“Yes, consider it yours for the journal.” Wayde removed a scroll from his jacket, unrolled it, and waved it in front of my face.
Pop’s handwriting. I recognized the hurried scratch right away. “Give it to me. You can’t bargain with something that’s not yours.” I reached for the scroll too late, my fingers grasping at air. A recent memory flooded my mind. A fire blazed. Pop had burned the journal after I downloaded several digital backups. My mind raced for details of how, when, and where.
Wayde wadded the scroll into a ball and tossed it. “The letter is useless.” He sucked on a long drag. “Lying doesn’t become you.”
My mind raced. Truth or lies. It didn’t matter which one I blurted at this point. Would he order Chase to shoot me? My throat forced a swallow. “Pop burned the journal after I downloaded the data onto nine flash drives—three copies divided into thirds. Friends of his hid one drive each, but Pop never told me who hid what where.”
The rim of Wayde’s cigarette flamed as if an extension of his intolerance. He kicked the crumpled note across the floor. “Well, Duncan’s warning won’t help you now, unless you know more than you let on.”
Eager to retrieve the letter, I rose halfway until someone body-slammed me back onto the bench. The guy from the pay phone blocked the only exit. My breath caught as though a candy store had parked itself in front of me. The robust sweetness of roasted caramel overwhelmed three out of six senses. Who was he?
At first glance, he looked like an albino because of the pale complexion, lavender eyes, and shock of platinum hair. A prolonged glance revealed an angelic visage. A touch shorter than me, his long black coat rippled from the slightest movement, creating a macabre effect as if the fabric were an extension of his flesh. Abso-bloody-lutely creepy. Distracted, I flinched when he flicked the discarded letter into the air with the tip of his boot and caught it with ease.
Wayde slid out of the booth, stepped aside, and waved the man over. His whispers had not escaped my enhanced eardrums.
“Duncan mutated humankind. Used the twins as Guinea pigs.” Wayde inhaled another drag. “Zanyael, do you think he succeeded?” He paused for a response, but none came. “Your opinion, please.”
Instead, Zanyael’s gaze pierced through me, tugging on my soul like a tractor beam. The pastel irises numbed my kindled nerves.
Wayde grunted displeasure, bumped Zanyael aside, and stepped forward. Stale smoke chased away the caramel scent. “Where’s your better half? I thought Ariane would be pleased to see me again. We share a connection, her and I.”
The deadening bubble popped when Zanyael snickered. What a pasty menace. “No idea and no way,” I said, my first answer a lie.
“I will collect the flash drives one by one until I have a complete copy of the journal.” Wayde jabbed a finger at my sternum. “Your life is no longer your own. Everywhere you go, I will be there waiting, watching. Eventually, you will run out of serum and will need more. The journal holds the formula. Answers I can help you find.”
My voice hitched. “You help us? Like you helped Pop?” The pressure behind my eyes burned, which meant the rims of my irises flamed reddish orange. Ariane despised how our eye color darkened when our tempers spiked. My attitude ranged on the farthest end of the spectrum. Bring it on. “No chance in hell.” To reinforce my candor, I bared my extended eyeteeth. Along with the eyes, I rarely brandished the fangs unless out of spite. Wayde earned the total package.
Zanyael’s lips puckered. His smirk egged me on.
Wayde shook his head and buried his face in his hands, a habitual attempt to hide his impatience. “I will have it.”
“You’re wasting your time—and mine.” Concern drifted to my sister gone AWOL.
As if Mr. Eye Candy read my mind, an underhanded smile formed across his face, followed by a wink.
The gesture left me unsettled with the urge to plant a fist into his overly charming mug. If anything, his slender physique posed little threat. Unease switched to angst when Wayde spoke up.
“What will it take to gain your trust?”
“Undo what you and Duncan did to us.” Our deranged father had no right to expose us to alien DNA. Alter his own children. We never agreed to become such monsters. It made no sense, given that neither of us recalled life before the transformation. In the beginning, I suffered near madness until I learned how to control the fits. To this day, we never trusted Wayde although he was right about the journal. It held the answers we sought.
Chase stood with his hand resting on the gun. He spoke up to volunteer an idea. “Let Zanyael persuade the prick. Drink his blood.”
