Deep In the Woods

by Chris Marie Green

  Kiko had gotten back in time to hear Frank, too, and he was already opening a blood bag for her dad. Dawn took it, then lifted Frank’s head to help him drink.

  “What’re we gonna do?” Kiko asked her.

  Her father’s head felt like a hundred pounds of undead weight in her palm as she eased Frank back to the pillow, his lips ringed by red from the emptied bag.

  “We’ve got to go, Kik, with or without Frank.”

  Her dad did a mild version of his usual grunt.

  At least he sounded stronger after the blood. But not by much.

  “Oh, yeah?” Dawn said. “I hate to say this, but you’d do more harm than good out there right now.”

  “Wait for the blood . . . to work on me,” he said.

  Kiko opened another bag, which Dawn also helped Frank to drink.

  “And how long do you think it’ll be until you’re in fighting shape?” Kiko asked. “An hour? Two?”

  “We can’t afford either one,” Dawn said. “Dusk is just about at our doorstep.”

  Frank finished the rest of the bag, then attempted to get to his elbows, but crumpled backward. He didn’t do it as quickly or bonelessly this time though.

  “Goddamn it,” he said, immediately cringing at his cursing.

  “More blood?” Kiko asked.

  “No, this needs . . . to settle.” Frank shut his eyes. “Start getting everything . . . ready though. I’ll be out . . . soon.” He ended on a spent breath.

  “Dad . . .” Dawn said.

  “Get your ass . . . out there.”

  She knew he was right, so she tore herself away. Kiko took her hand and pulled her the rest of the way out, shutting the door behind them.

  “Not good,” he whispered, probably knowing that Frank might hear them, even with the state he was in. “Are we really gonna take off without him?”

  “What other choice do we have?” Dawn’s thoughts veered around in her head as if they were on a racetrack, skidding and sliding into walls, crashing and burning.

  “Maybe we should stick around and try to have Claudius reveal what we should be prepared for in a trap . . .”

  “And how much time should we invest in that?”

  “I think we should go as soon as we can, too, but I’m just thinking of every angle here. Costin’s obviously in trouble, and I’m not about to desert him, either.”

  Either they were going to this location to save Costin—God, please have him still be alive to be rescued—or entering an Underground. But, even if she was “key,” could she really take down a master vamp who’d no doubt be more powerful than Claudius?

  And how would she do against the dragon?

  Then the worst scenario knifed her: what would she do if Costin was . . .

  No. He couldn’t be terminated. She would feel it.

  She had to.

  Even Claudius remained quiet as silence pierced the shelter. Dawn, Kiko, and Natalia weaponed up; the new girl had just assumed she was going, too, and Dawn hadn’t corrected her. They could use her vamp-dar to anticipate an imminent attack, and Natalia could withstand these vampires’ charm.

  She knew exactly what she was getting into.

  Frank would have to stay back to facilitate communications, but it was clear that Costin might be too deep under the ground for the system to be working—that could be a reason they hadn’t heard from him.

  Dawn tucked an acid gun—one of Breisi’s old inventions the team had previously used for break-ins—into her holster, then some throwing blades into her jacket pocket. She glanced at the wall clock again.

  It’d be getting dark outside now.

  Was she doing the right thing? Or should she give Costin even more time and try to gather more information from Claudius?

  She held back a rush of heat that flared from her chest and through her throat in sharp agony. Costin had used plenty of time up already, and she knew in her gut that something had happened to him.

  Kiko carefully packed his over-the-shoulder man-bag with small weapons, and Natalia was sorting through a variety of items representing different religions, but she was only plucking out crucifixes for these vamps.

  Kiko said, “I just hope the Underground doesn’t have animals in it or is close to critters who’d hear a vampire summon them. That’d be a bitch to deal with whacked out doggies like we did at Queenshill.”

  Brushing a hand over her holstered revolver, Natalia said, “I would hate to kill any animals.”

  Dawn couldn’t take it. “Guys, if you think it’s too dangerous to go, then don’t.”

  Kiko laughed. “Yeah, like I’d ever let you into a situation like this alone, cowboy.”

  Natalia nodded her agreement. The new girl was in this to see if there were any more Kate Lansings down there. She wouldn’t back off.

