White Nights: A Vampires of Manhattan Novel

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “You’re not going to turn all crazy on me, are you?” Karin asked, suddenly hesitant. “You’re not going to murder me or something?”

  “You’re safe with me,” he told her. “Completely. I just need to crash.”

  Oliver was blurry with exhaustion now, desperate for sleep. It seemed the most vital thing in the world. He could barely drag his feet along the street.

  Karin’s flat, in a narrow modern block, was tiny, its only view of an inner courtyard clogged with bikes and wheelie bins. All the furniture was flat-pack or pine, the blinds on the windows lime green and the kitchen sill crammed with pots of herbs. It barely seemed big enough for two bedrooms. Oliver thought the entire place would have fitted in his walk-in closet back in New York. You could tell girls lived there – the Amelie poster on the wall, the pink-and-green floral pattern on the coffee mugs, the vast array of cheap products in bright plastic bottles cluttering every surface in the tiny white-tiled bathroom.

  Karin led him to Anna’s room, and although the bed looked narrow and he had to navigate a treacherous sea of strewn shoes and bags to get anywhere near it, Oliver had never been so glad of a safe, quiet place to sleep. Karin stood on tiptoes to kiss him goodnight, a chaste peck on the cheek.

  “If you need anything, just help yourself,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I have to get up around nine to catch the train to Leksand. But I don’t suppose it’s the end of the world if I miss it. There’ll be other trains.”

  Karin wriggled her fingers at him and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. There’d been a rueful look on her face, as though perhaps she was disappointed that Oliver hadn’t even tried to seduce her. But he’d meant what he said: she was safe with him. He had nothing dangerous or sexy or wild left inside. Just a blank, where his bond with Finn used to be.

  He sat down on the bed – it was narrow, and way too soft – and practically fell back onto the pillow in its pale blue case. He wriggled his shoes off, but didn’t bother to get undressed. Tomorrow morning, maybe he’d allow himself the luxury of a shower. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

  When Oliver woke, it was light outside, but still the milky light of early in the morning. He could vaguely remember his dream, in which a tiny wolf had been gnawing at his stomach, trying to dig its tiny teeth into his insides. But now he was awake it seemed less like a dream and more like plain old hunger. Karin had said he could help himself: he’d be quiet as a mouse.

  In the kitchen he decided against cereal – too loud – and opted for slices of dark, nutty bread that were only a little stale. He loaded piece after piece with jam and butter from the fridge, greedy as a child for the delicious mix of sweet and salty. He felt as though he hadn’t eaten in days. Milk he glugged straight from the plastic container, too thirsty to bother looking for a glass.

  Karin and Anna’s fridge was a mess of magnets and flyers and photos, and Oliver managed to knock something off onto the floor when he was returning the milk to its berth inside the fridge door. A magnet in the shape of an albatross clattered to the floor, bringing down a take-out pizza menu and some other pieces of paper. Oliver stooped down to retrieve them, hoping that the noise hadn’t woken Karin. The clock on the kitchen wall read just after seven, and he knew she didn’t need to get up yet to make her train.

  He shuffled the papers together, wondering if he should attempt to replace them or just leave them on the counter for Karin to arrange. The largest paper was a flyer with an elaborate hand-drawn illustration in black ink. It was in Swedish, but some things made sense: the words “fest” and “Dalmarna”, and the date, June 20th, the summer solstice.

  And the small words at the bottom of the flyer, written in English.

  The White Queen awaits you.

  A recognition, painful and electric, prickled Oliver’s skin. Yes, of course. Yes, Finn was here in Sweden. She wasn’t one of these two-bit blonde princesses thronging the streets and clubs and bars of Stockholm. She was the queen. The White Queen the Blue Bloods had feared. And at last, without the help of anyone on “his” side, Oliver had a lead.

  He needed more information about the event and where it was taking place. For all he knew, going to Dalmarna could be like saying you were going to upstate New York – wildly imprecise. Where exactly was this “fest” taking place? How could he get there? Maybe that train Karin was planning to take – could he go with her?

