will put this behind her and move on."
"You didn't move on, though."
"No. I could not. But my circumstances were different than Chrissy's. It was my family that was murdered."
Maybe it was impossible to move on from that. Maybe something that traumatic had to define your life.
"Aunt Helen was convinced that I could put it behind me," he said. "She suggested I visualize a compartment in my mind to contain the memory, where I could seal it up forever. The idea sounded silly to me."
"I think it makes sense. Once Vigo is dead, you can move on. You can have a fresh start."
"I am too old for a fresh start. I will soon be nineteen. That isn't young in my world."
It was true. Life expectancy in Otherworld was low — what I would consider middle-aged — a result of the many stresses of living in a society dominated by vampires. That, and the fact that their medical technology hadn't advanced since the vampires came.
"You still have time to build a good life when you get back," I said.
I meant it, but the thought of him leaving this world — my world — was impossibly painful.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
WHEN I EMERGED FROM my room the next morning, I couldn't believe my eyes: Dad was next to Chrissy on the couch, and she was snuggled into his side. They were watching Two and a Half Men reruns.
Mom was in the kitchen doing dishes. When she saw me, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and hugged me tightly, as though she hadn't seen me in months. "I need to show you something, Amy."
I followed her into her bedroom. She closed the door and put on the news. A press conference that had taken place earlier this morning was on. The police chief was taking questions.
A reporter asked, "How do you respond to people who say your department is making up this wild explanation because you can't find the killer?"
"I'd say they should take a look at the evidence," Chief Arland said. "This was the last conclusion we expected to come to, but the evidence is clear. We believe a real vampire is terrorizing our city."
The truth was out. Finally.
Without warning, photos of the victims' wounds came on the screen. I had to look away.
The press conference continued with more questions for Chief Arland. Then it was back to Roger Thompson in the newsroom with a panel of experts via satellite.
"There have been conflicting reports of what was actually found in this man's hideout," Thompson said. "Detective Gaston, what can you tell us about that?"
"Well, Roger, the police have confirmed that two bodies were found in the hideout along with several bottles of blood. Forensics is checking if that blood came from the current victims or if it was saved from previous victims."
Vigo's Facebook photograph flashed onto the screen.
"What exactly do we know about this man?" Thompson asked another guest, a retired FBI agent from Virginia.
"Very little, unfortunately. He claimed to be a seventeen-year-old student at a local high school, but that hasn't checked out. We don't know his age, where he comes from, or his real name. I'm sure investigators will be using facial detection software. Right now, they're appealing to the public to help identify him."
"You're saying that we have absolutely no leads on this guy?" Thompson asked.
"It appears that way."
Thompson then turned to a sociology professor from NYU. "Now, Professor, a lot of people are saying that this man is, in fact, a self-created vampire — that he's nothing supernatural. Why have vampires become such a cultural obsession, especially for young people?"
"These days the most popular teen books are vampire books, especially the Otherworld series by Elizabeth Howard," the professor replied. "The result is that many young people have immersed themselves in vampire culture. I believe it was inevitable that something like this would happen."
Vigo's Facebook photo came up again. Then the screen split in two, displaying it alongside the drawing of Vigo on the cover of The Mists.
"Obviously the killer is trying to emulate ..." Thompson looked down at his notes. "Vigo, the main vampire in the books."
The professor was nodding. "Yes, Roger, the likeness is remarkable. He clearly wants to present himself as the Otherworld character."
"What has Elizabeth Howard said about all this?" Thompson asked the panelists. "When she appeared on Evening Report recently, she didn't seem to know what to make of it."
"No one has been able to locate her," said the detective. "It could be that she herself is in hiding."
"The irony here is that her books will sell even better with all of this publicity," Thompson said.
The panelists all agreed.
Mom turned to me. "Was it really a vampire that took Chrissy? I thought she was making it up."
"It was a vampire, Mom. And he bit Katie."
She looked like she was about to faint. I put an arm around her. "We're safe, I promise. He won't hurt us again. We have to keep it together for Chrissy." I turned off the TV. "Don't watch any more of this."
