The newborn shoved me to the ground and hovered her fangs inches from my neck. My strength was no match for her superhuman power.
Eeeerch! A hawk’s scream cut through the night. It flew at the newborn’s face and clawed at her with its talons. Where the hell had that come from?
“Ah!” The vampire batted the bird away. Bloodless scratch marks shredded her face. “Thirsty. So thirsty,” she moaned.
“Too bad for you.” Cassandra walloped her with the silver necklace. “We’re not soda machines.”
I scrambled along the ground for the silver-tipped keys. As soon as I found them, I spiked them through my fingers and jumped to my feet, ready to battle. I grabbed the newborn’s hair and pulled her backward while Cassandra singed her throat with the pendant. The awful smell of burnt flesh made me nauseous. Cassandra didn’t let go. She kept pushing the pendant harder and harder at the vampire until her neck split open, and the monster collapsed to the ground.
“Don’t let your guard down,” Cassandra said as she gasped for breath. “There might be more of them.”
I panted hard. This whole time I hadn’t dropped my backpack. “I’ve got holy water. Will that help?”
“Why do you have holy water?
I shrugged. “Souvenir.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “That could have gotten you in big trouble.” She scanned our surroundings. Night was falling and the streetlamp above us hadn’t turned on yet. “Go ahead. What are you waiting for? Uncork it.”
I unzipped my backpack and took out the bottle. “Here you go.” I offered it to Cassandra.
“I’ll sprinkle the area and say the ancient prayers while you call my mom. Okay? Tell her we need backup.”
I hurriedly fished out my phone from the backpack’s inner pocket and dialed Natalie’s number.
She answered after a few rings. “Hello? Kate?”
“Cassandra just slayed two vampires,” I said in a rush.
“Kate helped,” Cassandra added, loud enough that her mom could hear. Then she went back to her prayers and chants.
“I’m on my way.” Natalie spoke with urgency. “Tell me what happened. I’m putting you on speaker so Van can hear too.”
I did my best to describe the attacks and how we’d fended the two vampires off. When I told her about the hawk saving us at the last minute, I got shivers. Looking up in the sky, I didn’t see any sign of a bird protecting us now. But it was dark, and I couldn’t see anything anymore, not with my human eyes. Keeping one hand on the phone, I used my other to dig into my backpack for my running flashlight. “Cassandra’s cleaning up the scene,” I told Natalie. “Hopefully, nobody comes by until you get here.”
“Does she have holy water? We’re getting in the jeep right now.” A car door slammed in the background, and I heard an engine rumble to life.
“Yes.” I didn’t mention why she had holy water, or the fact that’d I’d swiped it from Slayer Academy. “It’s a good thing this grove of eucalyptus trees is practically deserted. Nobody’s walked past us yet.”
“Good. Cover the bodies with branches until we get there. I’m handing the phone to Van. Tell him the address so he can enter it into the GPS.”
Cassandra and I followed Natalie’s instructions, and then hid twenty yards away in the branches of an oak tree. Climbing trees made me nervous. I’d much rather burrow low to the ground. But Cassandra pointed out that the tree provided a good vantage point to spy down below in case more vampires came—or local law enforcement. As soon as we saw Natalie and Van, we climbed down to the ground.
Natalie sprinkled more holy water around the corpses and murmured words I couldn’t understand. Van patted Cassandra on the back. “It looks good to me, Cass. There should be no trace of your DNA.”
Natalie stopped what she was doing and nodded. “I agree. Van, wrap these bodies up and bring them to the jeep. The closest drop-off point is the Rosecrans Cemetery. We know a priest there who will handle it.”
“Do you need any help?” I asked.
“We’ve got it.” Van unrolled a tarp and covered the first body.
“Yeah, Kate,” said Cassandra. “We need to go back and get your stuff.”
“Oh no!” I suddenly remembered my moving boxes, which we’d abandoned over an hour ago. “Everything I own is in those boxes.” I tightened my backpack straps. “Except for what I’m carrying.”
