by Meg Cabot
“Considering that your son is the one who showed up drunk to the meeting Ms. Harper had scheduled with him,” Abraham said, in a matter-of-fact voice, “and then made unwanted sexual advances toward her, I think you might want to reconsider that charge, madam.”
Mr. and Mrs. Delmonico instantly began sputtering in outrage. Detective Rogerson’s pen stilled on her notepad, while Alaric raised his eyebrows. Abraham Holtzman, however, only looked at the ceiling.
Meena wanted to drop her head into her hands and disappear, but unfortunately, she could not. This was a piece of information she’d shared with Abraham in confidence. She hadn’t expected him to blurt it out in front of David’s parents like that.
But she supposed, as her “lawyer,” he’d had no choice.
“That . . . that is outrageous!” Mrs. Delmonico cried, looking close to tears. “My son would never in his life do such a—”
“Meena,” Abraham interrupted. “I know you don’t want to say anything negative about David in front of his parents, for fear of upsetting them. But it’s important you tell the truth so the detective here can get the whole picture.”
“I did,” Meena said quickly. “I did tell the truth.” She gave him an arctic stare.
“Did something happen between you and David that you aren’t telling us, Ms. Harper?” Detective Rogerson asked curiously.
“No,” Meena said. “There’s nothing that I’m not telling you.”
“Well, there must be something,” the detective said. “Because you’re turning bright red.”
Meena realized she’d completely misjudged Detective Rogerson. Sketching those ladybugs had not been a sign that she wasn’t concentrating on the interview.
She’d been sketching them because doodling helped her concentrate better.
“Well, I wouldn’t call it something.” Meena kept her gaze on one of the photos of Brianna’s bright, smiling face in the center of the table. “David was a little drunk, like I said, and yes, all right, he tried to kiss me, but . . . adjusting to life after a new baby can be hard on some couples.” She said this last bit very quickly. “My friend Leisha, the one I was telling you about, who had the baby, says things haven’t exactly been the same between her and her husband, Adam, you know, since their baby Jeanie came, even though he’s a great guy, a truly devoted stay-at-home dad. I mean, she says they haven’t been out to dinner once since the baby came . . .”
As she realized that everyone was staring at her, Meena’s voice trailed off. She could actually feel herself blushing again.
“Not,” she added, “that David said anything like this about Brianna.”
“So,” Detective Rogerson said, “I take it you do not want to file any sort of sexual assault charges against David Delmonico at this time?”
“Oh my God.” Mrs. Delmonico flung a hand over her mouth. Her husband put a comforting arm around her, then pulled her toward him.
Though all anyone could talk about on the local news were the unseasonably high temperatures outside, the air-conditioning in the Freewell, New Jersey, PD had apparently been turned off. It was warm in the conference room. Everyone had a thin sheen of perspiration across their foreheads.
Still, Meena felt chilled, despite the cardigan she’d pulled over her sleeveless dress.
“N-no,” she stammered. “Not at all. And I’m so sorry, but I don’t know anything more that might help you find him other than what I’ve told you.”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Abraham said, in his stern attorney’s voice. He actually did have a law degree. Now he was packing the many legal pads he’d brought with him back into his briefcase. “This is clearly a personal matter between the Delmonicos’ son and his wife. It’s unfortunate, of course, but I’m sure the two of them will be home as soon as they work it out. In the meantime, like Ms. Harper said, we would be happy to help you move the baby’s things from—”
“No!” Mrs. Delmonico cried. “You’ve done enough!”
Her husband said, in a calmer voice, “Thank you, but I think what my wife means is that we have enough family in the area to help us right now.”
“Right,” Abraham said. “Well, Detective Rogerson, if there’s anything more my client can do to be of assistance in your investigation, be sure to contact me, and she’ll be happy to . . .”
His voice faded away as David’s mother turned to face Meena, her blue eyes snapping like Venus flytraps.
“If you know what’s happened to my son, Meena Harper,” she hissed, “you have to tell. I know you know things. David told me after his brain tumor was removed that you knew it was there before they’d ever even diagnosed it. And we all know you knew about his father. So you tell me. Tell me what’s happened to my son.”
Meena froze. She didn’t blame this woman for hating her. She hadn’t done anything except try to help David . . . who hadn’t really deserved her help in the end, it was true.
But he hadn’t deserved to die. Not the way he had. And his poor wife . . .
Meena couldn’t help glancing at the enlarged, eight-by-ten glossy studio portraits lying on the middle of the table. Brianna looked so pretty, and happy, and hopeful.
“I’m sorry,” she said, lifting her gaze toward Mrs. Delmonico. Tears sprang into her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry . . .”
Suddenly a strong pair of hands gripped her shoulders. Someone was forcing her to stand up. Alaric.
“I hope your son turns up soon,” Alaric was saying in his deep voice to the Delmonicos as he steered Meena from the conference room. “Your daughter-in-law, too. Good-bye.”
Meena realized she was shaking.
She tried to hide it. She kept her arms folded as she, Alaric, and Abraham left the building.
But she couldn’t hide her suddenly shallow, ragged breathing.
