed you. So has Simon. Ignore the bat in his hand. However this book ended up in your greedy little mitts, I wanted to say welcome. Thanks for reading me. Stay and enjoy.

There are many players on this stage who make this endeavor of crafting a book possible: everyone in the haunted halls of Penguin Group, especially my friends and colleagues from paperback sales; my editor, Jessica Wade, known around the halls of Ace as the Swift Red Pencil of Justice; copy editor Valle Hansen; Annette Fiore DeFex, Judith Murello, and Don Sipley, for a stunning cover; Erica Colon and her crack team of ad/promo people; Jodi Rosoff and my publicist, Rosanne Romanello, who send me places and keep me from signing babies; Michelle Kasper; my agent, Kristine Dahl, and her assistant, Laura Neely, at ICM, who answer all my foolish author queries without strangling me; the Dorks of the Round Table—authors Jeanine Cummins and Carolyn Turgeon, who needs to finally admit she is a fantasy author; the League of Reluctant Adults, for keeping the lounge bar stocked; Lady Group, for keeping Orly sane while I write; glamazon Lisa Trevethan, for her keen beta eye; Jennifer Snyder, who maintains UndeadApproved.com, the unofficial fan site, which I usually check first to see what I’m up to; my family—both the biological and chosen ones; and finally my wife, Orly, who keeps me smiling and always on track both in my life and writing. And if you’ve read this far, I just want to say thanks again to you. You’re the best.

What then is to become of man?
Will he be the equal of God or the beasts?

—Blaise Pascal

Om nom nom . . .

—Count Dracula

1

When it came to working for New York City’s favorite underfunded supersecret paranormal investigation agency—known as the Department of Extraordinary Affairs—high-stakes decision making was par for the course. People lived or died when it came down to fighting ghosts, cultists . . . even the occasional chupacabra. My personal stress from handling the caseload of Other Division meant I barely kept my sanity as it was, but right now I was facing the hardest decision of my life. “Choose, Simon,” my ex-cultist-turned-girlfriend Jane said in a stern tone.

“I . . . I can’t.”

“For God’s sake,” she said, giving me a gentle swat to my arm. “It’s cheese. How hard can it be to pick a cheese?”

I turned away from the assortment of cheeses in the display cooler in front of me to look at her. Jane wore jeans and a tight black T-shirt with a cartoon-ghost corpse on it that read CASPER WASN’T SO FRIENDLY. Her normally big blue Bambi eyes were narrowed at me in mock disgust, the rounded contour of her face looking a little sharper since her long blond hair was pulled back from her face into a ponytail. In the background behind her the rest of my local supermarket went about its own business, but the look Jane was giving me made it feel like she was shining a spotlight on me.

I turned back to the display. “Clearly you don’t understand Taco Night, then,” I said. “We could go for the Mexican blend, which seems like an obvious choice. But! We also have pepper jack, which in my opinion gives the tacos a hot, zesty flavor.”

Jane reached past me, grabbed a packet of the Mexican blend, and threw it in her basket. “I cannot believe we’re discussing this,” she said. “Can’t you use your psychometry to divine which cheese to pick?”

I glared at her. “It doesn’t work that way,” I said. I held up my gloved hands. “Yes, I can touch objects and read their histories, but that doesn’t help me figure out which cheese to choose.”

“Wearing your gloves again, I see,” Jane said.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said.

“I thought you were in control of your power these days.”

I let out a tired sigh. “The way I’ve been using my psychometry on casework for the Department lately, it’s just easier to wear them to keep from triggering on stuff outside of work. I’d like to go a whole evening without using my psychometry, if only to keep from taking a power-induced hit to my blood sugar.”

Jane’s look was stern, concerned. “You should really take better care of your health like that,” she said. “You’re working too hard. This is your first night off from the Department in weeks . . .”

“Someone’s got to pick up the slack with Connor out,” I said, feeling a little on the spot.

“I know, I know.” Jane looked as if she was about to go into full-blown agitation, but stopped herself. She closed her eyes, let out a long breath, then opened them. “I know,” she said, softer this time. “I’m being selfish. Connor’s your partner and I know he’s entitled to all his vacation time, but taking it all at once?”

“Can we not talk about Connor Christos or work right now?” I asked. “Can we just concentrate on us and tonight . . . ?”

“Fine,” Jane said, smiling. She held her hands palms up to the heavens. “Let us not spoil the sanctity of the sacred Taco Night.”

We wandered off together arm in arm, each with our own basket, in search of the other ingredients. The rest of our shopping trip took only a few more minutes—sour cream, ground beef, lettuce, tomato—but when I hit the canned-goods section, I had to stop. Once again, I was at a crossroads.

“Refried beans,” I said, looking around. “I mean, is there any other option? Do they offer just fried beans? And what beans are they frying in the first place?”

“Just grab a can, Seinfeld,” Jane said. She checked her watch. “I’d like Taco Night to happen, you know, while it’s still Taco Night.”

“But I wanted to make everything from scratch,” I said. Jane glared at me. “Hey, I used to be quite the cook, you know, in my bachelor days.”

Jane reached into the basket I was carrying. She held up a bright yellow box with a cartoon sombrero on it. “I see,” she said, rattling it around. “I suppose these pre-made taco shells meet your ‘from scratch’ criteria?”

I opened my mouth to explain, but instead shut it and grabbed a can of refried beans off the shelf. I could see that the novelty of spending all night in the grocery store striving for authenticity was starting to wear on both of us. We headed off to the registers, but I stopped just short of getting in line.

“What did you forget?” Jane asked, laughing and shaking her head.

“Salsa,” I said. I leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Be right back.”

Jane nodded. “I’ll hold our place.”

I ran off in search of the elusive condiment, but halfway down one of the aisles I heard the clatter of several items falling over, followed by the sound of screaming coming from one of the other aisles. I ran up the one I was in, rounded the corner, and turned into the next, stopping dead in my tracks.

A lumbering figure filled the entire width of the aisle, menacing a few people farther along it. It was humanoid, but only if I pictured a human made out of melted wax. It looked naked, pale, with its shoulders nearly reaching from shelf to shelf. Its hands and feet looked like claws and were made of something hard that clicked against the smooth surface of the store floor. When it heard me, it whipped its head around and a wave of terror ran over me as I saw its face for the first time. Its mouth was a gnarled mass of giant pointed teeth that stuck out in every direction. A mix of slobber and decay hung from its maw, dripping onto the laminated tiles of the store floor.

The few people who had been in the aisle ran off as Jane rounded the corner at the front end of it. The monster spun its head around to face her, letting out a low growl through its maw of tangled teeth. Wary, it turned its body so it could easily keep an eye on both of us, but it took its time because its talons kept sliding against the smooth surface of the store’s floor.

I took a few steps down the aisle toward it, more to get closer to Jane at the far end of it than to cozy up with the creature itself. “How’s it looking down there?” I shouted down to Jane. “Is it clear?” She looked off to both sides, then nodded.

“Good, then,” I said. “You might want to run.”

Much to her credit, Jane stood her ground. Slowly she took her basket and placed it on top of a stack of nearby cereal boxes. She wasn’t about to leave me to deal with this thing alone—or at least she was putting on one hell of a brave front. Personally, I was having a tough time doing it, but at least I had my trusty retractable bat hanging just inside my black leather coat.

I felt like a gunslinger preparing for high noon. I reached inside my coat and undid the safety strap that held the collapsed steel of the bat in its custom holster. I kept my movements subtle. I didn’t want to do anything sudden to alarm the creature, but I wanted to be prepared if it charged me, and the bat was my preferred weapon of choice. When it came to combating the supernatural, blunt trauma beat guns almost every time.

I looked the creature over. I had no clue what the hell it was, but one thing was for sure . . . Someone had beaten this monstrosity with not one but two ugly sticks.

“What’s it going to be, fugly?” I said. I looked to Jane. “Sweetie, Director Wesker’s still got you categorizing all those occult books at Tome, Sweet Tome for Greater and Lesser Arcana, yes?”

Jane squinted with a quizzical look but nodded.

“Awesome sauce,” I said, “because now would be an amazing time for you to bust out some book smarts and identify this creature for us.”

Jane looked it over with greater care before she spoke up. “Sorry, hon,” she said with a shrug. “You’ve got me. Most of the material I’m working on right now is more phenomenon based. More sightings and mystic events than para-anthropology. Maybe it’s a demon . . . ?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, wishing I had paid more attention when the Department of Extraordinary Affairs had offered the A Walking Study in Demonology seminar. “I’m pretty sure they’re more hellfire-ish. I think it would maybe have a flaming sword or be flaming itself, and not in a West Village kind of way, either.”

Jane gave a weak laugh at that, which seemed to set something off in the creature. Its growl turned into a full-on snarl, revealing even more of its twist of teeth. It turned away from me and started with caution down the aisle toward Jane.

Screw this, I thought. I pulled my bat out and hit the button on the side of it, extending it to its full length. I started tapping it against one of the nearby shelves, the sound of metal on metal ringing out in a staccato clatter.

“Hey, dick,” I called out. “No one gets all hot and heavy with my girlfriend but me.”

Jane snorted from the other end of the aisle. “Sexist,” she said back to me.

“Would you rather take the first crack at him?”

Jane looked over the vicious, slobbering monstrosity. “No,” she said, sounding a little unsure. “You can go first. Wouldn’t want to emasculate you on date night, after all.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, grabbing a can from the nearest shelf. I spun it in my hand to look at it. Beets. I gauged the distance to the creature. “Batter up.”

I threw the can up in the air, cocked my bat back, and swung. I hit the can with a loud crack, only denting it but launching it perfectly toward the creature’s chest. The can hit hard against it, causing the monster to pause for a moment, but now it no longer looked undecided on whom to attack. It twisted all the way around toward me, flailing as it slipped on the floor tiles, its powerful arms knocking cans from the shelves with a savage ferocity I did not want to see leveled at me. It was getting ready to charge, and it would, once its talons found purchase on the floor. Wanting to both get it away from Jane and find a better position for myself, I mentally considered one of the cardinal rules I had learned on day one when joining the Department of Extraordinary Affairs:

Running is always an option.

I turned and hauled ass down the aisle while the monster got itself together and gave chase. I knocked whatever I could down as I ran, hoping to slow the creature, but all I heard behind me was the crunch of cans and the shattering of bottles as it closed in pursuit. When I turned from one aisle to the next, I was able to buy myself a second, as it had a hard time cornering on the tiles. The monster slid and slammed into the end cap items. Then it picked itself up and got back to its lightning speed in no time.

I could keep outmaneuvering it, but for how long? I could already feel my body giving out, getting winded. Then a thought struck me and I headed back toward the produce aisle. Looking back, I saw the creature once again collapsed in a pile of cans, struggling back to its feet and starting up after me again.

I turned up the produce aisle, not really caring what I did or didn’t run into. The intensity with which the creature was giving chase was terrifying. As it got closer, I could actually feel fear projecting outward from it. I fought back the false sense of spiraling, wall-climbing panic it tried to wash over my heart until I was back at my healthy level of panic. I saw a glimmer of hope in one of the produce bins and I ran for it, grabbing onto it and knocking it over as I passed. I kept running until I hit the end of the aisle before I chanced a backward glance. The creature was stopped about a third of the way back down the aisle by my overturned bin, spinning around in place but otherwise unable to move. Dozens of garlic bulbs, the bane of a whole mess of paranormal boogeymen, encircled the creature. The monster had come right down the aisle behind me, unable to fully stop itself before it slid into my little aromatic trap. Score one for Team Luck.

I walked back toward the creature, marveling at it. It had gone silent as it sniffed around with caution, looking for a way out. I picked up a solid bunch of garlic in my hand and popped it up like a baseball. The bulb burst open on impact, but the individual cloves flew out of it at a wild speed. Like a shotgun blast, they hit the creature all over, causing it to hiss out in pain.

Jane came around the far corner of the next aisle, this time with a different shopping basket from before. From the way she was carrying it, the thing must have weighed a ton. The contents of it were black, boxy, and a little larger than one of my fists.

“Are those batteries?” I shouted over the creature’s roar. I scooped up another bunch of garlic and snapped it off my bat at the creature. This time it writhed as it retreated as far inside its containment circle as it could. I was hurting it.

Jane dropped the basket at her feet and when she stood, she held one of the giant batteries in her hand. She read the side of one of them. “Lantern batteries,” she said. “I feel like shedding a little light on things.” The battery in her hand began to crackle with tiny electrical sparks as Jane willed her ability over it.

Technomancy—the arcane ability to bend machines, gadgets, and raw electrical power to her will. Her boss, Thaddeus Wesker, had brought it out in her, and her natural talent for it had saved my ass a time or two. I felt the sudden need to move myself farther back from where the creature stood.

The giant battery fit perfectly into the cup of Jane’s hand and she lifted it up. I was too far away to hear anything, but it looked like she was whispering to the battery while a tiny tornado of blue sparks began to race around it. The seams along the top of it began to warp and twist. Using an underhand softball pitch, Jane wound up and launched the battery at the creature, smacking it on its right shoulder. The battery exploded with a soft pop followed by a splash of acid that sprayed in a tight circle around the monster.

My eyes were drawn to a bunch of watermelons where the acid was already eating through the green rinds at an alarming pace, the juice of the fruit running down onto the floor. The same was happening along the back of the creature, blood and fluids running down, although the monster seemed to be fighting against the tide of damage, the wounds trying desperately to heal themselves. The creature let out a tremendous roar, and I could feel its pain hitting me as I stood at the edge of the effect.

“Keep it coming,” I yelled out to Jane, who was already scooping up another battery and charging it. Bat in hand, I went for the garlic. Round after round Jane and I kept the damage coming. As I swung at bulb after bulb, I couldn’t help but feel as though I was in some sort of surreal batting cage. I kept going, weakening the creature until it fell to its knees in a pool of its own blood. Jane called out.

“Simon!”

I was midswing. I kept my eye on the bulb I was popping up as I smacked it, then looked over at Jane. She was pointing down toward my feet. When I looked down, I could see why. I had been so intent on attacking the creature with bulb after bulb of garlic that I hadn’t noticed I had cleared a path all the way through the containment barrier.

“Shit,” I said.

It looked up from where the creature knelt before me, its body heaving with its labored breath. It noticed the cleared pathway, too, then craned its head up to look at me.

“Hi,” I said in a whisper of uncertain fear. As it tensed, I raced to lift my bat. I wanted to get at least one shot in before it could do anything, but even wounded, it was far too fast for me. It leapt straight at me, knocking me over and the bat out of my hand. It landed on me, pinning me to the floor with its crushing weight. Bits of drool and chunks of meat fell from its maw down onto me. Panicked, I tried to throw the monstrosity off, but it was no use. I was trapped.

“Watch your eyes,” I heard Jane call out. Without even giving it a thought, I shut them. The familiar thud of a battery hit the creature, followed by the dull pop of the seams giving away. The hiss of the acid filled my ears, but thankfully nothing hit my face, although I felt some of it drip down onto my coat. As the hissing got louder, I dared to open my eyes. Acid was eating into the leather of my coat the same way it was eating away at the creature’s skin. Its mouth was drawn back in a pained and horrifying expression. It looked back over its shoulder at Jane as if it was considering its options. To deal with her, it would have to get past the remaining barrier of garlic on her side. It looked down at me. Pinned there, I was no threat to it and with the circle broken on my side, it chose freedom over fight, but not before one last crush into me as it pounced off toward the exit.

I sat up, soreness kicking in the second I did. I gave myself a quick once-over, making sure none of the battery acid was about to eat through my flesh anywhere. Luckily, my coat had taken the brunt of the damage. It was totaled, unless Swiss cheese chic was going to be all the rage this season in fine leather.

Jane ran over, mindful of stepping into any of the acid pools, and offered me her hand, which I gladly took. Any paranormal encounter where you still had a hand to hold after it was okay in my book.

“You all right?” she said.

I looked around at the chaos we had made of the store, the swath of destruction that the creature had cut through it. “All things considered? Yeah.”

“You want me to go after it?”

I shook my head. “It’s long gone,” I said. “Did you see how fast that thing was?” I slid off my acid-covered coat. I barely let it fall to the floor before Jane grabbed me and hugged me. Tight. I tried not to wince given the tenderness from the fall. From the way she held me in her death grip, I could tell she was spooked. Much of her work was in the office, not in the field.

I kissed her on top of her head, hoping to calm her. “Thursdays are your day to rescue me, right?”

She laughed into my chest and I felt her grip loosen a little. She stood back and looked up at me, smiling.

“Nobody messes with Taco Night,” she said.

I reached down and gathered up my jacket. Several shards of battery casing had lodged themselves into the leather and I plucked one of the larger ones out, reading the bit of label still attached to it. “Explosion proof, my ass!”

“Hey!” a woman’s voice shouted out. I looked up and saw who I assumed was the store owner coming over to us. She was an older woman in her fifties with gray hair cut into a short bob. As she looked over the damage in the produce aisle, her eyes were so wide that I thought they might actually fall out and roll across the floor. She clutched an industrial-sized broom in her hands, but it looked puny in the face of all the damage. “What . . . what was that thing?”

Her accent was eight shades of old-school Brooklyn. I winced at the sound of it. “Rabid dog, ma’am,” I said, trying to put on a serious face.

“Rabid dog?” she said. “Seriously? Did you see the size of that thing? That wasn’t no dog.”

“No, really,” I said, not even buying my own story. The look on the woman’s face told me she wasn’t buying it, either. I unfolded my jacket and searched for the inside pocket, looking for one of the cards with the number for damage claims like this. I felt the edge of one and pulled it free. As I leaned forward to hand it to the store owner, the card disintegrated in my hand.

Jane slid her tiny backpack off her shoulders and produced one of her own, handing it to the woman with a reassuring smile. “You’d be surprised how big these poor mistreated animals grow when they’re left to a life in the sewers,” she said.

Something about the sweet, understanding look on Jane’s face soothed the woman. Hell, it soothed me.

“You call that number and speak to Mr. David Davidson,” Jane continued. “He’s with the Mayor’s Office. He’ll send a team out to assess the damage, and the city will see to the repairs.”

The woman remained silent, clutching the card as though it was the one thing that was keeping her mind from snapping. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the mountain of red tape downtown to process her claim might take longer than the store would last. That was government work for you. Jane and I left the woman standing there as people started coming out of hiding and looking around. We took our baskets of groceries up toward the register area, but everyone had gone off to the produce aisle to gawk at the epicenter of the incident. I bagged our groceries and left enough cash to cover them before heading out into the streets.

Jane and I checked for signs of the creature outside the store. I followed a trail of blood for about twenty feet before it vanished in the middle of the street.

“Too late,” I said. “I had hoped it would be bleeding bad enough that we could track it, but the way that thing kept healing, it dried up the trail quick.”

Jane looked disappointed, but also hopeful. “So . . . where to?” she asked. “Home?”

I nodded. “Some people might find an attack on their person by some half-crazed demonic monstrosity terribly unnerving, but not me.”

“No?” Jane asked, puzzled.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m more worried about the metric ton of paperwork this is going to generate back at the office.”

We headed back to my SoHo apartment nearby. I’d call the incident in to the Department of Extraordinary Affairs tonight and worry about the paperwork tomorrow. Right now I just wanted to get home and try to enjoy the precious little time off with Jane that I was able to catch these days. Besides, like the woman said, no one messes with Taco Night.

2

Despite the incident, Taco Night proved a success, but the attack must have drained both of us more than we thought. It was hard to get motivated the next morning, and once we gave up hitting the snooze alarm for the fifteenth time, the two of us stumbled our way up from SoHo to the East Village. By the time Jane and I rounded Second Avenue onto East Eleventh, my eyes finally creaked open as the smell of coffee drifted down the street from inside the Lovecraft Café. Like a blood-hound on a trail, I followed the scent and headed for the café’s familiar red-framed windows and giant oak doors. Once inside the cover for the Department, I felt at home. Well, almost at home. The bohemian coffee shop with its exposed-brick walls thick with old movie posters was only a front for our offices.

The main room was cluttered with a mismatch of sofas and comfy chairs, but the two of us passed through all that and headed straight for the counter along one side of the wall. I had just barely placed our order when my boss barreled out from behind the curtain at the back of the shop. To a casual coffee shop customer, it would appear that he was coming from the old-world movie theater back there, but I knew he was emerging from our secret government office, which was hidden behind the theater.

Inspectre Argyle Quimbley was in his late fifties and, despite being fairly fit, he looked winded. His breath heaved in and out, causing the ends of his walruslike mustache to flip back and forth like they had a life all their own. He wore a tweed jacket and his arms were wrapped around a stack of files. His eyes lit up behind his glasses when he saw me, and he made a beeline toward us.

“Simon,” he said. “Good. You’re here.”

I checked my watch. “I’ve got two minutes to get to my desk. Just thought I’d grab . . .”

“There’s no time,” he said, his eyes wild and his voice thick with his soft and sophisticated English accent. “There’s simply no time!”

My heart raced at the promise of action. Terrifying as many aspects of my job might be, I also thrilled at the call to arms. The adrenaline rush was just one of the perks of working as a paranormal investigator in Other Division. Ghosts, ghouls, things that go bump in the night . . .

“I’m on it,” I said. I threw open the left side of the backup coat I’d had to break out after last night’s incident. I patted the holster where my bat sat. “Where do you need me?”

Flustered as he looked, the Inspectre looked down at my bat, then back up at me. He put down his armful of files on the counter and grabbed my lapel, pulling my coat closed. “Not among the norms, my dear boy,” he said, looking around the coffeehouse. As usual in New York, no one was paying attention. He placed his hand on top of the pile of folders he had just put down, tapping them. “Besides, I don’t need you in the field. These are for you.”

“Are all of these new?” I said. “All of this since last night?”

The Inspectre nodded. “I’m afraid so. Some of it is for Connor, but either way, it’s all new material. We’re seeing a lot of ghostly activity right now and eyewitness accounts seem to be at an all-time high in graveyards throughout Manhattan. No one is quite sure why . . . and with Connor still on vacation . . .”

“It falls to me,” I said. “I gotcha, sir.”

The Inspectre put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re all burning the midnight oil right now, son,” the Inspectre said. He clapped me on the arm and gave me a beaming smile. “That’s my boy!”

I gave Jane a weak smile while I scooped up the folders in my arms. Jane handed me my iced coffee and rested my bear claw on top of the pile, kissing me on the nose as she did so.

“Isn’t this almost as exciting as last night?” she said.

The Inspectre gave a deep cough, haroomed, and pounded his chest. “I believe that falls into the Too Much Information Department . . .”

I blushed before I realized what Jane was actually talking about. “No, sir. It’s nothing like that. We were attacked last night . . . at the grocery store, by this thing . . . fangs and . . .”

As I struggled to articulate myself, the Inspectre was already lost in his own thoughts and wandering back toward the curtains and the office proper. “Yes, yes,” he said, distracted. “Write it up in a report and I’ll go over it. Make sure you get to those others as well . . .”

I sighed as he slipped back through the curtains and was gone. “And I’ll make sure to file an incident report to document that I filed an incident . . .” I said.

Jane laughed, then grabbed my bear claw and took a bite of it.

“Hey!”

“Do try to have all of it done by seven or so,” she said. “We’ve got tickets to Mamma Mia, and if we’re late, they only seat during a break in the show.”

The Inspectre popped his head out from the curtain, looking every bit like a magician. “Oh,” he said. “I nearly forgot. Ms. Clayton-Forrester, Director Wesker left a message with me for you. He assumed you’d be tethered to Mr. Canderous, and wouldn’t you know, there you are . . .”

I bristled at the mention of the head of Greater & Lesser Arcana. Thaddeus Wesker had no doubt made the tethered comment, which made him not only Jane’s boss but an ass to boot.

“Yes, sir?” Jane said with great earnestness. Being an ex-cultist meant she had to work twice as hard to earn respect around here.

“Director Wesker is already up at Tome, Sweet Tome,” he said. “Several of the more rambunctious books seem to have been . . . picking . . . on a few less rowdy ones. He needs you up there to help straighten things out. He seemed out of sorts that you weren’t already there, but then again, he always seems out of sorts, doesn’t he?”

The Inspectre gave Jane a soft smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him. Then he followed up with a curt nod, and disappeared again, but not before giving me and my pile of folders a get-to-work kind of look.

“That’s me,” Jane said. “Librarian to the Damned.” Jane kissed my cheek, then grabbed her coffee and muffin. “Remember, theater tonight. Be ready or be dead.”

“One’s more likely than the other in my field,” I said, but Jane was already running out the door, heading for the subway over at Astor Place. I hefted my stack of paper and walked to the back of the coffeehouse and through the black velvet curtain hanging there. The Silence of the Lambs was playing in the ornate old theater despite the early hour, but at this time of morning the theater was all but empty. I headed down the main aisle, turned right, heading off toward a short corridor at the end of it on the left. Across from the theater bathrooms was the solid oak door marked H.P. that lead into the secret offices. Without a free hand, I slammed my pocket with my keys in it against the sensor pad next to the door. I prayed my panel humping would set it off and was relieved a few seconds later when I heard the door click open.

Arcane runes decorated the main bull pen of the office. I worked my way past the cubicle-farm part of it, past the myriad doors along the wall that lead off to God knew where. Farther along behind a set of ceiling-length red curtains, I found the next section of the office where Connor and I shared an old partners desk that was covered in far more paper than I had in my arms.

I set my iced coffee down, then the stack of folders with my bear claw on it. I sat down, took stock of it all, and fought the urge to slam my head against my desk until I went unconscious. I’d get to it all, but not before I grabbed my bear claw and coffee. I was going to be damned if all this paperwork ruined my breakfast.

The work day hours passed in a fog of mind-numbing filing and collation. Sometime in the late afternoon, Jane pulled up at my desk and kissed me on the head. She had changed from her jeans and T-shirt into a short black dress that highlighted all her deliciousness. “How’s it going?”

I peeled my eyes away from her, taking both my hands and running them over the avalanche of forms scattered across my desk.

“I’m drowning in paperwork here,” I said. “And half of it isn’t even mine!”

Jane looked a little panicked. “You are going to get out on time, aren’t you? Mamma Mia, remember?”

I laid my head down on my desk, the coolness of the papers feeling nice on my forehead. “I think I can pull it off,” I said. “Please tell me that someone in one of our divisions can bend time. There’s a space-time vortex around here somewhere, right?”

“Aww, Bunky,” she said, tousling my hair. “I think Arcana has it closed for repairs.”

“Really?” I said. “We have one?”

Jane shook her head. “Nope. Don’t think so.” She went over and sat at Connor’s side of the desk. “But what you do have is me, to help you.”

I lifted my head and looked around. “For real?” I lowered my voice. “What about Wesker? Doesn’t he need you up at Tome, Sweet Tome cataloging those books in the Black Stacks?”

Jane shook her head. “I told him one of them bit me in a ‘lady place’ and I had to have it checked out. He didn’t really ask questions after that.”

“Great, then,” I said. I started flipping through one of the piles in front of me. “Can you find me a T-642?”

Jane pulled up a pile of papers off the top of Connor’s desk and held them up for me. “Are any of these them?”

I stared across the partners desk at her.

“What?” she said. “We don’t get all this paperwork in the arcana division.”

I looked at the forms in her bunch and grabbed the appropriate one out of it.

“Thanks,” I said. “Make sure you put them back the way you found them, okay? Connor was a bit anal about things before he left.”

Jane looked at the neat towers of paper over on Connor’s side of the desk. “He is coming back, right?”

“He’d better,” I said. “I mean, I’m glad he took the time when he did. He took it pretty hard when the address we found for his missing brother turned out to be a dead end . . .”

“That wasn’t just a dead end,” Jane said. “The whole block had been demolished, probably to make way for another Trumptastic eyesore . . .”

I sighed. “I just wish Other Division had the budget to get a temp in here.”

“Like I said,” Jane said, batting her baby blues at me. “I’m here to help. Remember, I was a temp.”

“Yes, for cultists.”

She started sorting out several of Connor’s stacks. “Same diff,” she said. “Just less bloodstains on the paperwork.”

The two of us fell silent for most of the afternoon, plowing through case files, research requests, and requisition forms. Several of the piles started to shift in size or dwindle away as I interofficed forms to the four winds. I was thrilled to find that several inches of Connor’s in-box could simply be shredded, as they were catalogs from Gravediggers Monthly, Parapsychology Today, or The Sharper Image . In the end, with Jane’s help I not only managed some progress in my existing caseload; I had a somewhat detailed report of the creature from the grocery store set to go off to the Inspectre’s office. I carried it upstairs and slid it under his door and ran off again before I could be cornered into anything else. When I got back to my desk, Jane looked ready to leap out of Connor’s chair.

“We good to go?” she said.

“If we leave now,” I said, scooping up my shoulder bag. “If traffic’s light, we can hit the Theatre District before curtain.”

Jane jumped up from her chair and the two of us headed back through the office, out into the theater, and up the center aisle as Hannibal Lecter listed some of his favorite ingredients when dining on the census taker. Jane leaned over to me and spoke softly.

“You know, all this paperwork? Kinda makes me long for the old days.”

“When we started dating?”

“No,” she said, “before that. My Sectarian days, back when I was all villainous and trying to kill you.”

I pulled aside the curtain at the top of the aisle, the one that led back into the coffee shop. “Really?”

Jane nodded and stepped through. “At least it was interesting. And involved less paper cuts.”

“True,” I said. We fell in step side by side. I threw my arm around her and squeezed her tight as we headed toward the door and the street. I leaned into her. “I miss you trying to kill me, too.”

3

It was funny how quickly a lovely evening could go straight to hell, all in a span of twenty minutes. The concrete and glass canyons of Manhattan zoomed outside the windows of our minivan cab. It sped along at a brisk pace, unlike the conversation between Jane and me. That had put on the brakes and skidded to a halt . . . possibly even spun out of control.

“You could have let it go to voice mail, Simon,” she protested, turning away with a flip of her ponytail. She wouldn’t look at me. Instead she pretended to busy herself smoothing her short black skirt over her long, lean legs. “We haven’t been actually out in weeks.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with her finger pointing in my face.

“Taco Night does not count as ‘out,’ Simon. Especially when it starts off with a monster.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, flipping my phone shut and sliding it into the inside pocket of my leather half trench, “but duty calls. Even more so when it’s Inspectre Quimbley on the phone. It’s another graveyard call coming in. I have to check it out.”

Jane let out a sigh. Her adorable mouth puffed out into a full-on pout. She was playful, but I could tell she was still tweaked by the interruption.

“What if it had been Director Wesker calling?” I continued. “Are you telling me you would have ignored your boss?”

“Fine,” she said. She looked a little mischievous. “But you owe me.” She ran her finger down the front of my shirt.

“I know,” I conceded, trying to switch my mind from date mode to business mode. Her finger tracing its way down my body in the back of the cab wasn’t helping. I looked out the window and tapped on the partition between us and the driver. “Pull over here, please. Just through the light on the left.”

Jane leaned her head over to look out the window. “The Financial District?”

“Great for date night, I know,” I said. I slid a twenty through the window to the driver and got out of the cab before offering my hand to Jane. She took it despite being a little perturbed and let me help her out. To our right was the Port Authority station that now stood where the World Trade Center once had, but neither Jane nor I dared walk toward it. No one from the Department of Extraordinary Affairs went down to Ground Zero these days.

I turned to look at the building nearby as Jane grabbed her purse out of the cab. Trinity Church loomed dark and quiet in front of me, but it wasn’t the church itself I was here about. What I was looking for lay just inside the enormous wrought-iron fence that surrounded the church. I was looking at one of the oldest graveyards in the city and from within it, I could already make out a tornado of ghostly figures swarming up through the air. I felt like I was watching something straight out of The Haunted Mansion. I slid back the side of my coat, and pulled my retractable bat free.

“Drive away,” I told the cabbie. I flicked the switch on the side of my bat, causing it to shikt out to its full length. “Terribly fast.”

The cabbie looked to my bat and then took a look at the swirl of ghostly activity coming from just beyond the graveyard gates. He stepped on the gas and the cab screeched away, its door pulling free from Jane’s hand, slamming shut.

With all the Wall Street day traders and office jockeys in the area gone this time of night, it was as quiet as a crypt everywhere except, oddly, the series of crypts and graves before us. Jane flexed her hand and turned to check out the graveyard spectacle.

“Lovely,” she said. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

I forced a smile. “Nothing but the best for you.”

The two of us stepped forward, looking up at the dark gates of the churchyard. The ironwork rose up at least fifteen feet. Jagged spikes peaked each of the bars that formed the barrier.

“Up and over?” Jane suggested.

I shook my head. “I’m thinking we find a better way in. These are high enough and pointy enough that I’m not comfortable with the idea of trying to climb over them. At least not without giving myself an interesting piercing in the process.”

“Might be hot,” Jane said, giving me a wicked grin.

I gave an uncomfortable one back. “Or disfiguring.”

Rather than get into the finer points of damaging my junk, I shut my mouth, crossed the sidewalk, and edged along the outside of the graveyard until I came to an entrance around the next block that was closer to the main building of Trinity Church itself. The gates there were already pushed open with a person-sized gap in them. Without hesitation, I slid my way through into the cold darkness of the graveyard.

Jane grabbed my hand through the bars of the gate. “You’re going in with just your bat?” she asked.

I nodded.

She wrinkled her nose and looked uncomfortable. “I know I’m relatively new to this whole doing-good thing,” she said, “and I’m not part of your precious Other Division, but shouldn’t this be a job for Things That Go Bump in the Night? Aren’t they the ghost guys?”

I smiled and grabbed her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin in contrast against the late-March chill.

“I’m not just Other Division,” I said, squeezing it. “I’m also part of the Fraternal Order of Goodness. Both of those more than qualify me to check this out. Improvisation is our middle name.”

“Actually,” Jane said, “wouldn’t that make ‘Order’ your middle name?”

“Shush,” I said. I pushed the gate closed between us. “Technically, this was a direct request from the Inspectre.

That means I’m not supposed to involve other divisions. Just wait here, okay?”

Jane looked worried. “You know, the feminist in me really wants to smack you for that, but the rest of me is a little bit too terrified to care. Just be careful, all right?”

“Don’t worry,” I said, hoping to reassure her. “I’m just going to scope things out. Hell, I’d rather you come with me, if it wasn’t for all the paperwork. You saw all the Other Division and joint-venture paperwork I had to do for the monster attack last night.”

Jane nodded, but the look of concern in her eyes told me she was putting up a brave front. I was learning that getting closer to someone meant there was more freaking out to be had when danger crossed either of our paths.

“I’ll wait right here,” she said with conviction in her voice. She gave me a thumbs-up. “You know, to avoid all that paperwork.”

I turned away after giving her a final smile and concentrated on the graveyard. Despite the lights of New York City rising up all around us, most of the graveyard was hidden in the shadow of the church and all I could make out in the darkness was a flurry of activity about fifty feet away from me. A cool wind cut into me as I moved among the headstones with cautious steps, using my bat as a walking stick to help guide me. Moving closer to whatever was going on, my eyes began to adjust to the low light, and I almost wish they hadn’t. The ghostly activity I had seen from outside the graveyard was far more terrifying now that I was closer to it, the apparitions and specters looking far more solid up close. Numerous haunts in varying states of decay filled the center of the graveyard, all of them swarming around a lone shadowy figure pressed up against the side of one of the mausoleums. It looked like we had a live one. Who was this civilian and why wasn’t he running? The lifeless, rotting faces of the long-dead filled the air, and it was more than enough to get me shivering.

As spooked as I felt, I forced myself to put on a brave front. If there was one thing that those four sessions of Cool with Ghouls had taught me, it was that bold talk was a convincing substitute for actual bravado when it came to dealing with the formerly living.

I took a deep breath and tapped my bat on one of the sturdier-looking headstones. It rang out with a metallic clank that ground against the stone.

“Everybody back off the civilian,” I said with anger in my voice. “The cleanup crew is here.”

New patterns arose from the cloud of ghostly figures and a new energy seemed to fill the area. “Him,” a collective voice rang out from them.

I turned to look over at Jane back outside the gates. “They know me!” I said. I could barely contain my excitement. Pride swelled in my chest despite my case of frayed nerves. Clearly word had been getting out about me over the last few months since we nabbed cultist Cyrus Mandalay and shut down his paranormal freak show.

“This is a good thing . . . how?” Jane said, killing my short-lived sense of pride in an instant.

The cloudy swarm of ghosts turned toward me and started moving in my direction en masse. I stepped back, despite all the Arcana talismans and charms Jane had given me as presents. I was wearing enough of them to blend in at a Grateful Dead show. Jane might be convinced of their power to ward off most of these ghosts, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way if they worked or not. I backpedaled fast, but the floating apparitions were faster.

I waited for the sensation of one of them passing through me to hit, but it didn’t come. Three of the spirits rushed me, but something stopped them just short of touching the leather of my coat. Their inability to get closer frustrated them and although I was thankful for the protection, it made me feel a bit like the Bubble Boy.

“Ha!” I said, trying to avoid a fit of nervous laughter.

The agitation in the spirits grew more apparent as they continued to try to lunge toward me, but it was having no effect. Frustrated, two of the apparitions dashed off across the graveyard heading toward the church. Before following them, I snuck a peek over my shoulder to check on the civilian, but I couldn’t see the shadowy figure anywhere. I turned back to focus on my two apparitions.

“Hey,” I shouted after them, “I’m not done with you!”

And apparently they weren’t done with me, either. They rushed toward the church, both spirits diving forward through the air into two of the stone figures decorating the side of the church. Gargoyles. There was the sound of grinding stone that vibrated in my bones as the creatures came to life, a loud rocky crack filling the air as they tore free from the wall. They landed on the ground and stood themselves up. Their wingspan was twice as wide as my six-foot frame and they stood several feet taller than me. The gargoyles’ eyes were filled with a hellish red glow.

“No fair!” I shouted at the gargoyles.

My words had no effect. It did nothing to slow their pace as they started across the graveyard, their thick stone legs leaving several of the ancient grave markers toppled over in their wake as they advanced on me.

Still, as imposing as they were, I actually preferred them in this form than as ghosts. Solid creatures could be beaten on. I readied myself, hefting my bat up into swinging position. I only hoped that years of acid rain in New York City had taken its toll on the stonework to soften them up a bit for me. Either my bat would give or they would.

The creatures were huge, but their sheer weight slowed them considerably. I was able to run up on one of them, taking a few shots, then circling out of its reach while it swiped at me. With each swing I gave it my all, and with each swing I connected. Chips and shards of stone flew off the creatures, but they kept on advancing.

At this rate it would take me a solid week of fighting them to make any headway. There had to be another way. Backing away, I put as many gravestones between myself and them as I could. As impressive as they were in size, they had a hard time maneuvering around the sturdier gravestones. This didn’t matter much as they pushed their way past, crumbling most of them eventually, but it did slow them up a bit. That was something I could use to my advantage, if the ten minutes I had spent reading the departmental memo “Fight Training 301: The Bigger They Are” had taught me anything.

I ran to the far side of one the stone Goliaths, causing both of them to turn and give chase. I channeled them between two sets of gravestones and looked back over my shoulder to make sure I was leading them to the end of the row. When I reached it, I turned around the last stone and started down the next aisle. To follow, the first gargoyle compensated by angling itself around the last stone as well. Seeing an opportunity to use momentum against the creature, I lunged forward and shoved my bat lengthwise between its ankles. The lumbering stone monstrosity couldn’t stop itself. Its legs fumbled over each other and the gargoyle started to topple . . . right toward me. I dove to my right to avoid it. It crashed down on top of several other gravestones, crumbling some of them and snapping off bits of itself at the same time. One of its heavy stone hands bounced into my lap, causing a charley horse in my leg with the impact. Using both hands, I quickly pushed it off of me and limped myself up to a standing position. One down, one to go . . .

The other gargoyle was already tripping over the first one, causing a domino effect. A very weighty domino effect. Before I could move, the gargoyle crashed down right on top of me, pinning me under it with my back splayed across the top of one of the gravestones. This creature, unlike the other one, did not shatter into pieces, remaining animated as it pressed down on me. Hard.

To the ghost inside, the living stone was like armor protecting it from my various talismans now crushed up against it. A genius move on its part, one which left me slowly being crushed to death.

Its stony head craned to face me, its glowing red eyes staring deep into mine. “Why are you defending him?” the gargoyle said. “This living man disturbed us.”

“What?” I croaked out from underneath it.

Before it could speak again, a blinding sear of light arced past me, taking the creature’s head clean off and launching it across the graveyard. The same bolt of light arced back through the figure, this time taking its legs off at the knees. The living stone crumbled apart on top of me and fell to the ground, leaving a large assortment of shattered pieces.

Once the weight was off me, I scrambled down the back side of the gravestone I had been lying on and landed with a thud on the pile of broken stone. My back cried out in pain. I took my time standing up, and turned to look at where the energy had come from. It was pretty easy to spot, actually.

Jane was practically glowing, standing with one hand on a nearby lamppost to leech its power and the other one pointed straight toward me. Her hair was a little frazzled, her body still charged with electricity as little drifts of smoke wafted off her fingers. Before I could think of anything to say to her, I remembered I wasn’t alone in the graveyard. I turned my attention back to my immediate surroundings. The rest of the swirling ghosts were still in here with me. I knelt down to dig my bat out from where it had been buried in the stony remains. Once I had it free, I stood up and started tapping it on one of the still-intact gravestones.

“Listen up, you unliving sons of bitches,” I said, trying to sound as commanding as Connor when he dealt with spirits. “Everyone back to your resting place . . . now.”

I hoped it would work, but I honestly wasn’t sure it would. I pressed on. “Look what happened to your two friends here. You looking to step up and take a shot? It’s just the two of us against all of you. The little lady packs just as good—if not better—a wallop as I do, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to mess with her. So here’s what I’m going to do.” I pointed at the body slumped by the base of the mausoleum. “I’m going to remove this intruder now, okay? Once he’s gone, you can all rest in peace. This ends here, tonight. I’m taking care of this.”

My body ached and my nerves were shot. If the spirits didn’t obey, I was probably going to collapse soon. The apparitions paused in their tornado of activity, then ever so slowly one by one began heading back into their specific graves. A sense of momentary relief washed over me.

Now there was only the intruder to think about. I went to him as Jane threw open the gates of the graveyard and ran toward us. When I reached the figure, he was face-down next to a gravestone that was splattered with flecks of blood.

Please don’t let him be dead, whoever he is. I need answers.

I reached for the figure, but an overwhelming smell rose from him and I gagged. Patchouli, just like the scent we used to trap and control ghosts for the Department of Extraordinary Affairs. The only person I knew who carried that much on him was . . .

“Connor?” I said, rolling the figure over.

4

It was Connor, not that I would have recognized him at first glance. He had a thick, unkempt beard now and his hair was a gnarled, matted mess, even the signature white stripes running through it. Blood covered his face.

“Oh, my God,” Jane said. “Is he alive?”

“I think so,” I said. “Give me a hand.”

Jane joined me and we sat Connor up until he was able to rest his back against the wall of the mausoleum. Every move caused him to groan and hiss out in pain. But even though most of his face and his eyes were swollen shut, he was smiling. He was barely able to open them, but when he did, there was madness in them.

“I had ’em on the ropes, kid,” he croaked out. His voice sounded tired, his words thick, as if he were speaking through a mouthful of blood.

“Uh-huh,” I said, taking a closer look at his face. Once I got past the blood, the damage looked like it might just be a few scrapes, cuts, and swelling. “Forgive my skepticism, Connor, but what ropes did you have him up against? The soft, fluffy kind? It looks like you’re the one crumpled on the ground. I’d say the spirits had the upper hand.”

Jane and I each grabbed an arm and stood Connor up. He winced. “Matter of perspective, I suppose,” he said, fighting to keep his balance.

I looked around the graveyard. Already the limited power of my commands was wearing on the ghosts, and all around us the ethereal figures of the long-dead began to once again crawl their way out of their graves.

“Let’s move him,” I said to Jane. “Now.”

She hesitated, uncertainty showing in her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to not move someone this badly injured? He’s really hurt, Simon.”

“Look around us,” I said. “I’ll take my chances with whatever injuries he has over what this crowd will cook up for vengeance if we don’t get out of here stat.”

Jane gave a pained smile. “Fair point, sweetie.” She put one of Connor’s arms over her shoulder and started carrying him out with me.

“Thank you,” I said. Our group limp toward the open gates was maddeningly slow. “Besides, he’s my partner. If I let him die here, I’ll be the only one left to finish all that paperwork and I’ll be damned if I let that happen.”

“Yer all heart, kid,” Connor said, laughing through gritted teeth. It sounded like the rattling of bones.

Rule one while hailing a cab with a bloodied man? Let the woman stand alone at the curb to flag one down. Connor and I waited in the shadow of the church. As soon as a cab pulled over, Jane got in as Connor and I scrambled out of the shadows toward it. I helped the barely conscious Connor get in, then jumped in after him, slamming the door shut behind me.

The driver looked back at the three of us with skepticism on his face, but when I shoved a fifty through the partition at him, he was happy to take us up the West Side Highway to Connor’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. As soon as the cab started moving, Connor passed out and we rode in silence until the driver turned onto Fifty-fourth and pulled up in front of Connor’s apartment building between Tenth and Ninth avenues.

I found Connor’s keys in the pocket of his blood-covered trench coat and cycled through them until one of them unlocked the door leading into his empty lobby. We leaned him against the elevator wall as we rode up, thankful that no one was around. When we reached Connor’s floor, Jane and I helped him out of the elevator, but by the time we reached his apartment door, Jane looked ready to drop.

“Oh, my God,” Jane said, straining under Connor’s deadweight. “It’s like having a two-hundred-pound baby. I’m so not changing his diaper.”

I propped Connor against the wall as I determined which key would unlock the door.

“At his age, they’re called Depends,” I said, finally finding the right key.

Jane laughed, and Connor’s head stirred.

“I can still hear, you know,” he muttered. “And when I’m feeling better, I’ve got an ass kicking ready just for you, kid.”

“You’ve had enough ass kicking for today,” I said, “most of it on the receiving end.” I turned the lock and the door swung open. “Let’s get you inside and sit you down.”

I reached just inside the door and felt around, flicking the switch I found to light up Connor’s living room. The room lit up. All along the exposed-brick walls of the main room were vintage movie posters, many of them featuring Connor’s fave, Humphrey Bogart. Another wall was completely white, doubling as a built-in movie screen with a set of four deluxe theater seats right in front of it. Jane looked impressed.

“This is better than the IMAX at Lincoln Center,” she said. Jane stepped into the room but stopped immediately. I wondered why, but a second later, I knew.

Something sour filled the air, like milk or cheese gone bad. Half-empty pizza boxes were stacked everywhere like a creepy game of trash-inspired Jenga. This level of disarray was a total departure from Connor’s anally organized desk back at the office.

“Sorry ’bout the mess,” he said. “If I had known I was having company, I would have bulldozed.”

A lone leather couch ran along the opposite wall and we deposited Connor down onto it. I clicked on a lamp next to it, angling it to look at his face. Apart from the eyes swollen shut, it looked like there was more blood than actual damage, which was good. I looked up at Jane.

“You wanna check his bathroom for some kind of first-aid supplies? Gauze, bandages, anything . . .”

“Is that part of your nurse fantasy?” she said, but headed off into the apartment to find the bathroom.

“Ix-nay on the urse-nay in front of our work colleague, hon,” I called out after her.

“Seriously,” Connor muttered. “I’d hate to add vomit to all this mess just because of your cutesiness.”

I pulled off my coat and laid it over one of the theater chairs before kneeling down next to Connor.

“So, I said, looking for further signs of damage. “Is that the sort of thing you’ve been doing with your time off?”

“What the hell do you care?” Connor said. The sudden venom in his voice made me pull back. It was quite unlike the Connor I was used to. “How I spend my vacation time from work is my business. Hell, I’ve accrued more than enough time off in the past five years.”

“That’s the thing, Connor,” I said. I looked him dead in the eye. “You don’t really take vacation . . . like, ever. And then you take almost a whole month at once? I mean, look at your place. This isn’t like you at all.”

Connor looked away. I wanted answers, but that didn’t seem to matter to him. Instead, he sat there in silence as we waited for Jane. She returned with an armful of plastic bottles, a few tubes of ointment, and a few boxes of gauze pads and Band-Aids.

“Will this do?” she asked, dropping it all on the couch next to Connor.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

I grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, poured it onto one of the larger gauze pads, and used it to wipe away some of the blood on Connor’s face. Little pockets of bubbles arose to show where the skin was broken. Connor let out a slow deep breath.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No worries,” Connor said. “It’s all my own doing.”

“Yeah, about that,” I said, switching to a fresh pad of gauze. “Just what the hell was all that about in the graveyard, anyway? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

Connor shook his head and I had to adjust my dabbing before more blood could run into his scruffy beard. “It’s not a death wish, kid. I was Knocking.”

Jane had also taken up some gauze and dabbed at one of the cuts on Connor’s left hand. “Knocking?” she asked.

Connor turned to look at her through the tiny gaps of his puffed-up eyes. “Drawing spirits back to their grave,” he explained. “And then out of them.”

Jane looked horrified. Her eyes crunched up with distaste. “Why on earth would you do something like that? Why would anybody?”

She poured hydrogen peroxide into one of the deeper cuts across his knuckles. Connor hissed and laid his head back against the arm of his couch. “Ask your boyfriend about that. He’s been on the job long enough now. Should be able to Poirot it out for himself.”

Jane turned to me and I felt the sudden pressure to perform like a trained animal, but I needed to know, too. What had brought Connor to this point? Why this whole disconnect from the world for the past month? What had happened? Then it hit me.

“This is about your brother, isn’t it?”

Connor’s silence was confirmation enough.

After a few moments, he finally spoke up. “We had Aidan’s address . . .”

“No,” I said, interrupting. “We had an envelope we found in the madness that was Cyrus Mandalay’s messed-up art show invitations.” Aidan had disappeared twenty-two years ago at the beach, and no one had ever been able to turn up a lead . . . until we’d found that envelope.

“We had an address,” he repeated, almost as if he wasn’t hearing me. His eyes looked frantic, mad.

I grabbed Connor by the shoulders and forced him to look at me. “You know what we found there,” I said. “Nothing. That building had been torn down years ago. All that we found was some half-constructed eyesore on the Manhattan skyline that took up most of the city block.”

Connor looked into my eyes, then closed his, not wanting to look at me. Tears rolled down his face. Gone was the man I called my mentor.

“I don’t get it,” I said, standing up. I turned to Jane. “He’s always been stronger than this. Why now? His brother was already missing for twenty-two years. I can’t believe that one piece of false hope now has driven him to all this.”

Seeing my frustration, Jane put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. We stood there listening to the sound of Connor’s hitched breathing for several moments until he spoke again.

“The dreams . . .” he said, wiping at his eyes.

Jane and I looked at each other, then down at Connor. He pulled his ruined trench coat around himself like a blanket and curled up on the couch.

“What was that?” I said, leaning closer. He started to shake a little, making him look like a junkie just about ready to crawl out of his skin. “Hey, easy, now . . . What did you just say?”

Connor ran his hand through his beard as he attempted to compose himself a little. Jane sat down on the couch next to him and ran her hand over his head. This seemed to calm him long enough so he could speak.

“I’ve been having the same dream lately,” he said. “I don’t know if we’re talking prophecy or what, but it just keeps happening over and over.”

I let out a sigh of frustration. Dreams were a huge source of interpretable material. According to one of the Departmental pamphlets I had read, “Honk-shus & Hibernation: A Guide to Interpretation,” they could mean any number of things. And sometimes they meant nothing at all.

Jane continued to soothe Connor. “Why don’t you tell us about it?” Jane suggested.

Connor looked calmer. He took a moment to compose himself and then sat up.

“You remember that book with the vampires taking over that small New England town?” he asked. “They did, like, two different movies of it.”

Although I wasn’t half the movie buff Connor was, I had seen them both and I nodded. “Salem’s Lot. I think I may even have a copy back at the apartment in the stacks of psychometric collectibles that I still need to sort out. What about it?”

“The dream is kind of like that,” he said, “only it doesn’t take place in rural Maine. It happens here at my apartment. In the dream, I wake up in my bed to a tapping against the glass of my window, and I look over, and it’s like the movie. There’s a kid floating outside my window only it’s not the one from the movie; it’s my brother, Aidan . . . He’s whispering and begging me to let him in. Only I won’t. Something in my brain won’t let me . . .”