“Let’s hope for the best.”
Van and Natalie quickly stowed the two tarp-wrapped bodies in the back of their vehicle and drove smoothly away. Cassandra walked back in the direction of Tioga Hall, and I followed, aiming my flashlight at the ground so we wouldn’t trip on the dimly-lit path. When we arrived at the spot where we’d dropped the watermelon boxes, everything was still there, but the contents were a total mess.
“Someone rifled through my things!” I handed the keys back to Cassandra and dropped to my knees to investigate. All my carefully-folded T-shirts were clumped together in a way that would make Marie Kondo cry.
“At least nothing’s missing, though, right?” Cassandra helped me secure the lids.
“Yeah. I guess my belongings aren’t nice enough to be stolen.” I checked the box with my childhood photo album and trophies, which were the only things that were irreplaceable. Luckily, they were fine.
“Fancy clothes are overrated.” Cassandra heaved up two of the boxes. “It’s a good thing we were both wearing outfits appropriate for combat.”
“Yeah.” I hugged my boxes tighter. “That’s right.” Now that we were no longer fighting for our lives, my stomach rumbled, reminding me that we’d missed dinner. “Is there going to be food at your house when we get there?”
“My house?” Cassandra grinned. “Your house too now, remember? And yeah, there will be food when we get home. Dad will keep a plate warm for us.”
Home. The word tickled my heart and made me smile. Was Slayer Academy my home now? Did I really have a place where I belonged?
“You did a great job back there,” said Cassandra. “If it weren’t for you, I might be dead.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You did the hard parts.”
Cassandra clicked the key fob of her Dodge Durango and unlocked the doors. We loaded the boxes into the back and climbed into the front for the ride home.
Home, there was that word again. It was the reason that I couldn’t stop smiling, even though I’d almost been killed tonight.
“It was a team effort.” Cassandra clicked her seatbelt. “That’s exactly what I’m telling my mom. The whole reason she put me in the first-year class instead of with the second-years where I belong is because she doesn’t think I’m a team player.”
“What? Of course you’re a team player. I mean, except that you don’t get along well with Gretchen. But that’s different.”
“Exactly.” Cassandra pulled the Durango into traffic. “Unfortunately, my mom doesn’t see it that way.”
“If you hadn’t told me what to do tonight, we would have been screwed. And how’d you summon that hawk to help us? That was amazing.”
“I didn’t summon anything. I don’t know how to call birds, and I’ve never seen that happen before.”
“Really?”
Cassandra raked her fingers through her hair. “Yeah. The bird part was freaky.”
“Maybe we were close to its nest or something.”
“But it’s autumn.” Cassandra switched on a blinker, preparing to make a left-hand turn. “Don’t birds usually build nests in spring?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’m not that into birds.” My stomach grumbled again. “Unless I’m eating them.”
Cassandra laughed. “Okay, so are you going to tell me why you had a stolen bottle of holy water in your backpack?”
“It was a souvenir. I took it when I thought your mom and Van were going to tell me that I couldn’t come back to Slayer Academy.”
“Well, whatever it was, that was smart that you had it with you.
It saved me from having to run back to my car. But I know what my mom is going to say: I wasn’t properly warded. All I had was my necklace, keys, and an undershirt.”
“I didn’t have anything.”
“That’s not your fault.” Cassandra turned on the defroster. “You haven’t received weapons yet.”
“Like whips?”
“Yes and no.” Cassandra tapped her hand against the steering wheel as we waited for a red light to change. “Silver-coated shoes, hidden daggers, silver hair pins, silver watch chains—there are lots of weapons a slayer can wear that aren’t obvious. It’s my fault I wasn’t properly warded.” She looked at me sideways. “I was texting my ex-boyfriend while I got ready and I was distracted.”
“The vampire? I mean, the Puritan?”
