Overbite

by Meg Cabot

  But, just as Alaric had suspected, he didn’t order them to shoot.

  “That’s the most farcical thing I’ve ever heard,” Mauricio said with a sneer. “I want to find Lucien Antonescu more than anyone. That’s why I ordered Meena Harper dismissed from the Palatine’s employment. We’ve been tracking her via her cell phone ever since she left here. I’m hoping she’ll lead us straight to him, and when she does, we’ll do what you were never able to do in all the months you’ve been here. We’ll destroy him.”

  “Really,” Alaric said, raising a dubious eyebrow. “That’s what I was trying to do when you interrupted me with your fancy nets and very tight uniforms and made such a huge disaster out of everything. But never mind that now. I’m not saying it’s wrong to be frightened of the prince of darkness, because he is the dark lord. I’m just saying you don’t need all the bells and whistles. A simple sword to the heart will do. So where is Meena now?”

  Mauricio looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well,” he said, “we seem to be having a bit of trouble with the satellite at the moment . . .”

  “I see,” Alaric said. “Not to give you too much bad news at once, but do you think there’s a possibility she might have caught on to your plan and tossed her cell phone? And that she and Antonescu might be on their way here?”

  Mauricio appeared more shaken by this news than he ought to have been for a man surrounded by armed guards. “Why on earth would they be doing that?”

  “Well, for one thing,” Alaric said, “I’m going to guess that Antonescu wants his book back. And they’ve probably figured out by now where I am. Meena’s got that psychic thing.” He shrugged. “Her satellite doesn’t go out. At least, not unless it’s being blocked by a hellmouth.”

  Mauricio looked startled, but still didn’t quite catch Alaric’s meaning. “So?” he asked. “I still don’t see—”

  “Well,” Alaric said, “I do know where the book is, after all.”

  Mauricio was surprised. More than surprised. He was staggered. He reached out to wrap his hands around the balcony railing. Alaric saw his knuckles go white.

  “Th-that cannot be,” Mauricio stammered. “Antonescu has the book. He escaped with it last night. You were there. You saw him do it.”

  “He escaped last night,” Alaric said. “But not with the book. I have it. And I hid it. Unless you let my friends go, though, I’m not going to tell you where it is. And,” he added as the boiler let out another moan, “you really should think about evacuating the building. I’ve seen this type of thing before.” He shook his head. “Not pretty. Chunks of mortar and charred flesh everywhere. It really won’t look good in the press that you were in charge and just let us all burn.”

  Mauricio’s gaze darted toward the boiler, which shuddered like an elephant in labor. Alaric saw the men standing around him exchange nervous glances.

  Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen.

  “If you’re lying about the book,” Mauricio warned him, “I will kill you, Meena Harper or not. Go on and get him,” he said to two of the guards. To the others, he said, “Get the rest of them. And then find the building manager. Someone’s got to be able to fix this thing.”

  “Excellent call,” Alaric said, though of course he knew it was far too late for anyone to fix it.

  He rose obligingly when the guards reached him, and didn’t protest when they took him by either arm and steered him roughly toward the staircase. His leg was killing him, and he needed help getting up the stairs. Once they were in the hallway, it would be a different matter, of course. Then he was going to get his hands on one of those crossbows . . .

  “It’s been on its last legs for a while,” Alaric remarked, about the boiler. “They ought to have replaced it a long time ago. But you’ve heard about the budgetary concerns, I’m sure.”

  Twelve. Eleven. Ten.

  “I don’t have time for this discussion,” Mauricio complained. “The archbishop has been breathing down my neck all day about what happened last night. He’s furious that Antonescu got away.”

  “I can imagine,” Alaric said. He was halfway up the stairs. He could hear doors being opened in the hallway, and Carolina’s aggravated, slightly accented voice asking, “Why? Why are we being evacuated? What’s happening?” Alaric hoped that Holtzman had delivered his message. When the boiler blew, it would likely take out the wall behind it . . . the wall connected to the office where they’d locked Holtzman. And the wall behind that room, as well. “But he’ll be glad that the book, at least, is safe.”