“That’s your training in Other Division,” I offered. “Even in dreams, your subconscious mind has a resistance to such a suggestion.”

I breathed an inner sigh of relief. At least Connor’s subconscious was capable of stepping in line with Department policy. There was hope the rest of him could be brought back in line as well.

“Maybe that’s it.” Connor nodded, looking a bit better for having confessed all this to us. “When I wake up in the morning, I’m exhausted . . . but I find myself compelled by the dreams. So I’ve been searching him out in the spirit world, hoping I could find something out on him one way or another. I have to know if he’s dead or not or if I’m just going crazy.”

“And that’s why you’ve been Knocking,” Jane said, her voice soft and reassuring. “You’re hoping that maybe the lingering dead have news of him passing over.”

Connor nodded again. He looked drained still, but at least a little more at peace for confessing to us. He lay back down on the couch. Within seconds his breath slowed and he was deep asleep.

“Should we move him?” I whispered to Jane.

Jane tucked his trench coat up around his neck and stood up from the couch. “I don’t think I can lift him again, Simon, and frankly I don’t think we should wake him.”

“Fair point,” I said. I checked his face. “I think most of the bleeding has stopped anyway. I say we let him sleep it off. In the meantime, I really think we need to get some sleep of our own. I’ll talk to the Inspectre about this tomorrow. Do you mind if we scrap date night and turn in early? I’m not sure I can feel my spine right now.”

Jane looked a little sad, but managed a wan smile. She nodded.

“It’s okay,” she said. “All the ghosts, gargoyles, and blood were enough theatrics for one night. And probably more entertaining than Mamma Mia would have been anyway.”

5

The next morning I got up early and headed to the East Village and the Department of Extraordinary Affairs while Jane headed to Tome, Sweet Tome. At this time of morning, the Lovecraft Café was already filled with hipsters and wannabe writers all searching for inspiration. I was still groggy and a bit beat-up from last night so I grabbed a frozen iced coffee in the café section before heading back to the offices.

The Silence of the Lambs had already moved on from the theater. This morning a few patrons were scattered around the theater watching The Lost Boys up on the big screen. Kiefer Sutherland was playing mind games with the lead character, making him eat a rice container full of maggots, which always turned my stomach. I looked away and kept walking until I was back in the offices

Thankfully, they were quiet this time of the morning. It was easier to concentrate that way and I welcomed the silence as I filled out yet another incident report for the Inspectre to look over when he got in.

My brain was numb after a half hour of writing the incident out and documenting it on several sub forms. Even though it was early, I already felt a little slaphappy. In the “Special Notes” section of the form, I couldn’t help but add:

GARGOYLES! JUST LIKE FROM THE ANIMATED SERIES!!

Well, not quite like the animated series, I thought as I headed upstairs to drop the report off outside the Inspectre’s office.

I slid the report under the Inspectre’s door. This was the second time in two days that I had done so and a strange sense of déjà vu washed over me. I felt like I was turning a college paper in late, but all thoughts of gargoyles left my brain when the Inspectre’s door creaked slowly open on its own.

When I stood up and looked in, I saw that Inspectre Quimbley was already in his office, leaning against his desk. And he was not alone. A vaguely familiar dark-skinned woman with black shoulder-length hair was leaning on the desk next to him, in a modern tan pantsuit that sat well on her slim frame. She was in her late thirties, early forties tops, but her eyes looked a thousand years old, and she wore a silver necklace stamped with a circular pattern on its pendant. The two of them had been reading a file together when they noticed me and stopped.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t expect anyone up and about this early. Well, aside from the graveyard shift wrapping some things up . . .”

“Haroom,” the Inspectre said, looking a little flustered. He fussed with his mustache, brushing it between his thumb and forefinger. “Yes, well, no doubt most of them are freshly returned from actual graveyards . . .”

I stifled a groan at his attempt at humor, and the woman next to him didn’t even react to it. She just kept on staring at me.

“I don’t believe we’ve officially met,” I said. I pulled one of my gloves off, crossed to the woman, and took her hand in mine. “I’m Simon Canderous, Other Division.” Her grip was strong but warm.

She looked at me with a gentle smile and deep brown eyes. “I’m Allorah Daniels,” she said. “We’ve met.”

I cocked my head at her. “We have?”

The woman nodded. “We have,” she said. “I remember you. You’re the one who captured Faisal Bane and brought him back here.”

For a brief moment, I felt a little like a rock star for having captured the head of the Sectarian Defense League. First the ghosts had heard of me; now this. “Ah,” I said, “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Allorah lowered her hand and leaned back against the Inspectre’s desk. “I seem to recall that when the Enchancellors were questioning Mr. Bane, you . . . tackled him. Yes?”

My momentary swell of pride disappeared in an instant. “Rumors of my football prowess in the workplace are greatly exaggerated,” I said.

Allorah smiled again, this time looking a bit less gentle than before. “I wasn’t talking about rumors here, Mr. Canderous. I was there.”

“You saw the actual incident?” I repeated. A realization hit me. “Then that means you’re . . .”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I’m one of the Enchancellors.”

I looked to the Inspectre, but he was shaking his head and trying to suppress a laugh.

“You’re so . . . young,” I said, fumbling, “To be fair, it wasn’t so much of a tackle . . . More of a man hug, really.”

“And why on earth did you do that?” she asked. All of a sudden I felt like I was on the spot, giving testimonial in front of the Enchancellorship again.

“I’m psychometric,” I said, “and Faisal Bane wasn’t willing to share his knowledge, but there were just some things I needed to know.”

“Fascinating,” she said, but I couldn’t read anything in her tone this time.

I turned to the Inspectre, feeling a little jumpy and still a bit slaphappy from earlier. “I’m not in some kind of trouble, am I? Because if I am, you’d better just set fire to all that paperwork I still have to do and light the rest of the place ablaze if you expect me to . . .”

Inspectre Quimbley put his hand on my arm, giving me a sense of instant reassurance. “Relax, my boy,” he said. “You’re not in any kind of trouble. This is about the report you turned in last night before heading out.”

I relaxed a little. “About the incident at the grocery store,” I said.

“Yes.” The Inspectre nodded. “I was just consulting with Enchancellor Daniels on it.”

Allorah looked back down at the file in her hands and flipped through it. “When going over case files, I like to keep my eyes out for certain watchwords. I especially take an interest when I see words like ‘garlic’ and ‘fangs’ popping up in an incident report.”

“Vampires?” I asked. I shook my head. “Look, I know I’ve never seen or encountered one before, but if you’re thinking this thing is a vampire, let me stop you. By no definition was this thing that attacked us remotely the living dead. I get that vampires don’t run around wearing capes and making quips about not drinking wine at dinner parties, but this thing wasn’t even close to human like they are.”

Allorah looked up from the file. “I can read, you know. I see your description of the creature here.”

“Look,” I said, frustrated. “No offense, but I’m a bit hesitant to call something vampiric these days. I was the guy who called ‘vampires’ a few months back, remember? If I seem a bit wary, it’s because I haven’t really finished wiping the egg off my face over that yet. And while it was my bad call, the Enchancellors took their sweet time trying to ramp themselves up to action. You’ll forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical about them making a good call on this.”

“Mr. Canderous,” Allorah said, sharpness thick in her tone this time. “I’m not here as an Enchancellor.”

“Oh, no?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Not at this time, anyway. I’m here because Argyle asked me to look at this. I’m here because I’m the resident vampire-hunting expert.”

I went to speak, but realized I had nothing to actually say. I was taken aback. After a moment, by way of apology, I said, “I didn’t even know we had one of those. Sorry.”

Allorah gave me a thin-lipped smile. “I’d thank you to leave any deducing about what is and isn’t a vampire up to me, then,” she said. “Or would you rather I rely on the judgment of a man who can’t tell the difference between a chupacabra and the living dead?”

I held up my hands. “Hey, all yours,” I said. “Contrary to what you may have heard, I’m not interested in hogging all the fame and glory around here. I just want to get that thing that attacked me and my fellow agent off the street.”

Allorah softened when she heard that. “Good,” she said, going back to the file once again. “Now, you saw only one?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Only the one. Do you think there’s more? Do you really think it’s vampires?”

“I won’t rule out the possibility until I know more,” she said. “I trust you still have your clothes from last night?”

I nodded. “What’s left of them,” I said. “Yes.”

“What’s left of them?” she said.

I reached over to the folder she held and flipped a few pages forward. “I believe it’s on page four or five. The ‘battery acid’ incident.”

Allorah scanned the page. “Ah,” she said. “So I see.” She read in silence for a moment. “I’ll need you to hand those over. You know, it is customary to bring in evidence when it pertains to a case.”

“I’ll bring them in tomorrow,” I said, feeling a bit nervous now. “You know, if they haven’t dissolved.”

“See that you do,” she said, closing the folder and sliding it under her arm. “If you gentleman will excuse me, I believe I shall take my leave of you before Mr. Canderous here says anything that might cause me to report to the Enchancellors. I’ll be off in my lab if you need me, Argyle.”

The Inspectre nodded. I didn’t dare speak for the strange lump of fear that was forming in my throat. Also, not speaking might ensure that I got to keep my job.

Allorah headed out of the Inspectre’s office, leaving the two of us alone.

“You’ll have to forgive Allorah,” he said once she had headed off down the stairs. “She can be a bit abrasive when it comes to the V word.” The Inspectre pointed at the file I had slid under his door when I had first arrived. “I take it this is about the call I sent you on last night?”

I nodded, then turned and picked up the file. The Inspectre moved to sit down at his desk and I crossed to it, putting the file there before him. He pulled out a pair of reading glasses from the inside pocket of his coat and slid them on before reading the report. When he was done, he flipped the folder closed.

“Connor, eh?” he said, grave. “I knew he was having a tough time after not finding his brother, but little did I imagine the old pro would go so off the deep end.”

“Jane and I have him sleeping it off,” I said, “but I think we need to get him some help.”

Inspectre Quimbley looked hesitant. “Well, that’s a bit of a sticky wicket.”

“What is?”

He pushed the folder off to one side of his desk. “Technically, Connor is on leave from the Department,” he said. “He’s earned that time and he’s taking it. In that regard, there’s nothing we can do in an official capacity. Once he’s back here at Other Division, well, then, then we can take action.”

“And how long does he have left?” I asked.

The Inspectre went to an old wooden filing cabinet off to one side of the room. He pulled it open and flipped through the files within it for several seconds before finding what he was looking for.

“Connor’s service records,” he said. He sat back down at his desk and looked through the folder. “Ah, here we go. He’s accumulated quite a bit of rollover time in Other Division.”

“How much longer does he have off?”

“If he so chooses to take it all at once,” the Inspectre said, “another month.”

“Another month?” I repeated. “He’ll be ready for Bellevue by then!”

“Hold on, my boy,” the Inspectre said. “I said there was nothing we could do in an official capacity. I didn’t say we were going to ignore him.”

I sat down in the chair across from him, leaning in. “So what, then?”

“Since you’re part of the Fraternal Order of Goodness, I think it’s well within your job description to keep an eye on him.”

“Is it?”

“Us F.O.G.gies operate in an unofficial capacity a good percentage of the time,” he said. “The Department can’t do anything while Connor is on leave, but you can.”

“What can I do?” I asked. “It’s not like the Order has put me through any kind of psychology boot camp.”

“It needn’t be that complex, my boy,” he said. He sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “Be his friend. Take an interest. For instance, when was the last time the two of you had a social engagement together?”

I thought back. “I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe a few weeks before he took his leave. After we hit a dead end tracking down his brother. He’s a very private person.”

“Most of us who are drawn to the Department are,” he said. “I think a lot of darkness forces people into the light that is this profession.”

I considered his words. It was certainly true in my case. My own history as an ex-thief was a testament to that. When my old career criminal squeeze Mina Saria had come back from my past and threw her personal chaos my way, how hard had I tried to keep that part from everyone at the Department? Pretty damned hard.

“I’ve been an awful friend,” I said. “I didn’t notice any of this happening to him. It doesn’t seem like he’s been out of the office all that long. Time’s been flying by in a flash, what with having to pick up his caseload . . .”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much over it,” the Inspectre said. He reached for another folder and started looking through it. “Just do something about it.”

I nodded, standing up. The Inspectre went back to his folder without another word. I took my cue to leave, not relishing at all the taste of my foot in my mouth from talking with Allorah. It was something that had been happening less and less with my time in Other Division, but it still was all too familiar for my liking.

6

My workday turned into a work night, leaving me with a fine array of paper cuts to show for hours of filing, but I was thankful to have my head down in the paperwork all day. At least then I couldn’t risk embarrassing myself in front of any of the Enchancellors. By the time I finally gave up on processing reports and headed home, it was nearly ten. I was thrilled to see Jane was still up, waiting for me in a JOSS WHEDON IS MY MASTER NOW tank top. She sat cross-legged on the old-school leather couch in the center of my faux gentleman’s club common room. Her laptop was balanced across her legs and miniature firework displays were shooting off of the screen and bursting a foot above my couch.

“Nice trick,” I said. “Hope your technomancy’s not scorching my furniture.”

“It’s harmless,” she said, closing her laptop. The fire-works vanished as the screen clicked shut. “More of a light show than actual pyrotechnics.” Jane patted her hand on the empty spot next to her. “I take it your Olympic-level caseload went well today?”

“Kinda,” I said. I pulled off my jacket, a fresh array of pains shooting throughout my body from yesterday’s gargoyle attack mixed with being hunched over my desk all day. “Had a lovely chat with one of the Enchancellors today about the grocery store incident. Allorah Daniels. She’s about a billion years younger than the rest of them.”

Jane’s face fell serious. “Why do the Enchancellors care about our case?” she asked. Jane sounded nervous. Apparently, she was just as wary as I was when the eyes of the über-bosses were upon us.

“They probably wouldn’t be taking notice,” I said, “but Allorah’s a vampire hunter on top of her Enchancellorship. I wonder if that doubles her pay scale.”

“Really?” Jane said, giving a surprised smile. “I thought they bred Enchancellors to be a bunch of stuffed-shirt bureaucrats?”

“Not this one,” I said. I threw my coat onto one of the hooks by the front door and joined Jane on the couch. “But I did get schooled on vampires. Allorah thinks that the creature from the store has a thing or two in common with them. If you ask me, that monstrosity didn’t look a thing like Frank Langella or Gary Oldman. Oh, remind me in the morning that I have to bring those clothes from last night in tomorrow.”

“Will do,” Jane said, giving me a salute.

When I was finally seated, she leaned over and gave me a quick kiss, then looked past me toward the entrance to my apartment.

“Wow,” she said. “One whole month without having your door smashed in, huh? Is that some kind of record?”

“Well, you’ve got a key now,” I said, “and Mina’s disappeared off the face of the planet, so that insures my safety a little bit. That, and I had the Inspectre take my name out of the ‘Hottest Places for Cultists to Visit’ directory . . .”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Hon, I know I’m going to regret asking this, but in our line of work I just have to . . . Please tell me you just made that up.”

“I think I did,” I said. My back ached and I settled back into the couch a little. “I’m so exhausted right now, I’m not sure. Check the box of departmental pamphlets on the bookshelf over there.”

Jane’s eyes settled on my wall-to-wall shelves of psychometrically assessed antiques, collectibles, and books, half of which I meant to turn a profit on if I could find the right dealers. The stuff was piling up, threatening to take over, and Jane scrunched up her face up at it. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“If you get the sudden urge to tidy up,” I said, knowing the type of response my faux chauvinism would provoke, “be my guest. Really, the place still needs a woman’s touch.”

Jane gave me a dark but playful look, her eyes burning into mine.

“Oh, I’ll touch you, all right,” she said. Jane leapt at me, knocking me back and onto the couch.

I hissed out a breath as my muscles screamed out in every direction at once. Jane immediately pulled herself up into a sitting position on top of me.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping I sounded a little manlier than I felt. “My arms and shoulders are sore. Guess I was just swinging my bat a little more enthusiastically at those gargoyles last night than I thought. At least, I hope it’s from all that. I refuse to blame any of my aches and pains on today’s paper shuffling.”

Jane’s hands ran up my chest and onto my shoulders. She started rubbing them and I let my head fall back, my eyes sliding shut.

“Mmm,” I said. “You’re so much better than Connor at this.”

“I should hope so,” she said, giving me a hard squeeze. “And ew.”

“Sorry.” I moved to sit up. “We really should get some sleep. I’ve got to meet with Enchancellor Daniels to go through the remains of my clothes from the other night, and then there’s more follow-up paperwork on the whole churchyard incident. On top of all that, I think I should put aside a little time to figure out just what the hell is going on with Connor.”

“We can go to bed,” Jane said, standing up and taking me by the hand, “but I don’t know about sleeping.”

Jane pulled me to my feet and led me off in the direction of my bedroom, running her hand along the walls in a seductive manner. Even the way she flicked the lights off was a turn-on. When we reached my bedroom, she flicked on the lights and turned to make sure I was watching. She reached behind her back, unzipped her skirt, and let it slide to the floor. She leaned over, showing off her curves, then picked the skirt up and laid it over the back of one of the chairs.

Next, she undid her ponytail, letting her hair fall over her shoulders.

Without looking away, I started undressing, undoing my belt and unbuttoning my pants . . . only to realize my bat was still holstered to the belt I was wearing. The weight of it pulled my pants to the floor, accompanied by a dull metallic clang, the bat rolling back and forth on the hardwood floor.

“Sorry . . .” I started to say, but Jane simply raised a finger to her lips to shush me. The woman was determined. Who was I to stop her?

I pulled my shirt off as she did hers, leaving her standing there in formfitting red lingerie that definitely had my attention. Jane walked toward me and kissed me deep, pushing me gently toward the edge of the bed. I fell back onto it and her body pressed down on top of mine.

Jane reached out toward one of the bedside lamps, her eyes sliding shut as she concentrated. A tiny string of electronic-sounding gibberish whispered out of her lips and every light in the room turned off.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling even though she couldn’t see me. “Just what I wanted. My own personal Clapper.”

When my eyes finally adjusted to the dark several seconds later, I could see Jane and she wasn’t smiling.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “I’m sorry. Is it because I called you something from the ‘As Seen on TV’ commercials . . . ?”

Jane put her hands on my chest as if to calm me. A lingering hint of electricity jumped between us, sending a different sort of tingle through my body from the one she was already giving me.

“It’s not that,” she said.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m sorry to ruin the moment, but I just had a thought about what you said right before I dragged you off to bed,” she said, “about Connor.”

Normally the last thing I wanted to hear about in my bed was another man, but the look of concern on Jane’s face pushed aside all that.

“What about him?”

Jane rolled off of me, slipped out of bed, and headed back over toward her clothes hanging from the chair.

“You’re right,” she said. “We need to be thinking about what we can do to help him.”

“I’m sure it can wait till morning,” I said. “Not to be insensitive, but he’s probably sleeping right now anyway.”

“That’s just it,” she said. “He hasn’t been sleeping, remember?”

“He’s been having those dreams he told us about . . .”

“But what if Connor’s not dreaming?” she said, pulling on her shirt. “What if what he told us he dreamt about is actually happening to him?”

The implication hit me and I was out of the bed like a shot, all thoughts of the pleasure I had just been about to experience pushed aside. I headed over to the bottom drawer of my dresser, rooting through it before opting for black jeans and a black T-shirt. This felt like a covert-ops kind of scenario, anyway.

After I put them on, I turned to Jane. She was sliding on her skirt, but ditched it when she saw what I was wearing. We were already at the her-own-drawer stage of our relationship so she walked over, pulled hers open, and fished out a pair of dark capris. When she was done pulling them on, we looked like a pair of German nihilists.

“Now is time on Sprockets when we dance?” she said.

I shook my head.

“Not quite,” I said, picking up my bat and looping it back onto my belt. “Now is time when we spy.”

7

“Hell’s Kitchen,” Jane said, checking up and down the darkened street for the hundredth time. “It’s not so bad, you know, given the name and all.”

Jane and I were in surveillance mode. We stood on Fifty-ninth Street pretending to hang out, leaning against a wall where we could keep an eye on most of Connor’s building. The streets were relatively quiet for this time of night. Even the cars were few and far between.

“You should have seen this neighborhood a decade ago,” I said. “It was pretty grizzly. I haven’t checked with Godfrey Candella down in the Gauntlet, but I bet if I asked our resident archivist, he’d tell us there used to be a demonic vortex here.”

Jane looked up at the building standing across the street from us. “Which one is Connor’s apartment again? It’s hard to tell from the outside.”

I pulled her closer to me and pointed up to a window just in view along the left side of the building. I counted up three floors. “There,” I said.

“I don’t suppose that’s Connor, then.”

“What?” I asked. “Where?” It was dark inside Connor’s apartment.

Jane grabbed my face and forced my eyes to the side of Connor’s window. She held out her finger in front of me so I could follow it. “There.”

“I don’t see anything . . .” I said, but stopped myself. One of the shadows outside Connor’s window moved. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now I could make out what looked like a human figure inching along the brickwork. It stopped at Connor’s window and rested its arms along his window ledge.

“What is that?” Jane asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m curious enough to find out.”

I pulled off the lid of a nearby garbage can as slowly and quietly as I could. I was thrilled to see it full of recyclables. I pulled an old Snapple bottle out of it, took aim, and threw it across the street toward the figure, hoping to miss accidentally putting it through Connor’s window. Some of my extracurricular training for the Fraternal Order of Goodness must have paid off, because I hit the shadowy figure square between its shoulders.

“Hey, dick,” I shouted up to it. “You wanna come down here the easy way or the hard way? I got a trash can full of options right here.”

Like a nimble monkey, the figure descended the three stories in seconds, dropping the last ten feet or so to the sidewalk. He took off down the street.

“Either that dude has been spending a lot of time at Chelsea Piers on the rock-climbing walls,” I said, “or we’re dealing with Spider-Man.” I turned to Jane. “That might be cool.”

Jane grabbed my face, and pointed off. The figure was already halfway down the block.

“Focus, hon,” she said.

“Right,” I said, taking off after the figure. “Sorry.”

The guy was damn fast, darting in and out of traffic as he sprinted away. Already my legs were burning, but we were gaining on him. Not that I could make out much about him save that he was dressed for stealth much the same way we were.

After the first two city blocks, my body started giving out. My back still ached like hell, but I focused on our pursuit and pushed past the pain. I was closing the distance. The figure turned again and darted off across traffic, heading along the length of a sleek steel building on the other side of the street.

“Watch the traffic!” I shouted back to Jane and, ignoring my own advice, dove between two cabs that both laid on the horn for a solid ten seconds. By the time they stopped, I was almost caught up to the figure when he turned the corner at the end of the block.

I rounded it seconds later, recognizing in an instant where we were—the west side of Columbus Circle. As I tried to close the distance once again, I couldn’t help but notice the single building straight ahead that took up the entire city block. The front of it was an enormous glass pyramid like the one at the Louvre in France, and it dwarfed the buildings to either side of it. A dozen massive towers shot out of the top of the pyramid, rising high into the night, the entire structure looking like a city unto itself.

The figure dashed for a set of ten-foot-high steel doors off to the far left from the main entrance of the building proper. He flung them open and ran through, stopping only long enough to pull them shut behind him.

I beat Jane to them by a couple seconds and I pulled at the doors, but they were locked, as I suspected. When Jane arrived, she looked as winded as I felt.

“Remind me to leave a pair of cross-trainers at your apartment,” she said, gasping for air. “The shoes I’m wearing are so not made for long-distance running.”

She pointed toward a faceplate set into the wall that blended in with a subtlety that spoke of craftsmanship.

“Can you open it?”

I looked at it for a moment before shaking my head. “I can’t use my psychometry on it. It’s a pad for a keycard like we have on the door to the offices. It’s not like a numeric lock where I can use my power to see the code of the last person who entered. It also means I can’t pick it.”

“Crap,” she said, then looked around. She pointed off to a set of doors set into the tinted glass of the main pyramid area. Two men in identical suits stood sentry there like they were bouncers at a nightclub.

As we approached the doors, I looked the two of them over. They were both huge with black hair, though the larger one had his in a military cut and the other wore his a little longer, though still neat. Both of them looked straight out of a casting call for Men in Black 3.

I walked up to the doors with as much authority as my status in a secret paranormal investigative office held. In response, the two men stepped in front of the doors that led into what looked like a deserted shopping atrium. Neither of them looked very impressed.

“Can we help you?” the longer-haired one said. I held my ID out to him.

“We’re with the Department of Extraordinary Affairs,” I said, “in pursuit of a suspect.”

He took it from me and examined it. Jane was fishing around in the messenger bag she wore strapped across her body and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

“My bad,” she said. She handed the paper to the larger of the two guards. “Mine’s only provisional for now until I get my honest-to-goodness badge. But it’s legit, I swear.”

The larger gentleman smiled at her, looked it over, and then took mine from the other guy. He folded them neatly closed and handed them back to us.

“Sorry,” the bigger guy said. “I’m afraid those won’t work here.”

“I’m sorry?” I said. That took me aback. I was suddenly pissed. “Weren’t you listening? We’re in the middle of an investigation.”

“This building here?” he said, gesturing behind him, a bit of rental-cop authority in his voice. “This entire area falls outside of your jurisdiction.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. I pointed to the emblem of the City of New York on my ID. “All of New York City is part of my jurisdiction. I may need a warrant to search private property, but I am getting in here.”

The big guy shook his head. His partner cleared his throat. “You’re familiar with that whole section of the city over by the United Nations, yes? Where all the embassies are?”

I nodded.

“Well, then,” he continued, “think of this area like one of those embassies. They’re off-limits to local police and such. They’re considered to be the sovereign land of the actual countries they represent. The Gibson-Case Center is kind of like that. Other than the public shopping areas, which are closed right now. Either way, you can’t enter. We’re under special permit from the Mayor’s Office.”

I stood there, silently fuming at their rebuke.

“Let’s just go,” Jane said, taking me by the arm.

“Fine,” I said, hissing the words out between clenched teeth. I gave the guards a final stare as Jane led us away down the sidewalk.

“Get a grip, will you?” she whispered. “You’re so riled.”

“I want to know who’s messing with my partner,” I said, rationalizing my behavior.

“That’s all well and good, sweetie, but you’re not getting answers from those brutes.”

“Who the hell am I supposed to get them from, then?”

Jane stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, spun in front of me, and suddenly kissed me, deep. After a long and blissful moment, she pulled away and looked at me.

“Calm now?”

I nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Now, as I was saying, those guys aren’t going to give you the answers you’re seeking, but they did say something promising.”

My mind was swimming from everything, including the kiss. “Do tell.”

“Now, what did they say?” she asked. “They said the Gibson-Case Center was under special permit with the Mayor’s Office, which means . . . ?”

“Dave Davidson at the Mayor’s Office of Plausible Deniability,” I said, feeling a momentary jolt of joy. Finally there would be someone I could yell at to get results.

8

The next morning I made sure to wrap up my dissolving clothes from the grocery store attack for Enchancellor Daniels. I threw them in my messenger bag and headed out with Jane, hoping to catch up with Dave Davidson at his offices downtown on Centre Street near City Hall. These “real” government offices were huge, ancient buildings that dwarfed everything around them, including those of our hidden labyrinth of fringe government. After about twenty minutes of wandering the empty halls of 42 Centre Street with nothing but the sound of our footsteps echoing out, Jane and I came to a door marked MAYOR’S OFFICE OF PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY. In his role as liaison to the Mayor, Dave Davidson constantly came up to the Lovecraft Café for his dealings with the D.E.A., but given our need for urgency, we couldn’t wait for him to simply show up at random.

Without knocking, Jane and I tried the door, found it unlocked, and entered. We were met by the sight of David Davidson sitting at his desk. As usual, he was dressed to the nines, this time in a well-tailored dark blue business suit. His tie was knotted perfectly as always and his black hair, gray at the temples, was neatly parted. Startled by our sudden interruption, Davidson bolted up from his chair and was already backing away. Reaching back onto a shelf behind his desk, he grabbed a large Lucite award of some kind and drew it in front of him.

“Oh,” he said, lowering it when noticed who we were. “It’s only you. Hello, Simon. Jane. What brings Other Division and Greater and Lesser Arcana down here so early? Or at all?”

I walked right up to his desk. He must have sensed something in my look because he raised the hefty award again.

“How’s the plausible-deniability business these days, Davidson?” I asked.

“Good,” he said. His eyes were wary. “Plausibly enough. Although, truthfully, ever since your whole Fashion Week- zombies incident, most of what I’ve been spinning has been a bit dull . . . except for a few strange incoming calls about some new kind of creature bounding around town, but the zombie market seems to have dried up for now.”

“No pun intended,” Jane said with a giggle.

“Huh?” Davidson said, giving her a distracted look before turning his full attention back to me. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

I wondered if Davidson meant the monster that had attacked Jane and me two nights ago, but that wasn’t what I had come here for at the moment. “Let’s talk about something a little more implausible,” I said, taking a seat. Jane did the same. “Why don’t you tell me about the Gibson-Case Center?”

Davidson was in the middle of putting the award back on its shelf. He paused.

“That new building up on Columbus Circle . . . ?” he said. “What about it?”

“So you’ve heard about it?” I said.

“Everyone’s heard about it,” he said, looking at me like I was stupid. “I think Emeril’s got a place opening in there.”

“We were told it’s under special permit from the Mayor’s Office.”

“You want to tell us why it’s off-limits?” Jane asked.

“Want to tell you?” he asked with a laugh. “That’s debatable. The real question is can I tell you?”

“Fine,” Jane said, keeping her cool. I would have exploded by now. “Can you tell us?”

“That’s better,” Davidson said, leaning back in his chair, “but the answer is no.”

“Why not?”

Davidson shrugged. “It’s a big city. Do you know how much of this town is under special permit for one thing or another? There’s a lot of things I’m not privy to, okay? And I get to keep my job if I keep my nose out of things that aren’t my business. So a new building goes up! Emeril Lagasse wants to put a restaurant in! You think I need to sound the alarms? There are projects here that are not my bailiwick, so when you ask if I can tell you what’s going on, the answer is truthfully no.”

“Great,” I said. I leapt to my feet, slamming my hands down on his desk. “What’s the point of having a liaison with the Mayor’s Office? I thought you’re supposed to help us.”

Davidson narrowed his eyes at us. “Calm down,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what exactly happened? Are you implying there’s a paranormal element to something going on at the Gibson-Case Center?”

“Pretty sure,” I said. “Connor Christos has been off duty for a little over a month and he’s being haunted, so we checked it out, found some creepy crawler staking out his apartment. Traced it back to the Gibson-Case Center, only to be turned away with some ‘sovereign land’ bull. Something that’s literally driving Connor mad is in that building, but it sounds like you’d rather feign ignorance and hide behind your office. C’mon, Jane . . .”

Jane stood to join me and we both turned toward the door.

“Look,” Davidson called out. “Zoning isn’t even my department. And even it if was, I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the Gibson-Case Center. Like I told you, that matter hasn’t been discussed with me. I know of it, but that’s all. I can’t tell you anything.”

I turned back with pure annoyance in my voice. “Just like when you couldn’t tell us about the Sectarian Defense League?”

“Easy, now,” Jane chimed in. “Evil or not, that’s my alma mater.”

Davidson rubbed his eyes, giving a weary sigh. When he pulled his hand away, he looked tired. “Look, I can’t investigate this without raising all kinds of alarms around here,” he said. “I like my job, and I’d like to keep it. There are rules, procedures . . . I have to follow them.”

I felt for him. I knew how hard it was to work among all the red tape and still try to get a job done.

I went to speak, but Jane squeezed my arm and gave Davidson that Midwestern smile of hers. “Can’t you bend those rules, just a little? You really should see Connor, Mr. Davidson. He’s in a bad way. Someone or some thing in the Gibson-Case Center is doing this to him. It’s torturing him.” Of course, Connor didn’t know that quite yet. After seeing how strung out he was, Jane and I had decided to follow up this lead further before we told him that yes, his crazy-making dreams were actually real.

“I’m sorry,” Davidson said, sighing. His face went dead serious, and then he looked the two of us in the eyes. There was a hint of mischief behind them. “I have to follow the rules. Like the fact that I can’t tell you that the answers you’re looking for are probably hidden in the Department of Records just down the hall or the fact that it’s abandoned this time of morning.”

I was on the verge of launching into him, but stopped when I realized what he had just said. “I see,” I said, choosing my own words very carefully. “What else can’t you tell us?”

Davidson hesitated. Turmoil creased his normally smooth brow as he debated what he could and couldn’t say.

“Well,” he said, after a moment, “I really can’t tell you that there are keys somewhere in here that open that door.”

“Where?”

Dave Davidson waggled his finger at me. “I can’t tell you.” He looked down at my gloved hands. “But you’re . . . handy. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Jane and I looked at each other as Dave Davidson stood up and walked around his desk toward his office door.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I’m heading out to one of our hopefully rat hair-free vendor carts for my morning coffee and a French cruller. I have an early-morning meeting with His Honor and I want to be able to tell him with a clean conscience that I didn’t tell you anything . . . technically speaking.”

He smiled and this time it was that of the polished politician. “I trust you can show yourselves out,” he said and was out the door before we could say anything, leaving the two of us alone.

I was around Davidson’s desk in seconds, pulling off my gloves. I slammed my ungloved hands flat down on the desk and pushed my power into it with one word in my head.

Keys.

My mind’s eye opened up and prodded into the past, focusing on anything that had to do with keys. Visions of Davidson changing his computer passwords flipped by, a key of a different sort, I supposed. I pulled the mental rewind of the past back until I saw something that caught my eye. Davidson was removing the lower right-hand drawer of his desk and fiddling at the back of it as he put a set of keys back there. I pulled out of the vision, downed a few Life Savers to compensate for the glycemic drain my power hit me with, then dropped to my knees, tearing out the lower drawer.

I looked inside the empty space but there was nothing.

“Dammit!”

“What is it?” Jane said.

“They’re not here,” I said. “They should be, but they’re not.”

Jane came over and looked at the space, then stepped back and eyed the desk with suspicion. “Something’s off,” she said.

“How can you tell?”

Jane blushed, dropping to her knees and reaching into the drawer hole. “I don’t really want to get into it, but I spent some time as a magician’s assistant at the state fair back in Kansas. You learn a thing or two about depth perception, false bottoms, secret doors . . .”

She fished around inside until I heard her fingers catch on something. “Aha! Got it. There’s a tiny lip I can get my finger on along the top.” She pulled her hand out, holding the false back of the drawer space. She dropped it, then reached back in and produced a set of keys. “Ta-da!”

“For our next trick,” I said, grabbing the keys. “Let’s vanish.”

Jane started to pick things up, but I grabbed her hand, helping her up. “Just leave it,” I said. “If we get caught down in Records, I don’t want Davidson getting in trouble. If we leave a mess here, it will at least look like we stole the keys from him.”

Jane rounded the desk and slipped out the door before I could say anything. There was nothing left to do but follow her. Now that we were opting for stealth, the sound of our footfalls seemed to betray us with every step in the echoing halls of the government office. Despite that, we moved down to the door Davidson had mentioned, keyed it open, and stepped inside. I shut the door behind me as quietly as I could.

The immediate area was a tiny room with a small reception desk that was unoccupied and a set of stairs just past it leading down. Jane and I headed down the stairs, and found ourselves in a room full of filing cabinets with dozens of short, wide drawers in each of them. There were more of them than I could count.

“Thank God there isn’t an early-morning shift down here,” I said. “It may take us a while just to figure out where they’ve got this Gibson-Case Center cataloged.”

I stood there, taking in the eerie quiet of the surrounding area.

“We should hurry, though,” Jane said. “I’ve got an Arcana brunch meeting later this morning.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “It’s bring-your-own brunch.”

Jane wrinkled her nose and nodded. I shook my head, then looked around the expanse of the room.

“Any ideas where to start?” I asked.

Jane nodded. “At the beginning. A very good place to start.”

I winced at the Sound of Music reference, but double winced at myself for recognizing it. “We could use all the members of the Von Trapp family right about now to help us search.”

Jane was silent. I turned to her and she was looking off in one direction. I noticed another desk with a computer at it.

“Or we could try looking it up first,” she said.

“Technology to the rescue!”

Jane headed straight for the computer while I started checking the drawers closest to me. They were full of laid-out blueprints, with occasional sheets of white mixed in with them. I hoped to make some sense of how they were ordered, but they definitely weren’t alphabetical by building name or even by area of town. The only markings that seemed to make any sense were numerical sequences attached to the corner sections of them all. I tried to make heads or tails of it, but it was no use and I had to give up after several frustrating minutes.

I slammed one of the drawers shut.

“Easy, hon,” Jane said from over by the computer. Her hands were poised over the keyboard, not touching it. “No luck?”

“They’re all coded,” I said, “and silly me, I forgot to bring my Enigma machine. Not to mention that math’s not really my strong suit. Unless we’re talking about pricing antiques.”

Jane sat motionless at the computer for a moment or two longer before standing up. “Okay,” she said. “I think I know where to find them.”

She started off down one of the aisles.

“You didn’t even type anything in,” I said, following her.

“I know,” she said. “One of the perks of speaking machine, I guess.”

Jane started looking through the tabs on each of the drawers, going down the line.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“I think I communed with it when I touched it. They don’t turn off the machines down here, so when I went to bump it out of sleep mode, it just sort of spoke to me. I know it’s just circuits and boards and electricity, but it seemed . . . well, annoyed at being woken up. So I apologized and said I’d let it get back to sleep if it could tell me where to find the designs for the Gibson-Case Center.”

“So . . .” I said. “You just asked nicely?”

Jane nodded with a smile. “Pretty much, yeah. It was neat. I’ve never done something quite like that before.”

“You find that ‘neat’?” I repeated. “Why does you communing with computers make me feel we’re one step away from cyborgs from the future popping out of a time portal to destroy humanity?”

“Relax,” she said. “It seemed friendly enough.”

I gave her a look of skepticism. “Make sure to thank it for me later.”

Jane reached into the drawer she had just pulled open. The top layers of the designs inside it were mostly white sheets with dark blue mechanical drawings on them. Farther down were the blue sheets I was more familiar with. She pulled out a mixed stack of both of them. “And here we go!”

We walked to a table at the front of the archive created solely to spread the designs out on. Jane laid the papers down and we both started poring over them. There were so many lines and labels that my head felt like it was spinning.

“Wow,” I said. “You know, one of my psychometric finds last year were blueprints of the Starship Enterprise from the Next Generation series . . . part of an old box set that a fanboy had lost. I sold them back to their original owner for a nice profit. These schematics are ten times more technologically advanced-looking than that. We’re talking at least Death Star design scheme advanced.”

I noticed something on the first page, and flipped down through the stack of designs that showed several different levels and cross sections of the building. Each of them had the same thing I had noticed on the first page.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” I flipped back to the first page and pointed toward the center of the main floor. It was a solid empty block labeled ADVENI LATERIS. “Whatever that is . . .”

“I think it means ‘to arrive later,’ ” Jane offered. I turned to look at her. “What? What can I say? We had a good school system back in Kansas. My English teacher used flash cards to teach us Latin roots words.”

“I’m not complaining,” I said. “Just surprised. What’s it doing here? I’m not up on blueprints—”

“Clearly,” Jane interrupted. “White prints. These are whiteprints.”

“Well, the ink is blue,” I said in a huff, hating to be corrected. “Anyway, I’m no architect, but I imagine the city is rather strict about showing what is actually being built here. I’m pretty sure you can’t just say you’re going to put something there later and not declare what it is, especially when it takes up almost a city block. Yet this one’s got a huge area that’s totally undocumented for the construction.”

Jane looked concerned, but also exhausted. “Please tell me we’re not going to tackle this right now . . .”

“I’ll check on these while you go off to your Arcana meeting,” I said, pulling out my camera phone. I started snapping shots of the whiteprints. “I think I’ll see if the Gauntlet has anything historical on this location in the archives.”

“And after that?” Jane asked. “Then what?”

“Once we get some more information on the Gibson-Case Center,” I said, “we shop.”

Jane gave me a smile.

“I know you’re trying to appeal to the stereotypical girl in me,” Jane said, “but I’m too modern to fall for that.”

“Sorry,” I said, forcing an innocent, wide-eyed expression onto my face.

“Oh, don’t be,” Jane said, heading for the door. “I can be bought into servitude. I just wanted you to know that I knew what you were up to.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her the shopping would be more of a recon mission than anything.

9

As we left the offices on Centre Street, I e-mailed my secret spy photos to Godfrey Candella down at the Gauntlet, the D.E.A.’s sprawling archive, as Jane and I walked our way up to the Lovecraft Café on Eleventh Street.

I grabbed a quick kiss from her and an iced coffee from the bar before heading back into the offices. First I dropped off my ruined clothing with Allorah Daniels’s assistant and then headed down to the subterranean labyrinth that made up the Departmental archives known as the Gauntlet. I was surprised to see the modernized caves-turned-offices already abuzz with activity this early. When I finally spied Godfrey hiding in his cluttered office, I saw he was talking in an animated fashion to a cute Asian woman with long black hair. I almost fell over when king bookworm Godfrey leaned over and kissed her. She mussed his near-bowl-cut straight black hair before she smiled and walked out of his office into the stacks. I waited several seconds before walking in on him and stepping over to his desk, which was covered with piles of books, maps, and an assortment of folders.

“Hello, Godfrey.”

Godfrey Candella was busy fixing his mussed-up hair in the reflection of an empty terrarium on the corner of his desk. He barely noticed me when I had walked in, but he jumped at the sound of my voice.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Hello, Simon,” he said. He had a grin on his face that would have made the Cheshire Cat jealous. “How long have you been down here?”

“Long enough,” I said, smiling. Godfrey turned bright red and he redoubled his effort to suppress his smile, failing miserably to do so. “It’s okay,” I continued. “I approve, and besides . . . she’s hot.”

This seemed to bring him to his senses a little. His smile went away and he pulled off his black horn-rimmed glasses. “I hate when Chloe musses my hair. It gets my glasses all cloudy.” He fussed with them, wiping them down, and then looked at me. “I’m sorry. I’m certain you didn’t come down here to check out the social lives of the archivists. I trust you’re here for something?”

“Um, yeah,” I said, still trying to get over the idea of Godfrey with a social life. Usually he had a serious case of bookwormius maximus. “I e-mailed you some pictures from my phone . . . ?”

“Oh!” he said, his eyes brightening. “Of course.” He moved behind his desk and sat down at one of the biggest flat-screen monitors I had ever seen. He started clacking away at the keyboard. “Let’s see what we can see.”

The first shot came up on the screen.

“Sorry about the crappy quality,” I said. “We were breaking and entering . . . Well, technically, keying in and entering.”

“Not a problem,” he said, adjusting the brightness of the images on the screen. The dark edges of my photos lightened, showing a greater amount of detail within the blueprints. “Ahh . . . schematics.”

I tapped at the screen. “If you zoom in there . . .”

Godfrey’s hand shot out and grabbed mine, pulling it away from the monitor.

“Please don’t touch it,” he said. “I brought it in from home.”

I looked at him, perplexed. “This isn’t Department issued?”

Godfrey let out a bitter laugh. “Are you kidding me? With the budget cuts around here from downtown? No. This is mine. It fell off of a truck that almost hit me and it survived so . . . I helped myself.”

I knew all too well the strange knack Godfrey experienced that made him a divining rod for luck. I also knew the guilt I still felt for having used him for it in the past, so

I remained silent on it.

“Sorry,” I said.

Godfrey shook it off and turned back to the monitor. “So what are we looking at?”

“It’s the blueprints for the Gibson-Case Center,” I said. “It’s that new place that’s been going up on Columbus Circle. Jane and I chased a guy right up to the doors and got turned away like we were trying to gain entry into a foreign consulate.”

“These look like whiteprints to me,” Godfrey said, and I cringed. Was he channeling her?

“Whatever they are,” I said, “there’s a problem.” I pointed toward the empty block of space at the center of the whiteprint, this time making sure not to touch the monitor. “It appears that there’s a dead zone that can’t be accounted for.”

Godfrey flipped to the next picture and then the next.

“They’re all the same,” I said.

Godfrey cocked his head and continued flipping over and over through them all.

“Well, not exactly the same,” he corrected. “I mean, yes, they are all technical drawings of the same building area, but look . . . There are both blue- and whiteprints of the location.” Godfrey flipped through a few to show me the difference.

“So?”

“Blueprints came about in the forties,” he said, “but whiteprints replaced them in more recent years. We shouldn’t be seeing a mix of blue and white ones together for one project given the spread of time.”

I was still confused. “Meaning what exactly?” “Meaning someone’s been working on whatever’s going on there for a long time, longer than any development cycle for most high-rises in this city. That hidden area seems to have been earmarked private for years.” He stood up, grabbing a flashlight off of his desk. “Come with me.”

Seeing the flashlight in his hand worried me. Every part of the cavernlike Gauntlet I had ever been in had been strung with at least the bare minimum of electric bulbs. I wanted to ask where we were going that we needed the flashlight, but Godfrey was already hustling through the shelves and shelves of record books.

I ran to catch up. Already we had moved past the modern metallic bookshelves into an area filled with older, crafted cabinets and storage units. The last string of electric lights ended shortly after that and Godfrey clicked on the flashlight.

“We’re not funded to string more electric lines or bulbs until next quarter,” he said. “So I’m afraid we’re going to have to rough it.”

We continued on and the area actually started to feel more cavelike as we went. With only a tiny pool of light to guide me, a bit of claustrophobia kicked in.

“Are we going spelunking?” I asked, calming my nerves with a little humor. “Jesus, Godfrey, where are we?”

“Deep storage,” he said, searching the sides of the path with his light as we went. “A lot of old New York documentation is stored back here . . . Our archives are slowly being backed up to digital formats, but we didn’t want to discard anything until we could confirm or deny any paranormal connections to all this. We’re terribly backlogged. It’s going to take us years to get back to this point digitally. So for now it all lives back here.” Godfrey fell silent for a moment, then spoke again. “I should warn you . . . there are a few creatures that roam around back here that we’ve been working to get rid of.”

I reached for my bat and pulled it out. I hit the button and it sprung to its full size. “I’m sorry . . . creatures?”

Godfrey gave me a sheepish look. “I’m afraid even I haven’t fully been through all the sections down here yet. No one’s quite sure where all this leads to or what lives down here. There have been the occasional . . . altercations.”

“Great,” I said, peering off into the darkness. “Good to know. You do your thing and I’ll do mine if it comes down to it.”

Godfrey stopped in front of one row of old-fashioned drawers and started moving along them. “I appreciate it.”

Halfway down the row he stopped and pulled open a drawer about waist high. It was then that I realized that these were an ancient equivalent of the type of record cabinet that Jane and I had rifled through downtown.

Godfrey gently pulled a sheaf of old parchment paper out of it.

“Careful,” he warned and I stepped back. He laid them out on top of the old wooden file cabinet. He reached for the corner of the pile and started flipping down lower into it, all of them showing more and more signs of age and deterioration the deeper he went.

“Fascinating,” he said.

“What is?”

“Your ‘dead space’ on the whiteprints is older than it seems.” He pointed down at one of the older, more fragile-looking sheets of parchment. “Look. The buildings concerning that block have changed over the years, but this blank space of yours has been filed since the American Revolution.”

“The American Revolution?”

Godfrey nodded. He moved his finger to a single signature that ran along the old drawings of the empty area.

“David Matthews,” he said.

I raised one eyebrow. “Please don’t tell me the Dave Matthews Band is immortal or something . . . although that would explain why they play so well together.”

Godfrey shook his head and laughed out loud. It echoed off into the chamber. “Wrong Dave Matthews. We’re talking mayor of New York around the time of Franklin and Jefferson.”

I let out a silent “phew.” “So this land has been zoned for some hidden purpose for over two hundred years?”

Godfrey started to put the sheets back in the drawer, closing it. “It looks like mayor after mayor just grandfathered it forward every time the surroundings changed . . . but who and why?”

Somewhere off in the dark distance, the sound of something moving became apparent. Godfrey nearly jumped out of his skin, but I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Easy,” I whispered.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” he said.

“If you’re done,” I said, pausing to listen again to the distant sound of something dragging along the stone flooring. “I don’t think we have to hurry, though. Sounds like we’re dealing with something as slow as zombies.”

Godfrey just stared at me.

“What?” I said.

“Zombies,” he said. “You say it so nonchalantly. The idea of them down here doesn’t scare you?”

I thought about it for a second, then answered. “Not really. First of all, I don’t have to work down here, and from what you’ve told me, whatever still lurks down here likes to stay out of your well-lit areas.”

“But we’re not in a well-lit area,” Godfrey said, a little hysteria creeping into his voice.

“You didn’t let me get to my ‘second of all.’ ”

“Sorry,” Godfrey said, looking with morbid anticipation out into the surrounding darkness. “Continue.”

“Second of all,” I said, holding up my bat, “I have this.”

“We don’t really carry weapons down here,” Godfrey said. “Too much potential to damage the archives. I usually rely on running away.”

The poor guy looked embarrassed to admit it.

“No shame in that,” I said. “Given the shit we deal in, running away is a perfectly acceptable form of survival.”

Godfrey took the light from me and started heading back toward the more civilized section of the Gauntlet.

“Really?”

“Really,” I said. “Think about Connor and how he got to be one of the White Stripes. By letting a ghost pass through him. You think I want that happening to my fine head of hair?”

“I thought the White Stripes all wore their white streaks like a badge of honor.”

“Badge of horror, more likely,” I said. “I see it more as a mark of failure. Just a bunch of guys too stupid to get out of the way while fighting evil. Everyone in Things That Go Bump in the Night knows well enough to get out of the way, too. If I see something coming that’s likely to mess with my vanity, guaranteed you’ll see me running. Gotta stay pretty for the ladies. Speaking of ladies . . .” I checked the clock on my phone. Jane’s brunch meeting was wrapping up. “Think you can lead me out of here alive?”

“Hopefully,” Godfrey said, not quite the beacon of optimism I had hoped for. I wasn’t worried, though. Between my bat and his lucky breaks, I had the feeling we’d be fine getting out of there before whatever shambling mess that lurked down there could find us.

10

I needed to get the hell out of the office and over to the Gibson-Case Center with Jane during public hours if we were going to check the place out. I hit my desk for a few moments to sort out all the incoming paperwork into piles ranging from most important to burn at my earliest convenience. I was grabbing up my messenger bag when I heard a female voice clearing behind me.

Allorah Daniels was standing there. She was wearing a short white lab coat over her clothes. The same silver necklace from yesterday was intertwined with the chain on a pair of safety glasses. Her hair was pulled back today and it worked on her. For an Enchancellor, she looked hot.

“Mr. Canderous,” she said, nodding.

“Enchancellor Daniels,” I said, throwing the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “Is there something I can help you with?”

She looked down at her clipboard and flipped through a few of the pages there. “Thank you for bringing those clothes in this morning,” she said. “I’ve gone over some of the tests I ran on what I found. Do you have the time to go over the results?”

“I was just on my way out,” I said.

“Well, make the time,” she said. Her voice was so stern, I took my bag off and sat back down. There were more pressing personal cases I needed to be dealing with, not something like this.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t want to make an issue out of this, but that encounter . . . It could have happened to anyone. It was just a monster thing, okay? I’m sure any number of divisions would love to get their hands on the follow-up for this. Perhaps Things That Go Bump in the Night would like a crack at it?”

“So you think this was a random attack?” Allorah said, scribbling on her clipboard.

“I’m usually pretty up on people trying to purposely kill me,” I said.

Allorah looked like she was holding back. “Let me be blunt,” she said. She walked around to Connor’s side of the desk and sat down, resting her clipboard on one of the stacks of paper. “Have you made any enemies lately that might set something like this on you?”

I laughed. “I don’t think so. As a matter of fact, it hasn’t even crossed my mind. Ordinarily, I’d say yes, but I haven’t been in the field to make any new mortal enemies. I haven’t had enough time away from my desk or all this paperwork to piss new people off. Which is why I think it’s okay if you want to farm this out to someone else . . .”

“Forgive me for pulling rank,” Allorah said, “but this creature attacked you and if you don’t mind, I’d like you in the loop on it whether it was gunning for you specifically or you were simply planning your ‘Taco Night’ at the wrong place and time. Understood?”

I nodded and remained silent.

“Good,” she said, checking her papers again. “Now, I’m analyzing some of the mucus that was all over your clothes from the attack . . .”

“That sounds like a fun time,” I said.