Cassandra nodded. “He’s at rehab in Oregon at the Commune for New Life and Reformation, run by the Brothers of Temperance. It’s a long story.” She bit her lip. “Don’t tell my mom about me texting Kyle, though. She’d freak out.”
“My lips are sealed.” I stared out the window as the scenery zipped by. Every time I rode in the car, I had to fight the urge to stick my head out the window and feel the wind against my face.
“Do you believe there is someone perfect out there for everyone?” Cassandra asked.
“No, but I wish there was.” People like me didn’t have room for romantic notions. There was no one like me. I was an endangered species. The chances of there being a canine shifter out there in the universe waiting for me to find him were nonexistent. I sighed and slumped back in my seat. “Fairytales only happen in the movies.”
Chapter 19
Sandy, the public liaison for the campus police department, squirmed in her chair. Her bleached-blonde hair was as dry as straw, and what I presumed to be years of tanning had turned her skin into leather. She shuffled papers in front of her and kept glancing at her phone. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she said. “Our department definitely did not close down North Torrey Pines Road last Thursday night. Perhaps that was Campus Maintenance’s doing.”
“I listened to the police scanner.” I jotted down notes in my press book. “I know what I heard. And tell me about Sergeant Jill Byrd from the San Diego Homicide Department. Why did your officers call her to the scene?”
“We have a close relationship with the San Diego Police Department and often interact with them.” Sandy’s phone buzzed and her eyebrows shot up as she read the message. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for any more questions.”
“I’ve only been here five minutes. Students have the right to know what’s happening on campus.” I held up my notebook and pointed to the word PRESS.
“You said you were from The Triton, not The San Diego Union-Tribune, right?”
I nodded. “That’s correct.”
“That’s what I thought.” Sandy sneered. “I don’t have time for you.”
“A student was murdered Thursday night,” I said, my voice steely.
“Nobody was murdered. Where did you hear that?”
“There’s also a campus police officer who’s missing.”
“That’s not true! I mean—” She patted down her frizzy hair. “Where are you getting your information?”
“Certainly not from you.” I closed my notebook and stood up. “If you’re not willing to spend five minutes answering my questions, then that’s a news story in and of itself.” I whipped out my phone. “Maybe I should tweet my questions instead. UCSD has over 33,000 students. I bet a lot of them are interested in the same things I am.” I grinned. “Ooh! I should come up with a catchy hashtag. #UCSDmurders sounds like it would get people’s attention. Don’t you think?”
“Sit down,” Sandy commanded. “And put your phone away. I’ll answer your questions if you promise not to rile people up.”
I placed my palms flat on her desk. “That’s not how it works. You don’t make demands. The Triton is a free press, and I’ll uncover the truth with or without your help.”
What I didn’t say was that I already knew the truth. I probably understood the dangers facing campus better than anyone. But I’d promised Natalie that I’d do my best to lead the discussion away from the paranormal and into plausible explanations for campus violence that the public would buy, like serial killers, or drunken frat boys.
“What do you want to know?” Sandy glared at me.
“What is the campus police department doing to ensure safety right now? Are there extra patrols out, for example?”
“Our officers have ramped up their hours and are working considerable overtime.”
“All of your officers?” I tapped my pen against my chin. “What happened to the lead officer who was on the scene on Thursday?”
“He was injured and checked into Scripps Mercy Hospital that evening.” Sandy adjusted the collar of her shirt.
“Is he still at the hospital?” I asked, knowing full well he wasn’t.
“We can’t give out private medical information,” she said pertly.
“Can’t? Or is it that you don’t know—because he’s missing?”
Sandy swallowed hard. “Again, I must insist you tell me where you’re getting your information.”
“No way. I’m not revealing my sources to you, or to anyone. That’s not how journalism works. Next question. The woman who was attacked a couple of weeks ago, who was saved by two strangers, did she provide you with a description of her assailant?”