  Karin would probably be up in an hour or two. He could wait. Couldn’t he? Oliver retreated to the small room where he’d slept and tried to lie quietly, but he was way too wound up. Before long he heard muffled noises from the next bedroom that sounded like Karin getting up, maybe to go to the bathroom. He didn’t want to startle her, but he couldn’t lie around any longer with his heart thudding and every nerve in his body twitching and alive.

  He kicked some shoes out of his path and opened the bedroom door. All the other doors in the apartment were closed apart from the bathroom door. That was wide open. Oliver took a few steps to Karin’s bedroom door, hesitated, then tapped.

  “Karin,” he said in a low voice. “Are you awake?”

  No answer. That was strange, Oliver thought, given he’d just heard her moving around.

  “Karin?” he tried again, and opened the door just a sliver. Still no reply. He pushed the door open to reveal a room identical in shape and size to Anna’s. Even the bed was in the same position. Even the sheets and coverlet were the same pale blue.

  But these sheets were black with blood.

  Karin lay there, eyes and mouth wide open, her head stiff. She’d been stabbed. Oliver could find no pulse. Although her skin was still warm, she was dead.

  18 | Suspicious Minds

  This had been one of the worst days of Ara’s life, and not just because of the smug expression on Mina’s face.

  After a sullen and silent ride to the Venators’ HQ, she was marched through a shiny granite lobby and down the service stairs to an underground suite of dingy offices and stark interrogation rooms. Edon and Mina were waiting in one, Edon sprawled at the table, looking like a wounded animal. Mina sat with her arms folded. Ara getting snagged by the local Venators must have been the ideal outcome for her, and Ara wouldn’t have been surprised if Mina had tipped them off. Now she could have this investigation, and Edon, all to herself.

  “So,” Axel said, gesturing at Ara to sit down. She flopped into the chair like a resentful teen. The sickly green of the walls reminded her of going into hospital to have an ingrown toenail removed when she was about 12, and she still hated the color now. “What on earth made you think it was a good idea to smuggle Araminta Scott into Sweden?”

  “Nothing to do with me,” said Mina, even though it was clear that Axel was talking to Edon.

  “She wasn’t smuggled in,” Edon pointed out, his voice a low growl. He hadn’t looked once at Ara since she entered the room. “She came here as a tourist. She’s on leave from her duties as a Venator and …”

  “And you should know better than to let her get entangled in such a serious operation over here.” Axel looked and sounded angry. Ara’s heart sank, something she didn’t think was possible – it had already dipped, she’d thought, as far as it could go. Axel was going to send her home, she knew, and worse than that: he was going to report her to Kingsley, the last man in the world she wanted to anger.

  “She’s not entangled in anything,” Edon argued. “Look, if you don’t want her in Sweden, fine. But just let her go somewhere else – I don’t know. Paris? London? She’s on a break. She’s done nothing wrong.”

  “That we know of,” Mina added, just to be unhelpful. Ara scowled at her.

  “Well, you know what I know.” Axel sat down on his side of the table and stretched out his long legs. “You two went up to the rooftop bar of Bank because a kid told you you’d find the organizer of the White Queen midsummer rave there. But nobody was in the rooftop bar.”

  “Not a soul,” said Mina. “The place looked as though it had been aban
doned.”

  “Then the club kid who gave you what might be a lead got murdered in the stairwell, and it looks almost certain that a Venator did it. One of my team sees Araminta Scott fleeing the scene.”

  “Not fleeing,” Edon scoffed. “She was seen in a cab nearby, not exactly running down the stairs.”

  “And I’ve told you,” said Ara, raging with the injustice of the accusations. “I don’t have my blades and I didn’t do it. Why would I kill some random Swedish kid?”

  “You tell me. Because he pinched your butt? You’re known for volatile behavior. You start brawls with other Venators just because they look at you the wrong way.”

  Ara said nothing. Axel clearly had no idea of all the black marks on her file back in New York, including death walks and dream intrusion. Fighting in a bar was the least of it.

  “You may have convinced Marrok here that you didn’t bring your blades,” Axel continued, “but you can’t fool a fellow Venator. We all have our ways.”