David wasn’t going to turn up soon, or ever again.
But Brianna. Where was Brianna? She might turn up soon . . .
And when she did, she was going to be hungry.
Chapter Ten
Well, that didn’t go as badly as I feared it would,” Abraham Holtzman said as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
“I wouldn’t know.” Alaric put down the window of the front passenger-side door so that he could stick his elbow out of it. He had never liked being cooped up in a small space, Meena had noticed, a characteristic that had only gotten worse since the two of them had been trapped together beneath a collapsed wall inside St. George’s Cathedral. “Considering no one will tell me what is going on.”
“Wulf.” Abraham shot Alaric a frustrated look. “Remember that conversation we had yesterday in my office about your interpersonal skills? There’s a good reason you are kept out of the loop regarding certain matters.”
“Then why bring me along at all?” Alaric demanded.
“I would think that would be obvious,” Abraham said. “I need you to escort Meena back to the city. She’s evidently become popular with our fanged friends once again.” He smiled at Meena in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry, my dear. Alaric will take very good care of you. I’m sure you’ll recall what an excellent job he did last time.”
Meena, hiding her shaking hands between her knees, felt her heart sink. She was going to have Alaric around, 24/7? Oh, this was just perfect.
“Yes,” she said, with feigned enthusiasm. “Great. And I’m sorry that I didn’t handle this by the book. But I don’t think it’s necessary to reassign Alaric from his normal duties. I’m sure David coming after me like that was an isolated, freak incident—”
“David?” Alaric spun around as much as his seat belt and the confined seat would allow, in order to stare, wide-eyed, at Meena. “David’s the one who bit you?”
“Yes,” Meena said. “Of course David is the one who bit me. What did you think?” Even though she knew perfectly well.
�
�Just that it’s a bit coincidental,” Alaric said, “for anyone to have had two boyfriends who’ve turned out to be vampires.”
“You’re one to talk,” she said, sticking out her chin. “Don’t think Carolina didn’t tell about the time you got tricked into getting it on with that succubus in Prague. I heard they practically had to peel you off her—”
“That situation,” Alaric said, scowling, “has been grossly exaggerated.”
“Uh,” Meena said, “I don’t think so. Carolina showed me the video—”
Alaric looked furious. “That was nearly a decade ago,” he said. “And that succubus didn’t happen to be evil incarnate, the ruler of all that is—”
“Don’t you dare,” Meena snapped, “bring Lucien into this.”
“Children,” Abraham scolded them as he drove, “please. Alaric, you mustn’t be so hard on Meena. Yes, it would have spared us a great deal of trouble if she’d simply called headquarters last night when all of this actually occurred. I would hope by now she’d consider the Palatine her family, and as such, people she can turn to in times of duress. But I also understand why she might have been feeling vulnerable and even traumatized, considering the . . . er, personal nature of the incident, as you did, Alaric, when it happened to you. To have to kill someone with whom you were once close . . . well, that’s a nightmare few of us have ever had to endure, and to which all of us might react differently—”
Alaric had turned back toward Meena. His blue-eyed gaze was as penetrating as an X-ray.
“You staked him?” he asked, looking astonished.
Meena narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes,” she said, waiting for him to ask what had happened to her theory about the lion having to slay the ass in order to live, and how that didn’t mean one had the right to kill all the lions.
But he didn’t. Instead, he only raised his eyebrows and said, “Nice,” sounding impressed. Then he turned back around in his seat to stare out the window.
But she noticed that he was smiling.
And her heart sank even more.
“I’m certain it must have been absolutely terrifying for you, Meena,” Abraham was saying comfortingly. “You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened, or for your failure to abide by standard Palatine protocol afterward. I’m sure you weren’t even thinking straight. I presume you locked yourself inside the car to get away from him? And he tore the door off in order to get at you? That’s how it occurred?”
Meena, who had never considered how she was going to explain what had happened with the car door, bowed her head so he could not see her expression in the rearview mirror and said, “Yes.” She was quite certain she could not lie to Abraham Holtzman’s face.
“It’s a wonder to me you were even able to make it out of bed this morning,” Abraham said admiringly. “We’ll be sure to schedule some post-traumatic stress counseling for you with Dr. Fiske.”
Alaric let out a sound that seemed suspiciously like a snort from where Meena sat. She knew Dr. Fiske was his therapist, and that he didn’t like him. But she wasn’t certain why. Alaric never talked about his therapy sessions.
Her voice catching, she said, “I didn’t even realize he was dead until he was on top of me. And after I staked him, I just thought . . . well, that it was over. I always meant to report it. I just thought it could wait. I didn’t find out until this morning that David’s wife was missing, when his mother called me to ask where he was. Now I know it must have been his wife’s death I was sensing, not David’s . . .”
“No worries,” Abraham said lightly. “Most newly infected vampires do return to their homes within the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours of awakening in their transformed bodies, if they aren’t immediately provided with food. I ordered an extermination team to be assembled and dispatched from headquarters to David’s home the moment you phoned, Meena. We’re meeting them there now, while the Delmonicos are occupied at the police station. With any luck, we should have the wife taken care of by this afternoon.”