“Leave!” Zanyael growled the command. His thundering voice stunned the two men into silence. “I will handle this. The Fallen expressly forbid exposure to the twins’ blood.”
A frown creased Wayde’s forehead, his hands raised as if offering a truce. He backed off when Zanyael advanced.
Drink our blood? The Fallen? My mouth dropped when Wayde and Chase left without question. The bartender waddled into the backroom. Realization struck me harder than a running-back body-slam. This Zanyael and I were alone.
Left without a choice, I stood to confront him, but he vanished next, leaving a blast of roasted caramel in his wake. A fine mist swathed me with a frosty stiffness. Out of nowhere, a wad of paper flipped onto the table next to the condiment caddy Wayde used as an ashtray. My hand paused over the crumpled note as I glanced up and down the aisle in search of the stranger.
A feminine moan crooned from the rear of the pub. It seemed my sister had also met the enigmatic Zanyael. I grabbed the letter and rushed to her aid. “Ariane, are you okay?”
3 3 3
Back home, it took me forever to calm my sister. As usual, Wayde rattled her nerves. More so, she ranted about the albino. Claimed the jerk gave her a Vulcan nerve pinch, knocking her out cold. Gentlemanliness ruled the albino’s nature, tender enough to lower my sister’s body to the floor without bruising or mussing up her hair. For now, I stored the urgent desire to seek him out and beat him to a pulp. Plenty of time for that later. “Aye right, ease up lad.” My cockiness had gotten me into too much trouble already.
Ariane interrupted my thoughts by whacking me on the shoulder. “Earth to Brian. I never saw this Mr. Eye Candy before. I’d remember someone that heavenly handsome.” She paused to sniff. Her nose wiggled. “I’d never forget someone who smelled like…”
“Caramel candied apple?”
“Yes!” Ariane stood on her tiptoes, rising up and down in place. “Strange cologne for a man.” She sniffed my way and tilted her head in question. “Sort of smells like you.” Her gaze narrowed as she shook the letter. “Enough silliness. Listen this time.”
Speaking of colognes, my sister smelled like bubblegum. The sweet pink stuff. I paced the tiled floor while she read Pop’s letter aloud for the umpteenth time. Barefoot, the cool tiles failed to relieve the fire in my veins. Whatever our father had to say would only add oxygen to the flame.
Ariane read the letter again. “Dear Ariane Rose and Brian Ross, I hope this reaches you should something happen to me. This letter holds the location of the journal. Find a complete set to reveal the answers to your questions. Brian, be careful on Equinox. Use halo amidst Cig’s goon lodge. Avoid Morgan Wayde at all cost. My despair is profound. I never meant for either of you to suffer in solitude. Forgive me, D.C. 523-626-0949.” She threw up her hands and with them, the letter.
It floated in a zigzag-landing pattern toward the door. Before it hit the floor, my quick reflexes snatched it. I had to see the letter for myself. The phone number was off.
“What was Dad thinking?” she asked. “There’s no hint of where the journal is hidden—not a clue. Even the number’s fake.” Her frustration grew with the lines across her brow. “I need a drink.”
“Me too,” I said. The numbers meant something. Pop had purposely repeated my name. Brian, be careful on Equinox. Five words, twenty-three letters, the area code. My lips parted. The
coolness of the tile floor finally calmed the burn. My brain cells sparked into overdrive. Use halo amidst Cig’s goon lodge. Six words, twenty-six letters, the prefix. Avoid Morgan Wayde at all cost. Six words, twenty-five letters, not equaling the last four digits of 0949.
My mind played with the numbers as I drained the glass Ariane handed me. The alcohol raced to my head, numbing my thought process. The calculations in my mind jumbled into scattered digits.
Ariane refilled our glasses and paused when she recognized my perplexed expression. “What is it?”
“Pop left us a clue all right. An anagram.”
“Words to form other words.” Her eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”
I pointed at the sentence about the Equinox and the next one, explaining how each corresponded with the ten digits. “Five words. The next sentence has seven. Add all the letters in each and you get twenty-three plus twenty-six equals forty-nine.” Another glass of wine and my tongue might have unknotted.