“For me?” Allorah said, giving a smile. “Yeah. It kinda was. It beats sitting in on another meeting of the Enchancellorship.”

That made me smile. Finally someone in power who held the same kind of disdain for bureaucracy that I did.

Allorah’s smile vanished as quick as it had appeared. “I think that’s all for now,” Allorah said. “I’m running a few more tests that will take a bit more time, but I trust I will have you full cooperation?”

I nodded. “If I don’t get killed first, sure.”

Allorah stood and cocked her head at me. “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion, Mr. Canderous, that you might prefer a nice death in the field instead of talking lab work?”

I laughed and stood. Allorah walked over to me and her face went grim. “Make no mistake about this,” she said. “The other Enchancellors might be slow to act, but I’m not. If I find conclusive results that we are dealing with some form of vampire, I expect you to drop everything, along with the rest of the department.”

Her tone rubbed me the wrong way and I couldn’t help but be a little short with her. “I have taken vampires seriously around here before,” I said. “Remember? But I’m not going off all Code Bela on this until you show me something that says we’re actually dealing with the undead. Until then, I’ll be busy doing my job.”

I turned and left Allorah standing at my desk as I walked away. That creature from the grocery store was just one in a heaping pile of my daily nightmares and right now I was looking to get to the bottom of the one that was affecting my absent partner. I may have been a shitty friend lately, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t correct that.

I shook off my conversation with the intense Ms. Daniels as I left the offices and strolled out through the movie theater. I found Jane having coffee with Mrs. Teasley up front in the Lovecraft Café. The old woman had just finished reading Jane’s fortune in a pile of used coffee grounds, promising Jane that she was about to make an electric connection with someone. I didn’t bother to get into the crack-pot shoddiness of Mrs. T’s fortune-telling. Instead, Jane and I headed outside and I hailed a cab for us. We rode in silence for a bit, both too tired from running around the night before to say much. By the time we were heading crosstown on Fifty-ninth toward Columbus Circle, I felt myself waking up in anticipation of getting some answers at the Gibson-Case Center.

“How was the Arcana brunch meeting?” I asked.

Jane looked like she was perking up, too. “I’d say pretty poorly named since it was totally BYOB,” she said, shaking her head. “Bring Your Own Brunch.”

The cab pulled up along the circular drive in front of the Gibson-Case Center. “Well, let’s hope we can find something to eat inside,” I said. I paid the cabbie and got out.

As we approached the center, its towering structure gave me a bout of vertigo, and that was just from looking up at it. The sun was high and bright this time of morning, causing a near-blinding reflection off the polished steel and endless windows of its exterior. Being regular operating hours, the revolving doors of the public atrium were bustling with people coming and going with bags and packages of every shape and size. Stepping in through the doors myself, I felt like I was entering the Mall of the Future.

The atrium was open and huge, the sun cutting through the enormous panes of tinted glass that rose several stories straight up. It shone down onto an actual garden within the building, complete with trees that dwarfed the ones nearby in Central Park. And the stores! They stretched outward and upward in every direction.

“Wow,” Jane said. “I know I’m going to sound all country mouse here, but this place puts the Mall of America to shame.”

“It’s okay,” I said, taking her hand. “City Mouse finds this pretty damn impressive himself.”

I looked around, unsure of where to start our search. I turned to Jane, but her eyes had gone glossy. She turned to me, smiling with all her teeth showing.

“I can has shopping?” she said.

“Focus, Jane, focus.”

The light died in her eyes. “Right,” she said, trying to hide the disappointment and reluctance in her voice. “I know. I’m just . . . umm, getting into character.”

“If you say so,” I said. I squeezed her hand and we set off under the guise of a happy couple out for a day of touristy shopping. All in all, not a hard disguise to pull off. Feeling bad about denying Jane some retail therapy, I stopped and bought her a red resin heart on a chain with the word FOREVER across the front of it on a silver banner. I put it on her, unable to wipe the cheesy grin from my face or hers. There was no reason we couldn’t have a little fun playing our roles, after all.

After wandering the open expanse of the lower mall area for more than a half hour, we found one of the building’s touch-screen directories that was set farther away from the hustle of the shopping crowds. I immediately started tapping away at one of the display panels.

“Well, there seems to be a lot of options—residential, the shops, the restaurants, rental opportunities, co-ops . . .”

“Great,” Jane said, leaning up against the directory bank. “Nothing like an afternoon sifting through the mundane. Is there anything about the management company, maybe?”

I shook my head and continued scrolling through the various directories. After several minutes my eyes started to bug out. I stopped poking and rubbed my eyes.

“Maybe . . .” I said, but stopped myself.

“Yes?”

“Maybe you could tap into the building,” I suggested. “Its power supply or something?”

Jane looked hesitant. “Umm . . . I’m not really sure if I can do that.”

I shrugged. “Just a suggestion. I thought you might be able to make some small talk with one of their computers, kinda like you did at City Hall.”

Jane shrugged.

“Sure,” she said. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll give it a try. Just . . . pull me away or something if I look a little too comatose at the console, okay?”

I kissed her forehead. “I’m sure it’ll be fine if you just ask nicely.”

Jane let her hands hover over the touch screen on the directory kiosk and let out a low whisper of her strange sort of machine language. I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention, but between our remote location and the sounds of mall life, no one was even looking in our direction.

Without warning, Jane let out a low, guttural moan and let her hands fall toward the touch screen. Instead of slamming against it, they sunk into the solidity of the screen as though she were submerging them under water.

“Jane?” I grabbed her by her arm, only to feel a harsh jolt of electricity hammer into my body, knocking me on my ass. My muscles were twitching and I had a hard time shaking it off, but taking it slow, I got back on my feet. “Jane!”

Hearing the desperation in my voice seemed to pull her out of her trance. She looked down at her hands and turned to me in a panic, her eyes bugging out.

“Help . . . ?” she croaked.

I started to reach for her again, and she violently shook her head no. “What if my hands come off at the wrist?”

The muscles in her arms flexed as she tried to pull herself free, but every move she made caused her to sink even farther into the screen.

“Don’t struggle,” I said. “It’s like quicksand.”

But Jane was beyond panic now and tugged wildly to free herself.

I was about to yell at her once again to stop struggling, but when I looked at her I froze. Jane was glowing. A soft white light was spreading up her arms and down her body.

I had no idea what was going on, but I had to do something, even if it meant taking another serious jolt by touching her. This time, however, I would be ready for it, and I pulled my gloves out and slipped them on. I hoped they would at least reduce the conductivity a little, but a second later, it didn’t matter.

I reached for Jane, only to be driven back as the white glow intensified into a blinding flash. Not to be deterred, I pushed toward her, but as quick as the flash had come, it was gone. And Jane with it.

“Jane?”

I felt around where Jane had just been, hoping that maybe it was some kind of optical illusion, but she was definitely gone. I stepped into the space and placed my hands on the touch screen, but it was as solid as when I had been using it before. My heart started to race as I felt my own panic setting in, and I spun around looking for her. My left foot slipped on something and I fought to keep my balance. I looked down to only see all of Jane’s clothes—her hip-huggers, the RESIDENT EVIL 4 shirt she had been wearing, and on top of the pile, the necklace I had just bought her.

I scooped up the necklace, clutching it in my hands. There was no pillar of salt or pile of dust or blood. Jane simply was gone.

“No, no, no,” I said, over and over, not sure what to do next when my cell phone went off. I pulled it out. I had a new text.

WORST. TOUCHSCREEN. EVER!

I typed back: WHERE THE HELL RU?

I slipped her necklace in my coat pocket while I waited. A minute later, my phone went off again.

NOT SUR THINK IM IN THE BUILDIN.

WHERE? I typed back. I reached for the kiosk and brought up the mall area map on the touch screen while I waited.

IN THE BUILDING ITSELF.

Did she mean inside the actual building?

RU OK?

Waiting for an answer to this question had my heart in my throat.

4 NAO. Then, HELP.

If I was going to help her, I was going to need help myself, and there was only one person close enough to give it. Connor. I only hoped his recent bout of the crazies hadn’t put him out of commission.

I started the long walk back through the maze of shops to get the hell out of the Gibson-Case Center. Panic started to set in and by the time I reached the revolving doors leading out to the streets of New York, I was running.

11

As I ran to Connor’s apartment farther west and two blocks down, I tried his number, but his phone went straight to voice mail. Given how close I was, I didn’t bother to leave a message.

By the time I reached his apartment, I had calmed myself a little. The fact that Jane had been able to send me messages meant she was still alive, and that gave me hope.

At Connor’s building, someone was just leaving as I arrived, and I grabbed the door before it could close behind him to let myself in. Outside Connor’s apartment upstairs, the sound of his movie sound system poured straight through the thickness of his wooden door. I hammered on it for several minutes, and when he didn’t answer I feared that maybe Jane and I had made a bad call leaving him to sleep it off the other night. Maybe whoever or whatever had scaled his wall had returned and taken care of him. I pounded harder.

The door flew open and a wild-eyed Connor stood there wearing the same clothes I had found him in at the graveyard. He looked ready to fight. Despite his crazed appearance, it was nice to see that the swelling had gone down around his eyes. When he saw it was me, he relaxed a little.

“Wow,” Connor said. He wandered away from the door back into his apartment. I caught it before it swung shut. “Two social calls in one week,” he said. “I’m touched.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call this social,” I said, walking in. Not much had changed in the apartment since yesterday, except up on his projection wall Fisherman Quint was being devoured by the powerful jaws of a giant great white shark. Other than that, there was maybe a fresh pizza box on top of one of the many stacks of pizza boxes . . . possibly a new odor or two.

“I see you’ve been working on your funk some more since we dropped you off,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “Do I detect a hint of something that died?”

“So glad you could drop by, kid,” Connor said. He plopped himself down in one of the movie-watching chairs. He went back to watching Jaws, but not before flipping up the top on one of the pizza boxes and pulling out a cold slice that I hoped was relatively new.

“Like I said, this isn’t really a social call,” I said, pulling the plug on his projection system. The room went dead silent. I thought he was going to kill me so before he could say anything, I blurted it all out. I spent the next few minutes telling Connor about everything that had happened since last night—from discovering that he hadn’t dreaming about having a lurker all this time, chasing the intruder back to the Gibson-Case Center—everything up to Jane’s disappearance.

“And then . . .” I said, hearing the catch in my own voice, but controlling it, “she just vanished into one of the information kiosks there, like she was being sucked into the Matrix.”

Connor sat in his movie-watching chair in quiet contemplation. “So about the first part of your story . . . You didn’t think this would be worth bringing up to me, say, last night after you chased whoever away?”

“After seeing the way you looked after we found you knocked down at Trinity Church? No.”

“Why the hell not?” Although his words were sharp, there was more desperation than anger in his voice.

“No offense, Connor, but you don’t really seem on your ‘A’ game right now,” I said.

He laughed, but it was a dark sound. “And you thought now might be a good time to tell me?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I don’t think there’s any good time to tell someone something as messed up as all this, but I guess you should know that you’re not having crazy dreams. Whatever is happening to you, it’s real.”

“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t,” he said, giving an unhinged laugh and standing up. He walked over to me and poked me in the chest. “How do I know that you’re really here and really telling me all this?”

“I could kick your ass, if it would help you think I’m real,” I said.

“If you won, then I’d know this was all a hallucination,” he said. He shook his head, still crazy-eyed. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Figment of my Imagination, I’m still off the company clock. I’m not running on Departmental time and . . .”

“Excuse me?” I said. “Listen, Connor, trust me . . . This is going to override your precious vacation time. Help me find Jane.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. Connor already looked distracted and headed back to the comfort of his chair again. “I’ve got to think about this visitor of mine . . .”

Something in me let go and I lunged for him. Connor had more fighting experience than I did, but with his mind off in its own little world, I grappled him around the shoulders with ease. Up close, the stink coming off of him was the kind you found only on the homeless in New York, but I was too pissed to back off.

“Let go of me, kid,” Connor said, struggling. “Don’t make me write you up for insubordination.”

“Oh, but you’re not on Departmental time, remember?” I said, tightening my grip. “You’re off the company clock.” I clamped down around Connor’s shoulders, slipping my arms up around his neck in a modified sleeper hold. “So technically I’m not strangling my work partner; I’m just strangling a friend.”

“Some friend,” Connor choked out and pushed the two of us across the room until I hit his sofa and sat down hard. Connor used the momentum and leveraged himself into a standing position, but I didn’t let go and stood up with him.

“Jane’s missing because we were trying to help you,” I said, trying to reason with him.

“I didn’t ask you for that,” Connor said, all accusatory. “I didn’t ask anyone to put themselves at risk for me.” Connor shrugged, despite my grip on him. “If Jane had been following Departmental protocol, she wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” I said. My arms were burning from keeping up the pressure on him. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on. “There are things out there more important than our day job!”

“Like family?” Connor said, his teeth grinding.

“Look, I’m sorry we never found your brother,” I said, pushing him away from me. I fell back on the couch and Connor rolled across the floor until he hit the back of one of his movie chairs. I stood up. “But Jane is practically my family. She’s all I have, the only truly good thing to come out of having this ‘gift’ of mine. Aidan’s in the past, the long past. We can’t do anything about him now, but we can help Jane. I’m not asking you as your partner in Other Division; I’m asking you as a friend.”

Connor stood, taking his time to rise. I hated beating on him in this condition, but nothing else seemed to be getting through to him. He rolled his shoulders back, giving off an audible popping sound.

“Jesus, kid, I take a little time off and you go and grow a pair . . .” He rubbed his jaw, pausing his hand as if he really felt the scruff of his beard for the first time. Favoring his right leg and limping with his left, Connor crossed to a mirror hanging on the wall and stared into it for a good long time as if he didn’t recognize the man looking back at him. When he finally turned away from it, he lowered his eyes and said, “All right. Let’s go.”

He turned and headed for his front door.

“Dude,” I said, stopping him with a single word.

Connor looked back at me. “What?”

“You can’t go out like that,” I said. “You stink. You’re covered in bits of grass and mud from the graveyard, and there’s still dried blood caked in your hair and beard. I think you might want to clean yourself up a bit before we attempt to infiltrate the Gibson-Case Center.”

Connor went back to the mirror and looked again. “Heh,” he said. “You know, I was so surprised to see the beard I didn’t really notice anything else.”

“Feel free to take a quick shower,” I said. “I don’t want us getting kicked out because they think you’re there begging for change.”

Connor nodded and headed off to his bathroom in a slow shuffle. I hated seeing him this disheveled. I needed him as sheveled as possible.

While he showered, I fought the urge to pace nervously by busying myself cleaning up his apartment a little. I was glad I had my gloves on, not to keep my powers from triggering but to keep whatever new life-forms that were growing in here from harming me. Most of the pizza boxes had odds and ends of pizza left in them, some of which I dubbed former pizza, as it seemed to have developed into a new phase of life. The contents of just that filled two giant trash bags and I left them tied off by Connor’s front door, next to one singular floor-to-ceiling tower of now-empty pizza boxes. After a nose-centric hunt around the theater area, I discovered several bowls of milk that looked well on their way to being cottage cheese and brought them into his kitchen. I gave them a quick rinse as I breathed through my sleeve in an attempt not to gag, and then loaded them into the dishwasher.

I was throwing two of his windows open to air the place out when he came back down his hall. I turned to him. Connor looked much better than he had. For one thing, his sandy blond hair was neat, his beard gone, and he was dressed.

“You look almost human,” I said, “and you shaved.”

Connor rubbed his chin again. “Feels weird now,” he said, “but I have to say, I feel strangely liberated.”

“You look good. With your face shaved and no more blood in your hair, there’s only the slight swelling around the eyes that make you look a little Stay Puft.”

Connor spied his trench coat where I had hung it neatly over the back of one of the chairs. His eyes looked up from it and took in the rest of the room. He whistled.

“Jesus, kid. I feel like I should tip you or something.”

“Yeah, well, I left my biohazard suit at home or I would have done more,” I said, motioning toward the front door. Connor headed for it, much more prepared for the outside world than before. “You want to give me a real tip? Help me figure out what happened to Jane.”

Connor nodded. “I’ve got a few things I’d like to figure out as well.”

12

We hurried back to the Gibson-Case Center, entering the atrium by the same main doors that Jane and I had used. I started across the lobby, but stopped when I noticed Connor was not at my side. I turned to find him standing near the glass doors leading into the place, leaning against one of the panes next to them. I walked back to him. His skin had a slick sheen of sweat to it and his complexion was sickly.

“You okay?”

Connor nodded between heavy breaths. “It’s amazing how the body atrophies when you’re out of the game for a month, kid.”

“Funny,” I said. “I thought it might have been the beating you took in the graveyard.”

Connor laughed out loud, a nervous, unsteady sound coming from him. He may have been cleaned up, but there was still something manic and off with him that I found disturbing. “Did that really happen? I thought I dreamt all that.”

I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not. Right now wasn’t the best time to test his mental stability. I needed him focused.

“Let’s take it easy, then,” I said, although every bit of my being was screaming to go find Jane and help her as quickly as I could. I put my shoulder under his right arm and helped him across the crowded garden and shopping area of the atrium until I found the kiosk where Jane had disappeared.

“This the spot?” he asked, circling it in long, slow steps.

I nodded.

Connor looked at the directory menu on the display. He rapped his knuckles on the glass. Bending over, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into the touchscreen area. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

I watched him with a creeping sense of horror coming over me. Maybe he wasn’t in the best state of mind to help me with this.

“I don’t think she can hear you,” I said, looking around. A few of the people passing by were staring at us.

“You sure about that, kid?” He stood up, his face serious and looking a bit more like the Connor I knew.

“Well, no,” I said. My face turned red, the blood rushing to it. I felt like an idiot. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”

Connor shrugged and stuffed his hands into his trench coat pockets. “Then as far as I’m concerned, anything goes.” He studied the directory. “Doesn’t seem like there’s a store called Jane.”

“I noticed that, too,” I said, humoring him. Exasperated, I pulled out my phone and flipped it open. “Let’s just call this in to the Department. Wesker’ll be pissed I lost one of his Greater and Lesser Arcana people, but at least he might have a way of dealing with this. He had been working with Jane on her technomancy, after all.”

Connor grabbed my hands and closed my phone. All humor fell away from his face. “Do not call Wesker, kid. You want to fill out all the paperwork explaining this? Having him stop you from investigating because he doesn’t like you being on his turf? Remember, I’m still technically on my vacation, so you’ll be pulling double duty filling it out for leading Jane into this and involving me.”

“Fair point,” I said.

“You said she texted you before?” Connor asked. I nodded.

“Let me try it again,” I said and typed in: JANE?

After waiting several minutes of nothing, I shook my head at Connor, took my phone, and slid it back into my jacket pocket.

“Now, then,” Connor said, cracking his fingers by bridging them, “let’s take a look at our options.”

He typed away at the directory, looking a bit like Jack Nicholson when he was all crazed and writing in The Shining . “Looks like there’s an assload of shops in this place, but there also seems to be a fairly residential contingent as well.”

“So it’s basically a mall/hotel,” I said.

“Pretty much,” he said, pointing to the screen, “but look. This isn’t really a hotel setup. This looks like it’s mostly residences, as in, people live here permanently.”

“Let me try something,” I said. I stripped off my gloves and entered the residential directory. I typed in: CLAYTON-FORRESTER.

“Kid, I doubt Jane’s been apartment hunting here,” Connor said.

“She may not be apartment hunting,” I said, my stomach clenching in anticipation, “but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been taking up residence one way or another.”

I hit “enter.”

A long list of names scrolled by, starting with the A’s.

When the directory got into the C territory, it slowed as it came to one name, like the Wheel of Fortune coming to a stop.

Clayton-Forrester, Jane

“There’s no apartment number listed for her,” I said, looking over the entry. I pointed at the screen where there should have been more information. “The rest of these have tower names and apartment numbers, but hers is blank.”

I pressed my psychometric power into the machine, hoping for a result of some kind. My mind’s eye opened and I flashed on Connor from a minute earlier when he had been messing with the directory. I went to push myself further back in time, but was met with a strange sensation I had never felt before. Some other power was tugging at me, as if it wanted to pull me into it. Fearing Jane’s fate, I pushed myself back into the present, which snapped me out of my vision with an instant case of disorientation.

“You okay?” Connor asked.

I started to respond but he had already turned from me and was staring down at the directory again, his eyes widening. I looked down. The machine was going nuts. Bright flashes of color and countless screens flashed by before our eyes.

“I think we might have found Jane, kid.”

The machine’s screen blinked with pop-up window after pop-up window. Images for various store listings filled up the screen. I tried to follow them, hoping to notice some sort of pattern in it all, but it was no use. It was all moving beyond my ability to follow it.

“What the hell’s she doing?” Connor asked.

I shook my head. “I have no idea. It’s all too fast . . .”

Electronic flyers for dozens of the stores popped up on the screen, one of them coming to rest on a page full of designer camping equipment at one of the high-end boutiques here. A highlighted box appeared around one of the items.

“A flashlight?” Connor asked as he looked over my shoulder. “Does that mean anything special to you?”

“Not that I can think of,” I said.

“Well, think harder,” he said, snapping a little. I looked at him. The beard might be gone, but there was still a hint of wildness about him. “Sorry, kid. It’s just that of all the things she could have shown us from this mall, a flashlight seems kind of trivial.”

“Maybe it’s dark where she is and she’s scared,” I offered.

“Maybe,” Connor said, considering it.

“I don’t know,” I said after a few minutes of staring at it in frustration. I turned away from the machine to look at Connor, but he was staring down one of the corridors, ignoring me.

“Connor?”

He looked at me for a second, then pointed off into the distance. I followed his hand and stared, not noticing anything at first. Then I saw it. A lit-up sign for one of the boutiques was blinking on and off.

“It’s flickering,” he said. “Maybe that’s what she meant by flashlight?”

Without another word, we headed off toward the store, but as I went to step into it, the sign went dead.

“Hold on, kid,” Connor said. “It stopped.”

“I see that,” I said. “Let me check inside the store.”

“Just hold on a second,” he said, looking around. The corridor continued on in a blinding array of shops and restaurants. I joined Connor as he looked off toward an area where the corridor turned to the right up ahead. Then I spied it.

“There,” I said, pointing up at an overhead light flickering in its socket. “Good eye.”

The two of us raced off down the hall. Now that we knew what we were looking for, it was easy to follow the string of flickering lights as they led us deeper and deeper into the shopping complex. The place was sprawling, full of more shops and restaurants than entire parts of the city. As we ran to follow, much of the crowd thinned as the lights led on. When we rounded one final corner, the hallway ran on for about thirty feet and dead-ended in an art installation that was a mix of frosted glass, enormous metal gears, and large hunks of dark wood that were surrounded on all sides by television monitors running an endless loop of static. Standing almost twenty feet tall were two carved figures on pedestals on either side of the eyesore.

“Ick,” I said. “Modern art. And hideous modern art at that.”

“You want to interpret that for me?” Connor asked. “My brain is still playing catch-up.”

“Well, outside of the dead end, I’m thinking that this must be where building staff stores all their out-of-use art pieces. Look at all that. No wonder no one comes down this end of the place. That gear and block thing, those winged statues . . .”

Connor continued looking down at the end of the hall, his nose wrinkled as he took it all in. He gave an uncharacteristic nervous laugh and rubbed his eyes.

“Kid, I’m not sure if this is sleep deprivation or the crazy talking still, but those ain’t statues.”

I looked once again at the figures on either side of the frosted glass and wooden wall hanging. While I was thankful Connor wasn’t crazy, I felt my heart sink a little as I took in the sight before us. The statues were bulks of solid mass that each rose fifteen feet above the five-foot pedestals they were set upon. Their features were minimalist, as if the artist fashioned them with only a slight attempt to make them look vaguely human. In truth, the statues could have been the offspring of a mating between a human and The Blob.

“Intimidating-looking,” I said, “but so what?”

“Keep watching,” Connor said, and I did. There was nothing out of the ordinary to them, until the head on one of them moved. It moved at a snail’s pace, looking from one side of the hallway to the other. After another moment, it shifted its weight from where it stood from one leg to its other. This wasn’t a Hall of Presidents level of movement, either.

“They’re alive,” I said.

“Thank God,” Connor said, laughing and relaxing a little. “Wasn’t sure if my brain was running up to speed yet or what.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him his laugh was still coming off as a little bit whack-job. Instead, I kept my eyes on the two creatures, watching as the second one began moving as well.

“They’re guarding something,” I said, “but surely not that art piece. What, then?”

“That’s for us to find out,” Connor said. He looked over at me and pulled aside my coat, revealing the holster on my belt. He tapped at my bat. “Looks like you’re going to need a bigger bat.”

“Screw the bat,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a roll of Life Savers. “I’m going with Plan B.”

“Which is . . . ?”

Connor watched as I started crunching down the entire roll.

“If those are some kind of guardians, then they’ve got to be guarding something. And I refuse to believe they just like hanging out by that hideous installation because they like it. I’m going over there using a little restraint and subtlety for once.”

“Geesh, kid,” Connor said. “It’s like I don’t even know you. When did you put on your big-boy pants?”

“When my foolishness got Jane into this mess in the first place,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt.

“By all means, then, lead on.”

“Nothing like taking the direct approach,” I said, and headed straight for the accumulation of blocks, cubes, and gears. I raised my fist and knocked on one of the blocks of wood. It was solid, and the flesh of my hand did little to make a sound against it.

The second I started thumping on it, the statues came fully to life. From where I stood next to their stone bases, the size of their bodies was even more imposing. Claws and talons formed at the ends of their arms and legs. I stood there, caught somewhere between impressed and terrified. The two of them hooked their talons into the edges of their stone pedestals as they bent down to grab for me, their stone claws reaching out. If Connor didn’t grab my arm and pull me out of the way, they might have crushed me. He ran off down one of the adjoining corridors to our right, and I followed. My heart sank as I saw the hallway dead-end up ahead with a tall wall of curtained-off windows.

I looked back over my shoulder. The two statues had leapt off their pedestals and, despite being made of solid stone, raced after us with far more agility that I thought possible. I turned and ran faster, only to find Connor at the dead end, climbing up the curtains. I sprinted the last twenty feet and started up after him, finding the dark blue fabric made me feel as if I were climbing up an ocean.

About fifteen feet up, my arms started to burn with the effort. I had closed the gap with Connor and was about three feet below him and to his left when I felt one of the statues grabbing for me. It was like being swatted at with a gravestone. The other one lashed out with its claws and grabbed a handful of Connor’s trench coat, tugging at him.

“Keep holding on, kid!” Connor shouted. “Don’t let go, even if they pull you off!”

It was easier shouted than done. I did what I was told and dug my fingers firm into the fabric as it continued pulling at me. Above, there was a tearing sound as Connor fell free, but he was still holding on to a long strip of curtain as he went. With his section of the curtain weakened, it wasn’t long before I felt mine give and I fell back toward my living statue, covering it with the fabric as I tumbled behind it. Connor was already back on his feet as I struggled to mine.

“Pull!” he shouted and yanked at the fabric still clutched in his hands. It rolled over the statue and when it finally came free of the creature, I realized what Connor had done. Light streamed in from the windows behind the tears in the fabric, falling in large swatches across his statue. The low grinding sound of its movement slowed, and the parts exposed to the sunlight started to transform into an unmoving mass of solidifying stone. I couldn’t pull at my fabric fast enough. My statue seemed wise to what was happening and tried to bound away, but daylight was already hitting the surface of its skin. It was already midleap and got about ten feet off the ground before its own solidifying weight brought it crashing back to earth. Unbalanced by its petrified parts, it toppled over, flapping around on the floor of the mall.

Connor and I dropped the remains of our curtains and ran back toward the fantastical structure they had been guarding.

Once we arrived, we stood there marveling at it. “It’s not an art piece,” I said. “It’s a door.” As art it had been hideous, but as a locking mechanism, it was the most ingenious and extraordinary structure I had ever seen. Blocks of wood, steel, and glass were interlocked in a pattern of gears that looked like the interior of a giant watch.

“So now what?” Connor asked.

“I have no idea,” I said, running my gloved hands along the surface of it, feeling all the gears and slots where things could be shifted. “It is a door, and a complex one at that. I can’t begin to find where, or how, it opens.”

Connor looked over his shoulder. “Well, we need it open . . . now.”

I studied the door, hoping it might suddenly make sense to me, but it was beyond my comprehension. “Give me a week,” I said, slipping off my gloves, “and I might solve this Rubik’s Cube by traditional means, but I’m going with something more nontraditional.”

I put my hands on one of the large metal gears that stuck out, letting its coolness sink into my hands before pushing my power into it. The electric snap of connection filled my mind’s eye with images of people going through the intricate puzzle of opening this door. I pulled my consciousness up the surface of the here and now, slowing the images down in my mind so I could take the time to re-create each and every step as I experienced it.

“Hurry it up, kid,” Connor said. “I can’t be sure how long those stonies are going to stay half-frozen like that.”

“Don’t rush me,” I said. “I’m psychometry-ing as fast as I can here, Connor.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sure the homicidal statues will understand.”

“Not helping,” I said, pushing myself into the vision of the next step. One of the glass blocks needed to be slipped over and down to release the next metal gear. I did as I saw. Connor fell silent while I ran through the motions and hurried through the rest of the puzzle. I had no idea how long I had been at it, but when I heard the final click of release set in the gears, I pulled out of the vision, shaking from my sugar depletion. I turned to Connor, dazed, only to see that the two half-stone statues had nearly struggled their way back to us. One dragged its lower half along using only its arms, the stone of its legs gouging a trail in the floor as it went. The other limped with one solid stone leg slowing it down. Too weak to speak, I let my weight fall hard against the door and it opened inward. Connor looked over in time to see the door swing open. Turning his back to the living statues, Connor leapt over me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the area beyond the door. He let go of my arm and I rolled across the floor as I caught glimpses of him heaving the door shut behind him. The sound of pistons and the whirr of gears fired up as the lock re-engaged itself.

“C’mon, kid,” he said, helping me back to my feet. He reached into my inside coat pocket and pulled a roll of Life Savers out. He snapped it in two and handed them to me. “Let’s get moving. I don’t know if they know how to get in here, but I don’t want to stand around here to find out, either.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled through a mouthful of candy.

We were in a dark corridor that led to a point of light about thirty feet from us. Connor headed toward it and I followed, scarfing down Life Savers as I went. The light was coming from a distant arch and grew brighter as we drew closer, but it wasn’t like the daylight outside the Gibson-Case Center. It looked like it was early-evening light, as if we were walking toward a sky fading into sunset. Connor stepped out of the tunnel first. I came through and stopped dead beside him. What I saw seemed impossible, and my mind had a hard time drinking it in.

We were standing on the edge of a forest at evening. A cobblestone trail led off into the distance, and through the trees we could see the spires of a castle rising up high. Something in my brain snapped. I wanted to say something, anything, to bring me out of my sudden dream-state feeling, but I was at a loss for words.

“Please tell me you see this, too,” Connor said. “I know I’m still running on crazy, but feel free to join the party.”

“I do,” I said. “What wardrobe did we just step through?”

Dark shadows flew from the forest, the low light hiding whatever was closing in on us. I had sense enough to pull my bat out and extend it. My eyes tried to follow the shapes as they flitted back and forth, but it was near impossible. Connor took a fighting stance and stood at the ready.

The dark shadows hit the ground about twenty feet in front of us. Despite the darkness, I could tell they were humanoid, which gave me a sense of hope. Being humanoid meant that my bat might work on whomever the enemy was.

I choked it up over my shoulder and ran forward, ready to strike. Connor grabbed my sleeve and stopped me in my tracks. He stepped forward, and one of the shadowy figures stepped forward as well. As it came out of the shadows, I felt the last part of my logical brain give up. Connor was standing in front of the figure, but from where I stood, it looked as if he was looking into a mirror. The face staring back at him was a younger version of his own.

13

Connor stood in silence for several minutes before he backed away. When he reached my side, he leaned over and whispered. “Jesus Christ, kid,” the color running from his face. “It’s Mini-Me.”

“Steady, Connor.” I stared at the figure in front of us. He wore a skull-and-crossbones-covered hoodie paired with skinny jeans. He looked like a poster child for Hot Topic, but looking up at his face, there was no doubt as to his identity. The teenager looked like a younger version of Connor, only with whiter skin and a darker mop of brown hair that was almost black.

“Aidan?” Connor asked, stumbling forward. His eyes were fixated and he looked like he was ready to fall over. I reached over and put my arm around Connor’s shoulder to steady him. Despite my effort, his knees gave out and he crumpled to the ancient-looking cobblestones of the trail we were standing on.

The boy in the hoodie looked perplexed.

“You know who I am?” he said to Connor.

Connor nodded in slow motion, his eyes never leaving the boy. “You don’t know me?”

The boy stared in wonder at Connor, but shook his head. “I recognize you from my nightly visits, but I don’t know you, no. Your friend called you Connor . . . ?”

I stood there, bat still held up high on my shoulder. I had no idea if this was truly Connor’s brother, but if I went by color chart alone in identifying monsters, I was pretty sure I knew what this thing was by its pallor alone. Vampire.

“You were the one I chased the other night,” I said, gripping my bat tighter. “I saw you at Connor’s, yet you’re telling us you don’t know who he is? Then why were you there? Why have you been visiting him like that for weeks now?”

The boy raised a finger to his lips, silencing me. He walked toward us, radiating calmness.

“All in good time,” he said, placing one hand on Connor’s face and his other on mine.

His touch was like a drill of raw emotion running straight into me. It swirled in my brain and filled me with what I thought must be his confusion and wonderment. Connor must have felt it, too, but he pulled back from the boy, scrabbling back across the cobblestones. He rose up on one knee as he pulled something out of one of the sleeves of his trench coat. A wooden stake.

The boy looked on, unconcerned. “This might not be the best place for that,” he said, spreading his arms out to the surroundings.

Taking my eyes off of him was difficult, but I pulled them away only to notice the presence of several dozen other “people” standing along the edge of the shadowy forest. I looked back at Connor, but he was still watching Aidan and brandishing the business end of the stake at him. I reached over, grabbed Connor by the shoulder, and pressed his arm down to his side while helping him up.

“Aidan may have a point,” I said. I looked down at the stake. “A better one than yours . . .”

“This thing isn’t Aidan,” Connor said, shaking his head. His staking arm slowly started to rise. “I’m not sure what it is, but it is not Aidan.” Connor leapt like a shot at the boy before I could stop him.

“Connor, don’t!”

As Connor charged him, the boy moved in a blur of preternatural motion as if he was The Flash. Connor’s arm rose to drive the stake at him, but the boy was gone from the spot and already whirring around behind Connor. Connor’s hand flew open as the boy swiped at it with impossible speed, twisting Connor’s arm behind him and placing his own arm around Connor’s neck.

“What are you?” Connor asked, anger thick in his voice.

“I think you know, friend,” the boy whispered into his ear, “but as I said, all in good time . . .”

The quiet crowd around us surged forward from the shadows, all with the same preternatural speed. They were from all walks of life—different skin tones, different styles of dress—but all with the same snarling look on their faces. Then I noticed even more commonality among them—fangs.

As the crowd closed in on us, Aidan looked up and waved them away. “Enough! I have these two under control.”

“You do?” I stepped closer, swinging my bat down in a preparatory arc before me.

The boy let go of Connor’s arm, then pointed to his own hand wrapped around Connor’s throat. “What part of I’ll crush his windpipe do you not understand, pal?”

A woman who looked to be in her midtwenties rushed like the wind up to the boy. She looked Hispanic with a head full of curly brown hair that looked almost alive in a Medusa sort of way.

“Please,” she said, fixing a wide-eyed glare on me. I felt a strange sensation of passiveness wash over me, and I knew she was projecting it at me. “Let me have this one to deal with.”

“No, Beatriz,” the boy said. “They’re both here because of me and that puts them under my protection.”

The woman eyed me with dark glee. “So selfish,” she said, then ran at me anyway. The boy let go of Connor, dropping him onto the cobblestones of the path. Before this Beatriz could reach me, he had by her throat the same way he had just had Connor. Aidan lifted her from the ground until he could extend his arm no farther. She let out a hissing choke as she struggled to free herself with both hands from his grip, but it was to no avail.

“Let . . . me . . . go,” she spat out.

The boy held her aloft a few seconds more, and then tossed her a good fifty feet into the forest. The female vampire crashed into one of the thicker trees with a dull thud accompanied by what sounded like cracking bone. She slid to the grass below, unmoving.

The boy turned to the rest of the crowd, which had closed on him. “Anyone else?”

The rest of the group was seething and writhed with an excited energy, but none of them dared move forward.

“Good,” he said after a minute. He walked over to Connor and helped him back up. Connor looked dazed, but when he realized who was helping him, he pushed away from him and walked back toward me.

“You okay?” I asked.

Connor nodded. “Sure, kid. I’m shaken, a bit stirred, but I feel a little better. It’s nice to know I wasn’t crazy all those times I thought I was dreaming.”

I looked past Connor to the boy. “Just what the hell was that all about, anyway? I was right about what I said before, wasn’t I? You’re the one I chased away from Connor’s apartment, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. That was me.” The boy smiled, the tips of two fangs showing at the corners of his mouth. He laughed.

“Hold on,” a woman’s voice called out. It was the one he called Beatriz again. She was now standing at the base of the far-off tree she had been thrown against. She bent her knees and leapt, closing the fifty feet or so in a second with my eyes barely able to follow her. She landed near the boy and started walking toward him. Her arm was bent at an unnatural angle and it dangled lifelessly at her side. “Why the hell are you telling them anything? They’re human.”

She stopped in front of the boy and he ignored her words, looking instead at a bit of bone protruding from just below her elbow. “You’re hurt.”

He reached for her wounded arm, but she batted him away with her good arm.

“Never mind that,” Beatriz said. “What were you doing visiting this Connor person anyway?”

Aidan’s eyes lingered on hers. He took her arm in his hands and pulled at the lower part of it until the bone disappeared under the skin. Using his thumb to trace the spot where it had reentered, he felt around for a second before pressing on it. As I heard bone scraping bone, Beatriz’s eyes widened.

“Dammit!” she hissed, pushing him away. She clutched her arm as I watched the hole in her skin close and the flesh knit itself together over it, leaving only a small amount of blood as a reminder of what had happened. Aidan reached out with his hand, extending his finger to touch the spot, and cleaned up the blood. He raised it to his lips, his eyes rolling back into his head as he tasted it. Beatriz moved closer to him, tension in her body.

When Aidan’s eyes returned to normal, she was still glaring at him.

“Well?”

“Well,” he repeated with exasperation in his voice, “I’m not sure.”

Aidan’s uncertainty washed out over us in a wave of raw emotion. Even the crowd around us felt it and roared to life in confusion and frustration. We were outnumbered by vampires by a wide margin. The bat in my hands had never felt more useless, and I could feel the anger and excitement of the crowd rush into me, making my nerves stand on end.

Beatriz raised her hands to beat on his chest, but Aidan wrapped his arms around her, holding her too close to do anything that effective.

“Contacting humans like this,” she said, pissed. “That’s not your decision to make!”

He smiled at her. “It’s not yours, either.” He looked around at the other vampires. They were visibly upset and eyeing Connor and me like we were blood-soaked Lunchables. Aidan looked worried. He looked back down at Beatriz with a hint of tenderness in his eyes. “He’ll know what to do.”

Connor stood at my side, still dazed from the sudden shock of discovering his brother was alive. Well, alive-ish, anyway. It felt like it was up to me to get some answers.

“He who?” I asked. “Whose decision-making abilities are we talking about here?”

“Brandon,” Aidan said. “He . . .”

Beatriz hit him hard in the chest, stopping him. “Let’s not introduce the entire clan, shall we? God, we don’t want these blood bags to put everyone on their hit list just yet.”

At the mention of the word “blood,” the rest of the vampires went wild, barely keeping their distance.

“Take us to him,” I said.

“Are you nuts?” Connor said, finally speaking up, disgusted. “Kid, you want to go deeper into the dragon’s lair?”

I looked back over my shoulder at the distant entry doors now closed behind us. They may as well have been miles away given the speed at which these creatures moved. “Would you rather take your chances with this lot?”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Aidan added. He lowered his voice. “I don’t think I can take all of them, and frankly, I don’t think I want to. They are family, after all.”

“Family . . .” Connor muttered, and gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t talk to me about family.” He held his hand up in a Vulcan salute. “Fine, then. Take us to your leader.”

As we approached the distant castle, it was difficult processing all of this. My mind knew that outside the Gibson-Case Center, the hustle and bustle of New York continued on, but in here it was another world—the thick forest all around us and now a castle that looked big enough to take up the whole city block by itself. The exterior-wall fortifications of it were made of rough-hewn stone blocks that stacked up at least forty feet tall. Aidan led us across a drawbridge over a moat and through the main portcullis into an area that opened up into a courtyard. Several smaller buildings lined the open area along with a host of people, but I didn’t have much of a chance to check any of them out. Aidan was already across the yard and heading into an ornate building that looked like it was the castle proper. Inside the building, the interior stonework was finer than the outside and the walls were lit by electric sconces, giving the place a somewhat cheaper Medieval Times feel. We ran to keep up with the vampire while Aidan led us through a dizzying array of corridors until I lost all sense of direction. If he wanted to kill us now, his odds were pretty damn good before I stood a chance of finding an exit. To comfort myself, I threw my bat up on my shoulder as we walked along. Aidan turned to me.

“You can put your bat away now,” Aidan offered.

“I’m good,” I said, keeping it out. “Thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Aidan said after a moment of giving me a dark look. “Not a good way to enter into things, if you ask me.”

Connor had been silent the whole time, giving his undead brother wary looks as he followed along.

“Yeah,” I said, “about that. Just what are we getting into here?”

“That’s not really for me to say,” he said and fell silent. “Just be happy I got you out of there, okay? The clan’s a little peeved that I’m bringing you to the castle.”

“Why are you bringing us here?” I asked. “Wait; don’t tell me. I suppose that’s not really for you to say, either?”

Aidan smiled, showing me his fangs again. “You learn quickly,” he said. “Not bad for a mortal.”

Aidan stopped at an intersection of halls, checking in all directions. As the three of us stood there, I noticed a certain stillness in him, then realized it was his complete absence of respiration. I looked at his boyish features—Connor’s features, really.

As we walked through the castle corridors, curiosity got the better of me. “So your name is Aidan, right?”

“Yes,” Aidan said. “Although how he knew that, I have no idea.”

“He who?” I asked.

Aidan jerked his head in Connor’s direction. “Him.”

“Hold on,” I said, stopping. “You didn’t know his name before I said it earlier?”

Aidan stopped and turned to the two of us. “You said he was Connor. I’m sorry; where are my manners? Gentleman, my name is Aidan.” He gave a low bow, the hood on his sweatshirt flopping forward. He stood back up. “And you might be . . . ?”

“I’m Simon,” I said, “and this is my bat. It doesn’t have a name yet, although I’m thinking of going with Swingy.”

“I’m Connor,” Connor said. He held out his hand. Aidan reached out and shook it. As I watched, I was a little disappointed. There was no sweep of violins or any grand moment of reunion. They simply shook hands with no sense of recognition on Aidan’s face at all. He spun around on his heels, shoved his hands deep into his sweatshirt pockets, and walked off.

I gave Connor a look, but he held his finger up to his lips. He mouthed the words, He really doesn’t know.

Before it could even sink in, Aidan called back to us. “Anytime, fellas . . .”

Connor took off first, looking confused but full of questions.

“So this Brandon you mentioned before, is that who you’re taking us to?” Connor asked.

“Affirmative,” Aidan said. “Think of him as king around here, not that we’re feudal or anything.”

“Let me get this straight,” Connor said. “The king of your little undead castle here is named Brandon?”

Aidan shrugged. “It’s what he calls himself now, anyway. That’s all you need to know.”

Connor laughed. “I see.”

Aidan hit the foot of a steep set of poorly lit stairs and started up them. “Watch your step . . . Listen, if you must know, vamps have a lot of downtime, given the whole longevity thing. Boredom sets in, but thanks to modern technology there are so many wonders to fill in the gaps. The Internet, movies, podcasts, television . . . especially television. We’re big on television . . . and movies. Anyway, Brandon takes his name from one of his favorite shows from the nineties. You ever watch Beverly Hills, 90210?”

“This is worse than I thought,” I said. “We’re dealing with the Prince of Darkness and he takes his name from Brandon Walsh? Please tell me this television thing is not a recurring theme with you people cuz if I have to parlay with Count Richie Cunningham, I may have to seek out psychological help.”

Aidan shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he said, stopping at the top of the stairs. We were on a ten-foot landing that led to a thick wooden door that ran from floor to ceiling. Aidan looked at my bat, then at me. I felt his eyes working some kind of influence over me and I fought to stop it. “You really ought to consider putting that thing away.”

“Why?” I said, doing my best to resist following his command. Even so, I felt myself lowering my arm.

“Because the man behind this door?” he said. “He’s not like the rest of those downstairs. He’s older than them all, which would more than qualify him to lead, but on top of that, he’s got the best head on his shoulders. Him, I listen to. Him, I would die for.”

14

Aidan knocked and then pushed the enormous door open like it weighed nothing, but I doubt I would have been able to move it by myself. The wooden planks of the door were thick and looked like they’d take a week to get through using an ax. Aidan walked into the dark room beyond it. Connor followed him through, and the second he cleared past Aidan, he broke into a sprint.

I came into the room. Brandon’s chambers were ancient and sprawling, a mix of cold stonework filled with treasures both ancient and modern. Off in the darkness, a distant screen glowed at the far end of the room, which was lit by a fireplace. Several figures were seated by it, and that was where Connor headed. I ran after him. As we neared the circle of chairs, a man with shoulder-length wavy black hair stood. From the way the other figures remained seated, it was clear he was the alpha male. Brandon.

Connor leapt at him, pulling a wooden stake out from one of his sleeves.

“You did this to him?” Connor shouted. Twenty years of rage, loss, and sorrow was bubbling to the surface in an instant. “You made him this?”

Brandon did not look at all like what I pictured. He was tall but looked a bit like his television-show namesake, only with longer hair and a bit more hip in the clothes department. He wore dark jeans and a brown long-sleeved button-down with an Ed Hardyish swirly print on it, but I didn’t have time to figure out what it was. He blurred out of Connor’s direct path, but Connor—seasoned as he was—must have caught something in his movement and compensated. My partner swerved right and raised his hand with the stake in it. The blur of motion connected with it and there was the tearing sound of fabric. Brandon slowed to human speed, checked the tear in his shirt near his chest, and knocked the wooden stake from Connor’s hand. It slid off across the floor.

The rest of the vampires leapt to their feet, their faces pulling back like taut leather as they popped their fangs, their true monster natures revealed. Their wave of emotion engulfed me and I stumbled backward, the sense of their projected fear overwhelming me. Brandon waved his hand, and the mob transformed back into their more human forms as the intense feeling subsided. For the moment the bloodsuckers were at bay, but who knew how long that would last?

“Forgive me,” Brandon said. His voice wasn’t what I would have expected from the lord vampire of the manor. In fact, he sounded like he might have a little West Coast in him, maybe due to his television-viewing habits. It helped put me a bit at ease. Brandon turned to Aidan. “And you are interrupting my council . . . why now?”

“This is the one I kept having the dreams about,” Aidan said, pointing to Connor.

Connor stepped forward. “What the hell is going on here? For almost two years this city has been vampire free. Now I find that not only are there vampires in town; they’ve got their own Medieval Times castle built inside some high-rise.”

Brandon went to speak, then stopped as he noticed Connor’s similarity to Aidan for the first time. His eyes widened as he looked back and forth between the two of them. Aidan, on the other hand, still just looked confused.

“Aidan, my dear boy,” Brandon said. “Will you excuse us for a moment?”

Aidan fell into the prototypical teenage sulking pose, shoulders forward, hunched over. “But . . .”

“Now,” Brandon snapped. Aidan looked a little shocked, straightened up, and gave a quick nod before blurring off across the room, letting the heavy oak doors slam shut behind him. Brandon turned his attention to both Connor and me. “I realize the nature of this situation must be hitting the two of you somewhat hard,” Brandon continued. He reached out, snatched my bat from my hand, and collapsed it down before handing it back to me. “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to insult me in my own home. Do you really think I’d allow you into my chambers if I thought you could do me any serious harm?”

Connor looked off to the far end of the room where the wooden stake had slid away. “It was worth a shot,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I doubt any sort of surprise attack would have worked.” Brandon smiled, turning his full attention to Connor. “You see, we’ve been expecting you.”

“Me?” Connor asked. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve been expecting you,” Brandon repeated. “More or less. It’s why we took Aidan in the first place. We believe you have a role to play in our future, Connor.”

Connor got right up in Brandon’s face. He looked ready to explode. “Yeah, right. Maybe you don’t understand it, but I’ve spent half my life thinking my brother was dead.”

Brandon’s face was impassive. “An unfortunate circumstance, I agree, but given our reasons for doing so, the conversion of one human into our kind is a small price to pay for the safety of my people.”

Connor was becoming more and more unhinged by the second, but I couldn’t let that happen. We’d be dead with that kind of raw emotional reaction.

“Easy,” I said, stepping between Connor and the head of the vampires.

“Got anything pointy on you, Simon?” Connor asked. “I’m not asking you to do the deed. I’m just asking what you’re packing.”

“Maybe we should let this all sink in,” I said, “and take it easy right now. You’ve just come across your brother, for God’s sake. Take a step back on this. Nobody is staking anybody.”

“You sure about that, kid?” Connor said, looking around for something readily available.

“I’m not sure of anything right now,” I said, “but look at it this way . . . Nobody seems like they want to feed on us. That’s a step in a positive direction, I suppose.”

Brandon clapped Connor hard on the shoulder, and then helped himself to one of the now-empty chairs in the circle. “You should listen to your partner,” Brandon said.

“Why would you do this to my brother?” Connor asked, the pain on his face killing me. “Why make him one of your kind? Why are you here?”

I could tell by the look on Brandon’s face that he was trying to keep his patience with Connor. “The reason that we’re here,” Brandon said, “is that we are vampire . . . We’ve always been here.”

I thought of the giant white erase board that hung over the main bull pen of the D.E.A. offices, recording the days since any of the divisions had to deal with vampires. “According to our records,” I said, “your people have kind of gone off the grid for the past two years or so.”

“Not that we mind,” Connor said. “It cuts down on a hell of a lot of my day-to-day workload. But why my brother?”

“As I said, we believe you are key to our future, Connor,” Brandon said. “We believe you and Aidan hold the key to our salvation. All of our salvation. It is foretold in our prophecies.”

“Christ,” I said. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Do you know how many supposed ‘prophecies’ get reported in to the Department every week? In Other Division alone we’ve had six different chosen ones since last Tuesday. Believe me when I say Connor’s not your chosen one.”

“Exactly,” Connor said. “I call bullshit. What are you really doing here? Stockpiling resources for some form of bloody coup against us?”

Brandon’s face darkened. His voice came out just as dark, sinister. “Believe me, gentlemen, if what we wanted was a bloodbath, we would surely have it.”

His tone and a sudden wave of his emotions hit me, sending a chill down my spine. I tried to shake it off as best I could. “Then what do you want?” I asked.

Brandon stood and turned to me.

“Long life,” he said, “is tiring. For far too long our people have fought your people.”

“So hold on,” Connor said. “You want us to believe you are vampire pacifists? You want to make peace?”

Brandon shook his head. “I didn’t say that,” he said. “What we really want is to be left alone.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Connor said, a dark look of his own coming over his face. “If you had wanted peace, you should have considered that long before you took my brother and made him . . . this.” His last word dripped with pain and disgust at what his brother had become. “How come he has no idea I’m his brother? Why doesn’t he remember me?”

Brandon sighed, pausing before he started to speak. “When I turned him,” he said, “I took precautions to assure that Aidan’s mind would be free of his past, at least for the time being. The transition would be less painful for him that way and, selfishly, it served to keep him unaware of my purposes regarding our prophecy. It appears, however, my efforts were not as strong as I would have liked. You heard Aidan talking about the dreams he’s been having . . . Those are memories of his past, of you, manifesting themselves back into his consciousness, causing him to seek you without even knowing who you are. The fact that he hunted you out and stalked you, being driven only by his dreams, proves his value to my people. He’s quite a resourceful young vampire.”

Connor looked livid. “To what end?”

Brandon smiled at him.