“Yes.” Sandy tapped her hot-pink nails on the desk. “But our sketch artist wasn’t able to create a realistic depiction, and we felt it would cause more harm than good if we released the drawing.”
“More harm than good? What does that mean?”
She inspected her manicure, as if trying to decide something. After several moments of hesitation, she selected a paper from the bottom of the pile and slid it over to me.
“What the heck is this supposed to be?” I stared at the image gazing back at me. It was a man in his forties, fifties, or sixties—it was impossible to guess his age. He had short hair and a clean-shaven face, but that was the only ordinary thing about him. His most noticeable feature—the only thing that really stood out, were his fangs. “Is this some kind of joke?” I asked.
The woman shook her head. “No, it’s not, although at first we thought it was. The sketch artist tried to draw the details without the fangs, and every time he did, the young woman tore the paper up and ranted at him for missing the most important detail. We tried to bring her in a few days later for more questioning after she’d calmed down, but her parents had already put her in a psych ward so she could recover from her hallucinations.”
“Maybe someone was wearing fake fangs to freak her out,” I suggested. “Did anyone see who attacked Thursday night’s victim?”
“I’m not going to answer that. We’re still notifying the parents of the woman involved.”
“They haven’t been contacted yet? Why not?”
“We didn’t find any ID on the scene, and…” She paused, like she was picking her words one by one. “The nature of the attack made the use of facial recognition software difficult.”
“Then you should tell people there was an unidentified Jane Doe. Students have the right to know that there could be a serial killer on the loose.”
“Nobody said anything about a serial killer.” Sandy reached for my notebook, but I yanked it away. “Don’t write that,” she scolded. “You can include the part about the Jane Doe—we’re posting that information on our social media channels this morning, but don’t say ‘serial killer.’”
“So, basically, you’ve told me nothing that I didn’t already know, except that you’re actively trying to cover up the truth.”
“We’re not covering up the truth!” The woman frowned. “We’re following instructions from the San Diego Police Department’s Homicide Unit. That’s all I can say. Good day to you.”
“I guess I’ll just have to follow up with Sergeant Byrd the
n.” I flipped my notebook closed. “Thank you for your time.” I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the building. When I checked my phone, I saw a message from my editor at The Triton.
How did it go? Mario asked.
More questions than answers, I texted back. I need to score an interview with someone in the SDPD Homicide department.
Let me know if I can help, Mario offered. I have some contacts at the golf course I could flex if you run into trouble.
Thanks, I texted.
Finish this article by 2 and it can run in the Wednesday paper. Otherwise, your deadline is Friday for the weekend edition.
Got it. I was so focused on texting that I almost walked into a bicyclist.
“Hey!” the man shouted. “Watch where you’re going!”
“Sorry!” I called after him. I hustled across campus to my class on digital media and online journalism, arriving with ten minutes to spare. That was all the time I needed to turn on my computer and fire off an email to Sergeant Jill Byrd, requesting an interview at her earliest convenience. I wouldn’t have time to meet with her before my deadline today, but I could hopefully get it done by Friday. I added her phone number to my contacts just in case. I spent the rest of class listening to my professor and taking notes for the final but also drafting my article for tomorrow’s edition of The Triton.
Who killed Jane Doe? I wrote. And what is being done about it?
Luckily, things at Barktacular were unusually quiet that afternoon, and I was able to finish my article in time to email it to Mario with five minutes to spare.
“Phew!” I said, as I hit the send button. “That was close.”
Tell someone who cares, barked Melvin, who was curled up on a dog bed by a sunny window.
“What’s his problem?” I asked Charlie.
The dalmatian raised one eyebrow and thumped his tail on the floor. I’ll tell you, but you’re gonna have to pet me.
“What is it with demanding interview subjects today?” I grumbled as I massaged Charlie’s back.
The dalmatian closed his eyes and sighed. Melvin’s depressed because Professor Radcliffe hasn’t taken him on a walk in over a week.
Secret Shifter Page 13