“What about the zero and nine before the forty-nine?”
“The number of words resulting from the forty-nine letters. Nine words. Aye, I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“What about the job I asked you to do? Yesterday.”
What about it? I never asked to work for her business and the fact that she was born first shouldn’t mean squat. Shouldn’t give her the right to boss me around. “From this day forward, the journal takes precedence.” Jumbled thought processes ignored her protest as I marched to my bedroom.
The door closed, I opened my tablet and googled Anagram Solvers. The bedroom light flickered at first and then went out, leaving the only illumination coming from the tablet. My back stiffened. A reflection shimmered on the screen until a ghostly image came into focus. I craned my neck to look behind and bolted off the chair, knocking it over. The crash knocked my focus askew.
A semitransparent figure whooshed right through me. Toasted caramel filled my nostrils. The eerie sensation lit my nerves on fire. I spun around to find an apparition in the lucid form of a man baring fangs. “Zanyael?” He rushed me, and on contact, the ghost chilled my core as he passed through me again before scattering into a fine mist. The apparition. Unable to catch my breath, I collapsed on the bed. “Wait…” I managed a whisper, “You hurt my sister. I owe you one.”
Ariane opened the door and breathed in the sweetness that wafted across my room. “It’s him…”
3
VAMPED UP
A top Salisbury Crags, I stepped near the edge to take in the skyline view of Edinburgh. The perfect outlook. The 836-foot remains of glaciated rocks, its summit now an extinct volcano, jutted upward from the city. This rock and I were linked somehow, always my go-to place where I could contemplate, veg out, or enjoy a strenuous hike. In my dreams, it served as a launching point to God knows where.
An hour ago, I left the hotel in search of an identifiable landmark, something to spark a memory of my former life. The lower path followed the base of the crags, allowing hikers an easy climb from Holyrood Park, while the steeper, upper path hugged the rock face. I chose the latter for the panoramic view and to reflect.
While I scanned the buildings below, the autumn breeze whipped my hair into my face. Annoyed, I pulled out a wool scully cap, put it on, and tucked the hair underneath. Then I tottered on the ledge with the tips of my hiking boots extended beyond the cliff. A strong gust blew the cap over the cliff’s edge as though someone had slapped it off my head. Bugger. Pop gave me that cap last year.
A hollow emptiness seized my gut. The absence of memories jeopardized my ability to balance sanity with neurosis. Thank goodness for my sister, she always teetered when I tottered, keeping me somewhat balanced. More levelheaded, Ariane helped me deal with my fits. Forget the nightmares, distinguishing dreams from reality would always be my personal battle.
I fought the sting of despair as my gaze skimmed over Edinburgh Castle, the Royal Mile, and the Scott Monument only to focus on Edinburgh University. According to Pop, I graduated there with a master’s degree in computer science. Yet, I had no recollection of college life, frat parties, or friends.
Ariane supposedly attended the same college with Doctorates of Cellular Biology, Genetics, and Organic Chemistry. We turned twenty a few months before we graduated. Odd how my sister achieved several doctorates at such a young age without any recognition. No doubt, Pop, while employed at the university, kept her genius concealed along with other secrets.
The university and the remote road leading west to Pop’s mansion were the only sites I could connect with since my life as a demon-like creature. Unlike the undead, our father created laboratory-type vampires. Or so we surmised. He tried to convince us that no such creature existed, that we were something grander. Unfortunately, he refused to elaborate as to how grand. Not amped up, I labeled us vamped up since we could exist in sunlight, gifted with superhuman hearing, strength, and eyesight. All pros except for the fangs that elongated from agitation or hunger. Neither one of us drank blood, no need while we took the serum Pop formulated. The antidote rendered us somewhat normal.
A draft rushed through me. The ghost? The spooky visitations, or rather a creature like myself forced this homecoming. As much as I loved my homeland, returning twisted my insides into mush, starting on the day I bought the airplane tickets.
I squeezed my eyes shut, the paranormal vision forever branded in my mind: a veil of mist materialized into a pale angelic man with wispy blond hair and dark turquoise eyes. Sharp fangs warned me the ghost was anything but divine. Goose bumps abound, my arms twitched when my eyes shot open.