“Whether you choose to believe in our prophecy or not, Connor,” Brandon said, “let’s just say I thought this day might come between our two worlds. How you choose to deal with this information is entirely in your own hands.”

Connor paused and his face changed. The anger faded a little and he jerked his thumb over at me. “The kid here’s got some issues with the whole prophecy thing, but you know what? After the past couple months of where my brain has been, I’m willing to take a look at anything that’s going to help me understand why my brother’s been made a part of Club Dead. Or what it has to do with me.”

Brandon gave a tight-lipped smile as if he were showing restraint. “I know you mean that to be insulting,” Brandon said, “but from my perspective, I consider Aidan’s transformation an . . . upgrade of sorts. Nonetheless, I think it’s high time both our races start acting civilized toward each other. We live in delicate times, gentlemen. Like your ancestors of generations past, we are saying good-bye to the Old World, the old ways of doing things.”

Connor turned to meet my eyes, his cynicism returning to his face. “I don’t know, kid. When we broach the subject with the Department, I don’t really think this is going to fly.”

My biggest concern was what type of conniption Allorah Daniels might have when she got wind of this all-you-can-stake vampire buffet. Still, truth be told, I was feeling pretty good about the situation. By the odds I calculated in my head, I figured I should have been long dead from hanging out here in New York’s largest nest of vampires. Any extra time I was still among the living felt like a bonus level in a video game to me.

“So we make it fly,” I said. “Connor, think of your brother. He’s one of them now. Less than an hour ago you thought he was still dead and gone. Now you know that he’s just dead. That’s a positive . . . of a sort.”

Connor looked on the verge of crying. The accumulated weight of the past month of mental stress seemed to crush down on him at once. “I wouldn’t call this any kind of life,” Connor said. “You know our training. Vampires are an abomination. Maybe I should have saved that stake to release Aidan from all this.”

I grabbed Connor by the lapels of his coat and got in his face. “He’s your brother! Think about what you’re saying. You can’t kill him.”

Brandon coughed, a totally artificial gesture on his part. “He’s our family, too,” Brandon added, holding up a finger.

“I wouldn’t allow that.”

Connor turned and looked at him. “I guess that’s part of my problem,” Connor said. “You say you people want to be left alone, but I don’t think it would stay that way long. Look what you’ve done to my brother. I’ve been around him less than an hour and I’ve already seen how ferocious he can become. We watched him throw this dark-haired girl across your little faux forest out there.”

Brandon looked surprised. “He did that to Beatriz?” he asked. “That’s rather harsh to be doing to his girlfriend, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “They’re a couple?”

“Fits my point exactly,” Connor said. “If that’s how he treats his girlfriend, what’s he or the others going to do to regular humans on the street who they don’t even know?”

Brandon looked at us like we were stupid. “Aidan doles out exactly what he knows our people can take when it comes to keeping the law around here. He’s one of my key enforcers. He can’t simply go easier on Beatriz, especially around the others. If he gave his girlfriend special treatment, what would the others think? It’s clan politics, and you can’t be too soft around that mentality. It simply wouldn’t do. It would be a show of weakness, and we can’t have that. Besides, he’s young.”

“He’s thirty-seven,” I said.

“Young by our standards,” Brandon corrected, “which explains some of his more interesting outbursts. He gets a bit irked when we’re all out socially. He always gets carded. You have to understand that for the vampire, the mind changes at a different rate, between immortality and the fact that the body never ages. All of us grow differently.”

“What?” I asked. “No finishing school for vampires?” This seemed to agitate Brandon and I could feel it radiating from him. His face was somber.

“We still have much to discuss,” Brandon said, “but that can wait till later. For now, I think it wise we all digest what has happened here today, on both sides.”

“So that’s it?” I asked. “You’re just going to let us walk out of here?”

Brandon looked annoyed. “I could have some of my men chase you out of here, if you prefer.”

“Walking out is just fine,” Connor said.

“But I do need something from you,” Brandon said. “An assurance that you will approach this historic meeting with some delicacy when you talk to your superiors. This is history in the making, history we’ve waited on for a long time.”

“That’s awfully trusting,” I said. “What makes you think we’re not going to send in the troops on this?”

Brandon shrugged and tapped the side of his forehead. “Prophecy, remember?” He turned to Connor and gave him a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “Besides, you’ve got your brother to think about in all this, haven’t you?”

Connor’s face went dark. “That’s why you did this to him,” he said, “thinking you’d get my cooperation . . .”

Brandon held his hands up. “All I’m asking is for you to think about all this carefully,” he said. His eyes locked with Connor’s. “It’s very exciting to finally meet you.”

“What the hell are you expecting of me?” Connor asked. “What does your prophecy think I can do for you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why do vampires need help with salvation? Immortality and preternatural abilities not enough to keep you going as a dominant species?”

Brandon looked at us as though he were addressing children. “All in good time,” Brandon said. “As I mentioned, I think you need to digest what you have heard today before we address the greater needs of my people.”

Connor’s face darkened. He wasn’t getting the answers he wanted and his frustration was mounting. Before he could go to an even darker place, I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door.

“We’ll see what we can do,” I said to Brandon.

Brandon’s face changed. He looked unhappy. “You’ll forgive me if I seem less than enthusiastic,” he said. “No offense, but despite our prophecy, your department’s previous policy of ‘Dust First, Ask Questions Later’ fills me with skepticism.”

I walked a somewhat dazed Connor to the door at the far end of the room and opened it. Aidan was leaning up against the wall, playing with a PSP.

“Give me a second alone with Brandon,” I said to Connor, still holding the door open. “I’ll be right out. You going to be okay out here?”

Connor nodded, and then looked at Aidan for approval. Aidan nodded, but gave me a look of distrust, eyeing the retracted bat in my hand. I raised it up and waggled it back and forth. “I just need to talk to your boss. Don’t worry about this. There’s no pointy end.”

Aidan laughed, his fangs showing in the gesture, but he waved me back toward Brandon’s quarters and started down the stairs. Connor followed after him close behind. I closed the door and turned back into the room, walking back to where Brandon stood by his fireplace. The rest of his vampiric council had left him alone there, staring up at an oil painting hanging over the fireplace depicting a gorgeous dark-haired woman with Greek features in a blue dress that, given my eye for art, I placed as Renaissance.

“She’s beautiful,” I said. “Who is she?”

Brandon looked away from her over to me. He seemed surprised to see me there. “She is none of your concern,” he said, turning to look back up at her, “but I was much less enlightened when I knew Damaris, far less studious about the prophecies.”

“Damaris,” I repeated, staring up at the painting for a moment as I put a name to her. I turned my attention back to Brandon. “Women will change a man. Speaking of women, I almost forgot. Your building here . . . not the castle, but the Gibson-Case Center . . . ?”

Being in the room with Brandon and the rest of the vampires as the only human took on a more somber quality. Without Connor at my side, I felt a lot less secure.

“Yes?” Brandon asked. “What about it?”

“It kind of ate my girlfriend,” I said.

Brandon stared at me blankly. “Excuse me?”

“Jane,” I said. “Her name is Jane Clayton-Forrester. We were using one of the information kiosks and, well . . . it kind of engulfed her. She’s somewhere in the building’s systems. It even lists her among the tenants. She’s been in contact with me, but she’s not really sure what’s happened to her.”

“I see,” Brandon said. “You must understand. I don’t really handle all these technical aspects. I’m afraid long life has left me somewhat slow in adapting to this changing world.”

“But from what Aidan told me, I thought you were their . . . leader,” I said, not quite sure what type of title was appropriate for the head vampire in charge. Lord, Master . . . Big Biter on Campus?

“Make no mistake,” Brandon added. “I am, but as far as those types of details, well, that’s what I have minions for.” He gestured toward the other vampires in the room and made a beckoning gesture. “I will leave that up to my colleague here. Nicholas?”

One of the vampires stepped forward. He looked to be around thirty and had shoulder-length brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. His clothes were modern, high fashion that bordered on runway absurd for a man, but finely tailored, certainly better than anything I owned.

“Hello,” he said, very politely. With just a greeting off his lips, I could already hear the thickness of an English accent much more Old World than the Inspectre’s. “My name is Nicholas Vanbrugh. I am the one responsible for the supervision and maintenance of this facility. I hope I can be of some assistance.”

I did, too. Not being eaten alive was a good way to start the day, but none of it mattered if I couldn’t get Jane back.

15

Connor and Aidan were long gone from the top of the stairs by the time Nicholas and I started down them from Brandon’s chambers. The creepy vibe from being in a roomful of vampires was replaced with the creepy vibe from being alone in an ancient castle corridor with just one of them. Darkness filled the staircase, which was lit by only the faint glow of torches set halfway down them. We worked our way down the stairs, my footsteps the only ones echoing as we went. I calmed my nerves by hoping that we were still in the heart of New York City, no matter how unlikely that felt here in Castle Dracula.

By the time we reached the base of the stairs, I had told Nicholas everything I could about what had happened to Jane at the information kiosk. He had listened intently, but when we came across Connor and Aidan at the bottom, something changed in Nicholas. The emotions pouring off of him radiated an anger that caused him to withdraw into himself. Aidan seemed to notice it as well, but seemed to be playing the part of the too-cool-for-school teen leaning up against the wall.

Connor, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to it all. He was simply staring at his brother, looking him over, entirely fascinated. Aidan turned to look at me as Nicholas and I approached.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I laughed out loud, trying to hide my nervousness. “I’d hardly call any of this okay.” I nodded toward Aidan, wondering if Connor had told him he was his brother yet. “Did you two discuss anything interesting . . . ?”

Connor shook his head.

Aidan looked down at the retracted bat in my hand. I moved it to my belt, hung it in its holster, and pulled my coat over it.

I looked at Connor. “Nicholas here is going to help us with our Jane problem.”

“That’s great, kid,” Connor said, still distracted by Aidan’s presence. “You can get on with that without me, right?”

I grabbed him by his sleeve, dragging him a few feet away from his brother, forcing him to look at me.

“Hey,” I said, giving him a series of light slaps to the face. “Snap out of it. What’s going on with you? Does Aidan have you in his thrall or something?”

Connor’s eyes came into focus and he grabbed me hard by my wrist, stopping me. “What? Enough, kid! No, I’m not in his thrall.”

“You sure?” I asked. “You’re acting all . . . like this.”

Connor laughed and shook his head. “Jesus, Simon, I just found out that dead Aidan Christos of twenty years is actually undead Aidan Christos of twenty years! Of course I’m dazed. Hell, I’ve seen you more dazed about missing Jane for a few hours.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, “but the thing is, if you leave me alone with Jane, you don’t have to worry that she’ll turn me into the walking dead. I’m not leaving you here with him.”

“You know,” Aidan said from the spot he and Nicholas occupied farther down the castle corridor, “one of the cool things about being all vamped out is the heightened senses. Like, you know, hearing, for instance.”

“Sorry,” I said, speaking up and turning to him. “Didn’t mean to offend. I just don’t think it’s in our best interest to leave my partner alone here in a den thick with vampires.”

“Your loyalty is touching,” Aidan said, holding up his hand in a three-finger salute, “but he’ll be fine. Scout’s honor.”

I turned to look at my partner. “Connor?”

Connor nodded. “I’ll be fine, really. I know I’m at risk here, but do you really think Aidan’s going to let any harm come to me? You saw what he did to those other vamps out in front of the castle. Besides, Aidan’s working through some things from these dreams he’s had that led him to me. I need to stay here. I need to help him figure this out.”

I hesitated. “If you’re sure,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Connor said, patting me on the shoulder. “You take care of the Jane sitch with your new vampire pal there.”

The two of us started heading back to our respective vamps. Nicholas gave Aidan a parting glare as he turned to head off to our left down another corridor. As I started to follow him, Connor stopped me by putting his hand on my shoulder.

“And kid? Let’s not bring this up with the Inspectre, shall we?”

“I kind of have to, don’t I?” I asked. “After the last time I called a false ‘vampire’ on a case? My rep is a bit shaky. Negotiating all this will more than make up for it. Allorah Daniels might pop a gasket, but we can’t not report this.”

“Fine,” Connor said, frustrated. “But just . . . not now, okay? Not until I deal with Aidan. I know Allorah. She gets really worked up, really fast. She’ll want to come in here crosses a-blazing, and I can’t allow that to happen. We need to take the slow, subtle approach if we’re going to deal with this the right way.”

I nodded. At this point, what were a few more days in the grand scheme of things? I didn’t bother to ask Connor out loud what he meant by “deal” with his brother, but I hoped it didn’t involve using a sharpened piece of wood.

Connor walked back over to Aidan. The tension in the air let up as Nicholas led me away from the Brothers Christos and we walked along castle corridors until we finally came out into the courtyard of the castle.

“What the hell is this place?” I asked.

“This,” Nicholas said as plain as he could, “is our castle.”

“But what the hell is it doing here in the middle of New York City?” A terrifying thought struck me. “We are still in New York City, right? Because wormholes and rips in time and space aren’t in my job description. I’m not even sure it’s in anyone’s job description back at the office. If you tell me we stepped through a Stargate or something to get here, I think my brain is going to explode.”

Nicholas gave a gentle and reassuring smile. He was much quieter and softer-spoken than I thought a vampire could ever be . . . more articulate, too. “Not quite,” he said. “I assure you we are still in New York City and still inside the Gibson-Case Center. The castle and its grounds are the result of much decorative illusion and not exactly what they seem. Through extensive landscaping, we’ve recreated the castle’s original surrounding homeland of Wallachia in painstaking detail.”

“There’s no way,” I said. “When we came out of that tunnel into the edge of the forest . . . There’s no way all that fits in just a city block.”

“I assure you, it does,” Nicholas said. “We’ve employed a lot of scenic trickery in designing this space.” Pride was thick in his voice and he stopped to point off to various areas nearby. “Forced perspective, false horizon lines, lighting to simulate the passage of night and day . . . theatrics to give the appearance of open space surrounding Castle Bran.”

“Hold on,” I said. “Did Brandon name your castle after 90210, too?”

Nicholas shook his head. “Actually, no. That is mere coincidence.” He started walking again and I followed. “Castle Bran is from Wallachia’s Brasov County,” he continued. “Our people took occupation of it when Brandon killed the Wallachian viovode Mircea the Old several hundred years ago.”

“How nice,” I said. “So what’s it doing here?”

“All this has been in the planning stages for years. The castle was finally moved here stone by stone over the past seventy years.”

“You’d have made an excellent history teacher, Nicholas,” I said.

“Architect,” the vampire offered, pausing on the cobblestone path as we reached the portcullis. “I was an architect . . . That was long ago.”

Sadness rolled off of him as he stood there in silence, and I fought to not get too wrapped up in his emotion. Thankfully, he began walking again and the sadness started to fade.

“So . . . what?” I asked. “You’ve built this ivory tower around your secret castle here? To what end?”

“It’s not just a tower,” Nicholas said, looking a little insulted. “It’s an entirely self-sufficient city-state. Have you ever heard of the term ‘arcology’?”

“Enlighten me, oh, architect,” I said. The tunnel where Connor and I had come in here was off in the distance and the vampire led us down the path toward it.

Nicholas ignored my comment, but spoke anyway. “The Gibson-Case Center is what’s known as a hyperstructure. We’re a self-contained, self-sufficient system of commercial and residential facilities—educational, business, housing, production, technological—all while maintaining the privacy of everyone living within the system, both human and vampire alike. We even have our own hospital, through which our residents unknowingly support our appetites with their contributions of blood by donating it to what they think is a regular blood drive. We see that those who donate on a more regular basis receive a reduction in rent in exchange. It’s very symbiotic and the perfect ecosystem for a culture like ours, who put such a premium on retaining our privacy.”

I whistled, impressed. “You’re telling me that not only did you move an entire castle into the city, but you then managed to put a . . . What did you call it again?”

“An arcology,” Nicholas repeated.

“Yeah,” I said. “That. You built this arcology around it?”

“That is correct,” he said.

“And no one from the Department of Extraordinary Affairs ever caught wind of this project?”

“I don’t wish to be insulting,” Nicholas said, “but let’s just say that previous generations of your Department weren’t always the sharpest. Brandon even insured hundreds of years ago that this location would be secured for years to come by generating decades of what you call ‘red tape’ until the true nature of our project was lost to the bureaucrats.”

“I’ve seen that handiwork,” I said as we entered the tunnel leading back to the puzzle door that marked the entrance to the Gibson-Case Center. “Make sure to give your leader my kudos. And all because you want to be left alone . . .”

“Our kind have changed,” Nicholas said when we reached the door. His arms blurred into action as he set about releasing the locking mechanism. “We have Brandon to thank for that. Please bear that in mind.”

The door opened onto the dead-end area of the center that was flanked by the two living statues. My eyes fought to adjust to the center’s high level of lighting.

“Give me a few hours,” he said, gesturing for me to step out. “I need to run some diagnostics before I have any real idea what is to be done about your girlfriend’s situation.”

I nodded and headed back out into New York proper, the sound of the door’s blocks and gears grinding shut behind me. I needed to run some diagnostics myself. Only mine were going to be of the could-a-vampire-even-be-trusted variety.

16

When I returned to the Department of Extraordinary Affairs, my mind was a cloud of confusion and raw emotion, so much so that as I made my way back through the Lovecraft Café, I didn’t dare look anyone in the eye for fear of accidentally spilling everything I knew. Back in the offices, I couldn’t help but feel the words from the bulletin board high up on the main room’s wall weighing down on me:

It has been 777 days since our last vampiric incursion.

The one time I had climbed that ladder to change it, I had felt a sick yet joyous sense of pride, even if I had had to change the number back in shame later when it turned out to be a false alarm. Now the pronouncement weighed heavily on me as I kept my new little secret. It was like having the Eye of Sauron upon me, watching, waiting . . .

I stopped briefly at my desk, only to weep when I saw a second in-box had been added to compensate for my caseload. The distant haroom of the Inspectre’s voice came from his office upstairs and I ran for the arched door that led down to the Gauntlet.

I couldn’t deal with the Inspectre right now. There was no way I could honor Connor’s promise of silence by flat-out lying to the Inspectre about the vampire situation, and God help me if Allorah was with him. When I reached the stairs, I stopped at the top of the old stone steps, pulled the wooden door closed behind me, and headed down to the archives.

The fatigue I had already experienced from the rest of my day’s adventures doubled by the time I hit the subbasement caverns that housed our archival unit. Godfrey Candella was once again in his usual spot, hidden in his office behind a stack of books, folios, and ancient maps.

“What’s up, Dr. Jones?” I called out.

Godfrey looked up from one of the maps. His straight black bangs brushed the top of his horn rims. He pushed the hair off to the right, parting it. It wasn’t much of an improvement given that all it did was expose the pasty whiteness of his forehead. “Umm, Dr. Jones was an archaeologist ,” he corrected. “I’m an archivist.”

“You really need to lighten up,” I said. “Maybe loosen your tie a little.”

Godfrey reached up and adjusted his tie, even though it was already in a perfect knot. “I’m happy with it as it is, thank you very much.”

I looked around. The Gauntlet was a hive of activity right now. Various archivists were running around with books and files, a few of them sitting at the long wooden research tables off in the main area. I didn’t see Godfrey’s little kiss buddy from the other day around. I snuck a peek back toward the stairs.

“You’re not expecting the Inspectre, are you?” I asked.

Godfrey looked up from the map he was reading. He cocked his head. “Huh? Am I inspecting the Inspectre?”

“Expecting,” I corrected.

“Oh,” he said, distracted by what he was looking over. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

Godfrey laid the map he was looking at back down on the desk, leaving it here. “Are you hiding from him down here?”

I shrugged. “More avoiding than hiding, really.”

“I appreciate your attempt at honesty,” he said, glibness in his voice. “So what’s up?”

With everything I suddenly knew, I had to be careful how I approached anything, so I thought for a moment before answering.

“I was just wondering if I could ask you a few things about vampires.”

Godfrey’s eyes widened and he sat up straight.

“And you’re asking because . . . ?”

Here’s where it gets tricky, I thought. “No reason, really,” I lied. “You remember a few months back when I caused all that hoopla about vampires?”

Godfrey reached over to a stack of books on his desk and patted the top one. “Only there weren’t any? Or rather, only that one you reported on later and it got away. Didn’t sound like much of a vampiric threat, all things considered. I believe I documented that here in volume seven of the D.E.A.’s modern history.”

Knowing that it had already been canonized threw me for a loop, causing my face to go red with embarrassment. “That’s the thing,” I said. “I don’t want to go down in the history books here as the boy who cried vampire. Maybe if I knew a bit more about them, I’d be better prepared next time . . . you know, if there is a next time. I haven’t had a chance to take Vampirology yet.”

Godfrey nodded with understanding. I hated lying to the poor guy, but until Connor had a chance to come to terms with what his brother had become, I owed him the silence he had asked for. For now, at least. I doubted our newly discovered vampire menace was going to stay a secret long. Where things really got tricky was if it started to seem like telling the D.E.A. about vampires would help me get Jane back . . . but I’d burn that bridge when I came to it.

“I could take you back through the archives,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands over his stomach. “Or I could just tell you what you’d like to know. Kind of saves me the trouble of having to walk back there.” He paused. “I thought maybe this tied in with that building schematic we were hunting out the other day . . .”

“It doesn’t,” I said, feeling like it came out a little too quick and defensive. If it did, Godfrey didn’t react to it. “How about we start with their history?”

“Well, if we go by what’s written about them, there seems to be a consensus that they originated in Eastern Europe, probably of a Slavic nature. You can tell by the many names they’re known by—Vampir, vepir, ubour, Vrykolakas, upirs . . .”

“And other things I don’t stand a chance of pronouncing,” I interrupted. I was pretty sure Nicholas’s mention of Wallachia covered that territory. “I get it. Any idea when all this started?”

Godfrey nodded. “We’re talking mid-1600s here, at least as far as actual sightings of them go.”

“And their origins?” I said. “If you tell me it’s all about Dracula, we can skip all this and I can head up to the movie theater. I think they’re starting a Bela Lugosi marathon this week.”

“Actually, there is some truth to the Vlad Dracula mythos,” Godfrey said, “but more from the historical tyrant end than the bloodsucking one. The rest is a bit unclear. From what I’ve read, the Department has never had one in custody long enough to get any answers.”

“Of course,” I said. “Dust first, ask questions later. That’s strict policy down from the Enchancellorship. Seems a bit primitive to me.”

Godfrey sat back up, looking a little uncomfortable with the conversation. “Well, technically speaking, the vampire has always been seen as a lethal predator.”

“Yeah,” I said, getting down to what I felt was the heart of the matter, “but is that just a nature-of-the-beast thing or are we simply lumping all vampires together in a big bucket of evil? I mean, look at dogs. Some are sweet as can be, and others? Well, it’s time to get all Dog Whisperer on their badass selves. What do you think, God?”

Godfrey stood up, stretching and then straightening his tie. “Do I think vampires are evil?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Honestly, I think it would have to depend on their origins, right?”

“How so?”

“Well, speaking of dogs, look at those chupacabras we found, for example. They’re not evil, as such. They’ve always been that way as far back as our records in the Gauntlet have been kept. Yes, they kill to survive, but so do a lot of normal creatures. That doesn’t make them evil, and they certainly can’t help being what they are.”

“But vampirism is a choice among people who think on more than an animalistic level,” I said, “whether it is forced upon someone or they choose it. All vampires start as human, and only through transformation do they choose to feed on humans for survival. It’s a totally different situation.”

“Agreed,” Godfrey said. “But where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Working with Other Division and the Fraternal Order of Goodness, I’m not even sure what constitutes as good or evil anymore.”

“Well,” Godfrey said, “not that I’ve seen much action in the field other than that whole Fashion Week zombie thing, but I know this. If something acts like a human and feasts on a human, it’s fairly evil in my book.”

As I mulled over his words, the sound of approaching footsteps rose up. Two sets of them, from the sound of them.

“What’s evil?” a familiar voice said from behind me.

I turned to see Allorah standing there, several files folded across her chest neatly in her arms. Next to her stood Thaddeus Wesker.

“Oh,” I said, covering, “no one in particular. We were just having a general discussion on the nature of evil. You know, deep, ponderous thoughts on the universe.”

Allorah looked skeptical, but smiled. “I see. You look exhausted.”

“I am,” I said. “I’ve been putting in a lot of hours and helping out a friend of mine on the side . . .”

“Just remember,” she said, her smile disappearing, “you’re on salary, and the Department doesn’t pay you for overtime.”

“That was very Enchancellory of you,” I said. The words stung my heart and my wallet. “Thanks for reminding me.” Standing there with Wesker and Allorah, every nerve in my body wanted to scream out VAMPIRES, and I felt like I needed to get out of there . . . fast. “I should be going. You all probably have business to discuss . . .”

I went to walk past the two of them as I headed for the stairs, but Wesker held one of his arms out, stopping me. “Actually,” he said, “Allorah was looking for you.”

“Me?” I asked.

“Yes,” Allorah added. “The Inspectre tells me that you are seeing someone from Wesker’s Greater and Lesser Arcana. Jane Clayton-Forrester?”

“God knows what she sees in him,” Wesker added.

My discomfort was immediate. “Is that against the rules or something?”

“Not at all,” Allorah said, pressing her handful of folders into my arms. I took them from her. “But she was the one you were with when that monster attacked you in the grocery store, yes?”

I nodded.

“I’d like to talk to her about the incident as well,” she said. “Get her account of the details. Perhaps there’s something you missed that she caught.”

“Oh,” I said. “I just thought it was easier if I filled out one report on both our behalves . . .”

Allorah shook her head. “You thought wrong.”

My face fell. Allorah stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “Just be careful how you conduct yourself while in the office,” she said. “Working for this underfunded department is tough enough without adding constant worry for the safety of a loved one to the list.”

The faraway look in her eyes and the concern on her face told me she was talking about something more than just Jane and me being a couple, but I wasn’t going all After-School Special on her, especially around Wesker.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I said. “Thank you. By the way, what are these?”

“The rest of the results came back on the lab work I was running,” she said. “There’s something viral in all that drool I sampled off your clothes and I need you to look through these case files to see if you notice anything familiar. There are sketches of some of the potential creatures it could be, a few pictures. I need you to get back to me on it as soon as possible. We’ve got some mobilizing to do if we’re going to isolate this vampiric menace.”

Yer barking up the wrong tree, lady, I thought. The last thing I wanted to do was sit down to discuss vampires with someone who was hunting them, for fear I might get Aidan killed in the process by giving something away. Still, it was some comfort that Allorah was busy being distracted by a hunt for the monster from the grocery store.

Wesker cleared his throat and even though he was hiding his beady little eyes behind his sunglasses like some sort of sinister David Caruso, I could feel them burning into me with disdain. “Apparently, your girlfriend didn’t report back to work after our brunch meeting. You don’t happen to know the particulars of her whereabouts, do you?”

I bought some time by straightening the pile of folders in my hands while I thought of what to say. I couldn’t exactly tell them that Jane wasn’t at work because she had been sucked into a high-tech building’s computer systems while we were doing a little unsanctioned investigation that led to the discovery of vampires, now, could I?

“I haven’t seen her, either,” I lied. “I think she had some personal days coming to her and was catching an afternoon flight to visit some of her family back in Kansas. You know what? Come to think of it, she was having a little trouble sorting out all the paperwork for the time off and I was helping her. My bad, Director Wesker. Dammit if I didn’t leave it sitting on my kitchen counter back at home.”

Wesker stared at me, his eyes boring into me with scrutiny, but I didn’t dare look away.

“You’re lying,” he sneered.

I did my best to look gob-smacked.

“You are!” he said, raising his voice.

“Gentlemen,” Allorah said. She put on her stern Enchancellor voice. “I think it’s best to keep the peace between Other Division and Arcana by playing liaison in getting to the bottom of this.” She sighed. “I hope that I don’t have to waste my time running fools’ errands to maintain Departmental harmony. Mr. Canderous, make sure you file her personal-days request with the proper departments as soon as possible.”

“Will do,” I said, waiting to be dismissed. “Thanks.”

“And see to those files I pulled for you immediately.” Wesker’s wicked smile burned into me. He took a perverse pleasure in my suffering. Some people, even the supposed good guys, were just wired that way. We all stood there in silence for a moment as the rest of the archivists’ world continued working all around us.

“Well?” Allorah said finally, waving me away toward the stairs.

“Of course,” I said and headed off to the surface world again. It was a hotly contested question today as to who was causing me more suffering at the moment—the actual threat of vampires or the threat of what might happen trying to save Jane, Connor, and his brother. One thing was for sure—there was no way I was asking the Department for help, not with Ms. Pokey McStabberson on staff.

I managed to make it out of the Department and the Lovecraft Café without running into the Inspectre. I felt a little ashamed avoiding him, but not enough to actually seek him out. Happy to be out of the Department, I walked down through the Village heading for home and dreading looking through all the files Allorah had given me. Around West Third, my phone went off in my pocket with a short burst.

An incoming text. I flipped it open.

HEY HON, from an unknown number

JANE? I typed back.

WHO ELSE SILLY?

WE FOUND CONNORS BROTHER. HIS FRIENDS ARE WORKING ON GETTING YOU BACK.

IVE SEEN HIM.

THE BROTHER?

YES. THIS BUILDIN IS COMPLEX BUT I CAN TIE IN TO SOME OF ITS VIDEO SYSTEMS.

REALLY?

YES. IVE SEEN YOU TOO. I MISS YOU.

I MISS YOU TOO. WE WILL GET YOU OUT OF THIS.

HURRY. SO TIRED.

TIRED?

HIDING FROM THE SYSTEM IN HERE. IT SEEMS . . . ALIVE. I THINK IT KNOWS IM HERE. SOMEONE PLANNED THIS. Then, a final TIRED and nothing after that.

I stared at my phone for several minutes, hoping for something more, but found only disappointment.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I closed my phone, overwhelmed by a strong and sudden depression, and hurried home.

I keyed into my apartment and went down the hall to my bedroom. I threw down my shoulder bag and pulled out the red resin heart I had bought Jane right before she had been sucked into the machine world. I sat down and put my other hand to Jane’s pillow. I pushed my psychometry into it, my power crackling to life and pulling me back to the past. I guided myself back in time. A vision of Jane that was as clear as any HDTV picture resolved in my head, the sounds and sensations of her voice talking to me the night before.

I took my time, lingering in the moment, not wanting to leave such a vivid and clear vision of my beloved. She seemed so real to me, but no matter how much I wanted to stay in that moment, my psychometric power was taking its toll and I was forced to pull out of the vision only when I felt the dangerously low pull of my blood sugar calling. I fell back weak on the bed, the sting of tears filling the corners of my eyes. There had to be something more I could be doing about helping her.

I lifted myself from the bed, barely able to gather the strength to stand. I worked my way down the hall and keyed myself into the one locked room in the apartment. The White Room—my neutral sanctuary away from every possible psychometric episode. I left the door open, the hallway light spilling into the room doing a more than fair job of lighting up the whiteness of the walls. I threw myself down into the white chair in the center of the room and helped myself to the only small splash of color in there—a roll of Life Savers. With a heavy heart and a bit of hypoglycemia, I peeled off the candies one by one and swallowed them whole. In minutes, I felt my low sugar correct itself, but right now there was nothing that could correct the pain I felt until Jane was free of whatever the true heart of the Gibson-Case Center was.

That would have to wait until the vampire Nicholas got back to me. Until then, my body craved sleep and I gave in, drifting away with visions of vampires dancing in my head.

17

It was just past dusk when the call came in from Nicholas, rousing me out of sleep in the White Room chair I had zonked out in. I headed back to the Gibson-Case Center. At this time of evening, the lights within the center made it come alive as if it was a living organism. I entered the main lobby, intent on stopping by the information kiosk where Jane had disappeared before heading back to the secret door leading to the castle. I was surprised when I got to it and found Nicholas actually working there. The back of the kiosk had been dismantled, and little green blocks of circuit board were strewn everywhere. His long brown hair was falling out of its ponytail onto his face, causing him to constantly blow it out of the way as he examined the circuits and machinery. When he noticed me watching him, he stood up straight and gave a formal nod of his head.

“Won’t be but a moment,” he said in that thick English dialect of his. “Just have to put this back together first.”

With Matrix-like speed, Nicholas flew into action reassembling the machine. The parts looked like they were leaping off the floor back into the machine with only the hint of his hands grabbing for them catching my eye. In seconds, the machine was up and running, the only slow part of the process being the main screen of the directory booting up.

“There we go,” he said. He gestured toward a nearby arch farther along the shopping promenade in a direction I hadn’t been before. “If you’ll walk this way . . .”

We headed off through the archway into another section of the building that opened up to another, larger glass-covered atrium. Through the center of it ran an elevated platform that looked like wrought iron that I had seen in old pictures of Pennsylvania Station before it had been modernized. Along its rails a train car made of frosted glass and iron arrived into the station with a dull hum. Nicholas bounded up the steps to it.

“You have your own monorail?” I asked, taking the steps two at a time to catch up to him. When I reached the top of the stairs, Nicholas was already standing in the doorway of the car, holding it open for me. I stepped into it, looking around at the other passengers. Vampires? Humans? Other? I couldn’t tell, but suddenly being enclosed with the lot of them caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

Nicholas seemed to sense my distress and put a hand on my shoulder. It was freezing. “Don’t worry,” he said, looking at the other occupants of the car. “They don’t bite. Well, not most of them, anyway.”

“Comforting,” I whispered.

We rode on for several minutes in silence. I simply couldn’t speak as I took in the marvels of modern architecture all around us. Iron and glass cathedrals built in the name of commerce and luxury rose up all around us, the train itself just another sleek element weaving its way through it all. I would have ridden on forever if Nicholas didn’t prompt me to follow him when the train slowed into the next stop.

We headed down another set of ironwork stairs and off into what looked like an Old World dining district full of people. Once we were sufficiently blended with the crowd, Nicholas fell in beside me.

“So,” I said slowly. “Do you get this a lot? Your building eating people?”

Nicholas paused before answering, as if carefully choosing what he said next.

“There’s a lot that goes into running a complex such as this. Those guards you encountered the other day, for instance.”

“The living statues?” I asked. “What about them?”

Nicholas walked, his arms folded across his chest as we pressed on through the crowd, most of whom looked like they had just gotten out of work. “They were created to make people disappear in a way entirely different than your girlfriend ‘disappeared,’ if you catch my meaning.”

The color drained from my face as I remembered them swiping at me with their stony claws, and I paused, feeling a little faint at the thought of it.

“Not that anything like that happened with your Jane,” Nicholas said, steadying me with his encouraging tone. “At least, I don’t think so.”

We continued walking through the dining promenade of the complex in silence as I waited for Nicholas to say something more. When he didn’t speak up, I did instead.

“Do you have any idea how this happened?”

“Maybe,” he said, and then started off again, this time at a vampiric pace that I could barely keep up with. I broke into a run, hoping not to draw the attention of other people.

“Nicholas!” I whispered, even though he was well ahead of me. I doubted he could hear me so far away, but he stopped and turned to look back. “Could you slow it down a bit? So not preternatural here.”

In a movement I couldn’t see, I blinked and he was once again standing directly in front of me, causing me to stop short, knocking me into an older fashionista walking by.

“Sorry,” I said. She gave me a typical dismissive New York look and walked off in a huff. I turned to Nicholas.

“My apologies,” he said. “Sometimes I forget myself. But I think I may have an answer for you. Come.”

When Nicholas walked off this time, he kept his pace slowed so we were walking side by side, which I appreciated. At the end of the concourse he headed for a singular set of elevator doors. As we approached, I noticed two more of those living statues standing to either side of them, giving me a moment of hesitation. Their heads turned to us, the movement only barely perceptible to me even though I knew what to look for now. Nicholas gave them a dismissive wave and the two creatures shifted their attention back out over the concourse once again.

Once Nicholas and I were in the elevator and the doors closed, I asked, “Where are we going?”

“To get answers,” he said. “Hopefully.” Nicholas fell silent, his stillness unnerving me the rest of the ride up. When the doors opened, he stepped out of the elevator and into a low-lit football field-sized room full of video monitors, computer consoles, and at least two dozen vampires working them. One entire wall consisted of monitors only. As we walked in, most eyes in the room turned and fixed themselves on me. I let out a long, slow breath.

“Come,” Nicholas said, sensing my reluctance to leave the elevator.

“What is this place?” I asked, stepping into the room despite the chill running up my spine from the company I was joining.

“Welcome to the heart of Blood City,” he said, walking over to one of the banks of computers where one of the vampires sat. Working at the computer console made the vampires look even more lifeless than usual. “Move.”

The vampire stirred, letting out a long, deliberate sigh, and stood up. “God, I hate working a double,” he said to Nicholas. “I mean, living for an eternity is one thing, but try spending it at one of these stations . . . ? It’s boring times ten thousand.” The vampire noticed me standing there, and then turned back to Nicholas with a grin. “You bring your lunch to work today, boss?”

“Hush.” Nicholas gave him a stern look and the grin disappeared off the vampire’s face. He sat down at the console’s only chair. “He’s my guest.”

“Sorry,” the other vampire said. He looked around, blurred away from us, and reappeared moments later with a second chair. He pushed it toward me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” I said. The other vampire nodded and was gone.

“Now, then,” Nicholas said, tapping away at the keyboard, “let’s see what the Gibson-Case Center can tell us.” A series of camera feeds popped up on the wall of monitors and began whirring by quickly. “This may take a while.”

“Good,” I said, “then maybe we can get back to what I just asked you. What is this place?”

“Think of the Gibson-Case Center as a human body of sorts,” Nicholas said. “Consider this room, then, as the heart. No, better yet, the brain.”

“Did you design all this?” I asked.

Nicholas nodded and gave a smile that looked a little sad.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “When you told me you were an architect, I assumed it had been for the castle.”

“Some of that was my handiwork, yes,” he said, “but all of this modern-world design rising up around us is my doing as well.”

“All of this?” I said. “Impressive.”

“Thank y—” Nicholas started, but he stopped as he darted his hands out at the keyboard.

“Here we are,” he said, reaching for the mouse and selecting one of the frozen images on the screen. He clicked it, enlarging it to full screen. He pressed “play” and from the feed of a high-angle camera we watched the image from earlier of Jane being sucked into the information kiosk while I stood by, ineffectual. I turned away from the final moments of it feeling rather humiliated.

“It is as you spoke,” Nicholas said. “I am sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” I said, still pained by the image. “Sorry for my loss?”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, “because until I saw it for myself, I doubted the validity of your claim.”

I was puzzled. “Why would I make something like this up?”

Nicholas looked sheepish and leaned back in his computer chair. “We’re not the most trusting when it comes to dealing with humanity, given our history together. I know Brandon told me to help you, but I was still wary when I was told I was supposed to help someone from your organization.”

“Excuse me?”

Nicholas held up his hands defensively. “Try to see it from my perspective. Your organization has done its fair share of damage to our kind.”

I could feel my temper rising, even though I was here for his help.

“Yeah, well, maybe our distrust of you has something to do with your people constantly draining our blood,” I said, perhaps a little too loud. The room around me fell silent, except for the sound of chairs pushing out and rolling back. Every last vampire was standing, fangs popped, and watching the two of us.

Nicholas stood, but took his time. “May I remind you that you are a guest here?” Nicholas said. His face drew tight. “And I am trying to help you.”

Realizing that I was outnumbered by a considerable margin, I sat myself back down in the chair. “Sorry.”

Nicholas sat and turned back to the screen. The rest of the room settled down as well.

Nicholas went back to working at the keyboard. “I’m going to run the time stamp of this event against the rest of the systems in the building. See if anything anomalous comes up . . .”

“Great,” I said, then added, “Thank you.”

“Although perhaps I should take you back to the castle,” he said.

Had I pissed him off? I looked around the room. Most of the vampires had returned to what they had been doing. “I’m fine, really.”

Nicholas shook his head, his face softening. “It’s not that. This is going to take a while.”

I nodded. “Fine,” I said. “I should probably check in on Connor and Aidan anyway.”

At the mention of Aidan’s name, Nicholas turned away, but not before I saw a flare of hatred well up in his eyes. It reminded me of the tension I had felt when the two of them had run into each other in castle corridors with us.

“Whoa, there,” I said. “Did I say something wrong? What’s wrong with you two anyway?”

Nicholas stood. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Come, let me take you back to the castle.”

“Wait,” I said. “Do you have something against Aidan? Is there something I should know? He’s Connor’s brother so I’d like to know if I should be keeping an eye on him.”

Nicholas paused, taking his time to weigh something, and then spoke.

“I’d definitely keep your eye on him,” he said. “I wouldn’t exactly call him . . . trustworthy. I would not . . . What is the expression? Ah, yes, I would not trust him as far as I could throw him, which is a considerable distance.”

“What did he do to cross you?” I asked.

“Let’s just leave it at the fact that he isn’t trustworthy,” Nicholas said. He headed for the main doors leading out of the control center. They hissed open like we were leaving the bridge of the USS Enterprise. From the petulant way he was walking off, he might as well have been stomping and pouting. “Come. I have much to do if I am to help you and protect my building’s systems at the same time. I don’t have time to babysit.”

“Sure thing, Nick,” I said, letting the subject go for now. I had enough problems of my own to contend with.

18

Nicholas led me in silence to Aidan’s quarters in the castle and left me outside his door. He refused to enter, but left with a promise to keep working on the whereabouts of Jane.

I knocked on Aidan’s chamber door and it opened. Aidan was standing there, his eyes hidden deep within the skull-and-bones hoodie he was wearing. He looked bored, but turned and led me into his private rooms without a word. The woman he had thrown across the forest floor, Beatriz, was also there, lounging back on an antique sofa. Connor was sitting across from her on a velvety red throne.

“Your pet’s here,” Aidan said, crossing the room. Connor looked up. He was a little more composed-looking than I’d seen him in the past few days.

“Any news on Jane yet, kid?” he asked.

I shook my head as I crossed the room and threw my exhausted self down into one of the many puffy chairs arranged around the main space. “Nothing yet. Nicholas said it might take a while to go through all the high tech of the building to see what’s going on, but . . .”

“Nicholas?” Aidan said, sitting down on the couch next to Beatriz and rolling his eyes. “Ugh.”

“You have a real problem with him, don’t you?” I asked.

“Other way around,” Aidan said. “I think he has a problem with me.”

Beatriz leaned forward. “You know me and Nicky were an item, right?”

Suddenly, Nicholas’s reaction to Aidan’s name made sense. It seemed even vamps were capable of trading up in the dating world. Beatriz had given up the architect to be with one of Brandon’s enforcers. I didn’t see the appeal. Maybe she had been instructed to babysit Brandon’s bargaining chip.

“Beatriz and Nicholas are old news,” Aidan said, bristling a bit. He threw his arm protectively around Beatriz and pulled her back on the couch toward him. As the two of them started pawing at each other, I tried to stop them with conversation. I tapped Connor on the arm and then looked over at Aidan.

“So have you boys been getting to know each other?” I asked. “Did you hit the mall outside this little faux fortress? Maybe a little retail therapy at the Hot Topic, buy yourself a skull-and-bones hoodie to match?”

Aidan scowled at me from within his hood. He looked over at Connor and pointed to me. “Dude. You want him to live, right?”

Connor nodded. “I’d prefer the kid that way, yeah.”

“Way to side with your broth . . .” I said, but Connor clapped me on the shoulder, stopping me midsentence.

“Wait,” I said, looking at him. “He still doesn’t know? You haven’t told him yet?”

A little of the graveyard craziness from the other night returned to Connor’s eyes. “I’ve just been trying to get to know him a little first, you know? He’s been telling me all about these dreams he’s been having that led him to me . . . Sounds like real prophetic stuff.”

“Maybe if you told him what you know,” I said to Connor, “it might jar his memory a bit.”

Connor shook his head, looking almost afraid to break the strange spell of bonding between them by confronting reality.

“You want me to tell him?” I said, turning to Aidan. “Cause I’ll do it, no problem.”

“Tell me what?” Aidan asked.

I went to speak but Connor grabbed my arm. “No, wait!” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small folded square of paper. “I’ll tell him.” He unfolded it and smoothed out the creases. It was a picture of Connor and Aidan back from their days on Cape Cod as children. He handed it to Aidan. “This is a picture of us, back in the day.”

Aidan held the picture gently, as if he were afraid it might crumble. “I don’t get it,” he said

“We’re brothers,” Connor said. “My last name is Christos, too.”

“Really?” Aidan gazed at the picture. “Do we look alike?”

Connor nodded. “Very.”

Aidan turned to Beatriz and showed her the picture. “I mean, I don’t remember what I looked like before and we’ve got that whole no-reflection thing going on, so I don’t really know, but for real?”

Beatriz nodded. Aidan stared at Connor.

“If it helps,” Connor said, bursting into a bigger smile than I had ever seen on him, “just think of me as your mirror. Take a couple of the wrinkles off of my face, and probably the white stripes in my hair . . . and lose about twenty pounds. You might get an idea of what you look like then.”

Aidan couldn’t stop looking at Connor.

I looked at Aidan. “I saw you once, you know.”

He looked nonplussed. “Where?” he said. “Around the city? I’m pretty sure there was only that night when you and your girlfriend chased me from Connor’s apartment back to here.”

“No,” I said. “Not then. I saw you in the past.”

Aidan’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah?”

I nodded. “This was back before your little sun allergy kicked in. You only looked a couple years younger than you do now, even though it’s been—what?—twenty years? It was like that picture you’re holding, down on Cape Cod. You were dragging your brother across a parking lot at one of the beaches. He got all scraped up. You felt awful.”

“That sounds . . . a little bit familiar,” Aidan said, smiling, his fangs giving it a little menace. “I wish I remembered more.”

Connor sat forward in his seat. “Do you remember when we cut open Stretch Armstrong to find out what was inside him? Or those little wax candy bottles of juice our family used to get us at that old penny-candy store down in Sandwich?”

Aidan shook his head. He got up and went to a large trunk along one of the stone walls of his chamber. He threw it open and began fishing through mounds of keepsakes. It reminded me of an old pirate chest, but one full of modern trinkets. When Aidan stood from it, he walked back over to us and sat down.

“This,” he said, opening his hand, “this is the first thing I remember owning, but like I said, I have no memory of it.”

A shiver went down my spine. In his hand Aidan held a Batman PEZ dispenser.

“Oh, I know PEZ dispensers,” I said with a grin. “Don’t I, Connor?”

Aidan looked blankly at the two of us. “I don’t get it,” Aidan said.

“About a year ago,” Connor said, “I walked into our work with a Spider-Man PEZ dispenser, not even sure why I owned it or what it meant. Simon here was able to tell me when it was from. It was from one of the summers you and I shared on the beach.”

“I’m confused,” Aidan said. He looked at me. “When you said you saw me in the past, what are you talking about?”

I was already peeling off my gloves. “Let me show you,” I said. “You might not be able to recall your memories, but I can.”

I held out my hand and Aidan put the Batman PEZ dispenser in it. I closed my fist around it and pushed my powers into it. An image flared to mind immediately, the bright light of the sun at the shore blinding me. I was the older of two boys playing on the crowded beaches of Cape Cod, clearly the brothers Christos. Connor looked to be about twelve, which meant Aidan must have been around fourteen. While the wind whipped salty air through their mops of sandy brown hair, Aidan consented to let his little brother bury him in the sand, sliding his new Batman PEZ dispenser into the pocket of his swim trunks. Riding along in Aidan’s body, I felt his love for his little brother and, annoying as it was lying there getting buried, Aidan was happy to do it. Connor’s face had a pure happiness I had never seen in the grown version of it. He ran to the shore with a bucket, bringing back load after load of water to make the sand wet for packing Aidan tight underneath it, laughing all the way.

Aidan was buried practically up to his neck as Connor ran for the shore to get his next bucket. I felt something slithering over Aidan’s encased body, feeling the boy’s curiosity kick in. He wondered if there were such things as sand snakes. The sensation changed as if they were growing, and Aidan started to panic when he realized what they were. Arms encircling him from below, arms with no body attached to them. He went to scream, but a hand clamped down fully over his mouth, blocking the sound. Aidan was being pulled under, floating down into the sand as if it were water. He struggled but it was no use against the several sets of arms coiled around him. Looking up, he could see Connor far above him, looking at the spot where Aidan had been moments ago, the bucket dropping from his hand.

When Aidan finally gave in to the sensation, he drifted until he felt himself being raised to the surface, coming up in a field of tall weeds on the edge of a vacant area of parking lot. Two men speaking in a tongue I barely recognized as Romany were waiting for the boy, one of them incanting a spell. When he stopped, arms began to fade away but not before the other man drew duct tape across the boy’s mouth and wrists. The back of an open van stood nearby and the two men grabbed Aidan, throwing him into it before getting in and driving away.

I’d seen enough and pulled myself out of the vision.

Aidan, Connor, and Beatriz were all staring at me.

“You look kind of creepy when you do that,” Beatriz said.

“What did you see, kid?” Connor asked.

I recounted to them what I had just seen. When I mentioned young Aidan thinking about sand snakes, the vampire Aidan gave a grim smile.

“Sand snakes,” he repeated. “I remember that.”

“Damn gypsies,” Connor said. He put an arm on his shoulder. “What about the rest of it?”

“I sort of recall that,” Aidan said, his eyes filled with wonder. “It all still feels like a dream that happened to someone else, but I have a memory of that.”

Connor patted him on the shoulder and leaned back. Beatriz remained by Aidan’s side, stroking his hair to comfort him.

There was a knock at Aidan’s door, and he sprung up in a flash and was off to answer it. Before I could turn to see who it was, Brandon and Aidan were already back and standing in the center of the room. Beatriz stood as well.

“Gentlemen,” Brandon said with a nod of his head. He took Beatriz’s hand and kissed it. “Lady Beatriz.”

“It’s like going out to the Medieval Times in Jersey,” I whispered to Connor.

Aidan laughed from where he stood across the room. “Hey, dick. Vampiric hearing in the house. Remember?”

Brandon shot him a look, and the laughter died on Aidan’s lips as his face turned somber.

“Am I interrupting something?” Brandon asked.

“I’m remembering parts of my past,” Aidan said, excited.

Brandon raised an eyebrow. “Really, now? How?”

Aidan nodded. “Well, Simon’s doing the remembering for me,” he said, “but he’s triggering some things for me. I remember parts of the day I was taken, for instance.”

Brandon looked confused, then pointed at me. “He did that?”

“I did,” I offered. Brandon turned his full attention to me, his eyes engaging mine to the point I almost felt like he was trying to glamour an answer out of me.

“Mr. Canderous,” he asked, “forgive me, but what exactly is it that you do with the Department of Extraordinary Affairs?”

“I’m a psychometrist,” I said, holding up my hands and wiggling my fingers. “I read the history of objects by touching them.”

“I see,” Brandon said, steepling his fingers in front of his lips. It looked like he was holding back a laugh. “Interesting.”

Connor stood up, looking a little defensive. “What’s so funny?”

“It seems we may have been so busy concentrating on the brothers Christos in all our prophecy-related endeavors that a very intriguing piece of data may have been overlooked. I believe that Mr. Canderous may be part of what the prophecy spoke of. I believe he might be the one sent to save us all.”

“Hold on,” I said, perking up. “Go back there a second. It sounded like I’m a part of this grand plan of Lord Vampire here.”

“Oh, yes,” Brandon said. “I think the council would say that you’re quite important.”

“Me?” I said, laughing. “Why the hell would they think that? Because I’m good at dragging my girlfriend and my work partner into a vampire lair? The only one who’s going to think that’s important is the Enchancellors back at my office when they kick me out on my ass for fraternizing with the enemy.”

Connor put his hand on my shoulder to calm me. “Why do you think Simon’s important?” he asked.

“Our people have this book,” Brandon said, his face growing a little dark. “I keep it in this safe in my room. It’s older than dirt and a lot of what it tells us covers these prophecies I’ve mentioned. I ignored it for centuries, so intent on living a hellacious vampiric life, but all that changed a couple of decades ago. After the passing of my beloved companion, Damaris—the woman you saw in the painting in my chambers—I found myself wanting answers, so I turned to the book. Some of its pages are missing or have gone missing over the years, making it a bit more cryptic, as if prophecies weren’t cryptic enough to begin with. I studied it, trying to ascertain what the future held for me and my people. From what I was able to divine, it told how taking Aidan all those years ago would ensure that someone would come who could help us. It spoke of someone who would be able to read our book in ways we couldn’t, but the prophecy gave no clue as to who that person would be. When I saw Connor and he looked just like Aidan, I naturally assumed he was the chosen one . . . but hearing about your power, Simon—the ability to ‘read’ objects—the book makes more sense to me now. You were the one the prophecy meant. You can ‘read’ the book for us. You’re the one who’s here to help us.”