Taken care of. She knew what that meant. Tears prickled Meena’s nose. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. All this crying was so pointless. She lifted her wrist to dab at her eyes.
“We’re going to David’s house?” she asked.
Abraham glanced at her questioningly in the rearview mirror. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Oh,” she said quickly, “it’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. She did not want to see Brianna Delmonico taken care of. And she definitely did not want to see where David Delmonico had lived—and had presumably once been happy, before she’d staked him. She just wanted to go home, get back into bed, and go to sleep.
Only she couldn’t even do that, because then she’d dream of Lucien.
“Good,” Abraham said with a smile. “The two of you know what this means, don’t you?”
“It means that the Dracul are back, and still want Meena’s blood,” Alaric said darkly.
Meena inhaled to protest that this was not what it meant it all, but Abraham beat her to it.
“On the contrary,” he said. “This whole attack smacks of an amateurism that I would think the Dracul—if they were still around, which I do not believe—would consider beneath them.”
“Exactly,” Meena said. “And though I know you’ve never believed me about this, the Dracul were forbidden to murder their prey, unless they intended to turn them into one of their own kind. And David definitely wanted to kill me.”
“I don’t know,” Alaric said skeptically. “Tricking the victim into a false sense of security by turning a former lover into one of them seems exactly like something a Dracul would do, if you ask me.”
“But attacking Meena?” Abraham shook his head. “No, no. Think of the anger—the retribution—the prince rained down upon his own clan for hurting Meena the last time. That was truly a fearsome display of aggression. Only a clan that didn’t witness—or hear about—it would dare risk Lucien Antonescu’s wrath in such a way again . . . not after what he did to his own minions.”
“True,” Alaric said. Meena noticed that Alaric, who still had his elbow out the window, as usual, had turned the side-view mirror to point at her. She saw that he was staring at her neck. She looked away.
“But the prince doesn’t seem to be around,” Alaric went on. “So he’s hardly likely to be raining down much of anything on anyone these days.”
“Which makes this an exciting development,” Abraham said. Then, with a nervous glance at Meena, he added, “Er, apart from the tragedy that a young mother is missing and could be a demon, and the death of Meena’s friend. But it means a completely new and different clan may be moving into the Dracul’s former North American territory. We’ve theorized, of course, that this was likely to happen, because the eradication of the Dracul here and in Europe has left ample feeding grounds ripe for the taking . . . particularly since Lucien Antonescu seems truly to be gone. It was really just a matter of time—and which clan. Personally, I felt the Aswang from the Philippines would be most likely to take hold—”
Alaric shook his head. “Not likely. You know they don’t like the cold.”
“But,” Abraham said, “it’s still summer. And we can’t rule out the allure of the Pine Barrens . . . The Pine Barrens of southern New Jersey,” he explained, looking at Meena in the rearview mirror, “has long been considered a hellmouth, due to the fact that they are where the New Jersey Devil fled soon after its birth.”
“Wait.” Meena, who’d been born in New Jersey, couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “The New Jersey Devil isn’t just the mascot of a hockey team? It’s real?”
“Unfortunately,” Alaric muttered.
“Quite real,” Abraham said. “Malevolent beings, you see, expend enormous energy every time they perform one of their nefarious deeds, and then they need to draw more of it—energy, that is—from certain p
laces thought to be linked directly to Satan. The New Jersey Devil is one of those creatures, a cryptid, bipedal, with wings that, according to the most popular legend—though of course we’ve never been able to prove it—was the thirteenth child of a Mrs. Leeds, who was understandably put out with Mr. Leeds for having already impregnated her a dozen times before. Upon its birth in 1735, she was said to have shouted to the midwife that this particular child could ‘go to the devil.’ Well, it didn’t. It became one instead, and flew up the chimney and off to the Pine Barrens, where it’s lived ever since, making those woods, and New Jersey in general, quite an attractive gathering place for the forces of evil—”
“I think we should change the subject,” Alaric interrupted, having caught a glimpse of Meena’s face.
“Oh,” Abraham said. “Yes. I apologize . . .”
But it was too late. Meena’s mind was spinning. Malevolent beings drew energy from places thought to be linked directly to the devil? In all her reading about demons, Meena had never encountered anything about this.
But she supposed it made sense. Why else did the Palatine ask Father Bernard—or the rabbis and other religious leaders with whom they worked—to perform blessings on the homes in which they’d found paranormal entities?
But if places of pure evil—hellmouths, such as the home of the New Jersey Devil—existed, wouldn’t that mean, logically, that their opposite existed, as well? Places of pure good?
She opened her mouth to ask, then became aware that Abraham had continued speaking.
“Once Brianna Delmonico’s been detained and quarantined,” he was saying, “we’ll extract any information she holds about who might have infected David, and, of course, collect whatever DNA we can, since finding the host parasite is always key in stopping any spread of a new vampiric outbreak—”
Detained? Quarantined? That’s what was going to happen to David’s wife?
Meena had never exactly liked Brianna—she was the woman David had dumped her for, after all. How was Meena supposed to like her?
