by Zoe Arden
“Don’t worry,” I told Eleanor and Trixie as I headed out the door. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
I had to ring the bell four times before I finally heard Melbourne clop toward it. The lock turned and a moment later the door sprang open. Melbourne squinted against the sun as it hit his face. I wondered how it was possible he didn’t melt or turn to ash. Eleanor had told me that was all rubbish. Sunlight didn’t kill vampires, though it could give them a serious sunburn. The older vampires got, the less susceptible they were even to that. Melbourne must have been very old.
“Ava,” he said, taking a step back toward the shadows of his house. He didn’t look too happy to see me, but the gentleman in him won out. If Melbourne was one thing, he was polite. “What can I do for you?”
“Can I come in for a few minutes?” I asked.
He shook his head. “This isn’t a good time. If it’s about that ritual again—”
“Please,” I said. “I promise it won’t take long. It’s about Trixie.”
His head cocked to the side, and he opened the door for me.
“Is she okay?” he asked.
“She’s fine.”
“So, what’s this about then? Is her birthday coming up?” His voice was pleasant enough but I could tell I’d interrupted him.
I thought for a moment—when was Aunt Trixie’s birthday anyway? “No,” I finally said, deciding it was sometime in May. “It’s just... Trixie was wondering what else you could tell me about the Raine Ritual?”
“I knew it!” he snapped.
A dark laugh sprang out of the shadows behind us and a man I didn’t recognize stepped forward. He had the blackest hair I’d ever seen. It was like looking into a black hole. His face was snow white and devoid of all emotion except for a light smirk.
“Ava, this is a friend of mine,” Melbourne said, indicating the man who was approaching us. He was tall and skinny and looked like he’d been ripped out of the pages of a gothic horror novel. He was dressed in black from head to toe.
“You may call me Vlaski,” the man said, extending his pale hand. His fingers were long and bony, like a corpse.
I gulped and forced my heart to start beating again. I was positive this man was a vampire. Only he didn’t give off the friendly vibe that Melbourne normally did. He seemed much darker. More sinister. I wondered what he and Melbourne were doing here together. He didn’t seem like the type of person Melbourne would normally hang out with.
“H-hi,” I said, taking Vlaski’s hand. My eyes moved to Melbourne, who was frowning.
“Vlaski was just leaving, I believe,” Melbourne said.
Vlaski looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Was I?”
He and Melbourne stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. It seemed like there was some unspoken showdown happening between them.
“Lovely to meet you, Ava,” Vlaski said, taking my hand once more before he left. He kissed it and I tried not to shudder. His lips were like an ice cube. I suddenly wondered how Pennyweather Kelso had ever been able to kiss Melbourne if vampire lips were that cold.
When Vlaski let go of my hand, he headed for the door.
Now that Vlaski was gone, my attention shifted to Melbourne’s home. The walls were a pale blue color I wouldn’t have expected. An ancient chandelier hung from his dining room. The furniture was dark and expensive looking. I eyed a vase in the corner that was almost as tall as me and decorated in what looked like real diamonds.
“It’s from an old friend,” Melbourne said, following my gaze. “He gave it to me some time during the Renaissance.”
“Oh... cool.” I waited to see if he would comment on Vlaski’s presence in his house, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together.
“Um... was Vlaski, er, just visiting?”
“He lives on the island.”
“He does?” I asked, startled. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“He doesn’t often come out of his home. At least, not during the day.”
“Why not?”
Melbourne pursed his lips. “Vlaski prefers to remain concealed.”
I’d known that there were other vampires on the island, but aside from Melbourne, they seemed to keep to themselves. If the rest of them were as dark as Vlaski was, then I was glad of it. I hoped I never came across Vlaski on a dark road.
“So, Ava, if there’s nothing more I can do for you—”
“You can tell me what Sara Sweetland has to do with all of this.”
Melbourne steadied his gaze. “Perhaps the problem is that you’re not asking the right questions,” Melbourne finally said.
“What do you mean?”
“You asked me what Sara Sweetland has to do with the Raine Ritual. What makes you so certain that Sara has anything to do with it at all?”
“You said Sara and Patrick fought against the ritual while they were alive.”
Melbourne gave me a knowing look.
“What would make someone fight in a battle that could mean their life?”
“I don’t know. Justice? Righteousness?”
Melbourne shook his head. “You’re overthinking.”
“Love?” I asked suddenly.
Melbourne smiled. “Love. It has a lot of power.”
“Are you saying I should be looking at Patrick’s role in this instead of Sara’s?”
Melbourne sighed again and shook his head. “I’m saying goodbye. I’m not feeling well today and I need to lie down.” He ushered me toward the door.
“But—”
“Think it over. The answer will come to you.”
I left his house, replaying everything that he’d said. Love was the key. Sara’s love for Patrick or Patrick’s love for Sara? I still didn’t understand. Why did Melbourne have to be so cryptic? It was as irritating as a hangnail.