I shook my head, my brain unwilling to take it in. “I think maybe you’re reading your book backward, then,” I said. “It’s not that I’m helping you. You vampires are helping me . . . to get Jane back.”

“Yes,” Brandon said, “but I believe you can help us with our book. I shall get it.”

Before I could argue, Brandon blurred out of the room.

Connor walked over to me and I looked over at him. “You know I don’t do the whole prophecy thing,” I told him. “I think they’re all bullshit.”

“Hey,” Aidan said, getting defensive. “You can’t fight the lord of the vampires on this one. If he says you’re supposed to help him, you’re going to help him. As it is written, so shall it be.”

I turned to Aidan. “Shut the hell up,” I said. “I have half a mind to just walk out of here and not look back just to disprove Brandon’s prophecy.”

“You can’t,” Aidan said, looking nervous. He grabbed me by the arm, his grip viselike.

“Hey!” I said, trying in vain to pull away.

“Aidan!” Beatriz shouted. “Let him go!”

“I will,” he said. “Just as soon as I take him up to Brandon’s chamber.”

19

Had I been wandering the halls of the castle, no doubt taking several wrong turns, I would have spent a good half hour finding Brandon’s private chambers. With Aidan dragging me by the arm at vampiric speed, however, we were there in seconds. He threw open the old wooden doors leading into them at the top of the stairs and entered the main room.

The lights were low, candles being the only source of illumination I could see being used. Several figures were at the far end of the room, sitting by the unused flat-screen. They turned to look at us and then returned to their conversation. Evidently, a lowly human being vamp-handled around the castle wasn’t much of a concern for them, which only angered me further. Aidan let go of me. I crossed the floor, pulling out my bat, extending it. I swung at an ebon dancer figurine sitting on one of the many pedestals throughout the room. It sailed end over end across the room, but never hit the ground. One of the vampires blurred into action as he crossed the room, catching it like a football in both hands. In the next instance, one of the other ones was standing in front of me. He looked like a man in his fifties, a tall man who had seen a lot of life . . . or taken it. His hand flashed out and he grabbed my bat, twisting it until something inside one of its three extendable sections popped with a metallic clang.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his eyes full of fury.

There was a commotion behind me as Beatriz and Connor arrived via Vamp Express. The vampire menacing me didn’t even turn to look at them. His eyes remained on me.

I spied Brandon over by a large tricked-out safe with gears all along the outside of it. He turned to look at us, and the vampire in front of me chanced a look at him while keeping me in his sight.

“Shall I dispose of this one, my lord?” the vampire said, the vehemence in his voice digging into me. I could feel the tug of his eyes as he tried to put me in his thrall. Thanks to some of my Fraternal Order of Goodness training, I was able to pull my eyes away, but the fact that he had tried it only increased my fury. I let go of my bat and shoved at the vampire instead. Hitting his chest was like shoving at concrete. The vampire didn’t move, but he seemed absolutely surprised that I had even gone there.

“You can’t dispose of me,” I said, pushing at him once more, again not moving him. “You dicks think I’m some sort of chosen one.” I pushed again. “Which means you need me more than I need you, so I don’t think you’re going to do shit to me.”

The vampire raised his eyebrows and gave an evil smile. He looked to Brandon. “Is he truly part of the prophecy?” the vampire asked. “Does it say anything about needing all of him? Surely he won’t need both of his arms!”

My hands were in midpush, but I let them fall to my side as the implication of what he was suggesting hit me. I felt the fire of my fury die a little and turned to look at their leader.

Brandon smiled at the vampire, his eyeteeth thankfully retracted. It did worlds to calm me. He looked to the vampire directly in front of me. “That will be enough, Gerard. Give the man his toy back.”

Gerard held my broken bat out and I took it back from him. While Beatriz and Connor crossed the room, I tried to collapse it, but it didn’t want to give. Finally, I pressed the end of it against the floor and leaned my weight on it. Something inside it gave and it collapsed down to its closed state. I thumbed the catch of it to safety lock and hung it from my belt, hoping it would remain collapsed, but I was dubious.

Aidan walked over to Brandon. “I had to bring him here,” he said. “Simon wanted to leave, but I couldn’t allow that, not with the prophecies at stake.”

Brandon looked at me. “I should think you would want to stay,” he said, “prophecy or not. Nicholas tells me there are some complications with freeing your girlfriend from our building’s systems . . . ?”

I nodded, fighting my anger. “News travels fast.”

“At the speed of flight,” Nicholas said, scaring the shit out of me as he stepped out of the pack of shadows that was Brandon’s guests. As usual, he was working very hard not to look at either Aidan or Beatriz. “It appears, as I’ve said, that we have a ghost in the machine.”

Brandon remained calm. “And I trust you’ll be taking care of this situation?” he asked.

“Of course,” Nicholas said. He turned to me, his face serious. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to the building system checks.”

Before I could thank him, Nicholas blurred away out of the chamber.

Brandon changed his focus to me. “You seem agitated,” he said.

“I don’t particularly like being told I have to help you with your prophecy,” I said, “especially when I’m feeling a little like a captive here.” I shot Aidan a look, but his face was unapologetic.

“My apologies,” Brandon said. “The boy is a bit impetuous. He only meant to help the situation, I’m sure. Would it be safe to say you’re also feeling a little distressed by Jane’s situation?”

As much as I was worried about Jane, I had to focus on the situation at hand. “You want to circle this back around to why you think I’m part of this whole prophecy thing, Brandon?”

At my mention of the prophecy, the assembly became quite excited and their murmurs of reaction came out in a rapid burst of conversation among themselves.

“As far as Mr. Canderous being involved with the prophecy,” he said over the gathered crowd, quieting them, “what he said is true. It seems he has the power to read the history of objects, objects like books of prophecy.” Brandon turned to Connor and me, gesturing to a small group of chairs facing the large open hearth nearby. “Please, be seated.”

Connor and I moved to sit, but Aidan stayed standing where he was with Beatriz. Brandon walked back to the large gear-covered contraption in the far corner of his chambers. With his back blocking our view, Brandon began working mechanisms along the front side of the box. Gears and levers whirred and turned for several minutes, cutting the silence of the dark room. When he was finished, Brandon turned to us holding an ancient book covered in a faded stretch of something I hoped wasn’t human skin.

“I hope that’s bound in leather,” I said.

Brandon shrugged. “Depends on what you define as animal, now, doesn’t it?”

Brandon moved to a low stone table in the center of the chairs and placed the book carefully down.

“Story hour?” Connor asked, snapping. “Oh, good. Tell us the one about the vampires who kidnapped my brother.”

Brandon held up his index finger. “Technically, it wasn’t vampires. It was freelance gypsies, as I’m sure Mr. Canderous could tell you, but yes, we did the hiring.” He put a hand down on the book, almost caressing it. “This is our book of prophecy, or what’s left of it, anyway. You see, long before my time, there was a vampire with the gift of foresight. Wisely, he took the time to write his visions down.”

“Are we talking about a Nosferatu Nostradamus?” I asked.

Connor, Aidan, and Brandon all looked at me.

“Sorry,” I said. “Defense mechanism. Just trying to ease the tension back down in the room here . . .”

Brandon continued. “The book told us of what was to come. Bloodshed, for both our kinds, on an epic scale. One that would eventually see the end of me and my kind, but not before taking a massive toll on humanity. New York City would be reduced to a graveyard.”

I stood up, confused. “And so you kidnapped Aidan to get to me? That seems a little . . . indirect.”

“A book of prophecy is not a book of science, as I’m sure you and your colleagues at the D.E.A. are well aware. It is filled with much information, but there is much that must be read and calculated in the stars to get to any number of truths. At the time we took the boy, it was simply a matter of grabbing the right person at the right place at the right time. How that would exactly play out isn’t foretold, but over time we spent years working the prophecies out. When Aidan showed up with you two the other day and we found out his own brother was a member of an organization dedicated to keeping the paranormal peace in Manhattan, well, it seemed a natural sign. We saw our savior.”

“But what the hell do I have to do with all this?” I asked. “Selfish of me, I know, but I’d love to know.”

“Well, apparently, you’re supposed to save us all,” Brandon said, giving me a weak smile of encouragement.

Connor held up his hands in surrender, raising his voice. “Wait, wait . . . You took my brother from me for twenty years and turned him into a vampire because you think my work partner’s going to be your savior?”

He stood up and turned away in frustration, pushing over one of the heavy chairs next to him.

“You see?” Brandon said, walking over to pick up the chair. “This is why we needed to take him! So you’d have an investment in at least one of our kind. Without Aidan, you would have already stormed off to your department and started the end of it all.”

I shook my head. “All this to avoid World War Three, eh?”

“Try to see it from my perspective,” Brandon said, continuing to speak to Connor. “Aidan is your family. When he was taken from you, imagine all the things you would have done to save him if you could have. Now imagine our kind in that position, with all those familial ties amplified thousands of times from relationships lasting several human lifetimes. One thing in the book is clear . . . We need to avoid the mutual destructions of our races.”

“How’s that, now?” I said.

“As I have said, prophecies are not an exact science. With your psychometric power, you can read the past and get the true intent of what our vampire prophet meant. You can figure out how our mutual salvation comes about.”

As Connor stood next to me in silence, my mind reeled. Tremendous pressure, tremendous guilt, crushed down on me, almost too much to bear. Because the vampires had unknowingly wanted to get to me, Connor had lost a brother for years, eventually driving him to the madness of the last few months. The fact that I was somehow responsible for that tore me apart. “I . . . I have to get out of here,” I said, standing and heading for the door.

“I’m sorry?” Brandon said. He looked a little insulted with the way I was behaving in front of him, but I didn’t really care.

“Look,” I said. “The thing is I don’t really do this whole prophecy thing. And I have a little . . . no, a lot of trouble buying into the fact that your salvation lies on my shoulders.”

Brandon looked perplexed. “But the book says you’re supposed to use your powers to ‘read’ it . . .”

“I need time to think about this,” I said, waving him off.

Brandon looked a little angry. “What do you mean you don’t buy into precognition? For heaven’s sake, you practically possess the power of postcognition!”

Connor gave a weary sigh as he digested everything. “He’s got a point, kid,” Connor said.

“Reading the past,” I said, “that’s one thing. It’s like videotape. It’s recorded . . . It’s already happened. But the future? It’s unknowable.”

“But,” Connor continued, “you’ve seen it happen before. You’ve seen the future read.”

“What?” I said, laughing out loud. “From Mrs. Teasley as she sits in the back of the Lovecraft Café reading piles of cold, used coffee grounds? I’d be hard-pressed to call her predictions anything close to accurate. It’s mostly guesswork.”

Aidan turned to me. “I was made this way for a reason . . .”

“That’s just bad luck,” I said. I was burning with anger now. “Not everything happens for a reason. That’s a crock of shit, just like predestination. The future isn’t written yet.” I turned to Brandon. “And besides, if I’m supposed to believe your prophecy is real and you know the future so well, why did you send a letter to scare Connor away from ever meeting Aidan?”

Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “What letter?”

Connor crossed to him. “Allow me,” Connor said. He dug into his trench coat, rustled around, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held it out to Brandon, but I grabbed it from him, unfolding and reading it.

“It says: ‘Aidan is ours. Stop looking or he dies.’ ”

Brandon snatched it away from me in a blink and it was like magic as it disappeared from my hand. He looked at the words on the page. Aidan joined him and read it over his shoulder.

“I see,” Brandon said when he was done. He handed the letter back to Connor. “Interesting, but I didn’t send you this letter.”

“Yeah, right,” Connor said, taking it. He folded it and slipped it back inside his coat. “Well, someone sent it . . .”

“It seems we have enemies from within,” Brandon said. “Clearly someone is trying to sabotage our efforts toward a lasting peace.”

“Good luck with that,” Aidan said. Everyone turned to look at him. “All I mean is . . . no one can stop what will happen. It’s prophecy; all of this is written. It’s inevitable, right?”

“We can wait out inevitability,” Brandon said with a laugh. “Or have you forgotten what we are?”

“Listen,” I said. “I doubt the streets are going to run red with blood tonight, right? No one other than the two of us humans knows you’re here. I personally don’t buy into your prophecy, but either way, I’m a bit too exhausted to be your savior even if you’ve interpreted your book correctly. I’m leaving. Just let me get the hell out of here and get some sleep. I’m not tackling your fancy book or saving anything or anyone tonight.”

I walked off toward the chamber doors. Nobody moved to stop me.

“But the prophecy says . . .” Brandon started.

“Don’t say it!” I shouted, interrupting him.

“You’re the chosen one,” he finished.

I threw open the heavy wooden doors and turned to face the lord of the vampires.

I pointed back to the stacks of movies and the flat-screen television. “Someone’s been binge-watching one too many seasons of old television series,” I said. “Too bad you didn’t try Sunnydale High. You want the Slayer. I’m just a government drone with a stack of casework back at my desk and bags under my eyes.”

20

I worked my way out of the castle and across the open courtyard, heading toward the portcullis and gates leading out. I had lost track of what time of day or night it was in the outside world, but in here it was currently night. If the torches lighting the way were fake or part of the fancy electrical wiring of the Gibson-Case Center surrounding us, I couldn’t tell. I’d find out soon enough what the real world had in store for me when I got outside.

Despite it being artificial night in here, the castle grounds were relatively quiet given the nocturnal nature of its occupants. That meant real night must be in effect out in the city with most of the vampires out enjoying a night on the town instead of cooped up in the Epcot version of rural Transylvania.

When I passed the gate hanging overhead at the castle entrance, the sound of my lone footsteps echoed out as I crossed the bridge over the fake moat. Despite knowing full well that I was in the center of Manhattan, the replication of the foreign countryside at night had me spooked. I kept my pace slow and steady to keep my nerves in check, but I couldn’t shake the feeling.

I stopped once I was off the bridge and safely on the cobblestones leading off to the exit guarded by the living statues. The spooked feeling wouldn’t let go. I looked around with caution, the surrounding forest full of shadows and trees whose limbs reminded me of the haunted forest from The Wizard of Oz. Through them, I saw a set of the familiar red exit markings and headed toward it.

Only to see the red exit lights start to move, and before I had time to react, the realization hit me. “Those aren’t exit lights,” I said, dropping to the ground as they dashed toward me. I hit the ground hard, avoiding injury by landing in my leather coat as something hit me. Eyes with blood-red irises and red-black pupils met mine as a leathery, dry-skinned creature pinned me in place. Its veins were drawn tight over its skin and they were everywhere. It hissed at me with vicious fangs showing and the stench of rot on its breath. I knew this type of monstrosity, but this time I didn’t have a grocery store arsenal to defend myself with.

For a second, fear paralyzed me into inaction, but I remembered my training and shook it off. Agents died in the field marveling at the monstrosities that attacked them. I was determined not to be one of those statistics.

I felt for my bat, but with signs of my movement, the creature dug its talonlike nails into my arms. The pain was excruciating, but thanks again to my jacket, they didn’t pierce my skin.

“You’re just as fugly a little thing as the other one was, aren’t you?” I asked it.

I don’t know if it understood me or merely sensed that I was mocking it in an effort to calm my fear, but it reared back, its mouth showing its devastating array of sharklike teeth crisscrossing back and forth in its open maw. Something fleshy fell from its mouth onto my neck and I tried not to panic. The creature let out a primal cry, but then I noticed it wasn’t focusing on me anymore.

A shadowy blur of motion blazed over me, grappling the creature and pulling it off of me. I sat up on my elbows to follow the action. Aidan Christos stood about fifteen feet away, the creature hugged tight against his chest. It tore and squirmed for its freedom, but Aidan wasn’t having any of it. After a moment or two of struggle, it broke one of its arms free and started clawing at Aidan’s face. Vain to the end, Aidan immediately let go of it and felt to see if he had been harmed. The creature dashed off into the darkness of the surrounding forest. Several other dark flashes flew around the edge of the forest as well.

I ran over to Aidan. He looked at me, panicked.

“Am I okay?” he said, still feeling around.

“Are you okay? I was pinned under that thing! You’ve at least got the ability to heal.”

Aidan’s face relaxed a little. “So I’m okay?”

“Yeah, you’re still looking like the poster boy for emo,” I said. “Now, do you mind telling me what the fuck was that thing, er, things?”

“One of us,” Aidan said, taking his time to walk a circle around us, looking, trying to pick the creatures from out of the darkness.

I looked, too. If it was out there, I couldn’t see it. “One of you?” I asked. “That thing is so not like you.”

Aidan’s eyes lit up and he turned to me. “Sorry about your arm.”

“Huh?” I asked. “There’s nothing wrong with my arm . . .”

Before I could say another word, Aidan lashed out and grabbed my right arm hard around the wrist. He looked overhead, searched high above, and then jumped straight up, taking me with him. It felt like my shoulder had exploded, but we were already flying through the air when one of the creatures swooped back, right where I’d been standing.

I screamed.

“I said I was sorry,” Aidan said. At the top of our flight arc, he grabbed onto one of the support beams among the rigging and lighting that helped create the false sense of night and day down below. He hoisted me up until I could grab onto one of the beams with my free arm. Aidan let go of me and I wrapped both arms against the cold steel, holding on for my life.

“Stay here,” he said, and before I could ask him just where the hell else he thought I might go, Aidan let go and dropped several hundred feet below.

I pulled myself up onto the crawl space among the crisscrossed bars up here, feeling a little better with something under my feet. I looked down, trying not to let the full sense of the height grab hold of me. Aidan was being charged by several of the creatures. Their feral ferocity made them dangerous, but quick thinking seemed to keep Aidan one step ahead of them as he dodged them and played one creature against another, leaving several of them in a snarling tangle of limbs as they fought among themselves.

The bars and pipes around me erupted into motion as if I were in an earthquake. I looked up thinking that maybe the supports were giving out with my added weight on it, but they looked fine to me, not that I knew a blessed thing about structural engineering. I turned my eye to the rest of the structure. One of the creatures stood along it about a hundred feet away.

And it was staring at me.

Screw this, I thought. I looked down. Aidan was swamped with the other creatures down below. Comparatively, one didn’t seem like too bad a contest for me, if I was standing on solid ground and not up here among the lights, that was.

The creature gripped on tight to the bars with its talons as it carefully made its way toward me. I pulled my eyes away from it long enough to use care unsheathing my retractable bat. The last thing I wanted to do was drop the damn thing and find myself totally unarmed up here. I locked both my legs into the beams beneath me and clicked the button on my bat.

Nothing happened. “Shit,” I said, shaking it. That vampire Gerard must have damaged it even more than I had thought back in Brandon’s chambers. Stupid vampires with their stupid preternatural strength.

I looked up and the creature was already much too close for comfort. I could already smell the stink of it from where it was.

I twisted and pulled at the bat. Deep inside it, several pieces of metal ground against one another, but as I spun it in my hands, it started to extend. A dull metal screech came from it, like pulling open an old rusty drawer. The sound seemed to incense the creature more and it roared even louder. The last chunk of the bat pulled out to its full extension and I gripped it hard with both hands.

The creature lurched forward, lowering its voice into a deep, throaty growl.

“Batter up,” I said, hiding my fear behind false bravado. As it charged, the teeth in its maw were a hideous parody of what I knew vampire fangs to look like. A rank blast of air came from it as it closed in on me.

As it leapt for me, I swung hard at its head. It connected with a meaty thunk and my bat stopped, lodged there, it seemed. The top of my bat was caught in the creature’s mouth, both keeping it from biting me and occupying its claws as it tried to pry free. The already battered metal began to tear in its mouth and I tried to pull it away. Desperate claws lashed out to knock it away, but I held it there, twisting it a little and hoping to hurt it when a new idea hatched in my brain.

“Chew your food, pretty,” I said. The backs of my legs felt on the verge of cramping, but I was damned if I was going to ease up.

With a final metallic wrenching sound, a chunk of the bat tip tore away, leaving a sharp, exposed, nasty point. I prayed that what Aidan had said was true: that the creature truly was one of his kind. I plunged the remains of the bat straight into its chest, aiming for the heart. I felt the sickening sensation of the metal piercing the soft, rotting flesh of the creature. It convulsed in pain as fresh blood shot from the wound, coating the bat and running down to my gloved hands. I pulled the bat out and swung like I was at home plate, pitching the creature off its perch. It slid off the jagged end of my bat and fell toward the ground far below.

I caught my breath as I heard it hit the ground a wet thud. The sensation of something else landing on the support beams shook through the structure and I flinched in reaction, choking my bat up into swinging position once again.

Beatriz crouched along the top of one of the beams, her hands free and making it look effortless.

“Having a little trouble?” Beatriz said, flashing me a sickly sweet smile.

“I’m holding my own,” I said, my bat still covered in a crimson web of ichor. As I decided just how I was supposed to resheath it in that state, Aidan flew up in front of me, grabbing onto the beams with ease. He looked to Beatriz.

“Everything okay up here?” he said.

Beatriz’s smile widened. “Just watching over your boy, Aide.”

“Don’t call me that, please,” he said. He checked the grounds of the castle below. “I want you to go tell Brandon we’re having a little internal-affairs problem.”

“Maybe I should stay with you,” Beatriz offered. “We don’t know how many more of those there are roaming around.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Aidan said, then looked at the bat as if seeing it for the first time. “Not that he looks like he needs protecting.”

“Oh, I do,” I said quite earnestly. I held up the bat.

“This? I got lucky. Bring Beatriz with us. There’s strength in numbers and frankly, I need as many of the good-guy vamps on me as possible.”

Aidan smiled.

“Connor told me you were funny,” Aidan said. “But I hadn’t noticed until now. As for defending yourself, you’re doing fine.”

I looked over Aidan’s shoulder at Beatriz. She was looking at Aidan for some kind of further direction, and he turned to her. “Go. Now.”

“Have it your way,” she said. “Good luck explaining this to His Worshipfulness.”

Beatriz pushed herself off of the rigging and launched herself out across the darkness, falling into a perfect dive as she went. She twirled like an Olympic diver and hit the ground standing up.

As she ran off, I said, “I guess things like that are pretty easy to learn when there’s no fear of snapping your neck or death, what with the whole being-immortal thing.”

Aidan shrugged. “It does have its advantages,” he said.

Another sharp clatter suddenly arose farther down the lighting work, followed by a snarling hiss that had me already raising the remains of my bat. As I did so, I noticed a soft popping hiss coming off of it. I looked closer at the gnarled bat, only to discover that the smears of ichor from impaling the creature were corroding through the remaining metal. “Hey!”

The clattering of talons on the rigging grew louder and I felt the vibrations as another one of the creatures started closing in on us. I stared with concentration off into the darkness until I saw the beady redness of its eyes as it moved forward.

“You see that, right?” I whispered. “You know, given your preternatural peepers.”

Aidan gave me a look of “duh” and turned back to our approaching foe as it clawed its way along the rigging.

“We need to go,” Aidan said.

“No argument from me.” I held up the dissolving stump of metal in my hands. “I’m almost out of bat.”

Aidan looked around as he assessed our situation. “Grab on,” Aidan said. “We’re leaving.”

I looked at the bat. There was no point in trying to sheathe it now, given what little there was left to sheathe. Plus I was going to need both my hands free to hold on to Aidan if I was going to survive the trip down. Below, a small crowd had gathered on the castle grounds in a small-scale battle royale with these creatures. I let go of the bat and let it fall. I was pretty sure that the crowd below had the reflexes to dodge it. And if it clonked onto one of the creatures, or better yet, impaled it, all the better.

I reached for Aidan’s shoulder, but the creature dove for me, separating the two of us and pushing me back. Aidan shoved at its mass as it passed, and its skin brushed wet against me, far too close for comfort. Even though it was thrown off by the force of Aidan’s deflection, it corrected itself with momentum as it swung full circle farther down the rigging on one of the beams, coming back toward me with increased velocity as its sharp talons went for my face.

“Shit,” Aidan said, already in motion himself. He grabbed my arm, digging into it like a vise clamp. “Come with me.”

He jumped as the talons of the creature brushed against my skin, but gravity already had me falling with Aidan toward the castle grounds. He landed hard, using his arms to absorb the shock of me hitting the ground with him. I set my feet down, shaken but unharmed, and looked around.

The scene around us was chaos. Blurs of these creatures and some familiar faces were all around me, fighting and clawing at one another. Aidan shielded me. “Follow me,” he said and started pushing his way through the forest battlefield.

“Wait,” I said. “What the hell are these things?”

He stopped and turned back. “Does it really matter?”

“I suppose not,” I said, “but I’ve been attacked by one of them before.”

“Bull,” Aidan said. “When?”

“Several nights back. Down in SoHo by my apartment.”

“Really,” Aidan said. “That far south?”

I nodded. Aidan started off toward the castle.

“You sure you want to stick with me?” he continued.

“Half an hour ago you were willing to just walk away from us.”

“I’d still like to be able to walk out of here,” I said. “Just not in several pieces. Either way they’d seem content to tear me apart, but to keep my own brain from leaping out of my head and deserting me, I’d like to know what they are. After two separate attacks, color me curious.”

“They’re ferals,” he said. “Happy?” He headed off as if that explained everything.

Before I could ask what that meant, he was off and I was running to keep up with him, dodging the vampire good guys as well as the enemies. Thankfully, there was enough chaos going on around us that no one paid us much attention.

Aidan led me back into the castle and across the vast courtyard. I followed at a close pace even though the largest and most dangerous chunk of the action seemed to be contained just outside the castle walls. Aidan turned into one of the buildings on our left and started down a winding set of stone steps within it. I stopped at the top of them.

“Hold on,” I said. “Is a basement really the best place to be?”

Aidan pushed back his hood and looked at me with blank eyes. “What’s the problem?”

“Isn’t that a bit . . . constricting? Given all the fighting going on?”

“Getting a bit claustrophobic, are we?” Aidan asked.

“I’m not claustrophobic,” I said. “I just like to have room to flee; that’s all.”

“No worries,” Aidan said. “There’s plenty of room down where we’re going. Besides, it’s not a basement. They’re called catacombs.”

“Great,” I said, putting both hands out against the cold stone of the walls as I followed. “That’s so much more comforting.”

I was relieved to see that wrought-iron lanterns lit the way as we descended farther and farther, but something in the flickering of the candles inside bothered me.

“Are those electrical, too?”

“Not the most authentic touch,” Aidan said, “but yeah. Saves a lot on real candles.”

“I feel like I’m in the line for the Pirates of the Caribbean ride,” I said. “Didn’t realize your kind were so budget conscious.”

Aidan stopped and turned back to me, his eyes narrowed. “There’s a lot you don’t realize about us. You think the Gibson-Case Center was cheap to build? Brandon goes on and on about the price of things all the time.”

“Part of the In-My-Day crowd, I see.”

Aidan turned away. “Maybe at some point you’ll start thinking of us as something more than monsters . . .”

“I think I’ve seen the real monsters now,” I said, following once again. “You ready to tell me something more about them?”

The downward spiral of stairs ended and opened up into a short hallway not much wider than myself. Aidan stopped at the remains of what looked like a large wooden door. It lay in splinters, the iron bands that had held it together torn and twisted like long black claws.

“I’m not going to tell you,” he said, pushing the twisted metal out of our path. “I’m going to show you.”

I stepped through the doorway into a large cavern. Not a natural cavern, but a man-made one that looked somewhat familiar to me. An arched ceiling rose high overhead, covered in intricate tile work.

“This is a subway station,” I said.

“Correction,” Aidan offered. “This was a subway station, years ago.”

A brush of wind came from the doorway. Without making any sound, Brandon came racing down the stairs.

“Closed around 1933, if I remember it correctly,” Brandon said, walking past me to join Aidan. “It took a little mesmerism on my part to make that happen down at City Hall, but as I’m sure you can attest to, the minds in government are a bit weak in this city.”

“Where’s my brother?” Aidan asked.

“Don’t worry,” Brandon said. “He’s safe. Beatriz is escorting him down here at a more human pace.”

“What exactly is here anyway?” I asked.

“Converted and reclaimed space,” Brandon said. “Nicholas assures me it’s all the rage with the green movement. I’m sure he talked to you about that.”

“Nicholas says a lot of things,” I said. “When he got going on his whole building thing, my brain sorta tuned him out. Not to mention that I was a little distracted trying to find out just what the hell your building’s done to my girlfriend, remember?”

“Ah, yes,” Brandon said, giving a polite smile, “but of course. It appears she isn’t the only one in jeopardy around here. Please, follow us.”

I followed the two vampires as they walked farther into the area. The wall along the right side of the room was made up of tiny rooms built into it. Modern piping and power couplings ran across the tops of them. Clear doors with bars set in them were slid off to the side on all of them.

“Cells,” I said.

Aidan moved to a control panel that sat all alone against an empty stretch of wall. “Odd,” he said.

“What is?” Brandon asked.

Aidan pointed off to where we had come from. “The door to get out of the catacombs was torn open, but look at the cells. Their doors are all fine. Someone used the control panel to get them out of here. Those ferals were released. Not only that, but Simon’s been attacked by one of them outside of here. All the way down in SoHo.”

“So either someone’s been letting the ferals out,” Brandon said, “or else it’s spreading.”

“What’s spreading?” I asked. “And what exactly are these ferals? Aidan here has been having a little trouble explaining what they are to me. Care to try your hand?”

“We’re not quite sure,” Brandon said. “Perversions of what we are, I suppose. The darker and more sinister side of our people made manifest, but how, we just don’t know.”

“And you keep them down here?” I said. “Why not just, you know, kill them?”

Brandon turned to me, his face dark. “Tell me, Mr. Canderous, when you have a sick friend, is that what you do? Kill them? I hope for Connor’s sake he never takes a sick day.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“This feral state is a relatively new development among us,” he said. “We’ve been keeping these poor creatures down here in the hopes of studying them, discovering what is wrong, but to no avail so far. And whatever it is, it is spreading . . .”

Aidan slammed his fist against the wall, the tiles crumbling apart beneath it. “We need to find out who did this.”

I was already in motion, walking across the station floor, peeling off my gloves. I headed for the control panel. “Out of my way and I’ll tell you.” I had wondered earlier just what vampires could need salvation from; now I knew.

Aidan stepped aside. I raised my hands and put them up to the box, pushing my power into it. The electric snap of connection hit, and I started searching through the past on this object. Images of the ferals popped into my mind, leaping from their cages but in reverse like I was rewinding a film, making them look like they were happily hopping backward to be locked up. I willed myself to see the face of whoever threw the release mechanism, but it wasn’t happening. The spot itself was surrounded by a soft white glow, but there was no way to tell who or what the figure at the controls was. I pushed myself even harder into the spot but that only increased the white light and still I couldn’t make out the figure. Frustrated, I thrust all my power at it, only to find my head screaming with pain to the point where I felt myself blacking out. My last conscious thought was wondering if I’d wake up with a hell of a headache or if I’d wake up at all, what with the whole being-surrounded-by-vampires thing.

21

When I came to, I was thrilled to see I was alive, although I did discreetly check for bite marks. In the meantime, Connor and Beatriz had arrived. Beatriz was off talking with Aidan and Brandon, but Connor was watching over me. When they saw I was coming to, they walked over to us.

“Jesus, kid, are you okay?” Connor asked, offering me his hand. I took it and forced myself to stand back up, as uneasy on my feet as I was. My head was spinning and my body was shaken.

“I’m fine,” I said, feeling my head and neck. “I think . . . unless one of these guys bit me while I was out . . . ?”

Aidan was the first one over. “Sorry,” Aidan said. “Not my type. Also, I hear you’re not a particularly good vintage.”

“Aidan,” Brandon said, with warning thick in his voice.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding a little humbled. “Did you get a good look?”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t see anything. The harder I tried, the more I was blocked.”

“You didn’t catch a face?” Connor asked. “Maybe an outfit or a detail? Something . . .”

I fished around in my pocket for a roll of Life Savers and popped them into my mouth one by one. “Something very specifically forced me out. Someone didn’t want me to see that they did this.” I looked at Brandon. “I don’t think life here at Castle Bran is as idyllic as you think. First, the letter to Connor. Now someone is specifically blocking my powers. As a matter of fact, when Jane contacted me from within the machine world of this building, she said she felt like someone had purposefully pulled her into the machine.”

Brandon looked angry and sheepish all at the same time. It was clear he was not used to mutiny in his ranks. “I’ll have Nicholas check the security tapes,” Brandon said.

“We’ll see if they caught anything.”

Aidan stood there, his arm around Beatriz’s waist. Beatriz spoke up. “I doubt he’s going to find anything.”

“Oh?” Brandon said, turning to look at her.

Beatriz nodded. “Think about it. Someone who took the time to safeguard the control panel like this isn’t going to let a security camera catch them.”

Brandon pursed his lips. “I see your point. Still, we’ll comb through it all.”

“So much for policing your own,” Connor said.

My blood sugar started returning to normal and I felt a bit more myself than I had moments before. “You know,” I said to Connor, “I have felt that same pushed-out sensation before.”

“Really?” Brandon asked. “When?”

“A few months back,” I said. “When I tried to use my psychometry on that letter Connor received. That same type of energy blocked me from reading it.”

A commotion came from the far end of the room and Nicholas Vanbrugh came into view. He blurred into action and was standing by us in half a second.

“Sorry I’m so late to the party,” he said, looking over at the way Aidan and Beatriz were draped on each other. He tore his eyes away from them and tried to focus. “I just heard about what was happening outside the castle walls.”

Brandon went over to him. “I’ll need you to review whatever footage your security systems caught of what transpired down here this evening. We need to see who’s behind this.”

Nicholas looked nervous. “Of course,” he said.

“Do I detect a problem?” Brandon asked.

“N-no,” Nicholas said. “It’s just that . . .”

Aidan rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, will you? Jesus.”

Nicholas glared at him, and then turned with a stoic face back to Brandon. “It’s just that our systems are acting a little wonky right now. Specifically, because of the problem I’m helping Mr. Canderous with. Because we’re taking down certain data sectors and sweeping them manually, it’s making general surveillance and such a little difficult for us right now. That and . . . it looks like the ferals have escaped into the city. They’re all gone.”

Aidan let out a sigh and Brandon stiffened.

“Not all,” Aidan said. “There’s one more.”

“One more what?” I asked.

“One more of those creatures in captivity,” he said.

“Where?” I asked.

“Come,” Brandon said. “Let us take you to him.”

Our whole group headed back out the broken door of the prison level and headed even deeper to another door. This one, unlike the previous, was still intact with a biohazard symbol etched into it. Brandon pushed it open, leading us into another deserted subway stop. This one was a lab with medical equipment from the past fifty years spread out across a good portion of the space.

Brandon led us to another row of cages along the right-hand side of the room. This time there were no clear walls reinforcing the bars, only the bars themselves. Only one of the cells was occupied, and it was in a more pronounced stage of rot and decay to him.

“So you just keep this one caged like this?” I said, examining the creature behind the bars. “He can’t just, you know, go all poof and mist his way out of there?”

Brandon shook his head. “We were wondering the same thing when the problem first arose. We weren’t sure how we were going to contain any of them. I had Nicholas working on a new containment system immediately, but apparently we don’t need one in the later stages of their transformation. Whatever’s happened to them, they seem to have lost some of their abilities. They can’t change form.”

“Well,” I said, tapping the bars, “I still think you may need a better containment system. After all, I wasn’t attacking myself in your forest.” I turned back to the cage. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, it was easier to examine this one than when I had been out in the forest fighting them. The skin looked like raw meat and the teeth stuck out of its mouth at more severe angles than I had thought, all of them yellowed with age and coated with blood and bits of something I didn’t want to figure out. “Ugly little thing, isn’t it?”

Aidan blurred into action as he rushed toward me. I braced for an impact, but Brandon headed him off, slamming into him.

“What the hell?” Aidan cried out.

“Easy,” Brandon said. He turned to me while keeping Aidan at bay, holding him by the back of his hoodie. “Please bear in mind . . . all of these creatures were once part of my family, our family. Some of us are more sensitive than others about the issue.”

“Sorry,” I said, looking at Aidan.

Aidan relaxed and Brandon let go of him.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I said. “I guess I’m just sensitive, too, since they tried to eviscerate me.”

“Let’s just all take it easy,” Connor suggested. “We’re all a little wound tight, given everything that’s going on.”

I looked back in the cage. The creature had stopped its predatory pacing and was watching us. I stepped back toward it.

“So this is Patient Zero, eh?”

“As far as we can tell,” Aidan said, starting to lose some of the anger in his voice. “Perry went missing a while back, then suddenly showed up again one day.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Perry . . . the vampire?”

Brandon held up a hand, his face a bit sad as he spoke. “He was at another one of my Saturday night Beverly Hills, 90210 viewing parties. Was a big fan of Luke Perry. Hence, Perry.”

I wanted to laugh, but given the gravity of Perry’s situation these days, I couldn’t.

“So what happened to him?” Connor asked, moving closer to examine the creature.

Aidan shook his head. “He looked normal a few months ago, but he wasn’t quite the same vampire when he suddenly reappeared. He wasn’t really all that coherent about where he’d been, either. Kept on raving about ‘the box’ and not much else. Eventually, he stopped being able to change between his human and vampiric form. Eventually his vampiric state started to mutate, and then it degenerated into what you see before you. By then, the outbreak started showing up in others.”

“Outbreak?” I said. “Like a virus.” Allorah had mentioned viral aspects to her research when she laid all those file folders on me the other night. I wondered if I’d get extra credit with her if I claimed my near death here tonight as lab hours.

Aidan nodded.

“Don’t your people heal things like that?” I asked. “Isn’t that one of the perks of being undead?”

“It is normally . . . a perk, as you say,” Brandon said, “but whatever this is, it isn’t a normal virus by any stretch. Think of it as the vampire form of a virus . . . unique, undying.”

Connor snapped his fingers at the creature, trying to get its attention, but it was ignoring him.

“Don’t get too excited, Simon,” he said, “but I think our friend here has a crush on you.”

It was true. No matter what was going on in the room, the creature kept its focus on me. Unlike the other ones I had encountered, this one was docile in comparison, content to stare at only me.

“No offense,” I said, “but Perry’s creeping me out a little.”

Despite wanting to flee, I stepped up closer to the cage. I examined its face, then had an idea I might know why it was looking at me the way it was.

“Do I . . . know you?” I asked the creature.

The creature’s breath quickened, the sound of wet rasping breaking its silence. It started moving around its cage, bobbing up and down.

I looked over at Brandon, who was standing there staring in fascination.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to agitate him.”

Connor put his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think he’s agitated, kid,” he said, pointing at it with his other hand. “I think he’s . . . nodding.”

I stepped right up to the bars, my concern for safety overwhelmed by my curiosity.

“Is that it?” I asked. “I know you?”

The creature lunged toward the bars, wrapping its talons around them mere inches from my hands. I could see it trying to concentrate, to make its movements more precise. It took in a deep gasp of breath and let it out as it attempted a more human form of nodding this time.

“How?” I asked. “Where?”

There was frustration in the creature’s eyes, but it held tight to the bars and stared into my face. I watched it for any signs of recognizable communication. After several minutes of struggling, it managed to get its lips around its tangle of teeth. The creature struggled like a little kid trying to make his first word.

“B-b . . . box,” it said. The effort must have taken a lot out of the creature because when it was done speaking the single word, it lowered its head.

“What does that mean?” Connor said.

Aidan sighed. “It means . . . box. That’s all he says now.”

“I don’t know what it means,” I said to the creature, but it appeared defeated now, still hanging its head as it labored for breath after raspy breath.

“Well, think, kid,” Connor said.

I turned on him. “I am,” I said, snapping with testiness in my voice. “That’s all I’ve been doing since you went on your somewhat-permanent mental vacation last month. I’ve been the one who’s had to keep it mentally together because you decided to check out.”

“Whoa,” Connor said. “Easy.”

“I’ll take it easy when I know why everyone seems to wants me dead.”

Connor held up his hands in surrender. “It was a simple question.”

Aidan stepped forward. “Can the mortals calm down a bit? The two of you getting your blood up is making me thirsty.”

That stopped both Connor and me in our discussion. We both turned to Connor’s brother.

“Mostly kidding there, guys,” Aidan said. “But seriously . . . I think my brother just wants to know how many vampires you knew before stepping into the Gibson-Case Center?”

“I didn’t know any vampires!” I said.

The four of us fell silent as Connor and I tried to calm ourselves. I was starting to feel better, when I noticed Connor looking at me funny.

“Well, that’s not entirely true, now, is it, kid?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “I didn’t know any vampires.”

“What about the report you filed about your ex-girlfriend?”

“Who?” I said. “Mina? She’s not a vampire. She’s just a wannabe fan girl of them. It’s why she chose the stupid name.”

“Do I have to remind you where you saw her last?” Connor asked.

I thought back. “The last time I saw Mina, she and Jane had been beating the hell out of each other.”

Aidan gave a little laugh. “Is your girlfriend an ultimate fighter?”

“No,” I said, giving him a look. “They were in this subterranean area of the Guggenheim. This recently thwarted cultist named Cyrus Mandalay had set up this insane art show there full of exhibits meant to torture all his old foes through paranormal means.”

“Sounds like an ultimate fighting championship to me,” Aidan said. “Who won?”

“Jane,” I said. “Sorta. Thing is, they never even would have had to fight if I hadn’t just freed Mina from one of the exhibits. She was encased in this clear coffin device, surrounded by this red mist that was constantly being stirred up so it couldn’t form . . .”

“A vampire,” Brandon said, his face grim.

“In a box,” I said, looking at the creature. I remembered the fight in vivid detail, how I threw my weight into the structure, feeling it shatter beneath me as I freed Mina. That meant I had freed the vampire, too. I even remembered the strange sensation that had washed over me when the red mist seemed to stop and take stock of me before fleeing from the chaotic scene.

“You think this is him?” Connor said. “You sure?”

“No,” I said, “but there’s only one way to be sure.”

I pulled off my glove and reached for the creature’s fingers that were wrapped around the bars of the cage. As I was about to touch it, Connor grabbed the sleeve of my coat and pulled my arm away.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said. “You remember what happened the last time you touched another person directly? Touching Faisal Bane nearly put you down and out for the count.”

“True,” I said, “but that cultist ass was a living person. We’re not dealing with living creatures here. I’m thinking that maybe these . . . things . . . are more like objects. Maybe I can read them.”

“And if you can’t, kid?” Connor said.

“Then I’ll just add to this wicked headache I already have,” I said, “but I have to try. I have to know.”

“Fine by me,” Connor said. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

I reached for the creature again, and then paused. “Oh, and one more thing. If I pass out, do not let either of these two feed on me.”

Connor smiled. Aidan and Brandon looked a little offended.

“I’ll try, kid. But you heard my brother before . . . He was feeling a little thirsty.”

I looked at the two vampires. “Look, I don’t buy into this whole ‘chosen one’ crap, but let’s just say, to be safe, that I am him. It’s in your best interest to snack on Connor before you go for me, got it?”

“Jesus,” Aidan said. “Did it say anything in the big book about the chosen one being such a pain in the ass?”

“I seem to recall something about that,” Brandon said, scratching his chin, “but I can’t be sure.” He turned and looked at me with stern eyes. “You are trying to help us with our problem, Mr. Canderous. No harm shall befall you from the two of us.”

“For now,” Aidan added. “I can’t promise I’m not going to knock you through a wall later . . .”

“Aidan . . .” Brandon said.

“Sorry,” he said to his master, lowering his eyes. He turned to me. “Have at it. Enjoy holding hands with Patient Zero. I’d go easy on the heavy petting if I were you, though. Claws and all.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I said, then grabbed hold of the creature’s hand.

Tapping my psychometry into the creature was unlike any sensation I had ever encountered. I tried to think of it like any other object I had ever pushed my power into. I’m only holding a book, an ashtray, someone’s old bowling trophy, I thought to myself, trying my best to control the squick that came from holding on to the rotting vampire. As I pushed harder into its past, its scrambled thoughts tried to tear into my mind in jagged pieces of mental metal. I wasn’t prepared for the sensation. Most objects I read psychometrically didn’t fight back this way. In defense, my mind’s eye formed a shield and raised it. The resistant mental jabs from the creature fell away and I continued sorting back through the demented and erratic thought patterns in its head.

The experience was a lot like flipping rapid fire through channels with half of them dead air. My own face came into this mix with such sudden resolution it took my brain a second or two to slow things down. I was looking at myself from the creature’s perspective, only I possessed his vampiric level of sight. It was like having a high-definition television feed of that night at the Guggenheim when Jane had rescued me and I had in turn rescued Mina. Pulling back further in time I watched the feral vampire revert to the handsome human vampire known as Perry. He had short, messy black hair and I watched him fighting for his life during what must have been when Cyrus and his army of necromanced undead subdued him. I watched in horror as the vampire was forced into the glass coffin that Mina would also eventually be held in as well. I watched several moments over and over to get a sense of the passage of time by watching the movement of the zombies and Cyrus before Mina and I had been captured. When I pulled myself out of the psychometric vision, the creature’s mind fought to hold on to me, and it took all of my mental strength to pull away.

I stumbled back from the cage. The creature had been somewhat slack-jawed when I came out if it, but roared to life as the connection between the two of us broke. Connor reached out and steadied me.

“Well, kid?”

I took a couple deep breaths as I pulled myself together, trying to shake off the disorientation of freeing myself from a somewhat living mind.

“He’s the one,” I said. “Cyrus and his zombies overwhelmed him. They got him in the coffin, forced him to turn to mist form, then started up that strange pump to keep him from re-forming again. From what I can tell, I’d say he was kept in that noncorporeal form for well over a week.”

“A week!” Aidan said.

“That’s not the worst of it,” I said, turning to Brandon. “His mind is gone. It’s just a mess from everything he’s been through. I could barely make sense of his thoughts. They’re scrambled. I think it’s a type of madness that set in from not having any corporeal form. It changed something in Perry’s blood. I’m sure of it.”

Brandon closed his eyes and shook his head as if in mourning. “We’ve never tested the true boundaries or limitations of how long one can maintain a vaporous state,” Brandon said. “A natural . . . instinct, I guess you’d call it, keeps us from ever going that long.”

“But this poor bastard never had a choice,” Connor said.

“None,” I agreed. “Cyrus kept him in this form far too long and he came out of it . . . changed.”

“And now it lingers in his blood,” Aidan said. “He’s the host. Anyone he’s shared blood with or been exposed to in a prolonged manner is at risk of infection.”

Connor stared at his brother in surprise.

“What?” Aidan said.

“Nothing,” Connor said. “Just wondered when you went all mad scientist.”

“I read a lot of Michael Crichton,” he said. “And you keep forgetting I am older than you.” He turned to Brandon. “I don’t think there’s a way to reverse it. Our best bet is to hunt them down and kill them before the virus has a chance to be passed.”

Brandon shook his head, grim. “I won’t kill my own people.”

“You may not have to,” I said. “Me and one of my . . . colleagues were working on some lab results after Jane and I were attacked by one of these a few nights ago.”

“You’ve seen these creatures before tonight?” Brandon asked.

“At least one of them,” I said. “And from what I’ve been hearing, they’ve been spotted around town, but I think I may be able to help. I’ve been assigned to work with one of our more science-minded experts. She’s not the most vampire-friendly woman I’ve met, but she does have her own lab coat. I bet if I can get her a sample of Patient Zero, I can get her working on something to reverse it.”

“Your only other option is to kill every one,” Connor said. “Killing the infected would be merciful. This virus is what’s killing them, slowly, and the longer you let it linger because of sentimentality tied to who these ferals used to be, the longer you put all your people at risk. Sentimentality is what’s going to leave the Gibson-Case Center a ghost town . . . er, building. You ever watch zombie movies?”

“I am familiar with the genre,” Brandon said. With the amount of movies and boxed sets up in his chambers, I bet he was.

“I love ’em,” Connor said, “but what happens in all of them? In every damn one of them you have a group of friends trying to escape the zombie hordes. Inevitably, one of them gets bitten and then spends the next half hour convincing everyone they’re going to be all right. It’s only a scratch, they say.”

“But it never is!” Brandon said, the movie buff in him coming out. “They always turn into zombies, sooner or later. Then”—Brandon’s face turned dark—“everyone dies.”

“Exactly,” Connor said.

“I appreciate your candor . . . and your honesty,” Brandon said. He looked at Aidan. “Prepare a sample of Patient Zero for Agent Canderous. As for hunting down the rest of the ferals that escaped into the city, I fear that will have to wait. It’s sunrise in the real world now. How we go about it, however, is something I must discuss with several members of my council.”

“Okay. And how about you discuss how we can get my girlfriend back, too? Don’t forget about her.” My shoulders sagged. With all that had been going on, I hadn’t realized how drained I was from my recent vision. I felt faint and leaned up against the wall to steady myself, letting out a sigh.

“You okay, kid?”

“Just a little worn-out,” I said, contemplating my next step once I had the sample in hand. “Nothing that a few hours of sleep and some Olympic-class lying won’t take care of.”

22

I left Castle Bran and the Gibson-Case Center, surprised to see that, like Brandon had said, it was morning when I stepped out of the artificial world and into the real one. I took the sample of Patient Zero, grabbed the subway, and headed back down to the Village with the morning rush-hour crowd, for once embracing the crush of humanity and not vampires around me as everyone packed like sardines into the car. It beat being crowded by the undead, especially if they had gone feral.

Once I hit the Lovecraft Café, I made my way back through the movie theater, into the offices, and all the way to my desk, figuring out how to best present this fresh sample to Allorah without giving much of anything away. I sat down at the partners desk for a moment, turning how I would handle it over and over in my head until I felt my nerves begin to give. The desire to be invisible washed over me, if only to keep from lying to my superiors.

With a quick look around, I grabbed my satchel, got up, and headed off to find Allorah’s office. It took me several minutes to locate, as it was nowhere near and nothing like the space the Inspectre used. Allorah’s office was like a giant studio apartment with different sections of the space delegated to several functions. Lab equipment, much of it similar to the vampire’s spread of it, filled a long low table along the back left-hand corner, while the far end of the room seemed to be allocated to books and research. There had to be a method to the mad organization of it all, but at the moment Allorah was tearing about the space, working on several things all at once. She was in black army fatigue pants and a white tank top that showcased the muscled contours of her dark skin. Enchancellor Daniels was surprisingly buff.

When she saw me, she paused and looked over. Her eyes were a little sunken in. Allorah looked exhausted. “Hello, Simon,” she said. “You might want to try picking up your phone once in a while.”

“Sorry,” I said. “The reception wasn’t very good where I was in town. Got a sec?”

“Not really,” she said. Allorah stopped and looked over at me, running her eyes down to my lower half. “What are you? A thirty-two waist, thirty-four inseam?”

“Thirty-four, thirty-four,” I corrected. “Why? Are the Enchancellors going to have us wear uniforms now?”

Allorah smiled, but shook her head. “Not a chance,” she said, “but I am requisitioning you a special pair of pants. They’re covered in a Kevlar blend and soaked for over two weeks in a solution of minced garlic.”

“Just what I always wanted,” I said. “Thanks.”

“They might not smell nice, but when you’re knee deep in the undead, you’ll thank me.”

Allorah continued dashing around her office, gathering bits of equipment that were either silver, pointy, or garlicy . . . sometimes all three. The woman needed to slow down. “Putting those on rush order, are you?” I asked.

“I will,” she said, “but right now I’m seeing if I have anything you might fit into.”

“I doubt that,” I said.

The female Enchancellor kept at her search.

I walked over to her, grabbing her wrist to stop her. “Listen, Allorah, calm down. Why are you in such a rush?”

She stopped and looked at me like I had slapped her. “Why the hell aren’t you? Didn’t you hear?”

I shook my head. “Hear what?”

Allorah sighed, then leaned back against one of the lab tables behind her. “Calls have been coming in to Dave Davidson down at the Mayor’s Office of Plausible Deniability all last night and early this morning before sunrise. There’s more than one of those creatures that attacked you and they keep popping up, centralized in Midtown. We need to get geared up and get out there.”

Shit. I hoped that Brandon and his people would make good on their word to wrangle the escapees, but they certainly weren’t running around in the light of day to find them. Allorah was pumped up by the news coming in, somewhere between bloodthirsty and excited, running to and fro. It was a scary combo and I needed her to be reasonable if I was going to try to pass my sample off to the more scientific-minded part of her.

