Tested

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

After dark, we checked into yet another tiny hotel. The place reeked of old: old people, old sheets, old sweat. The porter stared at me too long while Dad paid. There was something mocking in his voice as he rattled off breakfast and checkout times. A warning crept up my spine as we walked to our room. But Dad ignored me when I tried to tell him about the feeling.

“Get some sleep,” he said, picking up the remote control before I could get to it. “We leave at dawn.”

I made a face, but I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Hours later, I woke up from a bloody dream to see Dad standing at the window. He was obviously worried. So was I.

What I could do was different from anything I had ever heard of. He’d told me what vampires could do, and what angels and nephilim could do, but I wasn’t any of those, not truly. Bad intentions were almost tangible to me. The mood of the world settled against my skin and tainted me with its influence. And that mood was growing darker, more dangerous than ever. I didn’t know what was coming or even if I could stop it, but I knew that everything felt different, and it was terrifying.

“What’s happening?” I asked. “What’s changed?”

He didn’t seem surprised to hear me speak. “I don’t know. But it’s bad. Something unbalanced the odds. This is a time of change. It could go either way.”

“Will the vampires win?”

He looked at me. “I hope not, but I don’t plan on being around to find out. Go back to sleep.”

I closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t return. Vampires were everywhere. It didn’t matter where we ran. I had a weird sick feeling in my gut, and I couldn’t ignore it. “Dad, I don’t feel good.”

He was at my side in an instant. The last time I had said those words, the car we were travelling in had been rammed by carjackers. My bad feelings rarely ended well.

He sat in the chair next to the bed. “It’ll be okay.” But he took out a knife and laid it across his knees as he watched the door.

I groaned and rolled over, trickles of sweat running down my forehead. Then a scent rose in the air, tangy and metallic. I sat up straight. “Dad—”

“Quiet,” he said in a harsh voice.

We sat there in silence, listening.

Soon, footsteps came up the stairs, and somewhere, glass broke. I heard a blood-curdling scream. It came from miles away, but the goose bumps rising on my arms didn’t seem to care. A siren blew, and then the noise level increased, as if some infectious madness had finally caught up with us. Cries of pain and shouts of exhilaration filtered through the walls. Next came pleas for help that threatened to drive me mad.

Dad edged toward the window and looked outside. His face paled. “Get up. Get dressed then get back under the covers. They might leave us be, but prepare yourself.”

I did as he said, but the shouting outside made my fingers twitch.

A scream rose from right downstairs, and I froze. Dad shook his head at me, but more footsteps were on the stairs. I held my breath, feeling panicky as laughter and screams mixed together.

“Dad…” I pleaded.

“Too risky.”

Some footsteps came closer, and all of the doors in the corridor, including ours, were banged on. “Come out before we break down your doors!” someone called out.