Mom and I sat in her bedroom for a little while. I could tell she had more questions, but was afraid of the answers. "I don't understand it, Amy. How did you and Katie end up being the ones to find her?"
"We thought we'd search the tunnels. We knew we were dealing with a vampire."
"How could you be so sure that he was really a vampire?"
I exhaled. "I've read a lot about vampires. I know they're real."
Mom didn't say anything, but she squeezed me hard. Chrissy hadn't been the only one traumatized by the kidnapping. I knew it would take time for Mom to come to terms with what had happened.
When I went back into the kitchen to get some cereal, Dad was there, fixing bacon and eggs and whistling a tune. Dad seemed to have aged since I'd seen him last, his brown hair more peppered with gray than ever. But he still wore that same aftershave, and too much of it.
"Want some, sweetie?"
I didn't know what it was — him calling me "sweetie," or him being so at ease in our kitchen — that made me angry.
"No, thanks." I poured myself cereal and milk, grabbed a spoon, and jammed it in hard enough that the milk splashed me.
"I know it's been a rough couple of days, kiddo. But I'm here for you and Chrissy. And I want you to know: Everything's going to be okay."
"Really?" I snapped. "You spend one day with Chrissy, the first day in months, and suddenly everything's going to be okay? Well, sorry, Dad, but you being here doesn't make anything okay!"
I glimpsed a flicker of doubt in his eyes, like he might actually be questioning himself. Then he looked back at the sizzling bacon, turning over a strip.
"She doesn't only need you in times of crisis, Dad. She needs you when things are good. When things are normal."
"It's been a busy few months, with the move and all." His eyes were still focused on the bacon. "But I'll be seeing more of Chrissy now. More of you, too, I hope."
I so wished I could believe him. But I wasn't going to set my hopes on Dad having a turnaround. Maybe Alexander was right; it was enough for me to tell him how I felt.
And Alexander was right about something else, too. When a person knows they've hurt you, they have trouble looking you in the eye.
A short time later, I called Katie. We'd been texting on and off to update each other, but I wanted to hear her voice, to know that she was okay.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm loving the Tylenol, Ames. Loving the Tylenol."
I was relieved that she sounded like herself. "How's your mom been dealing with all this?"
"You know my mom. She's into supernatural stuff, so it wasn't as big a stretch as you'd think. It's all over the news, anyway. Luckily they're not allowed to use our names."
"Katie, I don't know what to say. 'Thank you' could never be enough. You put your life on the line and —"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it. How's Chrissy?"
"She's still in shock. It'll take some time for everything to sink in."
"Speaking of 'sinking in,' it'll take some time on this end, too. I don't care what some of the Otherworlders say. Being bitten by a vampire is not sexy."
I had to laugh. Katie never changed. She could make a joke even in the most horrible circumstances, and I loved that about her.
"When you see Alexander, tell him I said thanks for the tip," she said.
"What tip?"
"That Vigo goes left."
I met Alexander for lunch at a greasy spoon in my neighborhood. We ordered sodas and sandwiches and fries. After all that we'd been through in the past forty-eight hours, it felt surreal just sitting and eating.
Unfortunately, a TV sat behind the counter, its volume loud enough that we could hear the news buzzing in the background. The word "vampire" surfaced over and over. I wished I could tune it out.
Alexander ate like he hadn't seen food in a while. It gave me a chance to look at him, to remind myself for the thousandth time that he was real.
"I'd like to hunt with you tonight," I told him.
He lifted his eyes from his food. "We've already had this conversation."
"Things were different then. He hadn't kidnapped my sister then. He hadn't almost killed my friend."
His expression was flat. "So, before this, his presence irked you, but now you're angry with him?"
I bristled. Why did he refuse to understand that I no longer just wanted to help, I needed to? "I'm tired of standing by. I want to help you catch him."
His eyes softened. "You have already been exceedingly helpful. It's because of your astuteness that your sister was saved."
"Then you should want my help."
