by Zoe Arden
"How long was it passed out for?"
"Twenty minutes."
"Yeah. You're right. We need to get out of here."
We pushed on the front door but it was locked.
"Where's the key?" I asked.
"Wherever you left it," Anastasia said irritably.
Oh, crud.
"The key around your neck?" I gulped. "I think I left it downstairs."
"Next time I tell you something, listen to me," Anastasia said and pulled me toward the back. I wanted to tell her that my chances of listening to her would be higher if she would be more forthcoming, but there wasn't time for that.
We hurried past the draugr, who was pulling a piece of broken glass from what used to be its forehead, and ran out the back door and into the alley.
"Thank the witches," I said when I felt the sunshine on my face and breathed in the fresh air.
Anastasia was just ahead of me when four figures rounded the corner of the building, almost smacking into us.
"Eleanor! Trixie!" I cried, relieved to see them.
"Ava, duck!" Eleanor yelled. A second later, there was a bright red flare that hit Anastasia square in the chest. She fell to the ground.
"No! Don't hurt her!" I cried.
It hadn't occurred to me soon enough that they were here to save me from Anastasia. They probably thought she'd kidnapped me. I covered her protectively with my body.
Eleanor and Trixie scrunched confusedly. Sheriff Knoxx, who was with them, looked at me like I was nuts. He refused to take his hand from the gun at his side and only stopped moving when he was hovering directly over Anastasia's limp body.
Melbourne made up the fourth person in their group. My aunts had probably still been with him at Coffee Cove when the familiars had shown up. Where were they anyway? I hoped Snowy wasn't doing something dangerous. Not that she couldn't handle herself.
"Ava, what's going on? Why are you protecting Anastasia?" Eleanor asked.
"Stockholm Syndrome," Trixie said. Her green and orange striped tights began to dance a happy little jig. "I read all about it in a psychology book. The victim bonds with their captor. She'll get over it when we get her home. At least she's safe now."
I shook my head, exasperated. "You've got it all wrong. Where's Snowball and—"
"They're all fine," Eleanor cut in. "We left them with Lucy."
"A safeguard," Trixie muttered.
Sheriff Knoxx puffed out his chest. "When Lucy told us what happened, we were afraid Anastasia might come after her again."
"To finish the job," Eleanor explained.
"You guys don't get it," I said. "Neither did I. Anastasia wasn't hurting anyone. She's not the one who killed Pennyweather. Or those goblins."
"Then who did?" Melbourne asked. He'd been standing quietly by, staring at Anastasia's body sprawled out on the cement. I think he was contemplating eating her.
Not eating her, I reminded myself. Drinking her blood. They were two different things.
The back door banged open as if in answer to Melbourne's question. The draugr came stumbling into view.
"RRRRRAAARR!" It jerked toward me then stopped almost as suddenly when it saw there was a group of us now. It cocked its head, its eyes moving from one person to the next.
"Heeello, everyyyyone," it said. The voice it used now was completely unlike my father's. The others just stared, their jaws glued to the ground. If the creature was going for shock value, it had succeeded.
I finally understood the difference between a draugr and a zombie. Zombies were mindless. Brainless. They worked on instinct and nothing more. Draugar, on the other hand, were clever. They knew how to mess with people, and they were good at it.
"Oh, my roses," Sheriff Knoxx said. It was the first time I could ever remember hearing him use that phrase. Normally, he wasn't one to shout expletives.
His face was almost as white as Melbourne's.
"It can't be," Eleanor said.
"Impossible," Trixie echoed.
"Incredible," Melbourne murmured.
"I know," I told them. "Draugar are real."
The four of them looked at me as the creature laughed.
"No, Ava. You don't understand," Sheriff Knoxx said. I'd never seen him look so scared. "That's not just any draugr. It's Jon Pratt. The man who killed your mother."
* * *
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
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"Jon Pratt?" I asked, my throat dry. "How is that possible?" I squeaked the last word out, sounding like a mouse, and had just enough time to wonder what had become of Margaret Binford before the draugr leaped at us.