The ghostly visits lasted mere seconds, long enough to unnerve me for weeks. Wayde must’ve employed him to frighten us into giving up the journal. Since the unearthly encounters began, I wondered if Pop might still be alive, and if so, did he create this ghostlike Zanyael with the same DNA? Or was he the genuine article? The unearthly, deadly being Wayde had mentioned. While here, I also hoped to find out if Pop was dead or alive and, if so, put a stop to any additional research.
My phone chimed. Ariane’s text demanded my whereabouts. Maybe she recalled a link to her past, the reason I insisted she tag along. Without bothering to text her back, I slipped the phone into my jacket.
A breeze from the west brushed against the nape of my neck. The crunch of loose gravel farther up the path sent my overactive imagination reeling. The rustle closer this time, I shielded my eyes and gazed upward at the summit of Arthur’s Seat where a group of hikers donned their packs to head down after taking a few selfies. Unwilling to share the trek with tourists, I double backed down the same trail.
3 3 3
Dusk had fallen over the city of Edinburgh. Ariane drew the hotel curtains shut, wondering where Brian went for so long, gone for hours. She plopped on the bed and stared at the laptop. After she read several emails, the sound of a keycard clicking in the door released the tension in her shoulders.
“I’m back, Sis,” Brian said in a playful tone.
She glanced up from her laptop to find the mirror image of her copper eyes staring back. Could he detect the tension in her brow as a warning not to make any shallow remarks? While he was out gallivanting, she had to finish the work he neglected.
Since their father’s death, Ariane tried to employ her brother’s computer expertise to help her business, Colton's Online Laboratory Technology (COLT), their only income. She used the adobe ranch in Cave Creek as a makeshift laboratory to handle overflow research from local laboratories. Brian had surrendered to employment only if she agreed to join him on this trip. “Where have you been?”
“Out to dig up some memories.”
Although she had grown accustomed to his obsession with the past, his persistence annoyed her. Ariane closed the laptop. “You said no one knew about our visit. Wrong.”
Brian shrugged. “What do you mean?”
“Doctor Chambers called, inviting us to a Halloween masquerade ball. The jerk wouldn’t take no for an an
swer. How did he find out we were in Scotland never mind staying at this hotel? Did your ghost tell him?”
She unzipped her suitcase and targeted him with her evil-eye look. “I was hoping to avoid our father’s stuffy colleagues.” Rummaging through her clothes, she flung out a dress, some jeans, and several tops, nothing to throw together for a costume. After she pulled out a robe, she slammed the case shut and sat on the bed with her arms folded. Her clothes and laptop, sprawled all over his bed, never made it to the closet.
“Aye, here we go.”
Her brother acted as if he had no idea what to do or say. Best to let the whistling teapot release some steam before he removed it from the stove. This he had learned from experience. Ariane’s temper outshined his, because she didn’t have to keep hers in check the way he did. How he must envy her control.
“What can I say?” Brian said. “I suspected someone knew about our arrival. Pop might be alive. Maybe he called Chambers to arrange a reunion. Maybe Wayde hired the phantom-like vampire. Both worked closely with Pop during the transformation.” Brian squinted as if it helped him focus. He cocked his head and gazed at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Up for a masquerade ball?”
“I have nothing to wear.”
“No little black dress? All you need is a broom.” Brian winked. “And what should I be for Halloween? Too bad I left my steampunk getup at home.”
“Too bad.” Ariane shook her head and laughed. “No fair; I can never stay mad at you.” The visual of his cobalt blue goggles flashed in her mind. Her brother mimicked a frog when he wore them. Her nose wrinkled as she studied his face. “Your eyes are red. Did you take your anti-vamp pill today? You know we can’t afford to miss a dose.”
They had nicknamed the serum, the scientific jargon too tedious to repeat. The elixir not only curtailed their desire for blood, it suppressed the natural gifts evolving inside them. Regrettably, her brother explored them at will and, as a result, suffered from nightmares of strange creatures and unknown worlds. If she hadn’t insisted that they move to America, he might have fallen off the edge of sanity.
Amongst the Fallen Page 2