  Ara snuck a glance at Edon. He looked furious. Wolves hated it when vampires talked down to them. Much more of this from Axel and Edon would probably head straight off to the underworld, never to return.

  “And now,” Axel continued, “you’re talking about spotting Finn Chase in some Stockholm bar and following her all over town. But, conveniently, losing her just near the club where the wolves are investigating, and where their informant is murdered. I don’t know what to believe.”

  “You need to believe me,” Ara insisted. “I was acting on instinct when I thought I saw Finn and followed her. But I swear to you I didn’t kill anyone. I have no reason to lie.”

  “You have no reason to be here,” said Axel. “Bringing unwanted attention to our whole operation. It’s not your job to find Finn Chase in Sweden. Your job is in New York. Kingsley Martin didn’t send you here, and he certainly won’t be happy to find out you’re implicated in any way in tonight’s events. Not to mention the headlines in the papers.”

  “You don’t need to tell him.” This was Edon, speaking quickly, before Ara had a chance to open her mouth. “Please. It would be the end of Ara’s career as a Venator, and she’s too valuable to us all – sorry, to you all – to lose. If she goes back to New York tomorrow, and agrees to lie low for a while, as Kingsley Martin ordered her to do …”

  He trailed off. Axel said nothing. He appeared to be thinking. Ara didn’t know what to think herself, whether to be grateful to Edon for defending her or angry that he was so willing to dispatch her back to New York. Maybe he really did just want to be with Mina alone, two wolves on the hunt. Maybe Ara was just a distraction, personally and professionally.

  “I have to think about this,” Axel said at last. “But clearly Scott has to go home. It’s midsummer on Monday, and you two need to go north to Leksand tomorrow – I mean, today. It’s already morning, for god’s sake. You may as well say your goodbyes now. Scott won’t be returning to the apartment with you. She’s not going anywhere in Sweden but the airport.”

  Mina bounced to her feet and held out a hand to Ara, which Ara ignored. Edon was up as well, approaching her in an embarrassed and cautious way that infuriated Ara.

  “Thanks for your support,” she said in her most sarcastic tone. “You couldn’t wait to get rid of me, could you?”

  “Come on, angel,” he whispered to her, gripping her wrist. “What choice do we have? I’ll do all I can to talk Axel out of reporting you to Kingsley Martin.”

  “Don’t bother,” she hissed, too upset to be grateful. “I managed plenty of years without your help. I’m not your responsibility. You’re nothing to me, and I’m nothing to you.”

  Edon flinched, as though she’d hit him, and Ara felt a pang of something between regret and guilt. She wasn’t sure what she was saying anymore. She just wanted him to hurt the way she was hurting.

  Axel hustled the wolves out and left Ara alone in the bleak room for almost half an hour. She was pacing the floor by the time someone tapped outside and the door swung open.

  “Are you going to keep me in here for …” she began and then stopped. The person standing in the open doorway wasn’t Axel, or another of his Viking Venators. It was Jack Force, his chiseled face unsmiling. She’d seen him in the car with his wife, Schuyler Van Alen, but in person Ara’s breath was taken away: it wasn’t often she got to stand this close to Abbadon, the Angel of Destruction.

  “OK, Scott,” he said, still not smiling. “I’ve agreed to babysit you on behalf of the New York Coven until we can get you on a flight home.”

  “I can … I can just stay here,” said Ara. Kingsley Martin was Jack Force’s brother-in-law. This was one radar she really, really wanted to stay below.

  “Apparently not.” Jack’s tone was wry. “The Venator Chief here doesn’t want to know one thing about you and what you are doing or not doing. I’ve given him my word that I’ll be responsible for you until you catch the afternoon flight out. Your baggage is out here, waiting for you.”

  Ara felt a flash of shame about how her scruffy duffel must look to the Blue Bloods’ glamor king, who was no doubt staying in the fanciest of hotels, but then she kicked herself for being so groveling. She’d done nothing wrong. Not a single thing. And yet she was being sent home in shame.

  “I can just go to the airport now,” she said sulkily. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “Too late! And don’t think I’m going to let you wander loose around an international airport for hours. God knows where you’ll turn up next.”