"Move," Sheriff Knoxx yelled, pushing me out of the way. He grabbed his gun from his holster like a cowboy in a Western movie and fired. The bullet hit the draugr right in the center of its chest. Nothing happened. It picked the sheriff up and threw him across the alley. Eleanor ran after him. Trixie ran after her.
I wanted to follow suit but couldn't leave Anastasia lying so helpless on the ground. One move from the draugr and she'd be dead.
It reached out one bony finger and touched my nose like it was playing a game. I shivered as I sat there, letting it, too afraid to do anything to stop it.
"What do you want?" I asked it.
In my father's voice, it replied, "You. Dead." Its hand flew back, smacking me hard across the cheek, which sent me flying backward.
"Leave her alone," Trixie shouted. Her face was contorted into an angry sneer. The draugr sneered right back.
"You. Dead."
It repeated the words to Trixie like a broken record. I couldn't decide whether it was still playing games or if its mind simply couldn't think beyond murder, death, kill.
Maybe it was operating more off instinct than I'd initially realized. It was simply a different kind of instinct. Whereas every zombie movie I'd ever seen indicated those undead creatures wanted nothing more than to eat brains, the draugr seemed to want nothing more than...
"Revenge," Anastasia said softly as she stirred on the opposite side of the alley. Her words from earlier came back to me. She'd never told me what it wanted revenge for.
"What are you talking about?" Sheriff Knoxx asked, mirroring my own thoughts.
"It wants revenge," Anastasia breathed. Her words were labored. Poor woman, between me and the sheriff she'd really been through the ringer.
"Revenge for what?" Eleanor asked.
"For killing Jon Pratt."
"We didn't kill Jon Pratt," I said. "My father did. And it was self-defense."
"Creatures like this don't care about self-defense," Anastasia said. "Jon didn't even care about preserving life when he was alive; do you really think he's going to be better now that he's dead?"
It was hard to argue with her logic. The draugr moved toward me and my aunts, ignoring the sheriff and Anastasia completely. It opened its mouth and a thundering cry rose from deep in its chest. Watching it, I had no idea how it could make such a sound when it couldn't even breathe. Didn't you need air to talk? I was staring through its chest. Where its lungs should be there was nothing but a gaping hole.
"Valorama!" Anastasia suddenly cried, catching the creature off guard. It had been so focused on me that it had forgotten all about her.
The draugr's body hit the side of the building, falling to the ground. It stood quickly back up, shaking its head as black liquid seeped from its eyes. Was that what rotten blood looked like? Jon Pratt had been dead for almost twenty-one years. It was amazing that he had any blood left in him.
At least now we knew it could be injured. But blood or no blood, the thing kept coming. It was like the Terminator.
"How do we stop it?" I cried.
When nothing but silence greeted my question, panic gripped me. There was only one reason why no one was answering—because they had no idea.
I'd been counting on my aunts and the sheriff
to have a plan. That when they'd shown up here, it was with more than some vague idea that they would "wing it." Then again, how could anyone ever plan for something like this? Until Jon Pratt had walked through the back door, they hadn't even believed draugar existed. They'd thought they were coming to rescue me from Anastasia.
"Get back," Melbourne suddenly said in a voice so low I barely recognized it as his. When I turned my head, his face was even less recognizable. He was transforming before me. The longer I watched, the less I saw of the man I'd come to feel so protective of. The man Margaret Binford had called a monster. The man I'd defended.
Melbourne's incisors sprouted like a budding flower. The points on them were like the tip of a new knife. His skin turned to crepe paper—wrinkling and sagging in ways I never knew a face could. His lips were blood red. His eyes were all pupil. They'd turned into two saucers of black—almost as black as the goo that was running down the draugr's cheek.
"Oh. My. Roses." I uttered, unable to help myself. Melbourne had just gone full vamp.