He cocked a brow. "And if we find him? What then?"
"I'll keep my distance and let you handle him. Or call the police."
"You are not coming with me." He turned back to his fries, obviously expecting to shut me down.
"I'll go alone, then."
"You will do no such thing. It is my destiny to deal with Vigo, not yours." Something flickered in his eyes. "Besides, I cannot even trust you to tell me the truth."
I stiffened. I'd been hoping this wouldn't come up.
"Of course you can trust me, Alexander." I was tempted to grab his hand across the table, but then I saw his fist curl.
"Vigo wanted to exchange Chrissy for me, and you didn't feel it necessary to tell me."
"I'd planned to tell you ... if we didn't find Chrissy."
"You were protecting me. You didn't trust me to deal with the situation."
"But he wanted you defenseless! You wouldn't have been able to fight your way out of it. It wasn't an option."
His dark gaze narrowed. "That was my decision to make, not yours."
"You're right. I didn't trust you. I didn't trust you not to do something noble and stupid."
"Now that" — he raised a finger — "is exactly why I can't partner with you. Admit it, Amy. You don't have the stomach for this. You're too tenderhearted." His chuckle was hollow. "You're as bad as James."
His words cut. It was no secret that he thought James was weak. Now he thought I was, too. Weak for caring about him.
I threw some money down and walked out of the restaurant. Elizabeth Howard really didn't do Alexander Banks justice, I thought. He could be even colder than she had portrayed him.
When I glanced back over my shoulder, Alexander was staring down at the table, a grim expression on his face. He wasn't moving to come after me.
I walked home.
If Alexander thought he could stop me from trying to find Vigo, he was wrong. I didn't need him to guide me anymore. I knew enough about Vigo now to be useful, whether Alexander approved or not.
He was right about one thing: I had been trying to protect him. And I didn't think I should have to apologize for it. That's what people do when they love someone — they protect them.
It hit me all at once: When this was over, if Alexander survived, he would return to his world and I'd never see him again. That would be the happy ending that would allow Book Three to be written.
But it wouldn't be a happy ending for me.
If I were Vigo, where would I go next?
That afternoon, I studied schematics of the subway tunnels. Vigo would be nowhere near where we found him yesterday, but likely still underground. By now, he'd know that his picture was all over the news, and he'd be careful to avoid being seen.
I decided to go to the police with what I knew. Since they now accepted that they had a vampire on their hands, I didn't see why we couldn't cooperate. Katie and I hadn't told them about Vigo being the vampire from the Otherworld series, and I didn't plan to tell them now. It was enough that the police believed the killer was imitating Vigo Skaar. There was no need to further complicate things by trying to explain literary physics.
When I got to the station, I asked the female officer at the front desk if I could speak to Detectives Moody and Hogg. They were the ones who'd interviewed Chrissy, and I trusted them. The officer made a phone call.
"Wait here." She gestured to a chair. "Detective Moody will be right out."
Seconds later, Moody came over, holding a cup of coffee. She was eager to see me, too eager, which told me that the police were desperate for leads.
We went to the same interview room we'd been in with Chrissy yesterday. Detective Hogg joined us as I was setting my notes on the table.
I showed them the schematics and gave them suggestions as to where they should look for the vampire — basically, places where young people spent time. Since he wanted to avoid being recognized, I explained, he'd likely strike near a place where he could easily slip underground without being seen, such as an unused subway entrance. They hung on my every word. Not only was I one of their only witnesses, I had helped to find the vampire's hideout and rescue my sister. I was the best resource they had.
"I'll be looking in this area." I pointed to the downtown core. "There's a popular club called Barrymore's that has a nineties night. It's one of the few crowded places on a Sunday night. If he's looking to make a scene, he might go there."
"The couple that was murdered — we think he followed them out of a downtown club," Detective Hogg confirmed.
"Do you think he wants to make a scene?" Moody asked.
"He certainly tried to at the teen club," Hogg pointed out. I had told them about it in my initial interview after I came in with Chrissy. But I didn't tell them that I knew the guy who had attacked the vampire.