“Hold on,” I said. “Let’s talk about this for a second.”

“We don’t have a second,” she said. “You think the other Enchancellors are moving on this yet? Not a chance. It’s up to us.”

“Maybe we should let cooler heads prevail while we gather more intel,” I said. “It’s daylight, after all.”

Allorah wasn’t having it. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the far end of her office where piles of folders and papers were spread out across a massive wooden desk. She was going a mile a minute now.

“Ever vigilant are the eyes of justice,” she said and started sorting through several folders.

“Then why is she always blindfolded in statues?” I asked.

Allorah gave me a look that could kill. “Shush. You’re friends with Godfrey down in the Gauntlet, yes?”

I nodded.

“I asked for his assistance in helping me research a few things,” she said. “I was impressed to hear that you had already taken the initiative concerning vampires with him.”

I tensed. I hadn’t really meant for that bit to become public knowledge, but I hadn’t sworn Godfrey to secrecy on it, now, had I?

“He has several archival projects allocated for development down there. One of them has to do with implementing a cross-reference system of all matters vampiric in the computers.”

“Allorah,” I said, but she didn’t hear me. I grabbed her by both of her arms and spun her toward me. I wasn’t sure what the policy was on manhandling an Enchancellor, but I needed her to pay attention. “Allorah. Look, that’s great, but I need you to do me a favor.”

Something in my desperate look must have gotten to her. Her eyes sharpened, a little calm coming to her face. “Okay,” she said in earnest. “Shoot.”

I reached into the satchel and pulled out the sample Brandon’s people had given me. “Listen, I forgot I had this sample I took when I got attacked.”

Allorah looked a little pissed. “Didn’t I tell you that you were supposed to turn in all the evidence when I asked you for your ruined clothes from the attack?”

“I know, I know,” I said, taking her dressing-down. “I forgot. You know I’m swamped with casework . . . but I need you to analyze this.”

Allorah was already shaking her head. “I’ve already swabbed all your clothes and analyzed what I got off of them,” she said.

“But this,” I said. “This is special.”

“Why?” Allorah said, skepticism creeping into her voice.

It was now or never. I had to sell it. “When that creature had me trapped on the floor, crushed under it . . . this came out of a gland on the side of its throat. I think it might be some kind of venom, you know, like a poison sac.” I was bluffing. I had no idea if the damned creature even had a gland or sac like that, but I was also hoping Allorah had no idea either.

She took the vial from me and examined it, enraptured, twisting it around as she held it up to the light. She brushed past me and walked back over toward the laboratory end of the room. She set the vial in a rack of others next to a microscope. Already she was pulling on gloves, prepping a slide, and readying an eyedropper to take a sample.

“Your level of focus borders on really creepy when it comes to vampires,” I said. I slowly crossed the room as she pressed the specimen between two plates of glass and slid them under the microscope.

“What else do I have?” she said, her voice sounding distant as she concentrated, but there was a much darker and more bitter undertone to her words than I was used to seeing on her.

I put one of my hands on her shoulder. “What happened to you?” I asked, not really expecting an answer given how focused she was on the slide.

Allorah pulled back from the microscope, scooped her hair out of the way, and lifted the silver necklace she always wore from around her neck. On the end of it was palm-sized circle of polished silver filled with etched concentric circles. She held it out to me. I opened my hand and let the whole necklace run down into it.

“Here,” she said. “Keep yourself busy.”

When I pressed my psychometric powers into the medallion, I saw Allorah standing at the front of a small classroom. Judging from the ancient-looking lab equipment around the room it had to be at least twenty years ago. That, and Allorah looked totally different.

Yes, she looked younger, as I had expected she would, but what surprised me most was that she actually looked happy. The Allorah in my vision was vibrant, her eyes eager and wide, her smile practically giving off a cartoonish sparkle of sunshine.

Because this was Allorah’s memory, I already knew a lot about what I was seeing. Science was the subject that she taught, but it was after school that she loved almost as much because of her secret passions. Allorah was a Forensics League nerd, coaching a handful of the after-school kids for competitive speech team. There were six high school kids in the room with her, four girls and two boys, all of them diligently going over their scripts for a big regional meet.

Allorah heard a commotion off in the building and excused herself in order to check it out. Her classroom was at the back of the third floor of the four-story town house, and she went to the top of the stair landing to listen. Down below, the lights flickered off on the other two floors. Allorah knew there were several other people still here with after-school programs as well and wondered just what the hell they were doing. She wasn’t sure what the fall production was going to be for the drama club yet, but hoped all this had something to do with that and not with the creeping sensation she felt down her back.

It was the screams that convinced her it wasn’t the drama club. No kid could fake a sound like the one that tore into her ears. Shocked and shaking, Allorah turned and ran for her classroom. Her students had heard the scream and were already standing up by their seats.

“What’s going on?” a blond boy asked.

The sound of struggle was getting closer, coming up the stairs.

“I don’t know,” she said, “and right now, I don’t care. Move!”

Allorah ran to the far end of the room and threw up the window sash. Being a relatively new teacher, she felt almost powerless, but knew she had to be strong in front of her students. She grabbed one of the nearby girls and pushed her toward the open window. “Fire escape,” she said, pushing authority into her voice. “Now!”

No one had to be asked twice. All six of her students bolted toward the window, each of them clawing to be first one out. Allorah grabbed one of the boys, the dark-haired one this time. “Campbell, let the girls out first. Then you can go, in an orderly fashion.”

The boy Campbell nodded and held back, though I could see on his face it was killing him. The boy was terrified. While she waited on her students, Allorah took stock of the science room. Not much going on for equipment this early in the semester, but . . .

There was something not quite human standing in the doorway to the classroom. I knew what it was. The taut, leathery skin pulled back over its face, the exposed fangs. Vampires had taken over the school, but that didn’t compute to the innocent Allorah of twenty years ago. She merely went with instinct. She threw on two of the nozzles sticking out of one of the lab tables and backed herself toward the open window. The creature blurred into motion toward her and she freaked the hell out, almost dropping the lighter she was fumbling in her hand. Her arm thrust forward, her thumb rolled over the wheel, and flame jumped to life, igniting the two jets of gas. The vampire was caught in the stream and immediately burst into flames itself, howling with an inhuman pain. Allorah gave it a weak kick with one of her boots as the last of her students went out the window and she followed, slamming the window shut behind her.

The kids were hauling ass down to the school’s courtyard below with Allorah close behind. When she reached the bottom, Allorah jumped the last ten feet from the hanging ladder of the fire escape to the ground. She looked around. The only exit from behind the school was actually going straight through it and out the front. That was chancy, but there was also . . .

“Campbell!” she whispered. “Help me lift the others over the back wall here.”

“Isn’t that like a consulate over there?” he said. The school was near the United Nations.

“Do you want to wait and see what’s on this side of the wall for you?” she asked. “I promise you, you’re better off dealing with consulate security. Now, get lifting.”

Campbell nodded and ran to the wall. He and Allorah started once again with the girls.

“I’m scared,” the second one said as they lifted her.

“It’s okay,” Allorah said. “We all are.”

Feeling Allorah’s waves of emotion hit me hard. This was not the steady and even-keeled Enchancellor I was getting to know. This was a scared woman in her early twenties freaking the hell out as the supernatural thrust itself into her world. People either accepted it or their minds snapped. If Allorah didn’t have the kids to think of, I think her sanity would have already made a trip to the latter state.

Now it was just her and Campbell. She lowered her hands, fingers interlocked, ready for his foot. He planted his shoe in her hand. A second later, only his shoe remained as the boy seemed to disappear from in front of her. “What . . . ?”

Allorah looked around. Two figures now stood in the center of the courtyard, both savagely gnawing the screaming boy’s neck. Allorah gasped, and put her hand on her chest . . . only to discover the cool of the silver chain around her neck. She looked down at the medallion hanging on it, which bore a concentric set of circles that resembled an eye carved into a good sized-metal disc.

Allorah had gotten the charm during spring break in Greece, the woman who sold it to her claiming it was a sixth-century BC apotropaic eye. Bizarre market trinket or not, it was meant to ward off evil spirits while drinking, and if something like these creatures didn’t qualify as evil, then what the hell did?

Allorah pulled the necklace from around her neck and ran forward. The creatures immediately reacted, dropping the now-lifeless boy to the paved stones of the courtyard.

“No!” she screamed out and swung the necklace in her hand. Like a table saw blade, the amulet spun around on the silver chain, the edge of it humming with an energy all its own. It caught one of the vampires, this one a male with tangled brown hair, in the cheek and sliced into it, sticking. The creature fell to the ground, clawing at its own face, and Allorah didn’t hesitate, her heart and mind vacillating between anger and fear. While the pained vampire was down, she ran to the wall and pulled down the school’s banner from its post, taking the post in both hands. Caught in a moment where she couldn’t take the time to think, Allorah plunged the post down into the creature’s chest, essentially staking it. It exploded with blood, covering her and sending her mind into total shock.

The sound of another approaching figure filled the doorway leading into the school.

“Stop playing with your food, already,” it said, and I had no trouble recognizing the voice. In fact, I had heard it earlier this evening. The vampire I knew as Brandon stepped out into the courtyard. He was transformed in full-on vamp mode and his features were terrifyingly stretched out, like a canvas pulled too tight over an artist’s frame. This was a far more horrific version of the kinder, gentler vampire I knew now. Monstrous as he looked, Brandon stared in horror at the blood of one of his fallen vampires. It was everywhere.

Allorah was already down on her knees and scrabbling to find her amulet, paying no attention to the other remaining vampire that had been feeding on poor Campbell. It was a female vampire and she grabbed Allorah by the hair and started to lift her. I knew the face of this vampire. It was the woman from the portrait over the fireplace in Brandon’s private chambers. Damaris.

Allorah’s hand found the amulet, and she grabbed it and slashed up and across the throat of the female vampire. The vampire clutched for its neck, but its head was already rolling back and separating from the cut. She hadn’t fed yet because her body fell to the ground and seemed to shrivel up into itself without much of a mess.

Brandon walked forward, stunned, but there was a haughty anger about him that I found terrifying. “What have you done?” he hissed out. I knew how important family was to the now-reformed Brandon, but I doubted that much of anyone challenged his authority back then, and to have two of his companions (three if you counted the one burning upstairs still) struck down by a schoolteacher . . .

Allorah, scared as she was and on the verge of tears, laughed with bitter anger in it. “What have I done? Are you kidding me?”

Brandon’s face was almost skeletal as he pushed a wave of emotional anger out from himself. “How dare you speak . . . ?”

Allorah was already swinging her staking post wildly at him. “These were children!” she screamed at him. “This is a school, for Christ’s sake!”

The town house was fully ablaze now, lighting up the once-dark courtyard.

Allorah dropped the post and started swinging the amulet again as she stepped forward through what remained of Brandon’s other vampires. The amulet whirred like it was an electric power saw, and Brandon’s face turned back to human. Flesh filled in the holes where muscle had barely covered bone. When his face finished forming, Brandon looked scared. Caught off guard, this other version of Brandon seemed afraid behind all the bluff and bluster of his powers. “Please,” he pleaded. “Don’t . . .”

Allorah wasn’t having it. All I could feel in her now was anger. She charged forward, brandishing the amulet like she was a knight carrying a Morningstar into battle.

Brandon had no choice but to shoot up into the sky, but so close to the fire of the building that his clothes were already aflame. Allorah watched as he flew away like some half-ignited human torch, hoping the flames would finish the job, but I knew that wasn’t the case.

Her mind had wanted to shut down just then, but there was still one last thing she had to do. Allorah cradled Campbell in her arms and brought him to the flames as well. She couldn’t leave him there, lying like that. She just couldn’t. As the flames laid claim to the boy, I found that I couldn’t take any more of it and pulled myself out of the vision and back into Allorah’s office lab.

My body was exhausted and my head hurt. First things first, though. I went into my coat pocket and started upping my waning blood sugar with Life Savers. I chewed them in between my erratic breathing.

Allorah was standing next to the chair I had sat in before triggering my power. She looked down at me, concerned and grim. “You okay, Canderous?”

“Yeah,” I said, catching my breath. “Thank you for that.”

She kneeled down next to me and looked me in the eyes. There was a sense of sadness and wonder to the look on her face. “You saw it all?” she asked. “The school? The kids? You felt everything I felt, right?”

I nodded, taking in huge gulps of air. “I understand now.” I handed back her apotropaic eye. Allorah stood and walked back to her microscope, laying the medallion next to it while she went back to work.

“When that night was over,” Allorah said, her voice flat, “I was still a teacher, just of a different subject . . .”

I understood her now, but the matter between the vamps and humans just got a whole lot more complex. Knowing what I knew now, I was even less inclined to let her get near the vampires. Parts of what I knew about them started to make sense to me. Even though Brandon had been a monster back then, these were not the vampires I knew now. Brandon and his people had changed. I had a pretty good idea that maybe that night at the private school had been the turning point for him. The loss of Damaris had touched something still human deep inside, changing him, making him go from an arrogant killing machine to a scholar interested in the preservation of his people.

Even the timing of it all seemed to make sense. The loss of Damaris was when he started giving a shit about the prophecies, deciphering them. It even fit with when Brandon had hired the gypsies to grab Aidan. It was hard to have seen him as that monster, but that wasn’t the vampire I knew. I trusted Brandon now, but if Allorah ever saw him again, there would simply be no reasoning with her.

And here we were prepping for the hunt. I had to find a more proactive way to keep her occupied. “Any luck with the sample?”

Allorah went back to her lab equipment and I stood on shaky legs to follow. When I got to her, Allorah was already bent over one of her microscopes again.

“The concentration level of viral activity is off the chart compared to the samples off your clothes,” she said.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Allorah nodded.

She looked so serious. The change from who I had experienced just minutes ago had me seriously missing that version of her. I felt such deep sadness.

“It gives me a lot more to work with,” she said. “If I can find a weakness to these monsters, we can find a better way to destroy them.”

I could feel the tension rising in my shoulders at the thought of the bloodbath that would come on both sides of that effort. I had to try to change how this was going to be handled. All-out war didn’t seem like the healthiest of options for either side, but with the general black-or-white ideology of the Enchancellorship possibly making decisions on this, I was worried about Manhattan becoming a ghost town.

“What about other alternatives?” I asked.

Allorah looked at me like I was crazy. “Like what?”

“I mean, we could potentially try and make an antivirus, couldn’t we?”

Allorah stood up from the microscope and gave me her full attention. She crossed her arms. “Now, why would we want to do that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, dodging the question. “I mean, wouldn’t a regular vampire be easier to contend with than these mutated things? If we were able to tone down this vampire variant, maybe we’d stand a better chance of eliminating them. Personally, I’d rather fight a guy in a dinner jacket, cummerbund, and cape than these clawed snaggletooths.”

I didn’t want anyone dead if I could help it, but taking this tack would at least help soften Allorah to the idea. I hoped. I stood there, maintaining my composure as she thought it over.

Thankfully, the stillness in the room was broken when she closed her eyes and nodded. “You have a point,” Allorah said. She put her hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “They’re vicious enough in normal form. I can’t imagine how powerful this new breed is. If they’re as savage as you described, you’re right. We need to do what we can to reverse the virus. I’ll get to work on it.”

Allorah went back to work with the same extreme intensity, but as I backed myself out of the room without her even noticing, I was at least happy that her preparation was now pointed toward more science and less slaying. Some days it was the small victories that got you by.

23

Back at the Gibson-Case Center, I was thrilled to see that the living statues didn’t give me any trouble when I returned to the elevators leading back up to Nicholas’s control center. When I got up there, I found Nicholas hunched forward in front of the main console that hooked up to the full-wall monitor system. His hair had fallen out of his ponytail and hung in his face like he had been pulling an all-nighter . . . or all-dayer, in his case.

“Anything?” I asked, hoping for a bit of positive news to offset the whole prophecy thing in my brain. “Find my girlfriend yet? How ’bout whoever released all those ferals?”

He pulled his eyes away from the console, turned to me, and shook his head. “Nothing yet on either account, I’m afraid. I see you found your way up here all by yourself.”

“I’m a quick study,” I said. “Actually, I would have gotten lost if the monorail hadn’t taken me through most of the mall.”

Nicholas cocked his head at me and cringed. “Please don’t call this a mall. It offends my architectural sensibilities.”

“I had no idea,” I said. I held up my hands. “I’m sorry.”

Nicholas still looked incensed. “Would you call the Concorde a paper plane?” he asked, his voice getting louder and louder. “Or the Sistine Chapel a paint-by-number?”

“No,” I said, resisting the urge to reach for the security of my bat, only to remember I didn’t have it anymore.

“Then call it what it is, then,” he said, standing. “An arcology. A hyperstructure featuring computer systems that border on sentient.” He pointed over at the large bank of windows opposite the giant monitor, walking there. I followed and looked down at the shopping concourse far below. People were scurrying around like worker ants on a mission from the queen. “Here the living, the unliving, and technology interact all like organs in one whole being. Self-sustainability! Stores, restaurants, offices, apartments, theaters, greenhouses, schools, hospitals, blood banks . . . everything to maintain life for all involved. Not a mall.”

“Point taken,” I said. “Again, I’m truly sorry.”

The wave of anger rolling off him emotionally was intense. “You sure all this rage is about me, Nicholas?”

Nicholas’s eyes burned into me. The last thing I needed after just having left Allorah was someone else’s smoldering anger coming at me. Something in my face must have convinced him I was asking out of genuine concern because his face softened and he put his hands to his eyes. He looked like he was going to cry, but then he laughed instead.

“Forgive me,” he said, walking back to his console and sitting down. “I am a bit touchy right now. Mostly overworked . . . The immortal body refreshes itself, but the mind, well . . .”

“So I see,” I said, trying to laugh it off myself. “Maybe it’s not all work? Maybe some of this is about Beatriz and Aidan, too . . . ?

The laughter died on Nicholas’s lips. He raised an eyebrow and gave me a wan smile. “So you know about that, do you?”

“A little,” I said. “I see the looks you give them. Besides, when my partner’s brother is part of the undead, these things come up.”

Nicholas thought for a moment. “Ah, yes,” he said, giving a shudder. “Aidan.” He walked back over to the console and sat back down. “Anyway, yes, I suppose you could say I’m a little touchy because of Beatriz. If in a roundabout way only.”

I sat down in one of the console chairs next to him. “I’m all ears,” I said. “I’m just thrilled I’m not back at my office getting yelled at.”

Nicholas paused, collected his thoughts, then spoke. “Back before I was turned several hundred years ago, I had been apprenticed to Christopher Wren. You know of him, yes?”

I nodded. Even though most of my art knowledge was psychometrically gained, I knew of Wren’s architectural achievements in Europe.

“All I had ever hoped for back then was to dedicate myself to a life of design, all for the glory of God. But then this happened to me.”

Nicholas looked disgusted.

“You didn’t want this?” I asked.

“Not then,” he said. “Some days, I’m not even sure if I want it now . . . but back then, Beatriz courted me on behalf of Brandon. She was quite the noblewoman.”

“Wait,” I said. “Noblewoman? Beatriz?”

Nicholas screwed up his face. “Yes,” he said, “her. She courted me under her master’s orders, but it seemed so real at the time. Of course back then, she was nothing like the pale shade of a woman you see today. She carried herself in a far more courtly manner. How could an Englishman not fall for her exotic Spanish beauty? Now to see her on the arm of that hideously fashioned Aidan . . .” He shook it off. “Back before I was turned, I had no idea what she truly was or what Brandon had planned for me . . .”

Parts of the puzzle started to fit together in my head. Previous to his conversion, Brandon had not only been an arrogant monster; he had been quite the user of others. “He needed you,” I said, “to build his castle.”

Nicholas nodded. “Yes. He set his pawn upon me to win me over, not to construct his castle, but to help him maintain it, to fortify it. And much, much later, they needed me to move it to America.” He gave a blank stare ahead at the computer screens as images flew by. “It took years of planning, and given what the world was like back then, years to accomplish, but Brandon knew what he had in me when he had Beatriz turn me. She was so sweet back then, so loving, but all of it a lie.” His brow darkened and the hints of his vampiric nature showed in his skin as it became more leathery and pulled across his features. “I hated them both for that. For denying me my service to God.”

I didn’t understand. “To God?”

“My boy,” he said, his features smoothing back to normal, “I worked with Christopher Wren. Architecture was considered a gentleman’s pursuit, one of applied mathematics with all eyes turned upward in supplication to God. It was the way of my time. But when you want to build churches—monuments to our Lord—well . . . it is hard to do so once you are a creature of the night in a world barely lit by torches. The Church doesn’t . . . approve of my kind, and being a vampire makes working for His glory a bit difficult, I’m afraid. When that realization hit me, I sulked for a good sixty years.”

“My God,” I said. “That’s practically a lifetime.”

Nicholas nodded in agreement. “It was a lifetime back then.”

I was perplexed. “So why not just leave all of them? Tell them to screw off and walk away from it all? It’s sure as hell what I would have done.”

Nicholas looked pained. “Don’t you see?” he said. “I know this may sound a little clichéd or ridiculous . . .” He opened his mouth, popping his fangs so I could see them. “But we are vampire. Once you’ve seen the world as we see it—the faces of the people around you growing old and dying—you start to realize the world is a much lonelier place than most can imagine. Like it or not, there is comfort in the faces of those who live as long as you do, those who never die. Brandon and his people were the only family I had after being turned. Yes, I spent those sixty years hating them for what they did to me, but I was far too cowardly to ever do anything to . . . end it. But when the twentieth century dawned, I felt a sense of hope again. I could tell that new things were on the rise. I had initially been tasked with simply moving the castle to America and hiding it, but even then I could imagine a day like today, when I could look into the sky and see God’s light again for myself . . .”

“You can’t go outside,” I said. “You’ll burst into flames. Or so I’ve read. In a pamphlet.”

“A pamphlet,” Nicholas said, shuddering. “How perfectly . . . pedestrian.”

“Yeah, well . . . we’re on a budget. What can I say?” I thought for a moment. “Unlike you. What’s a place like this cost to build?”

“More than you’ll ever make,” Nicholas said, giving a smile through his sadness. “Even if we gave you several lifetimes to do so.”

The idea of being turned filled me with a mix of dread and wonder, causing me to lapse back into silence. Nicholas went back to surveying his computer screen as image after image blipped by. I needed to get the focus back on Jane.

“Not to sound harsh,” I said, “but even with all this technology at your disposal, you can’t find one blond girl gumming up your works?”

Nicholas’s fingers flew with inhuman speed over the keyboard in front of him. “If we can isolate her in the system, I am hoping to download her into a smaller subsystem or perhaps some form of peripheral device.”

“That’s great,” I said, agitated, “but I can’t have a relationship with a programmable toaster . . . at least not without some serious burns. I just want my Jane back.”

“You mortals . . . so impatient,” Nicholas said. “Finding her lost among my masterwork, pulling her out of my systems, isn’t an easy task. Especially when I think someone is sabotaging my efforts to find her. Normally I would have thought I’d have located her by now.”

“Forgive my impatience,” I said, “but I think we mortals get that way probably because we don’t live forever. We die. It’s easy to get impatient when your days are numbered.”

Nicholas paused to consider this. “Perhaps you have a point, despite it being coated in that modern sarcasm of yours,” he said. “My apologies.”

“I really hoped we had found something on all those ferals escaping,” I said. “I figured there’d be footage of some kind on it.”

“I haven’t gone through all of it yet,” Nicholas said, “but it looks like a good amount of the footage has been compromised thanks to our mysterious saboteur.” The two of us looked at images together for a while, although truthfully they were flashing by far too quickly for me to do anything but catch one out of every twenty. “Oh,” Nicholas said, standing up. “Come with me. I forgot to show you something.”

Nicholas walked off across the control room to a smaller office set to one side full of electronic components lying everywhere along with piles of mail and boxes. He walked over to one particular box that was long and white, the kind used for delivering flowers. He put both his hands on top of it. “You have a package waiting for you.”

Nicholas stepped back from the box and I approached it. It definitely looked like a flower delivery box, all right. A red bow had even been tied around it. Not trusting anything, I moved with caution as I slipped the ribbon off the box.

“Who is it from?” I asked.

Nicholas shrugged. “There’s a card with it,” he said. “Shall I read it?”

“Please,” I said. With shaking fingers, I started to ease the top off the box.

“Very well,” Nicholas said, picking the card up. “ ‘Simon. Missing you. Saw what happened with those icky monsters. Here’s a little something for you.’ ”

The top came loose and I put it off to one side. The box was filled with red roses, long stemmed. I fished around under the paper that lined the box. My hand found what it was hoping for.

I pulled the object free and held it up, smiling.

“It’s a baseball bat,” Nicholas said.

“Affirmative,” I said and took a moment to look it over. It was fancier than the one that had been destroyed by the ferals, covered in silver plating with intricate Celtic knot-work adorning it. Its design was so sleek and customized that I could barely see the seams where I could collapse it down for storage. The grip part had a rubber pad on it that made it easier to hold as well as several buttons along it with a letter assigned to each of them. CDFJLS. “I don’t think this is National Baseball League standard issue, though.”

I looked at the letters for a moment, then, realizing what they were, held the bat away from me. I punched in Jane’s initials. JCF. The bat retracted down automatically with a tiny pneumatic whoosh. I punched them in again and the bat shot out to full extension. “Neat.”

I thought of the place we had met, the Sectarian Defense League, and punched in the letters SDL. The end of the handle flipped open, and something shot out of it and off through the door to the far end of the control room. There was a loud thock as that something lodged in the wall.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No apologies necessary,” he said with a smile. “I am unharmed.”

I ran out into the control room. A wooden stake was lodged three-quarters of the way into the far wall inches from another bank of computers. I pulled it out and reset it into the handle of the bat. I pushed in the spring mechanism and closed the tiny panel at the end of it. It clicked and locked in place. “Double neat,” I said, marveling at the new instrument of destruction in my hand. “How on earth could Jane do this?”

“Hold on,” Nicholas said, sitting down at the main console again. He punched in a few keystrokes and a list started scrolling down the screen. “This is part of our work-order system for building maintenance and such. I do see a request with our machine shop for the construction of this item from earlier this morning.”

“Wait,” I said. “This thing was created in a couple of hours? I can’t even get a bunch of pens from our supply room without twelve forms and a two-day wait!”

“I assure you,” he said, “our machine shop is quite functional. Most of the raw materials used in the Gibson-Case Center are refined here. If I do say so, my design schematics for this autonomous machine system are quite remarkable.”

“But even with the use of machines,” I said, “it would still take a craftsman days to plan this out.”

“You misunderstand me,” he said with a smile. “Our machine shop is quite literally that—a shop run by machines.”

“No humans?” I asked.

“None.”

I sighed. I was impressed. “That would explain the lack of red tape, I suppose.”

I swung the bat around in my hands, loving the balance of it.

“You might want to be careful with that around here,” he said, “considering the company.”

“Oh, right,” I said, stopping. I retracted the bat using the keypad on it and slid it into the empty holster on my belt. “Sorry. I should probably go see Brandon. I know he’s waiting to see how things went with the sample.”

“That,” Nicholas said, “and I suspect he’s still waiting to hear whether you’re going to help us with our book of prophecy or not.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said. “I’m not too keen on the whole idea of prophecies, but I think I understand a bit more of your leader now. Let me get moving.” I patted the bat at my side. “I promise I won’t stake any of you. At least not on purpose.” I started for the doors leading back to the elevators.

“Is that more of your modern sarcasm?” Nicholas said, spinning in his chair as his eyes followed me across the room toward the Star Trek doors.

“Something like it,” I said. “Yeah.”

“I like that,” he said. “You remind me of Wren.”

The warmth in his words stopped me in my tracks. I turned back to him. “Great,” I said, giving him a double thumbs-up. “I’ll be sure to let him know in the afterlife. Maybe we can get a cloud together.”

“Sarcasm again,” Nicholas said; then his eyes lit up. “Let me try one . . . umm, oh! Tell Aidan I said hello and that I hope he’s enjoying my beloved companion Beatriz.” Nicholas looked pleased with himself. “Did I do it right?”

I gave him a pained, halfhearted smile.

“Keep working on it,” I said. I spun around again, the doors opening for me as I walked out of them. “Sarcasm takes time to master . . . and if there’s one thing you vamps got, it’s time.”

24

When I arrived at Brandon’s chambers at the top of the castle, he was standing by the circle of chairs over by his viewing area. The screen was paused on a shot of Jason Priestley entering the Peach Pit, and Brandon watched me as I crossed the room to him.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” I said.

“Nicholas called ahead,” he said. “Is it true? Have you come to use your powers on the book?”

I walked past him and sat in one of the chairs opposite him by the long-dead fireplace. “I’m not sure yet.”

Brandon looked disappointed. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

I leaned back in my chair. “I don’t know about you, Brandon, but I’ve had an interesting afternoon.”

Brandon stayed where he was and put his hands to rest on the back of one of the other chairs. “Did you, now?” he said, his grin showing he was at least amused by my being there. “Please . . . do tell.”

I pointed up to the painting over the fireplace of his beloved Damaris. “Do you know the name Allorah Daniels?” I asked.

What little color there was in his face melted away. The smile on his face was gone. The lord of the land looked crestfallen. “I didn’t know the name then, no,” he said, “but you can be sure I found out after the whole incident died down.”

“I’m surprised you let her live,” I said. “Not that I’m sure you would have been the victor, especially now. She’s grown up to be quite a toughie.”

Brandon came around the chair, sat in it, and leaned across to me, his eyes searching my face. “How do you know all this?”

I held up my gloved hands, wiggling my fingers. “I’ve had a very telling psychometric vision.”

“But don’t you have to touch something that belongs to a person to do that?” Brandon’s eyes wandered as the realization hit him. “You’ve seen her?”

I nodded. “Technically speaking, I sort of work for her,” I said. “Allorah Daniels is part of the Department of Extraordinary Affairs.”

Brandon fell back against his chair, shaking his head slowly side to side. “So you know my past,” he said, “and yet you chose to come back here . . . Why?”

“Well, for one thing, your people are trying their best to untangle my girlfriend from your building,” I said. “But the other reason is that I see the faith the people around you have in you. They’re not the type of vampires that I saw in that vision. You’re not the vampire I saw in that vision.”

Brandon’s eyes looked into mine. There was a darkness there. “I will always be that vampire,” he said. “No matter how I choose to act now, I will always be that man.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” I said. “This whole kinder, gentler bloodsucker thing has taken a lot of getting used to, but like you told me earlier, if you had wanted a bloodbath, you would have had it. The Brandon I saw from twenty years ago was well on his way to it. So what changed you?” I pointed up to the painting over the fireplace. “Was it her? Was it watching her die?”

Brandon looked up at the painting for a long time before he nodded. “Centuries of stories, centuries of legend telling us what we are, how we’re supposed to be feared,” he said. “No one ever questioned it. We were what we thought we were supposed to be.” His chest rose as he let out a short, bitter laugh. “And certainly no one told me how to process the feelings Damaris and I shared for several centuries. We were prepared to take America and let the streets run red. Ours was a dark and sinister love. When all that went away, when Allorah struck her down, everything changed. Over the centuries, I had forgotten what it felt like to lose someone. The feelings that I had were conflicting. I didn’t dare continue on my path. I locked myself away in here.”

“And that’s when you came across your prophecies,” I said. “You were looking for answers in any piece of your history that you could.”

Brandon stood and walked over to the heavily geared safe I had seen before and began working its many dials. After a few seconds, it clicked and hissed open. When he turned he was holding that sacred vampire tome of his.

“Even more pages have gone missing from the book,” he said. “It seems someone close to me is insistent on starting a holy war between our people.”

“Nicholas is pretty sure whoever sucked Jane into the computer and released the ferals are one and the same. I’d say the missing pages are part of a trifecta of someone forcing a bloodbath before either of our sides make contact.”

Brandon walked over to me. “So,” he said, holding the book out to me. “Will you help us? Will you help me?”

I stood up to face him, man to vamp. “You know, I’ve spent the past year debating the fine differences between good and evil,” I said. “They even teach a few seminars on it. Thing is, I’ve always suspected that what really matters isn’t going to be found in one of their textbooks or a pamphlet.” I nodded, peeling off my gloves. “If my department finds out about this, I’m as good as done, but then again, what did they expect putting me in Other Division?”

Brandon handed the book over to me. “Thank you,” he said.

“Still not sure about your whole me-being-your-savior thing, though,” I said, nervously taking the book from him. Although it was maybe twenty pounds tops, the weight of the responsibility made it seem like it was made of lead.

“I’ll see what I can read off it.”

“See what you can tell me,” Brandon said. He smiled. “I want this saboteur stopped. I’m rather fond of this city. It would be a shame to not see what happens to it over the next few centuries. It would be a shame if our two people couldn’t see it together.”

I sat back down with the book and laid it on the circular table where Brandon’s council usually met. I ignored the fleshlike cover of the book and turned past it quickly. Using care with the pages, I gave it a quick once-over. After the first few pages, English gave way to an unidentifiable tongue that I hazarded a guess was Slavic or something fun like Abyssal.

I shut the book and laid both my bare hands on the leathery cover. I wanted to gag at the thought of it possibly being bound in human flesh, but instead focused and pressed my power into it, hoping to get a glimpse of whoever had been responsible for all the pages that had gone missing.

I felt my power snap to life as my mind’s eye opened up. Now I would get some answers. That was the last thought I had as I pushed my psychometry into it and promptly passed out.

When I woke, I was staring at the castle ceiling and my head hurt as if I had been drinking all night. I pushed myself up to my elbows and looked around. I was still in Brandon’s chambers, but now on the floor next to the toppled-over chair I had been sitting in. Brandon was staring down at me, unmoving.

“Simon?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just had a bad read; that’s all. I’m getting a little sick of how good a job your saboteur has been doing. Hurts my pride more than anything.”

I left out the fact that the back of my head was on fire from where I had no doubt it hit when falling over. I only hoped I wasn’t bleeding for fear Brandon might have a change of heart on the whole peace-on-earth thing with the scent of a snack in the air.

Using just one hand, Brandon helped me up from the floor like I was made of paper. “What did you see?”

When he put me down, I started brushing myself off. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m afraid I didn’t see anything.”

“Nothing?” Brandon leaned over and picked up the book from the floor.

“Nada,” I said. “The same blinding white light that guarded the cellblock and knocked me on my ass is tenfold as strong on this thing.” I shook my head to get my senses back, feeling the cricks in my neck popping. “But it has done something useful.”

“It has?” Brandon asked. “What?”

“It’s got me angry,” I said, “and motivated. I’m sick of getting punched around when trying to use my powers. It’s time I got a little more proactive . . .”

I started walking off across the room toward the heavy oak doors that led back down through the castle.

“Where are you going?” Brandon asked as I walked away from him.

“First things first,” I said, “and that’s getting my girlfriend back.”

25

Being pissed off did a lot for my clarity, or at least my sense of direction. I had no trouble finding my way out of the castle this time and back down the cobblestone trail leading out to the Gibson-Case Center. I headed off in the direction of Nicholas’s control room, stopping only long enough to grab a few cupcakes at one of the restaurants to boost my sugar back up after my battle with the book. The living statues guarding the elevators didn’t even budge as I passed them and headed up to the brains of the Gibson-Case Center.

“You have amazing cupcakes here,” I said as I walked into the main control room. None of the other vampires working there even looked away from their machines, but Nicholas Vanbrugh looked up from the console where he was working.

“Back so soon?” he asked.

“My blood is up,” I said, shoving another cupcake into my mouth, “even if my blood sugar isn’t yet. Is that a problem?”

“No, actually, it’s fine,” he said and waved me over. “I think I may have something. I think we may be just about ready.”

“Good,” I said. “Me, too.” I popped the last bite of cupcake into my mouth.

Nicholas pointed to a list of lines scrolling down his screen. “I’ve isolated several dozen nodes that have been showing erratic activity,” he said. “Flare-ups.”

“So, what?” I said. “Now that they’re isolated, what happens?”

“Well,” he said, “if the machine world is storing Jane digitally, it wants to compartmentalize her to keep her hidden. It’s what I’d do, anyway. I’ve had the system isolating all those anomalous nodes. Then we group all those nodes together and systematically reboot them until they dump Jane out. Once she’s been set back on the mainframe, Jane should be able to reassemble and all is well. In a perfect world, anyway.”

I was hesitant to ask the next question. “And what happens if it’s not so perfect a world?”

Nicholas hesitated and looked kind of sheepish. “In theory, the bonded nodes could sever their ties, tearing her apart into hundreds of tiny clusters within the machine world and self-delete her byte by byte.”

“In theory . . .” I repeated.

Nicholas nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Nothing like this has ever happened before, as far as I’m aware. Either way, Jane’s at risk. The longer she stays in there, the more difficult it’s going to be to retrieve her. And any way you look at it, any attempt to free her is going to be risky. I just want you to know what you’re up against. It’s your call.”

I stood there, silent. I didn’t know what to do. I had come in here all fired up, but the thought of losing Jane while in the process of saving her took me aback. I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for leaving my girlfriend stranded in Tron, but I didn’t want to kill her, either. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“I can’t decide that for you,” Nicholas said. He fell back to working at the console where he was seated.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. The text message icon was flashing. I flipped it open.

DO IT.

I looked up from my phone. The spastic movements of one of the surveillance cameras monitoring the control room caught my eye. The camera was twisting back and forth on its flexible neck. I couldn’t identify the movement at first, but then it hit me—the camera was waving at me.

“Let’s do this,” I said, snapping my phone shut.

Nicholas looked up, surprised. “You sure about that?”

I held my phone up and waved it at him. “Pretty sure. That was her.”

Nicholas didn’t waste any time. He stood up and called out to the room. “Everyone out . . . now! I need the control center cleared.”

“Sir?” a blond-haired technician said, remaining at his post.

Nicholas turned to him, glaring. “Don’t make me ask again. Everyone clear out. Now!”

Like ships jumping to light speed, the crowd of vampires stood and blurred out through the main doors of the control room.

“You think that’s necessary?” I asked.

“For the safety of my people,” Nicholas said. “Yes. Besides, if this goes badly in here, I save a little face sending them out by not making a public spectacle of myself.

“Now, then,” he continued, his spirits seeming to rally with fond memories of Beatriz dancing in his head, “let’s see what we can do to help the damsel in distress.”

“Don’t let Jane hear you call her that,” I whispered, looking around at the cameras in the room. “Your ex isn’t the only one around here willing to give someone a good kick.”

Nicholas started tapping away at the keyboard. “So noted.”

Several windows flashed up on his monitor and I leaned over to try to follow them.

“Here,” he said. “I’ll put them up on the big screen for you. I make less mistakes typing when you’re not watching over my shoulder.”

The wall monitor central to the room blacked out the security feeds to it and Nicholas’s screen now took up the entire wall instead. Even at this size, I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it.

“Let’s pretend I didn’t go to MIT,” I said, “and tell me what you’re doing.”

“Huh?” Nicholas said, looking up. His hands were flying at inhuman speed along several keyboards mounted in the console he was sitting at. “Oh. Sorry. I’m shutting down the anomalous nodes one by one, so they should end up dumping all their packets back into the mainframe. That will hopefully allow them to regroup, and well, we’ll go from there, shall we?”

I watched the wall screen as different sequences of nodes came up on it and closed down. From their color-coding and identifying markers, the nodes looked like they came from every set of building systems.

“Let’s just hope you’re finding all the pieces,” I said, nervous. I was reminded of Star Trek episodes when the Transporter would fail and some mutant creature was formed from pieced-together crew members. I pushed those thoughts out of my head as I watched and waited.

“Almost there,” Nicholas said, giving a final flourish at the keyboard. “Annnnnnd done!”

The remaining machines and consoles in the room whirred to life, drives humming up to speed. The overhead lights dimmed, leaving only the monitors to light the room. Each screen was running through series of images and machine code, all of them forming their own patterns. The sounds of the machinery were getting louder with each passing second.

“Is it working?” I asked.

Nicholas started typing at his keyboard again. “I’m not sure yet.”

After a few more seconds, the low build of Klaxon alarms started pulsing through the room in wave after wave of sound until I could feel it in the center of my brain.

“Why isn’t it working?” I asked over the noise.

“I don’t know,” Nicholas shouted back. His fingers flew like fire across first one keyboard, then another, working several machines at once. “I’m having trouble flushing her from the system. It’s as if . . .”

Nicholas’s eyes fixed on the screen as he read the code flying by.

“It’s as if what?” I asked. I grabbed his shoulder, feeling the cold radiating through his shirt. “Stop getting all Matrix-y on me.”

Nicholas shook his head and his face returned to normal. “Sorry. I was about to say that it’s like the building is fighting to keep her.”

“Fighting to keep her?” I said. “Jesus Christ. Is this when Skynet takes over?”

“Skynet?” Nicholas asked with a blank stare up at me.

“Never mind,” I said. “You probably were too busy moping through the Terminator years. Listen, just tell your super-smart building to let go of Jane, all right?”

“I’m trying,” he said, typing away at the keyboard again. “You know how hard it was to learn computers with some of the less-than-savory night classes this city offers?”

Something struck me on the back of the neck in a thin line of pain before clattering to the floor.

“Oww,” I said, rubbing the spot while I looked around. “What the hell was that?”

Nicholas stood up from his set of consoles and turned to look past me. He reached down and picked up the object. It was a CD.

“It’s one of our backup systems,” he said, pointing to a long cylinder across the room. It looked like ten coffee cans stacked on top of one another. “It loads a DVD-R with crucial building metrics nightly, burns a copy, and then it gets sent to an off-site storage facility.”

Nicholas started for the main doors we normally used, but the whine of gears firing up stopped him in his tracks.

“What’s that?” I said, moving to join him.

“That would be the main door locks kicking in and securing this room.”

“By themselves?”

“Like I told you,” Nicholas said, looking around the room. “The building is protecting itself.”

“Well, can’t you just, like, turn to mist and seep under the door, get us some help?”

Nicholas shook his head. “This facility was designed by vampires with vampires in mind. Those seals are airtight. Besides, not all of us can actually pull that off.”

Several more discs flew across the room from the device, but this time I was ready and dodged them as they shattered against the wall behind me.

“Don’t you have a safety word?” I asked.

“Remember all that frantic typing you just saw?” he said with testiness in his words. “Didn’t work.” Nicholas was getting more aggravated with each passing second. “Follow me, and keep a steady pace. That machine holds up to five hundred discs.”

Running through the maze of monitors and chairs, the two of us started toward the only other set of open doors, on the opposite wall. They were already closing. I pulled out my shiny new bat, extended it, and prepared to throw it.

“That will never stop those doors,” Nicholas shouted over the sound of sailing discs and their impact explosions. “Even if you get it in between them, it’s only a gap of inches!”

“Not going for the door,” I said and launched my bat end over end. It struck one of the sleek high-tech office chairs, spinning it on its swivel, but also driving it on its wheels toward the closing door. The chair clanged into place between the ever-slimming opening in the doors, catching there, and holding. I ran for it, scooping up my bat and jumping over the chair into the next room. I landed hard and rolled, turning over just in time to see Nicholas making a graceful dive between the doors, landing on his feet. The sound of shattering discs firing off from the backup system kicked in, deafening and constant like the sound of a machine gun. Every once in a while, a stray one would make it through the opening and fly off across the room we were in, crashing into cabinets, vending machines, chairs, and tables.

“We’re in a break room,” I said.

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious,” Nicholas said. “Did you see any other way out of that room?”

I shut my mouth and decided that rather than argue, I would do something constructive. I put my foot against the seat of the chair lodged in the doorway and gave it a shove. The chair slid into the main control room and the door snapped shut, barely allowing me time to pull my foot free of it.

I knelt down in front of the door, checking the locking mechanism to see if there was a way to keep the doors shut, but it was no use. The tech level of these was beyond my usual level of thieving skills.

“Jesus,” I said. “Get out of the criminal business for a few years, and suddenly everything looks foreign.”

The doors started to open again and I grabbed at the two halves of it in a fruitless effort to hold them shut.

“Allow me,” Nicholas said, grabbing them by their handles. The doors slowed as Nicholas struggled to keep them together, but even with his preternatural strength, the pained look on his face showed it was a losing battle. The strain on the doors caused the motors to whine, piercing my ears with their effort. I put my hands over my ears, stepping back from the door.

From behind me, something hit the door next to me with a sharp crack and exploded beside my head. Liquid covered my face and my first thought was blood. I had even felt something cut my cheek. The liquid splashed into my mouth and I couldn’t help but taste it. No, not blood . . .

Soda?

I looked at the door. Whatever had hit it had slid down to the floor and sure enough, there were the remains of a torn-apart soda can. I turned around. A Transformers version of a soda machine was crossing the room on treaded wheels. It was bulky and lumbering and, as far as soda machines went, full of menace. One of the press buttons for selecting a soda lit up on the front of it. There was the familiar sound of a can dropping, then a soft pfoosh as it launched like lightning out of the machine. Without thinking, I raised my bat and hit it away. It ruptured immediately, but the empty can went sailing. Babe Ruth would have been proud.

“Hey, Nick,” I shouted. “It’s not looking too safe in here, either.”

The vampire turned away from the doors to take a look, and was suddenly covered in an explosion of lettuce, croutons, and what looked like Thousand Island dressing. It appeared as if another of the vending machines—this one with sandwiches and salads—was joining the fray. Its inner multi-tiered carousel whipped into action inside the machine as the various plastic doors for dispensing began to slide open and shut. Now food started flying across the room as well as soda cans.

Nicholas looked down at his ruined suit and something in his face changed to an angry mask, his humanity stretched into a tight, leather mockery of his features. He pulled at the two halves of the door and I heard the metal buckling. I dove out of the way, taking a few heavy hits from some of the flying cans in the process, but I needed to get clear.

Nicholas screamed in rage and the door flew across the room, tearing into the sandwich machine’s plastic carousel. The upper half of it teetered for a moment, and then fell backward as a shower of sparks rose from the remaining half.

Nicholas turned and tossed another piece of door at the soda machine, lodging it in the center of the machine. The soda machine spun itself in circles on its fancy high-tech treads until it slammed into the wall and stayed there, grinding its gears.

I stood up, brushing bits of food and drops of soda off of me. I stepped toward Nicholas, but when I saw the look on his face, I stopped. He snarled without any sign that he recognized me. I backed away, climbing over flipped tables and scattered chairs, trying not to slip on the sticky film of soda that coated everything in the room.

“Easy now, Nicky,” I said. “Remember what Brandon told you about me.”

His eyes were fixated on my face and I suddenly realized why. The cut I had received from the first exploding can. I was bleeding.

I reached up and covered my cheek.

“Remember what Brandon, your lord and master, told you,” I repeated. “I’m for helping, not for eating.”

Nicholas paused for a second, his face still feral-looking. I prayed I was getting through, but before I could find out, the machine from the main control room fired up and started spitting DVD-Rs at us again. Nicholas held an arm up to block his face, but I was glad to see that his focus shifted from me to the other room.

“Follow me,” he said ferocity in his voice, an inhuman growl beneath his words.

I nodded in silence and followed when he dashed back into the control room. By the time I entered, he was already tearing into the DVD-R machine. I headed for the doors, but stopped in my tracks when I heard a familiar voice over the sound system.

“Simon?” There was a vocoder quality to my name, full of electronic clicks and whirs, but the voice was definitely Jane’s. “Simon?” it said again, this time coming from off to my left. I turned to it.

The main display of the control room was taken up by a staticky image of Jane. Her long blond hair waved against a sea of black, the ends of it trailing off to pixilated blocks that faded and vanished into the darkness.

“Jane!” I said, heading over to the screen. On the giant wall monitor, Jane’s head and shoulders were huge, stretching from floor to ceiling.

“Did you get my present?” she asked, the eyes on the monitor turning to focus on where I stood in the room.

I smiled and held up the new bat. “Yes,” I said. “Very shiny.”

“Good,” Jane said, smiling, too. “Tell Wesker I don’t think I’ll be back to work on Monday.”

I collapsed my bat and sheathed it, then slipped off my gloves and held my hands up to the screen, the pulse of its electricity warming them.

“Why don’t you come tell him yourself?” I asked.

“I don’t think I can do that,” she said, her eyes seeming distant, as if she was concentrating very hard on something. Her head and shoulders started to shrink as her size adjusted to match mine, almost as if a camera were pulling back on her. Jane was naked. I didn’t have time to be shocked. She held her hands up to mine. “Just tell him.”

I started to cry, tears rolling down my cheeks. “No,” I shouted at the screen. “You have to come in. You haven’t been with the Department long enough to have accumulated this much vacation time or sick time.”

Jane cocked her head at me, some of the humanity returning to her face. “No?”

“No,” I said. “And . . . think of all the paperwork I’ll have to fill out explaining this. The pile will be taller than I am.”

Jane’s face floated in front of mine, the pixels of her eyes dancing as she looked into mine. She gave a weak smile.

“You don’t want that,” I said, “do you?”

Jane flickered on-screen. “No, I suppose not.”

I pressed my hands hard against the glass of the giant monitor. “Then come to me, Jane. Come to me.”

I looked to my hands and her eyes followed. Her fingers traced mine and I pushed my power into the screen, trying to make any kind of connection that I could. Old images of building surveillance started filling my mind and I felt the electricity of the building mixing with my power, coursing through me.

And then it was joined by another sensation. A wave of an energy I couldn’t comprehend washed through me and I felt something familiar in it, something . . . caring. Jane. I pushed myself toward it, and then felt it touch me. I shook myself free of my psychometric vision.

I was still standing at the screen, but when I looked down, Jane’s flesh-and-blood hands were sticking through the screen, holding both of mine. Our fingers were intertwined, little shocks of electricity jolting up my arm. I eased her arms forward, extracting her out through the monitor inch by inch. It was like pulling her out of a pool of molasses. Her big blue eyes widened as her face approached the surface of the monitor, and then her whole head pushed through. As it broke the surface, she gasped in air.

“That’s it,” I said. “That’s it.”

Jane shrieked in pain, startling me. I stopped pulling. “What’s wrong?” I said, as if pulling my girlfriend out of a big-screen television wasn’t wrong enough. Then I realized what it was as I felt something tug her back to the other side. The building was trying to keep her.

“Fight it, Jane,” I said, holding on to her. “I’m not letting go. You have to fight it.”

“It hurts,” she cried out, her body convulsing in my arms. I let go of her hands and hugged her to me. It was no use. The pull from within the monitor was too strong and Jane’s body was slowly drawing back into it.

Still hugging her, I let one of my hands free and reached out to the monitor. I pushed my psychometric power back into it, desperate to try anything to keep Jane. Usually when I read an object, using that power drained me, but this was no regular object. This was a sentient one. Maybe I could actually drain it instead. Using another part of my mind’s eye, as I had when reading Perry the vampire to create a mental shield, I pictured my own energy as a battery charge meter, like the one on my phone. It was at the halfway mark. I concentrated on the meter, willing it to recharge, feeling the building’s power give a bit. I kept watching the meter, ignoring Jane’s screams out in the real world as I forced the meter to fill. First one bar filled on it, then another. I pushed myself harder, until the reading showed a full charge, and then pulled myself out of the vision. Hopefully it was enough to have drained the power I was fighting against.

Jane still struggled against the monitor, but she was making progress freeing herself. Now she was caught in the monitor only waist high, trying to pull herself out of it like someone who had fallen in a hole while ice fishing. All around us the rest of the room was in turmoil. Emergency lights were flashing; alarms were going off; monitor stations were smoking as circuits blew and the acrid smell of burning electronics filled the room. I grabbed Jane, put one of my feet up on the monitor’s edge, and pulled her toward me. She stuck for a moment, but then the two of us were falling as she slid out of the monitor with one last rush of electronic buzzing. I landed hard on my back, the crunch of broken DVDs sounding out from underneath me. Jane landed on top of me.

She looked stunned for a moment, and then smiled.

“Hello, Tall, Dark, and Human,” she said. I couldn’t help but smile back before I pulled her closer and kissed her.

I would have stayed in her warm embrace forever if the sound of crunching footsteps hadn’t drawn me back to reality. The two of us sat up and I got my first good look at her, my mouth agape.

“What are you staring at?” she asked, worried.

“You,” I said, struggling out of my coat. “You’re naked.” Jane looked down at herself as if noticing for the first time. Her face went red, even if her body didn’t. I handed her my coat and she slid it on within seconds. I reached into its pocket and pulled out the necklace, fastening it around her neck again.