“Ava!!” I woman’s voice called to me.
I looked up from the sidewalk I’d been studying on my way to the bakery and saw Margaret Binford running toward me at a gallop.
“Margaret!” I was surprised to see her, though I shouldn’t have been. I’d seen her briefly at Mayor Singer’s party but hadn’t spoken to her since.
“Oh, I’m glad I caught you,” she panted. “Look what I found!”
She was beaming at me as she shoved a large book into my hands. I looked at the cover—Forgotten Spells and Lineages.
“Turn to where I bookmarked it,” she said excitedly.
I turned to the page and read the chapter title. “Raine Casting.” I looked at Margaret, my eyes wide as saucers. “Where did you find this?” I demanded.
“A second-hand bookstore I know about. They deal primarily with rare and out-of-date items.”
I scanned through the chapter. It laid out everything we needed to know. How to cast the spell. How much blood was needed. The best time to do it. The only thing that was missing was how to stop someone from performing it. This book had clearly not been written from the victim’s perspective.
“Wait a second,” I said, stopping on the section that talked about the Wolf Moon. “This says...”
“I know,” Margaret said, her smile fading. “I’m sorry. I guess our information wasn’t entirely correct.”
I took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“So, Polly has to sacrifice me by the beginning of the Wolf Moon. Not the end of it.”
Margaret nodded.
I set aside the fear this new idea had driven into my brain stem and skimmed through the rest of the book. There were spells I’d never heard of. Ingredients that I hadn’t thought really existed. More than that, though, there was page after page of old family trees. Lineages that had been traced back generations.
“There’s a page missing,” I said, looking toward the back. “It looks like it’s been ripped out.”
“That’s how it was when I found it,” Margaret said.
I closed the book and looked at her. The fear began pricking at me again.
“You k
now what this means, right?” Margaret asked.
“It means I have four days instead of ten,” I said. “Four days until Polly comes for me.”
“Unless we stop her first.” Margaret squeezed my hand reassuringly, but it didn’t help. In four days, Polly would try to sacrifice me and steal my soul. And we still had no idea how to stop her.
* * *
2 0
* * *
I woke up way too early. It was still dark. The first thing I did was check my phone. It was getting to be a habit. I hadn’t heard from Colt since he left for COMHA headquarters. I wasn’t worried, precisely, I just wanted to know that he was okay.
There was no text from Colt, but there was one from Damon.
SORRY ABOUT NEW YEAR’S.
I texted him back.
ME TOO.
I hesitated over the screen before adding:
WE NEED TO TALK.
I waited to see if he’d send a response, but it was four in the morning, so I didn’t expect much. Snowball was curled up at my feet. She glanced sleepily up at me as I patted her head.
“Mama up?”
“No, Mama’s just getting some water. Go back to sleep.” I filled a glass with water in the bathroom and brought it back to my room. I looked out the window. Part of me still hoped I might see Colt out there again, parked in his car, watching over me. Instead, I saw Anastasia Lockwood hurrying down the street.
I checked the time. It was only four-fifteen. Where was she going at this hour? I watched her until she disappeared. I contemplated going after her but sleep began to overtake me again and I crawled back into bed.
Hours later, the doorbell rang.
Trixie’s voice called upstairs. “Margaret’s here!”
I dressed quickly and hurried downstairs. Last night, I’d filled Trixie and Eleanor in on the book Margaret had shown me. We’d chatted about it between our evening frostings and cakes. I was working on a new extract of peppy powder that I wanted to try out. I was hoping it was close to what Colt got from COMHA, but without the side effects.
Trixie and Eleanor had both been shocked when I’d told them I only had a few days to live, according to this ritual. When I got downstairs this morning, I saw that they had informed my father.
“Ava, honey, you’re not going to die in four days,” he said over coffee.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I’m your father and I know these things,” he said and helped himself to another brownie as Margaret lingered in the doorway. I hugged him from behind as he chewed on a chocolate cherry jubilation treat. I knew what was going on. He didn’t want to admit anything was wrong because it meant there was a chance he could actually lose me.
“Okay, Dad. You win. I’m not dying in four days.”
“Good. Because if you do, you’re definitely grounded.” He took another bite of brownie, and I tried not to laugh.
Inside, I was terrified. I followed Margaret out of the house and thought about how much had changed between us so quickly. Since the night Colt and I had discovered her at Anastasia’s, she’d become more friend than foe. Something which I would never have thought was possible.
“Do you really think Dr. Dunne has anything new to tell us?” I asked her as we made our way toward Sweetland Hospital.
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but we won’t know until we ask.”
“Sheriff Knoxx is pretty good at his job,” I said. “I don’t think he would’ve missed anything.” I watched Margaret, waiting to see how she’d respond. Everyone in Sweetland knew how she felt about him.
Her lips tightened but her face remained otherwise neutral.
“I know the sheriff and I haven’t always gotten along,” she said, “but I am trying to keep a more open mind about things these days.”