  “And don’t think I’m going to be grateful to be babysat like a child,” Ara said, blood rushing to her head, forgetting her place in the vampire world. “Because I’m not. I’ve done nothing wrong, and I don’t need minding.”

  “Scott,” he said, his voice weary. “You have no idea of the bigger picture of what’s going on here. You’re a distraction right now. You’re not helping. From what I know about you, you take your work as a Venator seriously, so you should understand following orders better than anybody. Let’s go.”

  On the way down the fluorescent-lit hallway, Ara scooped up her bag and tried to walk with her head held high. She should never have come here. She should never have listed to Edon – and one thing was sure: she’d never listen to him again. In fact, she doubted they’d ever see each other again.

  Venator escorts were waiting in the lobby like some kind of blond guard of honor, but Jack waved them away.

  “It’s a short walk to the hotel,” he told Ara. “And I say I can out-run you if you try to get away. What do you think?”

  Ara gave a terse smile that she was sure looked more like a grimace. She wasn’t in the mood for joking around. Where would Jack keep her in the hotel, she wondered? Locked in a housekeeping cupboard? Chained to the minibar in his no-doubt massive suite?

  Just as they were about to open the door, a short guy with glasses hurried up. He was gazing at Jack with open admiration. A creep, Ara decided.

  “Sir, I know it’s not my place, but I really think you should accept the escort,” he said. “Axel really doesn’t want Scott on the loose again.”

  Jack thanked him, but said they’d be fine.

  “That was Axel’s human conduit, Christian something-or-other,” he told Ara as they walked into the sunlight.

  “I don’t like him,” she said. How dare he? What was so terrible about her being “on the loose”? First thing she’d do was kick his ass.

  “He’s very eager to please,” Jack said, raising his eyebrows. “You should try it some time.”

  Jack seemed to know every shortcut in the neighborhood, wending down narrow lanes and back alleys, as though he’d lived in Stockholm all his life. The morning was fine and clear: Sunday, Ara told herself. It was Sunday. Tomorrow was Midsummer here in Sweden, but she’d be back in the State by then. Whatever chaos was about to happen, with Finn Chase and the White Queen and a new door to Hell breaking open, it was nothing to do with her.

  A shadow
in a recessed doorway appeared to twitch and Ara got a powerful whiff of decaying flesh. The stench of Nephilim …

  “To your right!” she shouted at Jack just as a dark blur whirled out in front of them, fangs glinting in the morning sun. Instinctively Ara reached for her blades, forgetting she had no weapons anymore. The Neph was a dirty cloud now, red eyes like warning signals, and Jack was disappearing into its spiraling dust. Ara leapt into the air and kicked both legs at it: the contact felt like jumping into clogged mud, and the odor was foul. The monster staggered and Ara tumbled to the ground, landing hard on concrete and cracking an elbow. She glimpsed something else glinting – a silver gun. Jack fired and the Neph, its black form ashy like a bonfire, dropped.

  “Broad daylight,” Jack said, wincing as he turned the monster over because of the swampy smell. Its red eyes were wide open, the burn from the bullet square on its forehead. “Nephs are getting bold. Not a good sign.”

  Ara eased herself up. Jack was rummaging through the Neph’s ragged black garments, the gun still in his hand.

  “Nothing,” he said. He was frowning, but otherwise seemed unfazed. He’d fought much worse than an alley Neph, Ara realized. He’d speared demons through their black hearts.

  “Lucky you had the gun,” she said gruffly, bending over to catch her breath. Her elbow ached, but nothing seemed broken.

  “Lucky you were with me.” Jack said. “Without the warning it might have had me.”

  Jack pulled a vial of holy water from his jeans pocket and sprinkled it over the Neph’s prone form. It shriveled into nothing, emitting a noxious black smoke that made them both cough. Some tourists passing the end of the alley peered down and then hurried along. They probably thought Ara and Jack were vandals, setting a litter fire.

  “Nothing to see here,” Jack joked. “Come on, the hotel’s just around the corner. Let’s try to make it there alive.”