  “He won’t care,” Mauricio said. “He wouldn’t listen to me about its significance in the first place. I tried to explain to him that the net wouldn’t work either. But he saw that trick on some television show. That’s the problem with these old men. They won’t listen to anyone younger than they are. Once they get an idea in their heads about something, they always think they’re right.”

  Alaric was up the stairs now. He’d had to lean heavily on the arms of the guards for support, but he’d made it.

  Until he was sure Holtzman and the others were safely out of the building, he was going to behave as if he were on Mauricio’s side.

  Although the truth was, he wasn’t certain whose side he was on anymore.

  Nine. Eight. Seven.

  “Absolutely,” Alaric said. “And what do they know about anything? They’ve never been in the field. Most of them have never even seen a vampire in the flesh. If one of those bloodsuckers walked up to them and showed them his fangs, they’d probably bless him, and think he was cured.”

  Mauricio threw him an amused glance.

  “Exactly,” he said. “They’re completely out of touch. It’s high time for new management. A new guard.”

  “I completely agree,” Alaric said. “Only how do we go about it?”

  “I’ve been working on that,” Mauricio said, “for some time, as a matter of fact. And the answer is, from the inside. It’s really the only way.”

  “From the inside, eh?” Now that he was in the hallway, Alaric could see Holtzman being led away. Unfortunately, Holtzman also noticed him.

  “Alaric?” Holtzman said, looking startled. “Father Henrique? What’s happening? Anything I can do to help?”

  Father Henrique waved reassuringly at Holtzman. “Everything’s fine, Dr. Holtzman,” he called. “Just the boiler acting up.”

  “The boiler?” Holtzman widened his eyes at Alaric. “Oh no—”

  The door to the stairwell to the main floor closed, shutting off the sound of his voice.

  Six. Five. Four.

  The priest went on. “Once we’re fully able to infiltrate from the inside, we won’t have any more of these bothersome worries.”

  “Oh?” Alaric asked. He had glanced at the faces of the guards. He didn’t recognize a single one. Who were they? Where had they come from? He thought he knew everyone in the Palatine. True, there were always new recruits, but the organization wasn’t really that big.

  “Like that disaster in the museum last night,” Mauricio said.

  Alaric’s pulse had begun to drum. He wasn’t sure if it was from lack of food, the pain in his leg, or the anticipation of what he knew was about to happen. It definitely wasn’t from fear. His goal had been to smoke out the bad guys. Those flesh-eating vampires had to be around here somewhere.

  So, he was certain, was Lucien Antonescu.

  The problem was Meena. Why did her intuition only work on other people? Why was she forever showing up at exactly the wrong time, and in the most dangerous place for her to be?

  “It was always very important that the dark prince didn’t get his hands on that book,” Mauricio said. “I tried to tell them that. The book has the intrinsic power of linking Lucien Antonescu with forces beyond his control—beyond the control of anyone.”

  “Then it was fairly stupid,” Alaric said, dryly, “to put i
t on display in a museum in the city in which he currently abides.”

  “Again,” Mauricio said, “not a decision I would have made had I been in charge. And a mistake I’ve been attempting to rectify ever since I heard about it.”

  “Have you?” Alaric asked. His throat was bone-dry, despite all the rusty water he’d drunk.

  Mauricio had almost reached the door to the main stairwell.

  “Once I explained the situation to a few key individuals, of course,” he was saying, “I was given full rein to do whatever was needed in order to gain control.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Alaric said. “Because it seems to me like what you did to gain control was turn an ex-boyfriend of Meena Harper’s into a vampire.”

  “Yes,” Mauricio said, grinning at him. “That’s precisely what I did. Only not just Meena Harper’s ex-boyfriend.”