"He likes attention," I told them. "He likes creating chaos. Because he's been able to evade capture to this point, he's gaining confidence, getting bolder. He probably doesn't believe the police are sophisticated enough to catch him — no offense."
"We'll put extra units in the downtown core," Moody said. "There's no need for you to put yourself at risk, Amy. You've been through enough. It's also possible the vampire could recognize you. That would make you a target."
I gave a nod, acknowledging that I'd heard what she said. But I was not going to make any promises to stay out of this. "You need to know that he's extremely fast and strong," I said. "Shooting him will slow him down, but it won't stop him."
"Sounds like the Terminator," Detective Hogg said uneasily.
"Yes. He's a lot stronger than the average man, but if a few of you wrestle him to the ground, you could pin him. Just watch out for his teeth."
"We're having wooden stakes made," Moody said.
"Good. A stake through the heart is the only way you'll kill him. If I were you, I wouldn't risk bringing him in to the station. If you can get him to the ground, stake him."
They didn't respond, but I could tell they were both thinking about what I'd said.
Killing suspects wasn't protocol. And it couldn't be their official plan.
But if they had the chance, they'd do it.
Alexander called me just as the last traces of sun drained from the sky. I knew he was checking up on me, so I didn't answer. I had my mission tonight, and I didn't need him to help me carry it out. It was freeing and frightening at the same time.
Around nine, I said good night to Mom and Chrissy, who were in the living room watching TV. I knew that I'd never get Mom's permission to go out in search of Vigo, so I had to do it without her knowing.
In case I decided to go into a club, I put on a lot of makeup and a black dress with spaghetti straps. I even blew my hair out to make myself look older. I figured that Vigo wouldn't go somewhere with a doorman checking ID, though. He looked young enough to get stopped. Vigo would want a low-key place he could quietly slip into.
I opened my window and climbed onto the fire escape. It was old and squeaky, but I managed to climb down without any trouble.
By the time I got off the bus downtown, my watch read 9:32. The line at Barrymore's dance hall for '90s night stretched half a block.
The night was cool, and the breeze whipped my hair in front of my face. I stood under an awning outside a deli, watching the crowd. They were well-dressed twentysomethings and obviously die-hard partiers — they had to be if they were going clubbing despite police warnings about a real vampire prowling the streets. I wasn't sure if they were brave or stupid. Either way, they seemed restless in the line, constantly looking over their shoulders.
The police hadn't instituted a curfew yet, but everyone knew it was coming if the vampire wasn't caught soon. In Otherworld, the curfew for humans was nightfall. People arranged their whole lives so that they were home by then. When medical emergencies happened in the night, most people were afraid to visit the hospital, and many died as a result.
Only a few souls in Otherworld circulated after dark. They were the rebels, the vampire stalkers ... people like Alexander.
I saw two cop cars parked on the side of the road opposite the bar. The cops knew that Vigo could easily show up here tonight, and not just because of my advice. It was obvious that if he wanted to find a crowd, it would be here. I bet they had plainclothes officers around as well.
Since the police had this area covered, it was time to move on. I headed down Michigan Avenue. Although there were a few people walking on the other side of the street, I was still nervous. I could feel my heartbeat getting louder as I got farther away from the crowds and the police.
My hand closed around the Mace in my coat pocket. I'd bought it this afternoon because I figured it was my best defense if I encountered Vigo. It could blind him for a second or two, giving me the edge I needed to get away. I had Detectives Moody's and Hogg's numbers programmed into my cell.
Suddenly I noticed two people crossing the street toward me. A guy and a girl, deep in conversation. I froze.
The guy was blond, but he had bold, striking features, nothing like Vigo's smooth, innocent face. Broad-shouldered and tall, he had a unique style with his long coat and leather boots.
I felt a prickle of recognition.
The girl beside him had porcelain skin and a halo of blond hair. She wore a simple brown coat tied at the waist, with a white dress extending to her knees.
Before I could process it, I found myself hurrying up to the couple.
"James? Hannah?"