“I believe this is yours,” I said.

Jane ran her hand over it, tracing the silver FOREVER banner along the front of the heart. “Thanks,” she said, standing up.

I stood as well and turned to Nicholas, who was just joining us. He had reverted to his regular human form, but nothing could hide the fact that he was covered in bits of food and flecks of broken discs. Behind him, nothing remained where the disc-throwing machine had once stood.

“Everyone okay?” he said, brushing at the shiny metal flakes that coated him.

“You look like a disco ball,” I said. Jane giggled, causing Nicholas to stop brushing at himself and look up at her.

“Nicholas Vanbrugh,” I said, “this is my girlfriend, Jane Clayton-Forrester, your ghost in the machine.”

Nicholas held his hand out, upturned in a formal gesture. Jane clutched my coat closed around her with one hand and gave him her other. Nicholas gave a low bow, and then kissed it. “Enchanted.”

“As am I,” she said. She withdrew her hand and started buttoning the coat. “Forgive me. I’m usually not so naked.”

Nicholas turned away in modesty. He looked at me. “Sorry I acted like that in the break room.”

“Hey, no apologies,” I said. “Your Hulking out seemed to have had a positive effect on getting out of this situation.”

Nicholas looked hesitant. “Still . . . I prefer to not show that side of myself, but when that salad hit me, something inside me snapped. I’m wearing Armani, after all.”

“A little vanity can go a long way,” I said, and he smiled.

“That it can.”

“Hey, riddle me this,” I said. “Why would vampires need a soda machine or a vending one?”

Nicholas looked mock offended. “What? We can’t drink or eat for flavor?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I guess we’ve spent so much time in the Department figuring out how to fight you guys. Not really up on your culinary habits—other than the blood drinking.”

Nicholas nodded. “Besides, not everyone who works here is of the fanged persuasion.”

“Ah,” I said. I turned to Jane. Her brow was furrowed with concern. “Jane . . . ?”

She held up her finger to shush me and I fell silent. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

I listened for a few seconds and shook my head. “No, I don’t. Sorry.”

“Exactly,” she said. “It’s far too quiet. Mr. Vanbrugh, is the building all right?”

Nicholas listened for a minute, and then headed for one of the few still-operational consoles in the room.

“No, it’s not,” he said, after a moment at the keyboard. “A lot of the systems are down, including the security systems.”

He keystroked in a few commands, then entered them again and again before the security doors to the room finally opened. A stream of workers poured in, all of them looking around at the chaos with amazement. A few of them, I noticed, weren’t shy about getting a look at Jane wearing nothing more than my coat.

We left Nicholas and his men to assess the damage to the Gibson-Case Center. I put my arm around Jane’s waist and headed us toward the door, carefully helping her step over all the shards of broken discs covering the floor. One crisis down, seventy-three to go. I didn’t know what I was going to do next on that list, other than find some clothes for my recently returned girlfriend. Something more substantial than just a necklace, anyway.

On our way from the control room down to the castle, we had to go through part of the shopping district of the Gibson-Case Center, but no one dared stop us. They all just stared. When Jane and I entered the forest and she saw the castle for the first time, Jane looked like she was dazed. When we finally went into the castle and came to Brandon’s chamber door, the blond vampire from his council, Gerard, let us in. Council seemed to be in session, and with them were Aidan, Beatriz, and Connor. When Connor turned and saw it was us, his face lit up.

“Jane!” Connor said. His face broke into a wide smile and he ran across the room to hug her. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight. Jane just stood there, looking stunned.

“Oh,” she said, a pained look on her face. “Hello.”

Connor stepped back from her, put his arms on her shoulders, and looked her in the eyes. “You do remember me, right?” He looked to me. “She does remember me, right, kid?”

I took her back from him and put a comforting arm around her. “She’s a little shaken, I think. From the whole Gibson-Case-Center-eating-her business. That’ll do it to a lady.”

“Gotcha,” Connor said. He stepped away from her, giving her a little distance. It seemed to relax Jane a little. I turned her to Brandon.

“This is Brandon, the man we have to thank for getting someone to help rescue you. If he hadn’t set his best man to the task, I don’t know where you’d be right now.”

Brandon looked at Jane, who was simply staring at him with a big blank smile on her face.

He nodded to her politely. “Nice to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard much about you.”

“You have?” Jane said, sounding a little too bubbly for talking to the lord of the vampires.

“Jesus,” I heard Aidan whisper to his Connor. “Are you going to have to buy safety scissors with her around?”

I shot him a dirty look to let him know I had heard him. He looked at me and bulged his eyes. What? they said.

“She’s just disoriented,” I said. “It’ll pass. I think.”

Brandon turned to Gerard. “Find her some clothes, if you would.” Gerard nodded and blurred off toward the door.

“I was just discussing with the council what our options were for a course of action . . .”

“And?”

Brandon sighed. “We hadn’t even figured out when to best discuss it,” he said.

Connor laughed. “So you’re effectively having a meeting to discuss when you’re having a meeting.”

I looked over at my partner. “It would appear our people have more in common with the vampires than we thought. That’s promising.”

Brandon looked at me, his brow nice and furrowed with frustration. “Do you have anything better in mind?”

“Actually,” I said, “I do. Your saboteur has toyed around enough with trying to keep your prophecy from coming true. Without knowing who exactly to get rid of, they tried to stop us all—first Connor, then Jane and myself. I can only speak for myself, but I’m sick of being a target. The sooner we get our sides talking, the less chance our saboteur has of succeeding. I’m taking Aidan with us. I have some business the four of us need to attend to.”

The council erupted in an uproar of protest, but Brandon shut them down with a look. “Agreed,” he said, gesturing toward me and Jane, “but first, pants.”

I smiled, feeling a little optimistic for once. My girl was at my side, albeit pantless, and I had a plan that felt like it stood a chance of actually working.

26

Just before sunrise the next morning, Jane, Connor, Aidan, and I walked straight into the Lovecraft Café without a problem. I was sick of all the skulduggery going on, and now that Jane was free, I wanted to take a no-bullshit approach to handling matters between the Department of Extraordinary Affairs and the slightly less living contingent that resided in the Gibson-Case Center.

In the café, no one gave us a second glance, and we kept on going, heading past the coffee counter toward the black curtain at the back. I pulled it aside and the four of us continued down the main aisle of the movie theater, where Connor MacLeod was loudly proclaiming up on the screen that, indeed, there could be only one. Aidan was eerily silent the entire time, even when we entered the tiny hallway where I pulled out my card key and swiped it outside the large wooden door marked H.P.

The offices were already busy with morning activity. Jane and I were the first to step through the door leading into the Department of Extraordinary Affairs, but Aidan remained firmly in place on the other side of it, making it impossible for Connor to get through.

“What?” I said. “He can walk into the Lovecraft Café and back through the theater, but not into here?”

Connor looked at me. “I think it’s the difference between public and private space, kid,” he said.

I looked at Aidan, hoping for an answer.

“Don’t ask me,” he said, shrugging. “I’m still the new vamp on the block.”

“Fine,” I said. “You’re invited in.”

Aidan stepped forward. The second he walked through the doorway to the main office area, he stumbled and reached for the wall to steady himself. Connor went to him, grabbing his other arm to help.

“You okay?” Connor asked.

The vampire looked a bit weak in the knees. Even his customary fake breathing became labored. The skin on his face and hands looked a little more drawn-out than usual, like a plastic bag that had been overstuffed. He looked up at his brother with bloodshot eyes.

“Crossing the threshold, it was like walking through a windstorm,” he said. “I feel . . . funny.”

“Even with my invitation?” I said.

Aidan nodded, then closed his eyes as he stood there trying to pull himself together.

Connor looked up at the walls of the office, and my eyes followed. Mystic symbols were carved into the heavy plaster that lined the older part of the office space back here. “Looks like Greater and Lesser Arcana have been earning their keep around here,” Connor said. “Even though you invited my brother in, the protective magic is thick in these walls.”

Aidan looked like he could use a nap. Jane looked worried.

“You think he’s going to be okay?” Jane asked.

Connor’s brother opened his eyes and forced himself back up to a standing position on his own.

“I don’t need your pity,” he said.

I put a hand of warning on his shoulder. “It’s nice to see that your general vampiric disdain for humanity is enough to bolster you,” I said.

“Go easy on them,” Connor said to his brother. “They’re just looking out for all of us. It’s risky bringing you here, more so for us than you. The paperwork alone will eventually kill us.”

I turned to Jane. “Speaking of paperwork, I’m sure Wesker has a metric assload of it waiting for you. You’d better put in at least an appearance with him. I told them you were out of town and I forgot to file the paperwork for you. They seemed to buy my filing ineptitude as an excuse . . .”

“Nice,” Jane said, leaning over to kiss me. She started off toward Greater & Lesser Arcana, waving to our group. “Good luck with the Inspectre. Let me know how it goes. I’m going to put in a few hours, then head on over to help Nicholas and see if we can crack the computers now that I have an insider’s view.”

Once Jane was gone, Connor turned to me, a look of concern crossing his brow. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Hey, if I’m to put any faith in their Encyclopedia Vampirica, I’m the great uniter,” I said, starting off through the office. “Just do your best to play human while you’re back here, Aidan. And keep an eye out for Allorah, Connor. I don’t need her going all Van Helsing on us.”

“You know,” Aidan said, falling into step behind me and speaking in a whisper, “not mocking our sacred books will go a long way to extending your life.”

We walked on in silence through the office. All around us business went on as usual and very few people paid us any attention. And why should they? By now I was well on my way to mastering the art of deception when it came to visiting the Department and Aidan was doing his best to play human. A few well-placed nods and hellos, and the three of us were already heading upstairs to the Inspectre’s office.

When we reached the top of the stairs, I turned to Aidan. “Let us go in there first, okay?”

He nodded.

The Inspectre’s door was open, and when I knocked, he looked up from his desk. When he saw it was Connor and me, he stood up.

“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding. “Connor, good to see you.”

“Hello, Inspectre,” Connor said.

“You’re looking well,” the Inspectre said to him, and it was true. The Connor beside me was much better than the beaten wreck I had rescued from the church graveyard several nights ago. Shaven, clean-cut, even a little chipper knowing his brother was alive. “Vacation suits you.”

“Thanks,” Connor said, looking a little uncomfortable after his long absence from the office.

The Inspectre noticed the lone figure standing in the doorway and peered at Aidan. “Friend of yours?”

“Something like that,” I said, gesturing for Aidan to enter. He came forward slowly. Whether it was from nerves or the effects of the protective runes of the Department, I wasn’t sure. “This is Aidan. Aidan Christos.”

The Inspectre looked at Aidan, then at Connor, his brow furrowed in disbelief. He shook his head.

“My boy,” he said, “we’ve been over this when you presented your case concerning Connor’s mental well-being the other night. Connor’s older brother has been missing for at least fifteen years by now. This fellow looks much younger than . . .”

The Inspectre stopped himself, taking a step back as the only logical answer hit him full-on.

“Show him,” I said to Aidan, suspecting that what I was about to unveil to the Inspectre was already forming in his own head.

Aidan looked across the desk, pulled back his lips, and, with some effort, popped his fangs.

The Inspectre, seasoned though he was, hitched in a breath of air. “I see . . .” he said, a bit stunned in his tracks. All things considered, he was remarkably calm.

“As you can imagine,” Connor said, “we’ve had a lot to catch up on.”

The Inspectre nodded, still entranced. “I’m sure you have.”

There was a gentle rapping on the door and all of us turned with a start. Allorah stood in the doorway, a small stack of file folders in her hand. She gave a polite smile to us all when she saw us standing there. “Am I interrupting something?”

Allorah’s smile disappeared in an instant when she saw Aidan’s fangs. Her face became a mask of fear and anger.

“Argyle!” she said, her voice sharp. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Calm down, lady,” Aidan said, rolling his eyes.

She turned to me, her face angry. “You thought it wise to invite a vampire into our ranks, Mr. Canderous?”

I nodded, trying to find the words to tell them about the prophecy, that things would be okay. But before I could speak, I was interrupted.

“This is the one safe haven we have from things like . . . him,” Allorah fired back. “And you, Agent Canderous, have betrayed that.”

The venom in her voice was thick, but the Inspectre held up his hand.

“Hear the boy out, Allorah,” he said, raising his hands in a calming gesture.

“No,” she said, her eyes darkening as her arms began to shake. “I’ve seen his kind. I know what they’re capable of.”

Allorah dropped her files, reaching for her necklace, but she must not have put it back on after I read off it yesterday, and her hand came away empty. She turned in the doorway, and stormed off toward her lab, leaving her files scattered on the floor. The Inspectre came around his desk, staying clear of Aidan as he went.

“Nice lady,” Aidan said, retracting his teeth so he looked human again.

“God,” I said, turning on him. “Could you be a little less flip? This is a delicate situation.”

He shrugged. “If you’re the so-called great uniter, it shouldn’t matter how I act, now, should it?”

Connor walked over to the file folders and started picking them up. “He’s got a point,” he said.

“Enough out of the two of you,” I said. I turned to the Inspectre, who was already to the door. “Sir?”

“I’ll work on Allorah,” the Inspectre said, pausing to address us. “The three of you? Get out of here while you can.”

There was disappointment in his voice. That hurt me more than anything had over the past few days. Without another word, the Inspectre shot out of the room and headed off down the stairs after Allorah.

“I could stop them,” Aidan offered. “I think. I’m not sure. I still feel . . . off.”

“I know your kind of stopping,” I said. “Why do I think it would end up with someone’s neck accidentally snapped?”

“It was just a suggestion.”

“Well, thanks, but no, thanks,” I said.

“So what now, kid?” Connor asked, all of the folders gathered up in his hands now.

“Let’s remain calm,” I said, more to convince myself more than anyone else.

“Calm,” Aidan said, distressed and crossing to me. He grabbed the lapels of my jacket and tried to lift me off the ground. Nothing happened. My feet stayed firm on the floor. “You want me to stay calm when I’ve been reduced to this? Powerless?” He shoved at me, and this time I felt a burst of his vampiric strength as I flew backward into the door. I hit it and started to slide down to the floor. Apparently not all systems were on the fritz with him.

“Okaay,” I said, pushing myself back to standing. My back cricked as I rolled my shoulders. “That’s not quite the kind of calm I was going for. Nice try, though.”

Connor stepped forward, standing between us. “My brother’s just a little spooked, is all.”

“I’ve lost my powers before, too,” I said, feeling a bit defensive. “Shoving people around didn’t help get them back.”

Connor turned to his brother and glared at him. “So what do we say to the nice human, Aidan?”

Aidan looked like he wanted to say something flip, but held his tongue. He let out a long, slow breath before finally speaking. “Sorry,” Aidan said.

“Good,” I said. I turned to the door, opened it, and checked the hallway. For now, it was empty. “Let’s go.”

Connor grabbed my arm to stop me, but I was already heading for the stairs, pulling him after me. “Go where, kid?”

“Out the goddamn front door,” I said. I took the stairs two at a time going down. “Allorah’s probably snatching up a complete vampire-hunting kit out of her lab or alerting the rest of the Enchancellorship, but I’m not too worried about the latter option. I doubt the Enchancellors are swift enough to be assembled together on short notice to deal with this. Just think of the paperwork . . . We’ll be long gone before they can get it in gear.”

I hit the bottom of the stairs, Connor and Aidan right behind me. We weren’t more than five feet off of them before I heard a commotion coming from just beyond the red curtains that separated the bull-pen area from the rest of the office proper. The curtain flew aside and a team of Shadowers was already assembled with Allorah in the lead, wearing her protective necklace and wielding with what looked like a Nerf pop gun loaded with a wooden stake. The Shadowers were armed, too, holding an assortment of crosses, holy water, and nets. One of them held a long sharpened pole. We were separated by several rows of cubicles and partial walls, but they’d be on us in no time.

“Shit,” I said. “I guess I shouldn’t underestimate an Enchancellor with a cause.”

“Looks like the locals are hunting for bear,” Connor said. “Still want to remain calm?”

“I say we abandon calm until cooler heads are prevailing on their side,” I said. I looked around to assess our options.

“Where’s the back door?” Aidan asked, for once his voice sounding a bit unsure.

“Don’t hurt anyone, Aidan,” I said, stern. “They’re only doing their jobs.”

“There isn’t a back door,” Connor said, answering his question. “Not that I’m aware of, anyway.”

Not that I was, either. Unless . . .

“Follow me,” I called out and dashed off in the opposite direction of the Shadower team. I heard Connor and Aidan fall into step behind me. When Connor saw where I was headed, his eyes lit up.

“The Gauntlet?”

I didn’t bother to answer. Instead, I kept on running toward the heavy old wooden door that led down to the research archives. I threw it open, and after Connor and Aidan came through, I slammed the door shut. All three of us put our weight against it.

I looked at Aidan, who for once actually looked winded. “Please tell me you have the strength to crush the locking mechanism on this.”

Aidan turned to the ornate handle and lock trigger, pressing the tips of his fingers flush against them. His face contorted with effort as he tried to squeeze them together. After a moment they started to give way, and once he had better leverage and momentum on his side, he was able to twist the two into an unwieldy knot.

“Happy?” he said. I nodded. Aidan lifted his hand and flexed his fingers. “Funny. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to exert myself.”

The thump of people reaching the other side of the door had me moving again. I ran down the carved stone stairs, taking a bit more caution given their age and the subterranean slope. The overhead lights lit up the tunnel all the way down.

We burst into the main room of the Gauntlet. Several of the archivists looked up from the long tables they were working at, while others simply carried on with their business. I spotted Godfrey Candella two tables away from us, where he was helping that Chloe girl with some sort of translation. When he saw me, he looked a bit startled, but waved.

“Hello, Simon.”

I was out of breath, but still found a little strength to wave him over to us. By the time he walked over, I was standing and had gained a little bit of my composure back.

“We need your help,” I said.

Godfrey stood there, his usual quizzical expression on his face. “Go on. I was just helping Chloe with a little bit of Carpathian she was having trouble with . . .”

I held my hand up to silence him. “Not now,” I said. He looked hurt. “Sorry,” I added. I continued on. “Remember when I was down here a few days ago . . . You took me to that place where we were looking up records on old New York, chasing down those blueprints from the 1800s?”

Godfrey nodded. “Of course I remember,” he said, sounding insulted.

“You need to take us there,” I said. “Now.”

Godfrey’s gaze switched to look at my two companions as if only now just seeing them. First he looked at Aidan, then at Connor. “Are they . . . ?”

“Related?” I volunteered.

“No,” Connor said, interrupting. “You’re just seeing double.” He looked back up the stairs, wary. The sound of approaching footsteps came echoing down the staircase.

“Door didn’t hold as long as I thought,” Aidan said, sounding a bit disappointed.

Godfrey looked at him, adjusted his glasses, and looked closer. He turned to me and started to whisper.

“Is he . . . ?” He held his hand up to his mouth, making little finger-fangs with it.

“I’m undead,” Aidan said, turning from the stairs to Godfrey with a scowl, “not deaf.”

Godfrey backed away, the awe on his face bordering on comical.

“Now would be a good time to get going, kid,” Connor called out. “Those Shadowers aren’t getting any farther away.”

I reached out and put a hand on Godfrey’s shoulder. He jumped with a start but turned his focus back to me.

“Just show us the way out of here,” I pleaded. “I swear . . . Aidan’s one of the good guys.” I gave Connor’s brother a look, but he just gave me a testy smile back. “Well, goodish, at any rate.”

Godfrey nodded his head over and over, a little frazzled, but starting off down one of the darkened tunnels lined with ancient filing cabinets and books. “Absolutely. Sure. No problem.”

The three of us followed close behind him as the archivist wended his way back through the ages of history. After the first three quick turns, I lost all sense of direction, but several moments later, the look of the older archives turned familiar. We were definitely headed back to where the blueprints had been, the place where I had heard the distant shuffling of creatures scurrying to and fro. When Godfrey produced a flashlight as conventional lighting came to an end, Connor spoke up.

“Jesus, kid. Where the hell does this lead to?”

“Not sure,” I said, noting the cavernous echo of my voice down here, “but it’s away from those guys following us.”

“Good enough for me,” Connor said, and we dashed along behind Godfrey in silence for several more minutes.

The cabinets came to an end, Godfrey’s flashlight showing only faint glimpses of distant caves leading off under the city.

“This is it,” he said. “This is as far as I know. Beyond this point, your guess is as good as mine.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, pointing off into the distance that spread out before the four of us. “You want to run that by me again? You don’t know what’s out there?”

Godfrey shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Or where it leads?” Connor continued.

“Again, my apologies,” Godfrey said. “I can tell you that there have been some signs of things that kind of slither around, but I haven’t come across anything lately.”

The sound of the men pursuing us echoed throughout the cavern. It was impossible to tell how close or far away they were.

“Fine,” Connor said, after a few seconds of sulking. He held out his hand. “At least give us the flashlight.”

Godfrey looked hesitant.

“What?” Connor asked, sounding perturbed.

“It’s the only one I have on me,” he said. “How will I find my way out?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Connor said, shaking his head.

Now it was Godfrey who was angry. “Well, excuse me for not being prepared to aid and abet two agents and a vampire in escaping members of our own Department. Do you realize what trouble you’ve probably gotten me into . . . ?”

“Enough,” I hissed, silencing the two of them. I turned to Aidan.

“Take your brother,” I said, “and go. Get him out of here.”

“What about you?” Aidan asked.

“I’m staying,” I said. “I can buy you some time if I keep them chasing me around here. Maybe I can reason with Allorah. I know her. If she catches up with you when she’s all prepared, I think things will get real ugly real fast and we’ll end up with a full-scale vampire war here in New York City.”

“If you’re concerned about these men that pursue us, I can handle them,” Aidan said.

“That’s the problem,” I said. “I know you can . . . but trust me, it’s better if you two get out of here. Now.”

From what I knew of Aidan so far, I thought it must be killing him to walk away from a fight, be it male machismo or some kind of vampiric showboating.

“Kid’s right,” Connor said, patting his brother on the shoulder. He looked at Godfrey. “Now, about that flashlight.”

Before Godfrey could speak, Aidan said, “Forget it. I can see fine down here. I feel more myself now.”

“You’re farther from the runes up in the offices,” I said. “I don’t think anyone thought to protect down here.”

Aidan looked at Connor. “I can get us out of here.”

“And what about all those creepy-crawlies Godfrey mentioned scurrying about in the darkness?” Connor asked.

Aidan gave a dark smile and put an arm around his brother. “I defy you to find anything creepier and crawlier than me down here.”

“Let’s hope not,” Connor said.

“Just in case,” I said, pulling my bat free and handing it to Connor. “Here. Your brother might be the ultimate weapon, but you might need this.”

Connor gave me a reluctant look. “You sure, kid? Maybe you’re gonna need it.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be beating up any of the Shadowers looking for me down here,” I said. “Just take it and go.”

Connor took the bat. He gave me a final look and said, “Thanks, kid,” before Aidan blurred into top speed, carrying the two of them away in an instant, leaving Godfrey and me standing alone in the single pool of light.

“Well, this is eerie,” Godfrey said.

I listened to the sounds of pursuit getting closer, but there was still no sign of light off in the darkened distance heading back from where we had come.

“Please tell me you know the way back,” I said.

Godfrey looked unsure. “I think so.”

“That doesn’t sound promising, God.”

“Only one way to find out,” he said and started off into the dark. I followed the small cone of light generated from his flashlight until we spied other lights approaching us. People were shouting, but they were hard to understand in the echoes that filled this area of the Gauntlet. A pool of light hit us, and the shouting became louder.

“Stick close to me,” I said to Godfrey, grabbing the flashlight.

“Hey!” he called.

“Sorry,” I said, running off down the nearest aisle of books.

“You’re never going to outrun them all,” Godfrey said, hurrying to keep up with me.

“I can try,” I said. I turned at the next corner I encountered and ran on. “Besides, I don’t need to escape them. I just need to tie them up for a bit.”

And that was what I did. At every turn, I switched directions, sometimes doubling back over areas I was sure I had already been through. Within minutes I was good and lost, which was fine by me. To my amazement, Godfrey had kept up with me. By the time we found ourselves trapped in one aisle between two different sets of Shadowers, we were both panting and wheezing but willing to give ourselves up.

As one of the men forced my arms behind me and put them into restraints, Allorah came walking out of the darkness. She was the only one of my pursuers who wasn’t out of breath. Several of the other Enchancellors trailed behind her, all of them nervously clutching flashlights in one hand and stakes in the other.

“Not too tight,” Allorah warned the Shadower cuffing me. “We’re civilized . . . and the head of Other Division seems to have a fondness for this one.”

The Shadower did as he was told. Two other men moved to grab Godfrey, and he looked about to faint.

“Leave him alone,” I said. “Godfrey’s innocent in all this. I threatened him and made him take me down here. I thought there might be a way out.”

The Shadowers backed off Godfrey, who let out a deep sigh of relief.

Allorah walked up to me, lowering her staking device, contempt in her eyes. “Where are they?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, cocking my ear to one side as if I was having trouble hearing. “Who?”

“You know who,” Allorah said.

I smiled and shook my head. “Just me and the books down here.”

“Fine,” she said. She grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around before grabbing the cuffs and pressing them till I could feel them pinching into my skin. I hissed as the sensation hit me. “You’ve seen what they can do, and yet you’re trying to help them? You want to play traitor. We’ll treat you as one.” She looked at two of the Shadower team. “Take him up to containment.”

“Sorry, Simon,” one of them said as they started to drag me away.

I dug my feet in and turned back to Allorah.

“You know, you’re much more pleasant when you’re playing scientist,” I said.

For a second, the Enchancellor actually looked hurt by my words, but only for a second. “Take . . . him . . . away.”

The Shadowers started to walk, pulling me along, and then stopped to turn to me.

“You don’t happen to know the way out, do you?” one of them asked.

27

After a half hour of wandering, the distant promise of electric lighting became apparent and the Shadower team headed me toward it. Without too much manhandling, they escorted me back upstairs and took me to one of the rarely used rooms up on the second floor that looked a bit like a professorial lecture hall. I was forced to sit down in the first row with one Shadower on either side of me and two directly behind me.

“Isn’t this a little overkill?” I asked. “I’m not going to run.”

None of my guards responded. Time passed in silence for quite a while before I heard the door at the back of the tiny lecture hall open, and voices approached. Dozens of members from various divisions of the Department crammed into the space, filling the seats and lining the walls. Director Wesker came in with Jane trailing behind. I gave her a weak, weary smile, and even though she smiled back, she looked nervous for me.

The two of them sat together in a section off to my far left. Last in the room were the thirteen members of the Enchancellors, with my accuser, Allorah, coming down the stairs last and remaining standing while the others seated themselves at a long table along the front. As Allorah waited for the room to settle, Inspectre Quimbley entered and moved down to my row, taking the one empty seat two people to my left.

Another of the female Enchancellors, this one much older than Allorah, cleared her throat and the room went silent.

“Due to the specific nature of this inquiry, we are deferring to Enchancellor Daniels, given her knowledge of vampiric lore and taxonomy.”

Allorah nodded to her, then turned to address the assembly. “I have conferred with the rest of the Enchancellors on what I have seen this evening,” she said, her face solemn as she raised her voice, “and we are meeting on the grounds that a member of Other Division stands accused of treason.”

The assembled crowd let out a dull murmur, and I felt the eyes of everyone in the room focus on me. I felt my face go flush and all I wanted was to sink into my seat until no one could see me.

“Will the accused please rise?” Allorah said, not even bothering to look at me.

I stood, despite a weakness in my knees and the sudden racing of my heart. Allorah stepped toward me.

“What say you?” she asked.

“I don’t wish to offend any of the Enchancellors,” I said, “but ‘what say you’? Are we at the Salem witch trials here?”

“Salem is not in our jurisdiction,” Allorah answered, humorless. “But I take it your willful betrayal of the trust of this Department strikes you as humorous?”

“Not at all,” I said, sobering. “What strikes me funny is the tone of these accusations.”

“Did you or did you not willfully invite a vampire into this building?” Allorah said, her voice rising in anger.

I took a deep breath to keep my cool. “I did,” I said, drawing another murmur from the crowd.

“A known enemy of this Department,” she continued. “A creature of the night who, I might add, is also a known enemy of the Fraternal Order of Goodness, of which you are a part.”

Inspectre Quimbley stood up. “In the boy’s defense, Allorah, I saw no aggression from this creature when the boy brought it to my office.”

Allorah ignored him, her eyes still focused on me.

“You are aware of the sign hanging high on the wall overlooking the main section of the office floor, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Would you kindly tell the assembled Enchancellors what it says?”

The blood in my veins started to race. I was losing patience with this whole affair.

“It numbers the days since our last vampiric incursion,” I said, very slow and pointed. “I believe it’s almost at eight hundred now.”

“Until today,” she said. “Yes. It was.” She turned away from me and walked down the line of seated Enchancellors. “Mr. Canderous here has had his issues with that sign before, calling in a false vampire alarm a few months back, if you will recall. Tell me, Mr. Canderous, did you think we put that sign up there just for fun, or do you think maybe we had a reason for doing it? Like maybe the fact that vampires are considered a threat in New York City, one that must be eradicated.”

I felt myself getting defensive, especially with what I knew about Allorah. “Given your personal history with this cause, Allorah, I feel I must warn the Enchancellors that perhaps your judgment is clouded on this matter.”

Allorah’s eyes widened. “Oh, really? Do you now equate experience with poor judgment?”

“When it is a deeply personal matter, yes.”

“Mr. Canderous,” the other female Enchancellor who had addressed the crowd said, “I think there is little doubt in the minds of our assembly that vampires are considered a threat in New York City.”

I sighed. “That seems the current, if erroneous, impression that the Department has, yes.”

Allorah walked over to me, livid. “And who do you think you are to dictate contrary policy to the governing board of this Department?”

I actually laughed out loud at this. “Man, when an Enchancellor is pissed off, it doesn’t take you long to get all motivated, does it?”

Allorah narrowed her eyes at me. “Would you care to explain that?”

“Yeah,” I said, standing. “I think I would. How long did it take you to pull together this little tribunal? A half an hour . . . tops? When Connor and I called ‘vampires’ on that case a few months back . . .”

Wesker spoke up from his seat next to Jane off in the general gallery. “You mean the one that turned out not to be vampires?”

“That’s not the point!” I shouted back at him.

“I do hope you are getting to one, Mr. Canderous,” Allorah said. She pointed at Thaddeus Wesker. “I’ll see to the questions, Director Wesker. One more outburst and you will be removed.”

Wesker’s eyes looked like they could burn a hole into the female Enchancellor, but he kept his mouth shut and remained quiet.

“My point is this,” I said, wanting to regain control. “When we called vampires back then, the entire Enchancellorship came to a grinding halt while it hemmed and hawed its way into action. The red tape you people generate around here is astounding. People could have been dying out there, and until you had a meeting, formed a committee to explore the threat, then followed it up with another meeting and a special subcommittee was formed, they’d still be dying.”

“Young man,” one of the older male Enchancellors said, speaking up, “we have protocols in place for a reason.”

“Is that reason ‘to have more dead people lying around’?”

“Need I remind you,” Allorah said, “we’re not the ones who brought a vampire into our midst . . . ?”

“I was trying to help the situation,” I said, “believe it or not.” I turned and looked at the crowd. “We live in extraordinary times, ladies and gentlemen. We’re not the Department of Affairs now, are we? No. We’re the Department of Extraordinary Affairs. That means we all need to be thinking outside of the box on a regular basis. Maybe you’ve all forgotten that. The vampire menace of the past you all fear? That’s exactly what it is . . . in the past. They’re evolving, changing . . . They want peace, and last I checked, so did we.”

“They?” Allorah asked. “You’re saying you know more than one vampire?”

I shut my mouth, unwilling to give away more than I knew.

After a moment, Allorah spoke up again. “Your silence tells me all I need to know. So . . . you’ve put your trust in vampires now, have you?” Allorah scoffed. “You take them at their word!”

The rest of the Enchancellors looked around, skepticism etched on their faces.

Allorah shook her head, her eyes cold. “It is not the policy of this department to negotiate with the living dead.”

“Do you want the blood of this city on your hands?” I asked. “Is that really what you want?”

“They’re the ones who shed blood,” she countered. “Or rather, drink it.” She reached down and pulled out her necklace, showing me the amulet again. “That is an indisputable fact. You’ve seen it using your own power. Now, tell us where to find them.”

I paused and sat back down. “I can’t do that,” I said.

“Can’t?” she repeated. “Or won’t?”

“Won’t, if you have to put a point on it,” I said. “Look. What you want, I can’t give. I’m not going to be responsible for either side going off half-cocked and getting a lot of good people killed.”

I felt the Inspectre’s hand on my arm as he stood up and reached over to me. “That’s the problem, my boy,” he said. “They’re not people.” His eyes were sad. The old man looked tired. “Just tell them what they want to know. This is a very serious offense you’ve committed. They’ll go easier on you.”

“Inspectre,” I said, “I can’t.” My stomach was balled into a painful knot and I felt like I wanted to throw up. My brain was going in two different directions. “I can’t do that . . . to either side. If the Enchancellors would just listen to reason . . .”

“Reason?” Allorah exploded. “How long have you been in the field? Maybe a year . . . ? And you want to tell me what’s reasonable . . .”

I looked to Jane off in the crowd, my eyes begging her for some kind of guidance. Should I? I wanted to ask. Jane shook her head and her eyes were full of understanding.

I turned back to Allorah. “I understand what you’ve been through,” I said, “but I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

One of the other Enchancellors spoke up, a senior member of Greater & Lesser Arcana. “Son, what makes them so special that you feel so strongly about protecting them?”

“Well,” I said, knowing how bad it would sound, “they kind of see me as their savior. It’s some sort of prophecy in one of their books . . .”

Allorah laughed out loud. “So you’re the Chosen One now, are you? Somebody has a superiority complex. Chosen Ones, prophecies . . . I’ve heard it all before. It’s the stuff of fiction.”

“That may be,” I said, “but that doesn’t change where I stand. Look, just because something is prophetic or religious or what have you doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea whether you believe in it or not. Take the Ten Commandments, for instance. Thou shalt not kill. Seems a pretty good rule to live by, if you can help it, no matter what your belief system is. Do I really think I’m a savior? Right now, I don’t seem to be doing so hot on that account, but I do know this . . . If I let you know where those vampires are, especially you, Allorah . . . this city will be a graveyard. I can’t allow that.”

Allorah took in a deep breath. “Then you’ve made your choice . . . and I’ve made mine.” She looked at the four Shadowers guarding me. “Take him out of here.”

The four men lifted me up, a little rougher than before, their hands digging into my arms as they pulled me up the stairs leading toward the back of the room.

“Inspectre . . . ?” I said, trying to turn around. The Inspectre was on his feet and crossing to Allorah.

The crowd was in an uproar now. Whether they were for me or against me, I wasn’t sure, but from the way I was being manhandled, I had an idea.

“For goodness’ sake,” the Inspectre shouted. “Allorah, where are they going with him?”

“For goodness’ sake, Argyle?” I heard her say. “Goodness has nothing to do with him. He’s chosen his stance. There’s nothing for him but pain and misery. And Thaniel Graydon will hold him just fine while we decide what to do.”

My heart sank at the mention of that name. The Thaniel Graydon Center, the floating prison barge named for the F.O.G. agent who brought down the necromantic Benjamin Franklin centuries ago. Some of the more bizarre and paranormal offenders in New York were kept out there. Just the idea of being held at the floating prison made me weak in the knees. Still, given the alternative of starting a major bloodbath in the streets of New York? I could live with it. That was, if I could live through my stay there.

28

During the entire trip out to the Thaniel Graydon Center, the rain pelted down hard on the security boat, the staccato beat slowly driving me crazy. The captain of the boat found the prison barge, which was constantly in motion, out on the Hudson River, the distant Lego-like stack of structure growing larger by the second as we approached, the old refurbished shipping crates matching the same red, blues, and yellows of the toy bricks.

While the Shadowers went inside to check me in, I was left out in the freezing downpour in a small open pen just inside the docking station. As dreary as the place was on my last visit, the fact that I was now on the receiving end of punishment amped up the drear factor by ten. I was soaked to the bone by the time the Shadower team left, not one of them looking me in the eye. A solitary guard built like The Thing led me inside a small, bare room that held only a single bench. On top of that was a folded orange jumpsuit.

“Anyone ever tell you that you look like that bald guy from The Shield, only with a mustache?” I asked, filling the deafening silence of the room with small talk.

The guard just stood there.

“Strip down,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, “and put that on.”

“Do you think you could turn away?” I asked.

The guard smiled. “Feeling modest, are we?” he asked. “Tough shit. Just put the clothes on.”

I stripped down as I had been told and put on the jumpsuit. Despite the fact that I was in common prison garb, I was thankful that it was dry and didn’t weigh a ton like my own waterlogged duds. The guard threw a clear plastic bag at me. “Gather your belongings and leave them on the bench. They’ll be checked in later.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll have a nice moldy sheen to them when I get them back.”

The guard looked pissed. “Are you finished?” he asked.

I nodded, for once making the wise decision to shut the hell up.

“One last thing,” the guard said, stepping out of the room. When he reappeared he was holding what looked like a brown leather version of a sleeves-only straight jacket. Long buckles hung from the back of it. “In you go, sunshine.”

“Are you for real?” I said, feeling claustrophobic just looking at it.

“Do I look like the kind of guy who kids around?” he said, coming toward me. One of his meaty hands spun me around until my back was to him.

“Where the hell do you even get restraints like those?”

“We have a shop that puts this shit together,” the guard said, sliding my arms into the sleeves and working the straps across my back. “A lot of special cases come through here. We have several other residents who also trigger powers off their hands, so this is fairly standard issue.” He leaned in close and whispered into my ear. “Guess that don’t make you all that unique and precious a snowflake, now, does it?”

The metal clasps of the straps dug into my back as he pulled them tight. I was surprised to see that the two sleeves were actually connected in the center, making one continuous tube and limiting any use of my hands considerably.

“Comfy?” he said, patting me on the shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Right at home.”

“Speaking of home,” he said, shoving me toward the door. “Let’s get you settled in, shall we? Then you can meet the neighbors.”

As the guard led me off into the heart of the Thaniel Graydon Center, I shuddered. I could already think of a few “neighbors” I really didn’t want to run into here.

When the guard threw me in my cell and locked it down, the trauma of the past few hours finally caught up with me. Dismayed as I was by the confining starkness of my new home, my body started to shut down and I fell asleep within minutes of the guard walking away. I welcomed it because then I didn’t have to think about my friends, the bind I was in, or vampires.

I awoke hours later to a rapping on my cell bars, still exhausted and building up a nice wave of depression. Another guard just as big as the last one started unlocking my cell, telling me that the Inspectre was here to see me. The thought of having a visitor actually made me feel a little better. The guard let me out of my cell and escorted me through a labyrinthine maze of corridors for what seemed like forever. We were moving into an area of the Thaniel Graydon I hadn’t even been in before.

“Where the hell are we going?” I asked, finding it hard to walk with the dull rocking of the ship throwing off my every step. “I haven’t seen another prisoner in forever.”

“Never you mind,” the guard said, pushing me along in front of him. “You think we can have you meeting in public with anyone?”

Being shoved along like a common criminal, I couldn’t help but feel despair. I still felt like one of the good guys, and to have another good guy—a guard—acting like this toward me, blew. Instead of saying anything, I walked on until he put a hand on my shoulder.

“Right here,” he said, turning me toward one of the metal doors nearby. He keyed into it, unlocked it, and it swung open with a long, low creak. The inside of the room was about fifty feet across and open like some kind of exercise room.

“You sure this is the right place?” I asked.

“Inside,” the guard said, and pushed me in. I stumbled forward into the room. “Wait here.” He swung the door shut behind me.

“Do I get a choice?” I whispered to myself. “Fine . . .” I called out, louder. “I’ll just wait here. then.”

Even though I hadn’t been at the Thaniel Graydon Center all that long, I already felt tiny and alone in such a large space compared to my cell. My footsteps echoed as I paced around the room, and when I finally heard the door opening again, I felt my spirits rise just for having some company.

“Inspectre?” I said.

The doorway filled with the silhouettes of several figures. The first of them spoke. “Not quite,” the voice said. The figure stepped forward out of the shadows, and my heart sank. It was the one man I had been trying to avoid since checking in here.

“Hello, Faisal,” I said.

Faisal Bane, ex-head of the Sectarian Defense League and all around cultist, chuckled with that thick European accent of his. Beneath his dark, unkempt swirl of hair, his eyes lit up. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about you being held here?”

“I had hoped,” I said, shrugging in my leather arm restraints. “I’m an optimist, after all.”

Faisal looking at the long leather sleeves that ran up both my arms. “Nice mittens,” he said.

He moved forward to let the other figures into the room. They were giant men, their eyes full of menace. They moved next to Faisal two to a side.

“I see you’ve brought some of the extras from HBO’s Oz with you,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’re all here to talk to the Inspectre, too?”

“About that,” Faisal said with an evil smile. “I’m afraid that was a little bit of a fabrication.”

My nerves went on end. “That’s what I was afraid of,” I said. “Well, good to see you, Faisal.”

Faisal nodded cordially. “When last we chatted, I seem to recall you promising me something,” Faisal said, stepping closer.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Oh, I think so,” he said, stepping even closer. “Remember the night you came out here to visit me the first time . . . ? You came here desperate for information when Cyrus Mandalay went into hiding on you, before the whole zombies-at-Fashion-Week debacle.”

“I remember,” I said. The hunt for Cyrus was hard to forget, especially considering he had been the one who had caused the vampire Perry to become Patient Zero thanks to prolonged captivity.

Faisal’s eyes were even colder than I was used to. He narrowed them at me. “I gave you what you what you came for,” he said, slow and deliberate. “I gave you answers. I practically gave you Cyrus Mandalay wrapped in a big red bow, and all I asked was one thing . . .”

It all came back to me as he said it. “To be relocated to the mainland facility at Rikers,” I said. “You look pretty good right now, for a guy who gets as seasick as you do. The Thaniel Graydon Center, if I recall, had you a little green around the gills.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice full of smugness. “And if you had followed through on that, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now because I wouldn’t be here.”

“So that’s what this is all about?” I said. “I couldn’t get you into a first-class room?”

“I wanted off this ship,” he hissed, “and you’re the one who promised me that.”

I did my best to look hurt. “I put in the request,” I said, “and don’t think that wasn’t painful for me. It took me days to fill out the proper forms for it, but in the end, the Enchancellors denied the transfer.”

Faisal was inches from my face now. “A promise is a promise,” he said, shaking with rage.

The guy had me nervous. You never knew what an incarcerated cultist was capable of. “So you’re going to kick my ass for that?” I asked. “Or is it because I humiliated you more than once by defeating your precious Sectarians and then besting Cyrus? I think this is more about you suffering defeat after defeat than anything, so go ahead. Kick my ass.” My nerves were on end. I held up my sleeved arms, showing them to him as I tried to pull them apart from each other to no avail. “Hardly seems like a fair fight, though.”

“Who said anything about fair?” Faisal said, then turned and walked back toward his companions. With each step he took away from me, I felt a little more at ease.

“So you’re not going to beat me up?” I said, wary.

“Oh, I don’t beat people,” Faisal said. He stopped and spun back around to face me. “I have people that do that for me.” He looked at the four men on either side of him. “Gentlemen . . . ?”

“Shit,” I said.

As Faisal’s brutes came toward me, I backed away as fast as I could across the empty space, but soon found myself pressed up against the icy coldness of one of the metal walls. With nowhere farther back to go, I dashed toward the door they all had come through. Four against one might have been survivable with my trusty bat at my side, but in these prison-issue restraints and not a weapon in sight, I was screwed. I got about five running steps toward the door before one of the goons had me by the arm strap and used my own momentum to spin me around into the rest of his friends. The leather restraint tore, but didn’t come apart, giving me little in the way of dispensing any form of twofisted justice.

Not that I was going down without a fight. I balled my fists together inside the sleeve and threw them into the one who had snagged me. I hit the side of his head hard, staggering him back and leaving an opening for me to run. And I would have, if two of the others didn’t start swinging, hitting me in the gut and doubling me over. The fourth pushed me over and the one I had staggered came back over and kicked me hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and driving me to the ground. Then everyone started kicking at me, explosive spots of pain lighting up all over my body.

“Enough!” Faisal said. His men stopped their assault on me, leaving me to writhe in pain against the cool metal of the floor. “On second thought,” he continued, “I’ve changed my mind. Why should my thugs get all the fun? Stand him up.”

Faisal’s men grabbed at me and dragged me to my feet, holding me up because they weren’t sure if I could stand on my own. I wasn’t sure, either. Faisal came in hard with his fist to my stomach and I felt like throwing up at the impact. His next blow smashed hard against my cheek, knocking me out of the arms of the other prisoners. I hit the floor hard again.

“I’m just going to stay down here for a bit,” I said, coughing and tasting a little blood in my mouth.

Thankfully, the sound of the door clanging open rang out. Like it or not, Faisal and his goons were being walked in on, hopefully not by reinforcements but by guards. I turned my head to face the doorway and opened my eyes, feeling pain in my cheeks from the simple gestures. It wasn’t more goons, but it also wasn’t guards. In the doorway stood several figures, but at the front was a familiar one in a hoodie covered in skulls.

“Aidan . . . ?” I croaked out.

Connor’s brother stood there, nodding. Beatriz stood directly behind him, along with a few other faces I had seen around the castle grounds.

“Aidan?” Faisal repeated, looking over his shoulder at them. He reached down and grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to my feet, spinning around until we were both facing the door. “Who the hell are you?”

Aidan held a single finger up to his lips. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “This will be less painful than what happens to you in the prison shower.”

Faisal wrapped one arm around my neck and pulled a makeshift knife from one of his pockets, pressing it against my neck. “Don’t be too sure about that.” He pushed the knife until I felt a trickle of blood run down my neck. “Now, why don’t you and your crew turn right around and head out that door? I’d hate to kill Simon. Well, not really . . .”

Aidan hesitated and held a hand up to keep his posse in place.

“I don’t think this is going to look good in front of your parole board,” I croaked out to Faisal.

Faisal tightened his arm around my neck, causing my vision to blur as the pressure made it harder to breathe. “I think this is all a bit beyond that, don’t you?”

“By the way,” Aidan said, holding up one of his hands. He held several rolls of Life Savers in it. “Connor says hi.”

Seeing instant salvation in candy form, I knew I could chance a shot of using my power, if only for a distraction. Using my psychometry on the undead ferals back at the castle was one thing. Using it on the living was a sure way to push myself to almost immediate unconsciousness, but at least if I did that, it also took its toll on who I was reading as well. I raised my arm, my fingers finding the torn opening in the long leather sleeve. I grabbed Faisal by the exposed flesh of his arm and pushed my power into him, knowing this was going to hurt me a lot, but I figured it was better than a knife in the throat. As my power flared to life, I fought like hell to stay conscious as my mind’s eye opened up and caught fleeting glimpses of Faisal Bane’s past.

Visions of my ex-thieving partner, Mina Saria, flashed by from when she had been a prisoner here, the two of them sharing their mutual hatred of me. I felt my body weakening as my psychometry wigged out from reading the living, but I pushed further, attempting to pull forward more Canderous-centered memories like the Come-As-Your-Favorite-Dead-Celebrity Ball at the Met. Weakness tore at me and I struggled to stay conscious. Flashes of Jane dressed as Marilyn Monroe came forward from that event and I latched onto that image of her to pull myself back to the reality of the prison, hopefully before I passed out. Letting go of Faisal’s arm, my power faded away and I opened my eyes. I could barely keep conscious, but Faisal looked even worse than I did from the toll it took on him.

Before Faisal could recover, Aidan sped across the room and blurred into action. He was moving so fast that when he attacked Faisal it looked like Faisal himself was flinging the knife out of his own hand, then throwing himself to the floor. Five other blurs came into the room and the four goons suddenly found themselves fighting for their lives. The dark laughter of all the vampires echoed off the walls as Aidan put his foot on Faisal’s neck. He handed me the Life Savers.

Shaking from the loss of sugar in my blood, I could barely hold them. I started crunching down the first roll I managed to unwrap.

Aidan ground his heel deeper into Faisal’s throat, choking him until he stopped moving. I shoved at Aidan, hoping to stop him from killing anyone, but it was like shoving at a stone statue.

“Stop it,” I said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Aidan said, grabbing one of the other men like he weighed nothing and tossing him across the room. “Don’t you recognize a prison break when you see one? Your Jane came to us. She said they carted you away. Brandon seems to think you’re worth saving.” Klaxon alarms rang into life, drilling straight into the center of my brain. The vampires slowed and winced, their supersensitive hearing overwhelmed by the sound. “Beatriz . . . watch the door!”

Beatriz and several of the other vampires blurred into speed again, heading toward the doorway as guards started to pour in the room. To my surprise, the guards were actually pushing their way into the room, faring well against the vampires as they struggled with fighting off the effects of the sound of the alarm.

“Are you sure they aren’t going to need saving, too?” I asked.

Aidan turned to me and laughed. “And just how much danger do you think we impervious little vamps are in here?”

“Mostly impervious,” I reminded him. “Try to meet me for lunch in the middle of the day tomorrow, why don’t you?”

Aidan gave me a pissy little look.

“Sometimes I fail to see my brother’s interest in you.”

“It’s simple,” I said, not willing to let him have the last snark. “I’ve been there for him while you haven’t.”

“That’s not fair,” Aidan said. “I . . .”

A bloodcurdling scream rose from the doorway and the two of us turned toward it. Beatriz was holding one of the guards by the neck with one hand. Her other was on his left arm, which was bent at an unnatural angle. That was when I noticed a shard of bone sticking out from it, fresh blood dripping from the wound. The guard’s face went white and the scream died only when his eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious in her grip.

“For God’s sake, Beatriz, put him down. Don’t hurt the guards!” I shouted, but they weren’t listening. One of the males of Aidan’s group grabbed the next guard storming into the room and threw him with such force into the far wall that I was sure I heard bones breaking over the alarms. “Aidan, tell them! Those guards are just doing their job.”

“And so are we,” he said. I could feel the disdainful chill in his voice. The look in his eyes had turned to ferocity as he took in the violence of the situation.

“Screw this,” I said, stepping around him and running toward the doorway. “I’ll handle it myself.” Before I could get very far, Aidan appeared before me and I slammed into him.

“Is this how you want things?” I shouted, pushing away from him. “Your lord and master is trying to convince us that you’re not a threat and that you need our help. I was thrown in here because I was defending your right to a peaceful existence, and this is what you give me? Breaking the law and busting up the good guys? Make your people stop.”

Aidan’s eyes cleared and he shook his head like he was breaking free of something. “Leave the guards alone!” he said to the rest of his people. They turned to him, Beatriz included, fangs popped and hissing, but they did as they were told. Aidan glanced at me. “I’m sorry. After dealing with your inmate attackers, the bloodlust is upon us, and fighting that off is not so easy.”

“So I see,” I said. “It’s like chumming for sharks and starting a feeding frenzy.”

Aidan’s face turned dark and angry. “We are not animals.”

A wave of terror washed between him and me, but I fought to keep my cool. “Of course not,” I said, my voice barely audible in the commotion of the room. I looked to the doorway again. The guards were being held off, but since the vampires were ordered not to kill them, the entire battle was at a standstill. “So now what?”

“Now we leave,” Aidan said. “Time to get you out of here. Follow me.”

Moving at his natural speed, Aidan was off to the far side of the room in a shot, pounding at the metal of the wall. By the time I had reached him, he had forced a small hole in the metal and was shoving his hand into it. With an earsplitting sound that rang out over the Klaxon alarm, he tore a section of the thick wall away. He threw it over to the empty side of the room like I would have thrown one of my case files. It landed with a heavy metal clang, screeching across the floor for several feet before stopping.

I moved to the hole in the wall and looked out. We were well above the waterline. I looked down to see the Hudson River several stories below us, and my grip tightened on the edge of the wall as wind began whipping through the hole. We were much higher up in the complex than I had thought.

“I do hope you have a plan after this point,” I said.

Aidan nodded. “I do, but it ain’t going to be pretty.”

“Do tell.” A stronger gust of wind blew in and I stepped back from the wall into the room.

“We’re flying out of here, but . . .”

The pile of unconscious—but hopefully still living—guards at the door was getting higher, but more were still coming, crawling over them. “Spill it!”