  It was only then that Alaric noticed Father Henrique’s teeth. Or, more accurately, fangs.

  Three. Two. One.

  Boom.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Meena dashed up the steps and threw open the doors to what had once been St. Bernadette’s Catholic Elementary School. A thick cloud of white smoke hit her in the face. She fell back, coughing.

  “Meena.” Lucien had come up behind her. He seized her by the shoulders and pulled her back down the steps. “Stop.”

  “No,” she said, straining against his grip. “It’s all right. I’m all right.”

  “You’re not.” He guided her back into the courtyard, toward the broken fountain, where the smoke wasn’t as thick. “It’s no good. You can’t go in there. You can’t breathe.”

  “But . . .” she said. Tears had already begun to stream down her face from the acrid smoke. She wiped them away with her wrist. “Alaric—”

  Lucien’s face tightened. He was as worried as she was, she could tell.

  But only, she knew, about the fate of his book.

  “We’ll go,” Mary Lou said, reaching out to give Meena a reassuring hug. “We’ll find him, honey, don’t worry. Smoke doesn’t affect us.”

  “But fire does,” her husband reminded her, pointing at some windows along the building’s basement level. The smoke that had begun billowing from them was blacker than it was elsewhere, a sure sign of flames.

  “Oh,” Mary Lou said, “that doesn’t look good.”

  “What could be down there,” Meena wondered, “that could have caused such a huge explosion?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary Lou said. “The boiler, maybe?”

  Oh God.

  “The boiler,” Meena repeated weakly. “It was ancient. This whole place is ancient. They closed it because it wasn’t safe for children. Abraham said there wasn’t any money in the budget to fix it up, but—”

  She was starting to babble. Lucien put his arm around her, then walked with her until they stood beneath one of the archways and were out of the steady drizzle that had started up again.

  “Meena.” Lucien grasped her by both shoulders once more. “Look at me. I’m quite sure that boiler did not explode accidentally. Do you understand me? That explosion was no accident.”

  It took a full ten seconds for the meaning of what he was saying to sink in. Then, when it did, she turned around and dove once more for the doors.

  This time Lucien didn’t have to stop her from going inside the building. The doors themselves did, by bursting open. Through them began to pour a stream of people, none of whom seemed to notice the three vampires or the teary-eyed, frightened girl in the courtyard. They were too focused on escaping the burning building . . .

  Meena stood at the bottom of the steps, anxiously hoping. The rain began to flatten her hair against her head and turn her faux-leather purse a darker brown as she waited. People streamed past her, and she scanned each one, searching for a familiar face she could ask about Alaric.

  But she didn’t recognize a single person.

  “Who are these people?” she finally blurted out.

  Lucien had come up beside her and wrapped his coat around her shoulders to ward off some of the rain. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “I . . . ” Meena glanced around.

  Her gaze drifted back to the front doors of the building, which someone had now wedged open to let out the smoke and the rest of the people coming through them. The knot she’d been feeling in her shoulders was tighter than ever.

  “I . . . don’t know who these people are,” she said to Lucien. “I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

  “My lord.” Emil stepped up beside them. “If I may . . . this is probably not the wisest place to be standing, as you are the most wanted man in Palatine history, and this is their Manhattan headquarters . . .”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Mary Lou said. “Look.”

  Other people had rushed into the courtyard, local shop owners with bottles of water and umbrellas, and the few stragglers who still happened to be out on the street, despite the weather, all eager to help in any way they could. Meena could hear the sound of sirens off in the distance.

  They didn’t seem to be getting any closer.

  “The streets are flooded,” Meena overheard the waitress from the café shout to everyone. She had her cell phone clutched to her ear. She was evidently speaking to a 911 operator. “The emergency vehicles can’t get through. Something about so much rain in such a short period of time . . . and some kind of underground stream. I don’t know what she’s talking about. I never heard of any underground stream.”