If someone had told me an hour ago that I'd be standing between a vampire and a draugr, I would have said they were crazy. I wasn't sure what was weirder, knowing that I was looking at a reanimated corpse or knowing a bloodsucker was standing no more than five feet from the veins pulsing in my neck.
Pennyweather had clearly trusted Melbourne, but did that mean I should, too? He'd loved her. He barely knew me. Hadn't I read in one of the books at the library that once a vampire changed into his true form, it was all but impossible for him to change back without feeding? Aside from the black goo, there didn't seem to be much left of the draugr for Melbourne to feed on.
"You killed Pennyweather!" Melbourne howled.
He flew at the draugr. Literally flew.
His feet left the ground as he sailed skillfully through the air, like an arrow about to hit a bullseye. His teeth were white and sharp as an arrow. He smacked into the draugr and went straight for the neck.
There was little for Melbourne to sink his teeth into, though. I'd been right. The torn bits of flesh hanging from Jon Pratt's body offered little satisfaction for a vampire.
Melbourne's teeth hit bone and bounced off. He tried again, only to find air where the jugular vein should be.
The draugr didn't miss its opportunity. It wrapped its arms around Melbourne's waist, squeezing him like a boa constrictor squeezes its prey. The only thing Melbourne had in his favor was that, much like the draugr, he was already dead. Air was of little importance to him.
When the draugr realized his squeezing Melbourne wasn't having the desired effect, he flicked Melbourne off him like he weighed no more than a pea. Melbourne smacked into the brick wall of the building, leaving behind a dent the size of his body. Though dazed for a second, Melbourne didn't let that stop him.
Melbourne rammed into the draugr again. This time, he managed to get the creature to the ground. They wrestled together in a bizarre mix of undead flesh. Later, someone would have to clarify for me just how someone became a vampire versus a zombie versus a draugr. They were all undead, yet they were all so different. Even though Eleanor and Trixie had maintained that zombies weren't real, I had my doubts. After all, that's what they'd said about the draugar.
Melbourne finally found a hunk of flesh that was thick enough for him to bite into. The draugr jolted upright and let out an offensive wail that made my eardrums crack. Melbourne held his mouth to the rotting flesh for as long as he could. I could see the draugr's eyes bulge as he attempted to suck every last ounce of liquid from the draugr's body.
He's drying him out like a piece of jerky, I thought, then realized how disgusting that sounded.
For a minute, it looked like it was going to work. The draugr's knees buckled and it sank to the ground. Then Melbourne's head snapped up. His black eyes turned green. His face glowed pink, which was strangely unsettling. Melbourne's face never glowed pink, even when he was embarrassed. He had no blood in his body to turn it that color. So what was causing it now?
The next thing we knew, Melbourne was lying face down on the ground.
"Is he dead?" Trixie cried. A soft whimper escaped her throat.
"I honestly don't know," Sheriff Knoxx told her. Not exactly the comforting words she'd been hoping to hear.
The draugr either didn't know himself or didn't care to answer.
"W-where's my father?" I asked it, taking a step forward. Anastasia reached out, trying to pull me back. I yanked my arm away. "Tell me! What have you done with him?"
Its colorless lips smiled widely at me. "You. Dead," it said and came at me.
Eleanor struck it with a stun spell. Not strong enough to do any damage, just enough to make it look in her direction instead of mine. It was across the alley in two seconds flat. It picked Eleanor up and swung her over its shoulder.
She screamed and Sheriff Knoxx ran after them. It flicked the sheriff away from it like a bug and marched into the house. A moment later, Eleanor stopped screaming.
* * *
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
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"Eleeeanoooor!" Sheriff Knoxx screamed at the top of his lungs.
There was an old, weathered railing leaning against a wall in the alley. Sheriff Knoxx picked it up and ripped it to shreds like it was a piece of paper instead of a hunk of metal. Chunks of it went flying everywhere. One of them hit his cheek and bounced off. He didn't seem to notice.