“Maybe it’s just better if I show you,” he said. “Stand back.” Aidan stopped talking and closed his eyes. Everything that was human about him melted away, his face turning leathery and gaunt, the veins beneath the surface of his skin showing in gnarled twists. His hands shifted to look like those of someone much older, the nails thickening into hooklike claws. I had seen him slightly vampiric before, but when he was done transforming, he looked truly terrifying for the first time. He looked at me. “I told you it wasn’t going to be pretty.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to remain calm in the middle of all this. “Did you transform or something?”

Aidan actually cracked a smile, making him look more Crypt Keeper by the second. “Funny,” he said. “I have to be like this if we’re going to fly out of here and actually stay in the air. If I don’t transform, I can’t fly very far.”

I repressed the urge to shudder.

“Fly?” I repeated. “If you sprout wings and have to flap . . . If that’s the case, I’ll take my chances diving into the water below.”

Aidan shook his head. “Just grab ahold of my shoulders.”

With some reluctance, I stepped closer to him and, despite my revulsion at the leatheriness of his skin, I wrapped my arms in a sleeper hold around his neck.

“Hold on tight,” he said. “I’m not used to someone ‘sitting bitch’ like this.”

“ ‘Sitting bitch’?” I asked.

“Like the back passenger on a motorcycle . . . ?” he said. I stared blankly at him. “Never mind . . . Just hold on.”

As he leapt out into the darkness of the night, my stomach lurched as the two of us plummeted downward.

“Well, this is very Greatest American Hero,” I said.

“Shut it,” Aidan snapped. “Just give me a minute to get used to the added weight.”

If we died because I had put on the Fraternal fifteen with my short time in F.O.G., it would be a really sad, sad end. Before I could worry any more, the sinking sensation in my stomach evened out and I felt us beginning to rise as Aidan twisted himself toward Manhattan.

Terrified as I was, the whole process of flight was exhilarating. Climbing higher, the sounds of the conflict in the prison faded away in the roar of the wind. I looked back over my shoulder as the floating prison barge faded into miniature below us. Beatriz jumped through the hole in a graceful dive, then shot up into the air and caught up quickly with us. The rest of the vampires came behind her at a distance, and one by one they broke away from the three of us and headed off in all directions. Up close, Beatriz was just as hideous in this form as Aidan, but I figured now was not the time to mention it.

“I’m taking you back to the Gibson-Case Center,” Aidan said.

I shook my head, the wind getting colder and colder against my skin the longer we flew. “There’s one place I have to stop first.”

“Home?” he asked.

“Nope. They’ll be looking for me there, no doubt.”

“Where to, then?” he asked. “No offense, but you’re getting kind of heavy.”

“None taken . . . I think.” I thought for a moment, and then knew where I needed to go. “Can we head over to Eleventh Avenue and Twenty-third? I’ve got a little one-stop shopping to do.”

29

Landing was a lot more jarring than I thought it would be. Aidan had no reaction to his impact with the ground, but his sudden contact with it jarred me, and my grip around his neck loosened. I fell to the pavement in the pool of shadows Aidan had landed us in. Before I could even pick myself up, Aidan reached down, grabbed me by the back of my prison coverall, and lifted me to my feet. Beatriz landed seconds later and by then Aidan had taken the time to tear away the rest of the restraints on my arms.

“Thanks,” I said, and started walking across the street to the Manhattan Mini Storage on the corner, keeping to the shadowy edge of the cars parked along the street. I turned to look back. Beatriz was still standing where we landed but Aidan was right behind me. “What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Coming with you,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m hitting my storage unit,” I said, pointing toward the building.

Beatriz came over to us in a flash. “You really think this is a good time to organize your belongings?”

“Less explaining, more walking,” I said, starting off across the street. At the side of the building, I opened the door into an empty, well-lit foyer leading into the storage facility and reached for the electronic keypad. I went for my wallet, and then paused.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Aidan asked.

“My code for the door was in my wallet,” I said. “You know, the one they took from me when they checked me into jail?”

Beatriz stepped forward, grabbed the door, and shoved inward. The metal of the door caved in, leaving two tiny handprints, but the door snapped off its hinges and clattered off across the hallway behind it.

I sighed. “Must your people always go for the extreme solution? Geez.”

Aidan gave Beatriz a look of disapproval.

She threw her hands up. “What? It got the door open!”

I held up my hands and wiggled my fingers. “I think I could have gotten us in. Hello, psychometrist here!”

“Fine,” she said. “See if I try to be helpful again.”

I hurried into the storage center and headed down the hall where I had been lucky enough to get a first-floor unit. Although I wasn’t alone, mine was the only set of footsteps I could hear echoing as I walked. I turned to make sure my vampiric honor guard was still with me, and sure enough they were keeping pace.

“Your silence is unnerving,” I said. “Can’t you at least pretend to make some kind of noise when you walk?”

“Sorry,” Aidan said, and in an instant the sound of his footfalls became noticeable. “Better?”

I nodded. “Much.”

I hurried along to my storage unit, thankful for the noise. When I reached the rolled-down metal gate, I punched my code in and the lock on it clicked open. I pulled up the rolling garage-door front of it. “Inside.”

“You want to tell us why we’re here?” Aidan asked.

I pulled the gate down behind us and clicked on the single overhead light in the unit. One wall was covered with shelves, but only a few cardboard boxes were on them. Off to the other side were several garment bags hanging from a pipe.

“I set this place up for just such an emergency,” I said. I pulled a towel down from the shelves and threw it down onto the single table in the center of the room. I pointed to another shelf with gallon camping containers of water.

“Could one of you bring me one of those? I think I’m a little too beaten up to lift it.”

Aidan grabbed it and brought it to the table for me. “So you planned for getting all busted up like this?” He looked a bit skeptical.

I nodded and pulled off my prison clothes, wincing as the pain throughout my body cried out. Using the towel, I soaked up some of the water and began to wash the blood off of me.

“More or less,” I said. “I was a bit of a miscreant a few years back, got into a lot of trouble, and when you do that, it usually comes back to bite you in the ass. My particular trauma showed up a few months ago, under the name of Mina Saria. My dealings with her taught me a harsh lesson about always being prepared. So yeah, nowadays I have a bit of a contingency plan set up for a rainy day. I think this definitely counts as one of those.”

“I see,” Aidan said and went back to standing there in silence.

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I can clean up. I’ve got clothes, some money. You can go now.”

“No,” he said, “I can’t.”

“No, really,” I said. “You can.”

“I have my orders,” he said, “and they weren’t just to break you out. I’m supposed to watch over you and bring you back to the Gibson-Case Center.”

I dried myself and fished a shirt out of one of the garment bags, slipping it on gingerly. “I’ll be fine. I’m not even sure I want to head back there anyway. I’ve got to deal with Allorah and the Department. I just need to figure out what to do next. Besides, in a few hours when the sun comes up, there’s not going to be all that much watching over me that you can do.”

Aidan grabbed me by the arm, stopping me. He looked pissed. “Haven’t you been listening to Brandon? You don’t seem to realize the importance you hold for me and my kind. We need to take you back to the castle, both for your sake and ours.”

“Bringing you back there is like granting you sanctuary,” Beatriz added. “The center is like its own sovereign nation. You saw what happened when you and your girlfriend tried to get in there the other night. Your department won’t be able to touch you.”

“But Jane and I did eventually get in, though.”

“Yes,” Aidan said, giving a grin far from saintly, “but I defy them to get through an army of vampires sworn to protect you.”

“Fair point,” I said, then realized what was missing from all this. “Shit . . . my bat. Jane had that custom-crafted for me.”

Aidan gave a laugh. “You mean the one you gave to Connor when you let him and me escape?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I went to the boxes and started looking though them. “I think I have some other stuff in here . . .”

Aidan cleared his throat, the kind of human gesture that just didn’t fit on him. I turned to see him holding my custom-made bat retracted down in one of his hands. “Connor thought you might be wanting this back.”

I walked over and reached for it, but Aidan pulled it just out of reach. “So you’ll come back to the Gibson-Case Center with us?”

I nodded and he handed me my bat. It felt good in my hands, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed its presence until just that moment. Even some of my pain seemed to fade away.

“Excellent,” he said. “It will be much easier to keep an eye on you that way as well.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything tonight.”

“Don’t thank me,” Aidan said. “All in a night’s work.”

“You can thank me,” Beatriz said, chiming in. “I busted my ass getting you out of that floating prison thing tonight.”

“Thank you,” I said, this time to her.

“That’s better,” she said, then looked around. “Do you mind if we get out of here? This place makes me claustrophobic.”

“Don’t you sleep in coffins?”

Beatriz shook her head. “Only the real divas among us. I haven’t been in one since the 1800s.”

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s get to the castle, then. The sooner I talk to your boss, the sooner I can deal with the D.E.A.”

I reached into one of the other garment bags and pulled out one of my older, more beaten-up jackets. The leather was soft like butter and fit like a second skin, which, given the amount of damage I had taken lately, was a welcome sensation. I slid my bat inside it and walked over to the gate, lifting it. The harsh fluorescents of the outer hallway poured in.

“Let’s go,” I said. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually missing the artificial daylight back at the castle.”

30

When we arrived back at the castle, Aidan and Beatriz shoved the door to Brandon’s chamber open for me and I limped in as best I could. Many members of the vampire council were gathered around the room and so were Connor and Jane.

When my girlfriend saw me, one look at the shape I was in made her burst into tears. She ran over to me before I could reach the gathered crowd and wrapped her arms around me in a hug so tight that many of my recent injuries flared up. I wanted to scream in pain, but the way I hissed out an exhale of breath must have been enough for her to realize she was hurting me. She let go of me and wrapped her arms under mine to support me.

“My God,” she said. “I was so worried. When the Shadower team escorted you out of that Departmental witch trial, I was beside myself. I made Brandon send them after you.”

“Thanks for sending in the V-Team,” I said.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” I whispered before kissing her. The sweet taste of her lips mixed with the salt of her tears.

“My spine can heal later. I missed you.”

Jane put her arm around my waist and brought me over to the rest of the assembled crowd. Connor gave me a smile, albeit a pained one.

“Hey, kid,” Connor said. “Welcome back.”

“I see you made it out of the Gauntlet’s creepy catacombs all right,” I said to him.

“More or less,” he said. “Aidan and I ran into something down there, but I don’t really want to talk about it. It was . . . disturbing.”

Aidan tensed next to me and I felt his discomfort radiating from him. “I don’t want to talk about it, either,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “Then I don’t have to share my story about the awesome beating I took in prison before Team Undead came to my rescue.”

Brandon stepped forward, addressing Aidan. “I trust there were minimal casualties . . . ?”

Aidan paused, no doubt not wanting to rat out Beatriz for getting a little enthusiastic with her fighting. I looked over at her, but she was already turning away.

I stepped forward. “Other than the large hole they tore in the side of the prison?” I said. “No. Although I kind of consider myself a kind of walking casualty, but that’s not their fault.”

Connor came over and grabbed my face in his hands, checking me over. Although I had cleaned up most of the blood back at the storage unit, I was still a mess of bruises and cuts. “You okay, kid?”

“It only hurts when I blink,” I said. “Or breathe. Although, truth be told, I think I was doing pretty well against Faisal and his crew for not having preternatural strength at my disposal. It took all five of them to take me down.”

“Impressive,” Connor said, slapping his brother on the arm. “Right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Aidan said, rather flatly. “By the time I got there, Simon here was lying on the floor in the fetal position.”

“Yeah, well, it was a pretty ferocious fetal position, let me tell you.”

“Forgive me if I seem a bit solipsistic,” Brandon said, “but what now? It seems your attempts at negotiation using Aidan have met with failure.”

“Your concern is touching,” I said, feeling a swell of bitterness. “No, I’m fine, really.”

“I am of course concerned for your well-being,” Brandon said. “You are an important part of all this.”

I looked around the room at all the faces there. Some of them I knew and trusted; the rest were trusted by Brandon.

“I was doing a little thinking,” I said, “what with my time in the joint . . .”

Connor laughed. “All, what? Three hours of it?”

I glared at him. “Well, I didn’t know it was going to be that short, now, did I?”

Connor nodded. “Point to you, kid.”

“Thank you,” I continued. “So when I was getting my ass handed to my by one of my old nemeses, I got to thinking. Dude had a lot of anger in him toward me. Why was he so angry with me? Because he had a cause he believed in. He had a way of life he wanted to promote and I denied him that. Mostly because he was big on evil and human sacrifice, which I think we all can agree is a bad thing. So I wondered the same about this situation . . . Is someone among you feeling denied here? I put myself into the mind-set of someone who would go to all this trouble just to see a war between the humans and the vampires. Why would they go forward with sabotage? Because they were unhappy with the way things are. And who here is unhappy? After getting to know some of you, it sounds like it could be half the population of this place who aren’t thrilled about one thing or another.”

I walked through the sea of faces, addressing people as I passed them. “Aidan’s spent years wanting his memories back and I imagine there’s been a lot of anger built up over that loss, especially with Connor back in his life. And what about the members of your council? Sure, you can trust them, the way the gang at the Peach Pit trusted each other on 90210, but you see how that turned out every week. Not everyone sees eye to eye here.”

“Impossible,” the tall blond named Gerard said, stepping forward. “You know nothing of our kind. Brandon’s word is law.”

“But I do know your kind,” I said. “Despite what I hear you people claim over and over, you’re still human. You come from us. You can’t help it. It’s not a virus you can work out of your system, and even if you could, what do I see you people do with your downtime? You absorb human culture—with the movies you watch, the building you construct to hide yourselves. And you, Gerard, you’re as hotheaded as this human vampire hunter I know . . . Remember how you broke my bat?”

I moved on. When I came to Nicholas he couldn’t bear to make eye contact with me, looking away. “And Nicholas, well, let’s just say he’s got some relationship issues a century or two of analysis might cure . . .”

Aidan sighed. “Is there a point to all this?”

“The point is this,” I said. “Somewhere in your ranks, there has to be someone who is terribly unhappy with their lot in the vampiric life.”

Beatriz laughed and sidled over to Aidan, throwing her arm around him. “Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

I gave her a placating smile. “I did.”

“Forgive me,” Brandon said, “but I fail to see how that is supposed to help us. Other than taking my ego down a notch to hear about some of the unrest of my people.”

“You’re right,” I said. “That alone really doesn’t amount to anything. There’s been all the problems trying to help you out with achieving the peace you want, the right to be left alone. Hell, I’ve risked my entire career trying to do the right thing by you . . . by Connor and Aidan, by Jane . . . only to be constantly stumped by someone covering their tracks all too well.”

Jane walked over to me. “Brandon was filling me in on the prophecy,” she said. “I’ve had a little experience from reading up on them in my dealing with the Black Stacks at Tome, Sweet Tome. Like most prophecies, this one is as cryptic as the next, but to overcompensate for that, someone still tried to cover all the bases. They went out of their way to try and take care of anyone who might remotely be involved in it.”

“Like who?” Brandon asked.

“Me, for one,” Jane said. “Your building ate me. That wasn’t by accident. When I was trapped in there, I found traces of traps laid for me. Whoever did it covered it up well, but the building was waiting to contend with a technomancer.”

Nicholas stepped forward. “Just to be clear, I never programmed something like that.”

“And don’t forget when Simon and I were attacked by those ferals,” Jane said. “Not only did it try to ruin Taco Night, but someone set that thing loose on us.”

“And then they used them a second time en masse to try and get rid of me right here on the castle grounds,” I said. “They even tried to dissuade Connor months ago from seeking out Aidan by sending that threatening letter to him.”

“Were they trying to draw me out?” Connor asked. “Or were they hoping to start the war early between our two worlds?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, “but again, they’ve covered their tracks well. My power can’t break through any of it.”

Brandon stood in silence, the lack of human traits such as respiration making him seem statuelike. “So it is to be war, then, between our two sides.”

I held my hands up. “I don’t think we have to jump straight on the blood-running-in-the-streets bandwagon just yet.”

“Then what would you have?” Brandon said, a snarl in his words.

“Frankly, I’d like some answers,” I said, “and I think I know how to get them.”

Everyone in the room fell silent and still, not just the ones who were already dead. I walked over to the fireplace and looked up at the painting above it, Brandon’s lost Damaris. “I got the idea thinking about you, actually.”

“Me?” Brandon asked.

I turned to look at him, nodding. “After I saw the man you used to be and the changed man I know now, I realized how important family is. There’s a strength in family. I’ve seen it in Connor, bringing him back from the edge of madness by getting to know his brother.” I walked over to Jane and took both her hands. “And I have family, too.”

Jane smiled, but leaned close and whispered through it. “That’s sweet, but how does that help us?”

“We can use our powers together,” I said. I looked at all the faces in the room. “Someone in here is responsible for all this chaos. I was able to read Perry down in the labs without much harm to myself because he’s not a living creature. Neither is anyone in this room, technically speaking.” I turned to address the gathered crowd. “So it’s simple. No one’s leaving this room until I read them with an assist from Jane.”

Jane looked uncertain, one of her eyebrows raised. “You sure that’s going to work?”

“Nope,” I said, “but we can try. As I psychometrically read all the vampires, we can link your technomancy to the traces you’ve found in the building systems, hopefully amplifying both our powers over those of the saboteur covering their tracks. Brandon, I’m assuming your little movie-watching room here hooks into the building’s systems?”

He nodded.

“Great,” I said, grabbing three chairs and arranging them by all the home-theater setup. “One for Jane, one for me, and one for our rotating guest of honor.” I looked out across the sea of faces. “Who’s up first?”

No one moved. “Anybody?” I asked.

The vampire Gerard stepped forward. He stared into my eyes, hate rolling off him in a wave. “I will not be subjected to this,” he said.

Brandon stepped in front of him. “You will,” he said. He looked around the room. “You all will.” He stared Gerard down in a contest of wills until the blond vampire turned away and rejoined the group without another word. Brandon looked at his people all around the room. “Only the guilty party need worry themselves. No one is leaving and no one is exempt. Are we clear?”

Brandon was met with silence. Whether it was in cooperation or not, I didn’t know, so I continued.

“Great,” I said. “Who’s first?”

There was another pause of deafening silence while I waited for someone to take action. It was Beatriz who raised her hand and sauntered forward after uncoiling herself from Aidan. “Let’s get this out of the way,” she said.

“I’ve got an unlife I have to get back to.”

“You’re cool with this?” Aidan called out.

“If it’s going to stop all this uncomfortable silence,” she said, spinning around and blowing him a kiss. “Yes.”

“Great,” I said, offering her my hand. “If you’ll just sit down here . . .”

Beatriz’s hand closed on mine, but she didn’t sit. I wasn’t sure what happened exactly. All I knew was that I was in motion and no longer in Brandon’s chambers.

31

My arm felt sore, and why shouldn’t it? It wasn’t every day that a vampire nearly ripped it out of its socket as she blurred off to her top speed. At least, that was what I thought was happening. The wind whipped into my eyes and I had to close them, missing much of what was passing by me at an inhuman speed. When Beatriz finally stopped, I was thrown to the floor as something slammed shut with a loud click, but what, I didn’t know. I opened my eyes to find myself in a long rectangular room with little in the way of light in it.

“Where are we?” I asked, trying to right myself. I put my hand down and felt it stick to the floor. Thank God for gloves. I looked down. The section of the floor where I had landed was covered in a slick of rusty red ick. Drying blood. That got me on my feet fast. Beatriz stood nearby watching me. “Where are we?” I repeated.

Her face went full-on vampire, leathery and stretched over her features. “A private little chamber that the others shouldn’t be able to find. I guess that’s one of the perks of being around Castle Bran since the beginning.”

In what little light was provided by the faint flickering of the wall sconces, I backed away, searching the room, always with an eye on her. This end looked to be a feeding area for her, and I stepped as quickly out of it as I could, walking to the other end. Civility seemed to rule the décor there—a small study filled with magical tomes and a desk covered with charms and spell components. It looked like Jane’s junk drawer back at the office.

I needed to find a way out of here. If I could find the exit . . . That was when it struck me. There was no noticeable way out. I looked back over at the stained portion of the floor.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Want to find out?” Beatriz said, her entire manner changing like she was stepping off a stage. Her voice was different now from how I was used to hearing her. Gone was her modern, unaccented English. In fact, her whole demeanor and way of carrying herself had changed. There was an Old World poise about her now. An angered poise, but an old one.

I took in a deep breath to keep from making any sudden moves, taking my time to sort things out in my head. I angled myself away from her slightly, hopefully turning my bat-wearing side out of her line of sight.

I gave a slight twist of my arm to ready myself for grabbing it, but Beatriz shook her head no. “Can’t be having that,” she said, waggling her finger at me. She blurred toward me, put her pointer finger against her thumb, and then flicked it against my chest. The impact burned from the sheer force of it, even through my jacket, and it sent me across the room, over her desk and into the hard, rough stone of the wall. I slid down it and landed on the ancient heavy chair at her desk, toppling it over and rolling until I found myself pinned beneath it, the bulk of its weight against my ribs.

I struggled to get up, but Beatriz leapt across the room, landing on top of the chair itself and driving it down onto me even harder. All the air left my lungs and I stopped struggling. Beatriz just sat there and looked down at me, shaking her head and giving an evil little smile.

“Do you have any idea how difficult you made it to get you alone to kill you?” Beatriz asked. “You just had to keep on pushing and pushing . . .”

She jumped down from the chair, picked it up like it was made of tissue paper, and set it down back in place. She grabbed me with one hand by the lapel of my leather jacket and hefted me up until I was standing again.

“Sorry if I couldn’t accommodate you . . . ?” I said, wondering just what the hell she expected me to say to something like that. “You sound different.”

“Good,” she said. “It’s pained me for some time as well in my current role.”

“And what role is that?” I said, hoping to buy some time. I either needed to come up with a plan or else hope that Nicholas thought about this place after moving the castle to the States.

“What role?” Beatriz repeated, giving a courtly curtsy that just looked odd on her, but she executed it with a practiced precision. “Why, the dutiful girlfriend. I did Brandon and Damaris’s bidding for centuries, united to what I thought was their cause, the superiority of our kind. Had I known he’d go all peacenik after his precious got dusted, Mr. Bleeding Heart, I would have ripped it from his chest.”

“So is this the real you?” I said. “Or just one role among many? Show me the one you used to seduce Nicholas to your side . . .”

Beatriz smiled. “Your concern for him is touching,” she said, “and yes, this is the real me. The monster. Do you know that Nicholas was too foolish to see my true nature when I courted him? I was surprised that he fell as hard as he did, but you know those religious types and their notions of romantic love. Utterly . . . predictable.”

Beatriz balled up her fist and slammed it against the wall, shaking it. “You’ve all made this so hard,” she said, looking positively disgusted, “you humans. Look what I went through to try and finish you off. First, I thought I took care of Jane using the building and computers to eliminate her. Then I wrapped Aidan around my little finger just in case I had to deal with Connor, but now there’s you! If you weren’t around Aidan’s brother all the time, then Aidan or Brandon would be bothering me with one thing or another, making it near impossible to kill all of you. You humans are like cockroaches. You simply won’t die.”

I needed an exit from there now. And only one of us knew where it was.

“You want to tell me why you want any of us dead?” I said, stripping off one of my gloves. I raised my hands and touched her cold leathery skin. “Or I could try guessing. Although, frankly speaking, I’m one of the nicest people I know so . . .”

My mind’s eye flashed open and I pressed a single thought into Beatriz’s mind. Door. The image of a hidden door straight across the room filled my brain. I pulled myself out of the vision and stared at the far wall. I definitely didn’t see one there, but thanks to Beatriz, I hoped I knew exactly where it was.

“Get your hand off me,” Beatriz said, pulling it off her and pushing me away with some force. I staggered back, but it was what I had been hoping for. I was closer to the door. In the rush of my movement, I pulled my bat, clicked the button, and extended it. Beatriz looked at me, eyebrows raised. “You think you’re going to take me on with that?”

“Well, since you want me dead, yeah,” I said. I remembered all the private sessions with the Inspectre training in unorthodox fighting techniques under the Fraternal Order of Goodness. He had looked comical with his chest padding with a painted heart on it and Dracula cape, but it had trained me in vampire combat.

At least I hoped it had. There was a world of difference between theory and application.

I swung the bat wide and to my left, making a very obvious and open attempt at hitting her, knowing full well where she had to move to avoid it. The second she blurred into motion, I used my swing momentum to reverse my shot into an empty spot nearby. The bat connected with a metallic thud as Beatriz appeared there, clutching at her shoulder.

“I might not be able to follow your speed,” I said, starting another wild swing, “but I can anticipate you . . .”

Beatriz took off again, and again I aimed into an empty space. She slammed into my bat once more, this time hitting her in the gut.

“And if I can anticipate you,” I continued, gathering my strength for another swing, “I can beat you.”

I started with a high swing this time, knowing full well she would try to duck it. The second she went to move, I corrected myself and dropped low with my arc, catching her in the legs. She clutched her leg, her face a mix of disbelief and fury. I backed toward the secret door and felt for where I had seen her closing it in the vision.

“And you have my Department to thank for all this technique,” I said.

The door clicked, swinging open behind me. I raised one of my hands, placed it to my mouth, and let out a loud whistle into the castle. Beatriz swore under her breath and blurred into motion toward me. I braced myself for the impact while holding the bat straight out in front of me, not sure what she was going for. A second later I was still standing there, but it was quiet all around me. Beatriz had blown past me out the door.

Before I had a chance to take it all in, Aidan and Brandon were first to dash onto the scene.

“Where is she?” Aidan asked, checking her secret chamber.

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said, “but if I were her, I’d want out of this Epcot version of Transylvania pronto.”

Brandon looked at Aidan, then grabbed me around the shoulder. “The Gibson-Case Center.”

I held on tight waiting for them to take off, even enjoying the sick thrill of the chase at these speeds. It was probably as close as I’d ever get to traveling at light speed.

32

The exit from the castle was a blur. I caught a brief green hint of the forest surrounding it as Aidan, Brandon, and I flew along. By the time we were heading for the entrance back into the Gibson-Case Center, the light through the now-open doors at the end of the tunnel made me feel like I was being born. We shot out into the open atrium of that section of the building and came to a stop almost immediately.

Beatriz was standing there, waiting. So were most of the people I knew from the Department of Extraordinary Affairs, including the Inspectre. Most of them were armed with crosses, vials of holy water, and stakes at the ready. At the front of the crowd stood Allorah Daniels, strapped to the gills with a small personal arsenal. There was only Beatriz between me and my fellow humans, but behind me I heard the sound of more vampires arriving.

“Inspectre!” I called out.

I looked back over my shoulder. The growing number of vampires was already transforming, hissing as their features stretched tight over their skin. The humans bristled and raised their weapons.

The pure hatred on Allorah’s face was almost as terrifying as the vampires. I followed her closely, watching her fingers tense on the wooden stake she clutched in her hand. By the mad look in her eyes, I had only seconds before she did something rash.

I ran for Beatriz right in the thick of it all. I went in swinging with my bat. Bea made a mad grab for me at lightning speed. My post-light speed chase rhythm was off just enough that Beatriz grabbed my bat midair, twisted it from my hands, and used it to pull me into a headlock with her other arm.

“Stop right there,” Beatriz said to everyone around us, menacing me with the bat.

Trapped like I was, I looked to Allorah. “How . . . how did you find this place?” I asked.

She looked fierce but shook her head at me. “That’s where the hunting part comes in with the whole ‘vampire hunter’ thing . . . ? After you ran off on Godfrey and me the other day, I checked into what you had been researching with him. Building schematics, and, well, here we are.”

Part of me wanted to kill Godfrey even if he had only accidentally compromised me, but that was contingent on me not getting killed first.

Allorah stepped toward me and Beatriz, but Beatriz gave me a soft rap to the head, causing me to wince. Allorah stopped in her tracks.

“Stop right there or I’ll kill him.”

Allorah paused to consider this. “Go ahead and kill the traitor,” she said, moving to step again.

“Enough!” Inspectre Quimbley shouted. “Allorah, please . . . stay where you are.”

Allorah stopped, but she didn’t lower the stake in her hand.

Beatriz shook her head and sighed. “Sometimes I’m amazed that you people have ended up the dominant species on this planet.”

“You were us once, too, if you remember,” I said.

“Please,” she said, full of disdain, “don’t remind me.”

Beatriz spun around in a circle, assessing her predicament. There were humans on one side, vampires on the other, not to mention the two living statues on either side of the door that looked both confused yet ready to leap into action.

“What the hell’s going on, Bea?” Aidan said, stepping closer.

“Yes,” Brandon said, sounding pissed, “that’s what I’d like to know.”

“Just shut up,” Beatriz said, tapping the bat against my chin. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No,” Brandon said, his face becoming more human once again. “You’re not. The prophecy . . .”

“To hell with what the book says,” Beatriz said.

“Why would you do this?” Brandon said. His anger dissolved into genuine hurt. “Beatriz . . . we’ve worked so hard, for so very long . . . We’ve come so close to peaceful cohabitation with humanity . . .”

“Not we,” Beatriz said, shaking her head. “You. You worked hard for this. Don’t put all this on me. I was just your tool. When you needed an architect, I brought you Nicholas because I believed in you and Damaris. I even spent the last twenty years cozying up to your kidnapee, thinking you had a real plan for the superiority of our race.”

Aidan looked shocked. “You were playing me?”

“ ’Fraid so,” Beatriz said, laughing. She looked back at Brandon. “But when you started getting all hippy-dippy about peace and unity . . .”

“Bea . . .” Brandon said with sternness in his voice. “I don’t understand this change of heart, Beatriz. Why now, after all this time?”

Beatriz shook her head. “You were everything to us,” she said. “We believed in you, followed your counsel and did your bidding without question, and for what? To make peace with our food?” She looked over at the humans with revulsion, then turned back to Brandon. “Look at us now. We used to be kings and queens among men. We used to be feared, respected. People would tell tales of us and others would shudder. Why would anyone want to give that up? To give up their power?”

“This is power,” Brandon shouted at her. “The future is power! I’ve seen far too many of my kind, our kind, wiped away—out of fear, out of hatred. Yes, I was part of that, but I want an end to loss. When they staked Damaris, I truly remembered what it was to lose someone. I was devastated and I swore to myself no more. I want my family, all of you, to be a part of this modern world. You were part of that family.”

“I didn’t become a vampire so I could hang out around the castle watching 90210 for the next hundred years,” Beatriz yelled back at him. The pressure of her arm around my neck increased. I could feel Beatriz tensing up as she tapped my bat against my forehead. “Any last words?”

I looked to Jane over on the vampire-crowd side. She was clutching the heart-shaped necklace I had given her in her hands. I was about to die, but I would die knowing that I had tried my damnedest to keep the peace here. “I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too,” she said. She looked down at the necklace. “I love my present, too.” She looked up at me, our eyes meeting. “Speaking of presents,” she continued, “don’t forget my special delivery.”

With Bea’s arm gripped so tight around my throat, I had almost forgotten the bat she was threatening me with. It suddenly dawned on me, however, that she didn’t know of all it could do.

I double-checked the angle of the bat. Beatriz held the end of it tight in her hand, right about chest level.

“Bea?” I said.

“God,” she said. “Can you just shut up? I’m trying to kill you here.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” I reached up and grabbed the end of the bat. I pressed the button combo Jane had built into the high-tech gadget. The grip end of the bat sprung open and out shot the spring-loaded stake housed within it, lodging deep into Bea’s chest.

She looked down, surprised, and then her body began to shake. Her skin crumbled away from her body, and the arm around my throat started to fall away. Blood-slicked muscle caught against my neck, but dried out in seconds as it flaked to dust. Before her hand turned to dust, I grabbed my bat before it could fall. All the while Beatriz screamed in agony until there was nothing of her left to produce the sound. Her skeleton was the last thing standing, but within seconds even that fell to the floor, the impact breaking it into pieces.

No one dared move. I looked over at Aidan for a split second. He simply looked stunned. It was the most human reaction I had ever seen on his face. Aidan first looked down at the pile of ashes and bone, then up at me.

I lowered my bat, but didn’t dare let go of it, not without knowing what would happen next. I walked over toward Allorah, but she was already grabbing for one of the larger devices hanging on her belt.

“Put it down,” I pleaded.

“Why should I?” Allorah said, looking at me. “Do you see what you’ve unleashed on this city?”

“I haven’t unleashed anything,” I said. “They’ve always been here. And for all that time, we’ve fought them. But it’s been over two years and you haven’t heard a peep out of them. Did you ever stop and wonder why?”

“It’s clear,” Allorah said. “They’ve been building up resources, biding their time.”

Brandon stepped forward. “My dear lady,” he said, “I assure you. If we wanted people dead, we certainly wouldn’t be stopped.” He paused, then his eyes widened. “I remember you.”

Allorah looked at him with caution. “Sure, pal.”

His face was heavy, his tone falling to somber. “You’re Allorah Daniels,” he said. “The one who killed Damaris. The teacher.”

I thought back to the vision I had had of their meeting twenty years ago. Allorah had never seen Brandon with his human face, only the hideous monster version of it, but when Brandon said the word “teacher,” Allorah’s face went gray.

“You!” she growled and ran for him. She unsheathed a vial from her belt. I wasn’t sure what concoction it might be from her lab, but it was probably bad news. I jumped in her way. She stopped and swung for me. Allorah had twenty years of fighting practice. I had a few years of street fighting and about a year of practical training. The female Enchancellor knocked me on my ass in an instant and I rolled a few feet away. Jane ran over to where I slid to a halt, helping me up.

“Stop it,” I shouted. “Enough fighting.”

This was not working. Allorah was almost to Brandon, who made no move to defend himself. “I accept your punishment,” he said, as if twenty years of penance could suddenly be solved with his death.

I grabbed Jane by the hand. “Follow my lead,” I said and dragged her straight into the eye of the storm, landing us sandwiched right between Allorah and Brandon.

“Move it, Canderous,” she said. “The monster accepts his fate.”

“Listen,” I said addressing the whole crowd as much as I was her. “I’m not really sure how all this is going to go down, but you have to promise me . . . Whatever happens, talk to each other. I know there’s trepidation . . . and fear . . . mostly fear, but you have to believe me. Brandon and his kind are good people. They’ve been building a . . . new paradigm. You can’t just look at them in black and white, like the old horror movies. Trust me.”

Allorah laughed. “I stopped trusting you the second you switched sides. Now, out of the way.”

“You want to kill Brandon?” I asked. “Fine, but first . . . Jane! With me!”

I grabbed Brandon’s arm and dragged him away before Allorah could react. As ready to accept death as Brandon was, his body moved willingly with my lead. Jane grabbed his other arm and followed. It was near impossible for anyone to attack with the two of us acting as a sort of human shield to the vampire. I headed for the bank of monitors around the art installation at the end of the hall.

When we reached them, I pressed Brandon against them, took one of Jane’s hands, and put it on a monitor. “Broadcast this,” I told her. Jane nodded and put her hand against my face, connecting us. Then, just as Allorah reached us, I put one hand on Brandon and one hand on the Enchancellor. Pressing my power into both the undead and the living, I knew I wasn’t going to stay conscious for the whole event, but I at least hoped I could put on one hell of a show.

I felt Jane’s connection to the systems of the building, the way she communicated in a symbiotic manner with it. I felt it bent to my will through her, and I forced my psychometry into the pasts of both Brandon and Allorah, showing the gathered crowd everything I had seen of their lives interacting. Their loves, their passions, Brandon’s turn from darkness, the deep belief in their prophecy and even the bond that had been formed between the brothers Christos as a result of Brandon’s machinations. I felt my power waning, but I hoped it was enough as I fell to the floor, loving the cool of the marble against my face.

That coolness caused my eyes to flutter open and I looked around. Everyone I had been connected to was on the floor, slowly getting back up. I struggled to my feet and helped Jane, since I was far more used to these episodes of passing out than anyone else I knew in the Department.

By the time we were standing, Aidan, Connor, and the Inspectre had joined us. The rest of the gathered crowd still looked like they were digesting everything they had just seen.

I turned to Inspectre Quimbley. “I hope you believe me, sir,” I said. “I would never do anything I thought would hurt the Department.”

The Inspectre nodded his head. “I do, my boy.”

I looked over at Allorah, who had just managed to get back on her feet. “Please tell the Enchancellors about all this.”

Allorah looked stunned, but part of that eager darkness in her eyes was gone. They held a glimmer of what I had seen in them twenty years ago—hope. “I will try,” she said, “but I’m not sure how they’ll react to all this. I’m not sure how I’ll react to all this.”

“Then try harder,” I said. “Otherwise, the city streets will run with blood on both sides. We have a chance to stop that. A duty to stop that.”

The Inspectre turned to everyone from the Department. “Stand down,” the Inspectre called out to them. The team still looked a little unsure of what to do with the actual threat of vampires milling about with them.

Allorah turned to look at them now and cleared her throat. I’m sure sounding authoritative was part of the Enchancellor interview process. “By order of the Enchancellorship,” Allorah said, more sharpness in her voice than in the Inspectre’s, “stand down. You heard the Inspectre.”

That seemed to relax everyone nearby a little, but it still left our awkward little circle of mixed company uncomfortable.

“So now what?” I asked.

The Inspectre was first to move. He stepped forward, moving to Brandon, who remained stock-still where he was. The Inspectre offered Brandon his hand.

“I’m Argyle Quimbley,” he said, “with the Department of Extraordinary Affairs and senior officer in the Fraternal Order of Goodness.”

Brandon raised his hand and took the Inspectre’s in his. “A pleasure,” he said, very formal. “I’m Brandon . . . Walsh.”

The Inspectre cocked his head at him.

“I’ll explain it later,” I said.

“In a detailed report,” Allorah added. “A very detailed report. We may even have to start a division just for creating a report explaining all this.”

I winced. Brandon smiled, then looked at both Connor and me. “This is that red tape you were referring to?”

As Connor started introducing his brother, Aidan, around, Jane ran over to me. “You okay?”

“I think so,” I said. Other than the aches and pains, I was living, so I considered that a mark in the win column.

Jane pulled me off to one side. “You’ve got a little, um . . . Bea on you.”

I looked down. The bottoms of my pant legs were covered in her dust. My black boots were now gray. I looked to see if Aidan had noticed, but he looked too dazed by the events to be paying attention to me. Connor seemed to be distracting him with the mindlessness of intros.

Still a bit stunned, I turned my back to the gathered crowd and headed off toward the shopping plaza. “Care for a little shopping?” I asked. “I think I’m going to need a change of clothes and some of those amazing cupcakes of theirs to get my sugar back up fully.”

Jane nodded and I kissed her as we shut out all the goings-on behind us. All of the Departmental stuff could wait. I would be thankful to just get into a clean pair of clothes that were not covered in bits of a psychotic ex-vampire. Once I was done changing into some new clothes and scarfing down some cupcakes, I’d deal with the Department and the vampires, if they didn’t kill one another in the meantime.

EPILOGUE

The Gibson-Case Center was bustling with activity when Jane and I arrived. The sound of commerce rose up all around us and despite the dark colors we both wore, the two of us felt rather good. Preventing an all-out war between two cultures kind of did that to a person. Despite our mood, I felt Jane’s arm tense around mine as we drew closer to the kiosk that had initially sucked her into the mainframe of the building.

“You okay?” I asked.

Jane gave a weak smile and nodded, not really convincing me. She planted her feet and we came to a halt about fifty feet away from the unit.

“Too soon?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “I can go alone.”

“No,” she said, starting to walk again. “I want to be there. I feel . . . responsible somehow, for not being around to help Nicholas the past few days.” He’d asked Jane for technomantic help fixing all the bugs Beatriz had created in the arcology’s computer systems.

“I think you’re excused,” I said. We were closer to the kiosk now and were surprised to see Nicholas actually standing at it. “You had enough to contend with, having been eaten by the building and recovering since getting out of it.”

We reached the kiosk a minute later. Nicholas turned to look at us. “Not eaten,” he corrected. “Absorbed. Sorry . . . Didn’t mean to listen in, but preternatural and all.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m getting used to it by now. I just pretend I’m being wiretapped all the time. It’s just easier that way.”

“I see,” Nicholas said, his face somber as I realized my attempt at humor was lost on him. “If you give me a second to power down this unit, I’ll escort you back to the castle.”

“Powering down?” Jane asked.

Nicholas nodded, the ponytail of his hair bobbing. “Until I can confirm that this unit is clean, I’m shutting it down.”

“Oh,” Jane said.

Nicholas brought up a series of windows on the touch screen and flashed through them with lightning speed. With a final few taps at the console, the touch screen went dark and Nicholas turned his full attention to us. “There,” he continued. “Now, if you’ll walk with me . . .”

The three of us headed back through the corridors of shops and restaurants. I was thankful that this time Nicholas was walking at a human pace. While I first thought this was a courtesy to us, I realized I could feel the waves of sadness rolling off of him as we walked.

“How you holding up?” I asked.

“I have been better,” he said.

“But you think things are going to be okay with the Center?” Jane asked.

Nicholas looked unsure. “Half the building’s systems are down right now,” Nicholas said. “It’s proving quite the challenge to sort through every set of code, routines and subroutines. The building is just a bit too sentient for my liking right now, and until we can clean out the damage Beatriz had done hiding her trail in the system, I’d rather play it safe.”

I could see that just saying Beatriz’s name caused Nicholas pain. Even after centuries of life, he couldn’t hide his bitterness at the way things had turned out. I let go of Jane’s arm and fell in step with Nicholas as we approached the living-statue guardians at the ornate door leading back to the castle. Nicholas started shifting the various shapes in the door to let us in.

“Listen, Nick,” I said, “about Beatriz . . . I’m sorry. If there was any other way . . .”

He took his hand from one of the large glass blocks he had just shifted and held it up to silence me. “It’s all right. I understand why you had to do what you did. I’m not thrilled she’s gone. I’m not going to lie. She was dark and vicious and callous . . . sometimes all three in a single moment, but to know her, to look upon her . . . Well, she was a thing of beauty, like a cathedral. But as any good architect will tell you, sometimes a building rots from within, usually when it’s too late to help salvage it.”

“Still . . .” I started, but he shushed me.

“An old friend of mine a century or so ago had a theory. He called it the ‘greatest-happiness principle.’ He said that one must always act so as to produce the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. Within reason, of course. What you did probably saved countless lives on both sides.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” I said, nodding. “Or the one.”

Nicholas looked at me and gave a smile. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” Jane added. “You haven’t seen The Wrath of Khan, have you?”

Nicholas shook his head. “That’s a Star Trek movie, yes?”

“I’m sure Brandon has it somewhere in his DVDs,” I said. “You should check it out.”

Nicholas went back to opening the puzzle door. I stood there watching, but Jane drifted off to look at some of the art pieces over here while we waited. Nicholas looked back over his shoulder to see how far Jane was from us and lowered his voice.

“How’s Jane?” he whispered.

“Like a cathedral, too,” I said. “A true thing of beauty. To yoink your poetic little metaphor there.”

He stopped again and looked at me quizzically. “Yoink?”

I opened my mouth to explain, and then shut it. “Never mind,” I said. “We’ve got time to get to it later. I really think you could use a little introduction to our modern century.”

Nicholas finished, and the door clicked and whirred open. Jane came back and the three of us headed down the dark tunnel and out into the nighttime forest that surrounded the castle. We followed Nicholas off to the right of the path in a direction I hadn’t been in before. A simple dirt path wove through the trees. It eventually opened into a small clearing in the forest where several recognizable stone structures rose from the ground.

“A graveyard,” Jane whispered.

I nodded. Figures both familiar and strange filled the clearing and surrounding edge of the forest. A lone coffin sat by an open grave where Brandon stood with several members of his council. Connor and Aidan were there as well.

Nicholas remained with the two of us at the edge of the forest and didn’t move to join any of his people at graveside.

“Have you talked to Aidan at all?” Jane asked. “I mean, you two do have something in common, after all . . . Beatriz.”

Nicholas shook his head. “The two of us have never been on the best of terms, and while I think with time this incident may bond us, I think he grieves too much with a young heart for that to happen right now. I’ve had centuries to be bitter and torn apart by Beatriz. I will give him time before approaching him about it.” Nicholas hung his head for a moment before looking up at me. “It’s good that he has Connor to help him.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I talked Connor into coming back to the offices early, but he’s still got some vacation time coming and wants to take it. I think he and Aidan are planning a kind of Road Trip of the Living Dead or some such nonsense.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “And all is well in your Department with you?” he asked. “Your people have taken you back?”

“We’re working on it,” I said. “Despite my jailbreak, they can be rather forgiving when it comes to preventing mass slaughter in the streets of New York.”

We stood in silence watching the final moments of the funeral as the coffin was lowered into the earth.

“So,” Nicholas said. “What now?”

“Now?” I repeated. “Now we take it slow. A while back, Brandon told me that what he really wanted was for his people to be left alone.”

“In lieu of any peaceful solution,” Nicholas said, “perhaps. However, I think we may find that being left ‘alone’ doesn’t necessarily mean the end of communication between our kinds. Hopefully I can convince our leader that being left alone could simply mean that we are no longer hunted.”

“And what will you do?” Jane asked him.

Nicholas shrugged. “My hands will be full for a while,” he said. “There is much to be done in restoring the Gibson-Case Center to its former glory. After that, I think I would like to visit Spain and England . . . There is much in my past that I have let go of for too long. My feelings for Bea triz were just a small part of that. There are several churches and structures I should like to see again.”

Nicholas looked momentarily content, if not happy, which, all things considered, was a vast improvement. He looked back off toward the funeral. The vampires were leaving the graveyard now, most of them heading for the castle. I looked at Nicholas. “Listen, if this is a bad time, we could always come back . . .”

“Hold on,” Nicholas said. His lips kept moving, but I couldn’t hear any sound from them. Off in the graveyard, I saw Brandon turn his head to us and start talking as well. I couldn’t hear him, either. When Brandon was done, Nicholas turned back to us.

“No,” he said. “It’s fine. Come with me.”

The subterranean lab was just as dank and unappealing as I remembered it. The only thing brightening up the dark space was the crowd of assembled vampires, and if that was what it took to lighten up a room, I thought I could easily pass on the visit, but by the time Nicholas had brought me and Jane all the way down here, it was too late to back out.

Nicholas led us along the now-familiar row of cells until we reached the last of them. The vampires parted soundlessly as we walked through them, almost floating back as we went. Brandon, Connor, and Aidan were gathered at the last cell. Brandon nodded to me as I approached.

“You sure you want me to do this?” I asked.

Their leader nodded again. “It is what I would prefer,” he said, “yes.”

I looked past Brandon and into the cell. The vampire that used to call himself Perry no longer looked like Perry or a vampire. The caged creature was more gaunt and feral-looking than before. I didn’t think it would have been possible, but there it was before my eyes. It paced back and forth behind the bars like a panther, as if it sensed all the living and undead just beyond the cell doors.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Because he’s family,” Brandon said. “Because the book said you will show mercy. Because, like it or not, you are a part of that family now. Consider this a sort of . . . initiation.”

“I’ll do it,” I said, pulling out my custom bat, “but not because your book told me to. I’ll do it because it’s the right thing to do.”

Brandon started to speak, but I silenced him as I hit a key combination on the bat. It sprung to life.

“Very well,” Brandon said. “Whatever reason you choose to believe in.”

Aidan moved to the control panel set off to the side of the cell and started punching in a code. “How do we want to do this?” he said. “You want us to hold him or . . . ?”

“Just open the cell,” I said, and stepped square in front of it. The sound of the bars sliding out of the way made the creature step back and tense. No doubt it saw its chance at freedom and was getting ready to take it.

Quick as a shot, I stepped into the cell as soon as there was room enough to clear the door, blocking the feral creature’s way. It bared its teeth and a low growl started to rise in its chest, but I stepped quickly toward it, my bat cocked back and ready. I reached in my pocket, pulled out a preloaded syringe, and jabbed it into Perry’s chest.

“Sorry, Perry,” I whispered. “Let’s hope there’s something better than this lined up for you.”

The creature reared back in agony and let out a pitiful cry. The sound echoed out into the large chamber behind us, but Perry was already doubling over and falling to the floor.

I turned and stepped out of the cell. Aidan slid the door shut behind me. Jane and Connor were waiting for me. Jane didn’t say a thing, but wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight.

“You okay, kid?” Connor asked.

I nodded, my face solemn.

Brandon stepped over to the bars of the cell and looked down at the creature on the floor. “I thought you were going to dust him,” he said. “What did you do to him? I thought you were going to show him mercy.”

“I did,” I said.

Brandon looked wary. “What did you do?” he asked.

I reached into my pocket and produced several ampoules of a greenish liquid.

“Hopefully, saved him.”

Brandon’s eyes widened. “What?”

I held up one of the ampoules, watching the light play through the emerald green of the liquid. “Antivirus,” I said. “Allorah’s not one hundred percent sure it will work, but since you were ready to have me put down Perry, I figured the odds are better than a one hundred percent chance of me staking him.”

Brandon took the ampoule and twisted it around in his hand, marveling at it. “Allorah did this?” he asked.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “When I read the two of you together, I saw the world as the two of you see it, but even with that, I can’t say for sure. If I had to hazard a guess, though, I think she prefers vampire science to vampire hunting. Dealing death is hard.”

“Death should be hard,” Connor said. He turned to Brandon. “I think that’s something both sides should remember.”

“Agreed,” Brandon said.

I looked at him. “Are we through here?”

Brandon nodded. “For now. Thank you.”

I looked back toward the cell. Perry was asleep on the floor of it, but already his skin looked a little better. It was hard to tell. Maybe it was just a little optimism making him look that way.

“Good luck with your friend,” I said. I took Jane’s hand and we headed back toward the stairs that led up to the castle above, the surrounding forest, the Gibson-Case Center . . . and the Manhattan that I knew and loved. Full of a life where I hoped the worst thing I had to contend with for a little while was maybe a paper cut at my desk or picking out a cheese for Taco Night. First thing was first, though. I wanted to sleep for a thousand years . . . but not in the vampiric sense.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ANTON STROUT was born in the Berkshire Hills mere miles from writing heavyweights Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville. He currently lives outside New York City in the haunted corn maze that is New Jersey (where nothing paranormal ever really happens, he assures you).

His writing has appeared in several DAW anthologies—some of which feature Simon Canderous tie-in stories—including: The Dimension Next Door, Spells of the City, and Zombie Raccoons & Killer Bunnies.

In his scant spare time, he is an always writer, sometimes actor, sometimes musician, occasional RPGer, and the world’s most casual and controller-smashing video gamer. He now works in the exciting world of publishing, and yes, it is as glamorous as it sounds.

He is currently hard at work on the next book featuring Simon Canderous and can be found lurking the darkened hallways of www.antonstrout.com.

For this paranormal investigator,
it’s business as unusual . . .

DEAD TO ME

by Anton Strout

psy·chom·e·try (si-kom’i-tre) n.

1. The power to touch an object and divine information about its history

2. For Simon Canderous: not as cool as it sounds

Possessing the power of psychometry never did much for Simon Canderous, until it landed him a job with New York City’s Department of Extraordinary Affairs. But he’s not at all prepared for the strange case that unfolds before him—one involving politically correct cultists, a homicidal bookcase, and the forces of Darkness, which kind of have a crush on him . . .

“Following Simon’s adventures is like being the pinball in an especially antic game, but it’s well worth the wear and tear.”

—Charlaine Harris, New York Times bestselling author

penguin.com

It’s hard to defeat evil on a budget.
Just ask Simon Canderous.

From the author of Dead to Me ANTON STROUT

DEADER STILL

It’s been 737 days since the Department of Extraordinary Affairs’ last vampire incursion, but that streak appears to have ended when a boatful of dead lawyers is found on the Hudson River. Using the power of psychometry—the ability to divine the history of an object by touching it—Agent Simon Canderous discovers that the booze cruise was crashed by something that sucked all the blood out of the litigators. Now his workday may never end—until his life does.

penguin.com

DON’T MISS THE NEW
CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL FROM
AMBER BENSON

cat’s
claw

Following her father’s kidnapping, Calliope Reaper-Jones was inextricably drawn back into the (dreaded) supernatural world in order to save him and his company, Death, Inc.

But now that life has seemingly gone back to normal, she has once again sworn off the Afterlife and all the insanity that goes along with being Death’s Daughter . . . That is until she receives a mysterious visit from an aura specialist and unhappily discovers that a debt she owes Cerberus, the three-headed Guardian of the North Gate of Hell, has finally come due.

penguin.com