  Meena looked up at Lucien in consternation. “The Minetta,” she said.

  He just looked away.

  But the victims of the explosion at St. Bernadette’s didn’t seem to care. They gathered in the courtyard in the pouring rain, not taking the umbrellas people were offering them, or even lifting a cell phone to call loved ones.

  They just stood there . . . waiting.

  “None of them is coughing,” Mary Lou said tightly. “Not so much as a watering eye in the bunch.”

  Meena’s heart gave a lurch. Mary Lou was right.

  “I thought this school had been shut down,” Meena overheard the deli owner from the café across the street mutter to his son, who’d helped him carry over a box full of umbrellas and water bottles.

  “I heard a new Internet start-up bought the building,” his son said. “Obviously. I mean, look at them.”

  It was true, Meena thought. Everyone who’d come out of the building was lean, wearing black, and looked exceptionally pale . . .

  Oh God, she thought. What had happened? What had happened to the Palatine? Who had done this? Where was Alaric?

  Then Meena heard a cough. Never in her life had she been more grateful for the sound. She spun around . . . then let out a joyful shriek.

  “Carolina!”

  A tall, dark-haired woman who’d just tumbled from the open doorway turned at the sound of her name . . . then, seeing Meena racing toward her, held out her arms. The two women embraced.

  “I thought you were dead,” Meena exclaimed.

  “No,” Carolina said. “Just in New Jersey.”

  “What about Abraham?” Meena asked. “Where’s Alaric? Is Alaric all right?”

  “Abraham is fine,” Carolina said. “He should be right behind me. Alaric, too.”

  A weight she never even knew had been there seemed to lift from Meena’s heart. The pain between her shoulder blades vanished, as well.

  “He’s all right?” She felt almost giddy. “Alaric’s all right? Where is he?”

  Carolina glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know. They were both—oh, there’s Abraham.”

  Abraham, looking far older than his actual age, appeared in the doorway, covered in soot and coughing with considerable force. Meena raced to his s
ide. So did Carolina. The deli owner and his son rushed over to offer him water and an umbrella.

  “What?” Abraham looked perplexed. “Oh my, yes, it’s raining. Thank you. Oh, Meena, hello. Water? No, no, I don’t need water, I’m fine.”

  The coughing fit into which he promptly sank belied this statement, and despite his protests, water was forced onto him. They helped him onto a nearby bench, where he was resting, trying to catch his breath, when his eyes widened at the sight of something standing beyond Meena’s left shoulder. He lifted a trembling finger, his mouth opening.

  “What the hell?” Carolina said, after she’d spun around to see what had startled him so badly. Then her face froze into a similar expression of fear. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Quite the opposite,” Lucien said drily.

  Carolina groped automatically at her belt . . . until she remembered she’d been relieved of her weapon. Then she groaned.

  “Pardon me, sir,” the deli owner said to Lucien. “But do you need an umbrella?”

  “No, thank you,” Lucien said.

  “That man,” Abraham managed to choke out, “is the devil on earth! He is Satan’s messenger.”

  “If Lucien was here to kill you, don’t you think he’d have done it already?” Meena leaned down to whisper to him. “We have way bigger problems than him right now, anyway. All of these people are vampires.” She pointed at the men and women in black who were standing in the courtyard, seeming to be awaiting an order. “The Palatine has been completely infiltrated. Maybe more than just the Palatine. Maybe even the entire Church.”

  “That’s . . . that’s impossible,” Abraham said.

  Carolina pressed her lips together. “No, it isn’t,” she said. “It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along, Abraham. Mauricio. He’s the one!” Then she threw Meena a startled look. “Alaric! He’s still in there. With Mauricio!”

  Meena spun around. The doors to the building stood empty. The only thing coming out now was smoke.

  Meena lifted her anxious gaze toward Lucien. “We’ve got to go in there,” she said. “We’ve got to help him. He can’t see. He can’t breathe—”