I'd never seen the sheriff lose his temper. Not like this. The worst I'd ever seen was when he'd turned that stapler into a gnarled ball the day Margaret Binford had come to the sheriff's station, trying to tell him his business. I had a sudden flash of Margaret with a long, hairless tail poking out from her backside. It swished behind her as she ran after a piece of cheese.
Sheriff Knoxx's face was turning red. His eyes pinched together. He opened his mouth like he was a toad trying to swallow a bug. His knees bent so that they were almost touching the ground. It looked like he was getting ready for a high jump or transforming into some sort of wild animal. I wondered briefly if there was such a thing as were-goblins.
He let out a guttural cry ten times louder than anything the draugr had ever uttered. His body expanded, a slowly inflating water balloon that was about to burst. His eyes bugged out of his head and veins popped from his neck.
"ELEEEEAANNOOOOORRRRRRR!"
He ran through the back door of The Alchemic Stone, breaking it off its hinges and tossing it aside like it was a feather. Trixie and I looked at each other, torn between following him inside the store and staying with Melbourne. His chest wasn't rising and falling and he wasn't moving. Not even a twitch. But that might have been normal for a vampire.
"You go," Anastasia said to us both. "I'll stay with Melbourne."
But before Trixie or I could make a move toward the broken-down door, Sheriff Knoxx came flying back out of it. His feet somersaulted over his head like a falling trapeze artist. A loud grunt echoed from the back of his throat as he hit a wall and slid to the ground. He writhed on the cement for a few seconds before stumbling to his feet.
His face was red and covered in dirt. He leaned over at the waist, his breath labored.
"That draugr punched me in the gut," he muttered, trying to get his breath back. "Freaking Jon Pratt. Why can't he stay dead?"
"It's not Jon," Anastasia said. "Not really. The draugr is just a shell of his former self, nothing more."
"Yeah? Well, his former self would've done the exact same thing to me if he'd had the chance. He was a wicked man while he was alive, and he's even worse now that he's dead."
As if in response to the sheriff's statement, the draugr let out a violent scream from within the shop's walls. Eleanor screamed with it. A terrified, blood-curdling scream.
"Heeelppp!"
Sheriff Knoxx was back through the door so fast if I'd have blinked I'd have miss
ed it. This time, Trixie and I didn't debate with each other. When it came down to helping a living Eleanor or an already-dead vampire, there was simply no contest. We left Melbourne with Anastasia and followed Sheriff Knoxx back into the shop.
Inside the store, the place was a shambles. I hoped there was such a thing as witch's insurance. If not, Anastasia was screwed. Every table was overturned. Every window was broken. Every counter had been shattered to a million pieces and scattered across the floor. Wherever we stepped, it was like walking on the backs of eggshells. They cracked and snapped as we tried to tiptoe over them, giving away our location no matter how lightly we walked.
"There's no way Anastasia can blame this on a tornado," I muttered when I saw the bowling-ball-sized holes in the wall dripping with black slime. What was that stuff anyway?
"What?" Trixie asked, distracted.
"Nothing. Draugar aren't considered a natural disaster, are they?"
There was just enough time for her to look at me with crossed eyes before Eleanor's fresh cries rang through the air.
"No! Zane!"
Trixie and I ran in the direction of her shouts. I only wished they had been coming from downstairs.
The basement was creepy. There was no other way to put it. I had no idea what sort of magical practices went on down here—maybe they'd all been Polly's idea—but whatever they were, they left a dark feeling hanging in the air. The door that the draugr had been locked behind hung on its hinges. Inside, the room was dark. It was impossible to see anything more than a foot ahead of us.
Trixie and I listened for Eleanor and Sheriff Knoxx. If they were breathing, we should hear them. Even if they couldn't answer.
"Over there," Trixie whispered in my ear.
She pushed me gently toward a corner of the room where a soft whistling noise was emanating. We crept toward it, hoping to find that the draugr was so absorbed with whatever it was doing it didn't even realize we were here.