We continued toward Sweetland Hospital in silence.
“Can I ask you something, Margaret?”
She nodded.
“What prompted this change? I mean, it was more than just disliking Sheriff Knoxx. You hated him. You hated me. Why are you helping us now? Is it really just because you want to find Paisley’s killer?”
“Partly,” Margaret said. “It was true when I told you that Paisley and I were good friends. We had a similar sense of humor. She was a lot of fun.”
I refrained from commenting on Paisley’s sense of humor. It was that same sense of humor that so many people had found off-putting. That same sense of humor which, in all likelihood, had gotten her killed.
“Also,” Margaret hesitated before continuing, “I’ve seen a different side of people, lately.”
“A different side?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been volunteering at Wormwood Work Camp the last month or so.”
“You’re kidding!” I yelled, much louder than I meant to. I couldn’t hide my shock if I’d tried. “You? Volunteer?”
Margaret smiled.
“Is it really so surprising?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me, and her eyes were watering. “Everyone in Sweetland hates me. I had to move to the other side of the island to get away from it, but even there I’m not well liked. When I resigned from the Witch’s Council, I decided that I had to take some drastic steps. There are only two towns on this island. I don’t want everyone in Mistmoor to hate me, too.”
“Oh, Margaret,” I said as the tears spilled from her violet eyes. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt like this. I didn’t think you cared how the people in Sweetland felt about you.”
“Well, I do,” she said. “After all, despite what some people may think about me, I’m not a monster.”
“Of course, you’re not.”
She wiped her eyes. We started walking again.
Note to self: be nicer to Margaret.
“We’re here,” Margaret announced a few minutes later. I looked up, surprised by how fast we’d arrived at the hospital.
“Thanks for helping, Margaret. I really appreciate it.”
She smiled as we walked inside in search of Dr. Dunne. We found him in his office, sipping an energy drink and eating a cookie from The Mystic Cupcake.
“Sorry to barge in on you,” Margaret said, shaking his hand.
“Not at all,” Dr. Dunne said, half rising from his chair. “What can I do for you?”
We took the seats opposite him.
“We were wondering if you could tell us something more about Paisley’s murder,” I said, getting to the point.
“I’m afraid I’ve already told Sheriff Knoxx everything I know. A blood spell was used to kill her. I thought as much shortly after examining her body when I got it back to the hospital, but because of the seriousness of the crime, I wanted to make absolutely certain before delivering my verdict.”
“That makes perfect sense,” Margaret said, jumping in. “You’ve done an excellent, thorough job.”
“Thank you,” Dr. Dunne said. I could tell her compliment had paid off. He was glowing. “Thoroughness is a big part of my work. It’s the little details that other doctors might miss that set me apart. I never miss anything.”
“What were some of the little details you learned about Paisley?” I asked.
“Well, for starters, her body was completely drained of blood when I examined her.”
I winced at the image of a bloodless corpse.
“She didn’t look... er... decomposed when I saw her at the shop. Wouldn’t losing all her blood like that... I don’t know, flatten her out or something?”
“Normally, yes. That’s how I was able to rule out vampirism as the source of death.”
I thought of Vlasic and wondered if he was like Melbourne, who had given up human blood a century ago, or more like the darker sects of vampires I’d heard about, who drank human blood on a nightly basis. I didn’t think Melbourne would hang around with someone like that, b
ut you could never be sure.
“So how did you finally settle on a blood spell?” Margaret asked. She seemed very interested.
“This is how.” Dr. Dunne opened a drawer and removed a bloodstone similar to the one Dr. Wallace had found on Mayor Singer. It was smooth and oval, a dark so green that it was almost black. It had a dozen blood red veins running through it and an inscription on the side.
“The meaning is obvious.”
I looked at the carving on the side of the stone. Something about the stone itself looked familiar.
“Where did you find it?” Margaret asked.
“In Paisley Mudget’s pocket.”
“That’s where they found Mayor Singer’s,” she replied. “In his pocket.”
“Someone could have slipped it into her pocket at the party, and she might never have known,” I said.
“That’s true,” Margaret replied.
“What does the inscription mean?” I asked
“Death through blood,” Dr. Dunne told me. “It’s part of the ritual. The blood is said to flow through the rock and to the person who’s cast the spell.”
“Oh, my roses,” I said.
“What?” Margaret asked.
“Thank you for your time, Doctor,” I said, rising quickly from the chair. I hurried toward the door.
“What is it?” Margaret asked when we were out of earshot.
“I realized where I’ve seen these stones before.”
“Where?”
“The Alchemic Stone.”
“Anastasia?” Margaret asked.
I nodded.
“Polly is back,” I told her. “She must have gotten these stones from her mother.”
“Let’s go.”
* * *
2 1
* * *
“Are you sure it was the same stone?” Margaret asked.
“Positive.”
We hurried quickly down the road. The Alchemic Stone was only a mile from the hospital. By the time we got there, Margaret and I were out of breath.