  “I wouldn’t think less of either one of you if you stayed here,” Dawn said.

  They didn’t say anything else, just kept loading up.

  When they had all their gear in place, Frank came out of his room. Even though his complexion wasn’t as wrinkled or pale—it was almost like his skin had soaked up the blood from the inside out—his legs struggled to hold up the rest of his bulk. It looked like it was the last thing he wanted anyone to notice.

  “You’ll keep watch over Eva while I’m gone?” Dawn asked.

  His forehead furrowed, as if the question perplexed him, or maybe it was like he was trying to grasp an idea that was on the cusp of his mind.

  But then he just nodded and said, “I’ll keep tabs on Costin’s locator, too. It hasn’t read any movement for a long time.”

  Again, that might be because this Underground was lower than even Hollywood’s had been, and the locator wasn’t registering anything.

  “And you didn’t tell me this before because you knew Costin wouldn’t want you to,” she said.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s gone.”

  Frank cupped a hand at the back of her head and, for a flash, she saw what they could’ve been. A real parent and child, not the role reversal they’d practiced all their lives.

  But then he seemed to lose strength, and he got to a crouch, like he couldn’t stand anymore.

  When Dawn started to bend down to him, he waved her off. She didn’t let that needle her.

  “When I get back,” she said, “we’ll find out what’s making you sick, okay?”

  “Just get out there.”

  It was only getting darker outside with every second that passed, but there was one thing left for Dawn to do before they went anywhere.

  She took up her sharpest machete, then approached Claudius, who still sat in the middle of the room in that chair.

  “And the clock strikes the dreaded hour,” he said.

  “We can’t afford for your girls to have all their powers, Claudius. You know that. Besides, all the blood brothers have to die, not only for Costin’s sake but—”

  “For the greater good.” He sighed. “We all have our causes.”

  Dawn wanted to get this over with. The prospect of killing him had gotten tougher for her to deal with, maybe because he’d said some things to her that showed he was a functioning, feeling thing.

  But still a thing that would work them over if he could manage it.

  It barely even occurred to her that there were no burning beauty mark sensations on her skin right now. Just . . . coolness. The hush of something inevitable.

  “If I’d only been able to keep my mind from your psychics,” the vampire said as everyone in the room watched, “I wouldn’t be in this position.”

  Was he milking an act for all it was worth, hoping they would be so in doubt about where they were going that they’d hesitate to leave? Had he really been weak enough to give up information he hadn’t meant to and he was buying time?

  “You would’ve broken at some point,” Dawn said. “Are you sure you don’t have anything else to tell us?”

  He got that sphinxlike grin again. “Wouldn’t you like to spare m
e for more questioning so you would know for certain where you’re off to and how to prepare for it?”

  Don’t beg, Dawn thought. Even though Claudius was the enemy, she didn’t think she could take seeing him brought down so low.

  “Well, then,” the master vampire said, straightening in his chair like a nobleman before a firing squad. “Go at it.”

  But Dawn didn’t. Not even when the Friends eased down his blanket to reveal his throat, which had healed only a little more since the last time she’d seen it. That spoke to the damage done to him—the prospect of him never mending at all.

  “Come, Ms. Madison,” he said. “After centuries of delusion and the spellbinding charm of Mihas, I’ve arrived at the point where reality is rather refreshing. Death by you is surely going to be less traumatic than what might’ve been at hand with my . . . girls.” Bitterness etched his voice as he added, “When I think of all that I did for Mihas. . . .”

  Talk, Dawn thought. Please keep talking.

  “I gave so much,” Claudius said, inadvertently doing just what she wanted him to do. “And this is my end. But he’ll have a harvest to reap, won’t he?”

  He started to shift into another form—it was an obvious habit—but this time, he didn’t change into a woman as much as a combination of all his aspects: part male, part female, the shadow of a cat.

  All of him meshing into one.

  “Strangely,” he added, “I think I might have gone on and on if the girls hadn’t chased me out. I would have always been Mihas’s ‘it.’ ” His wrecked voice got emotional, but it also gathered strength. “But there’s no more of that for me. No more ‘it.’ I’m Claudius. I’m—”

  Dawn had quickly drawn back the machete with both hands and swung it, slicing off the vampire’s head.

  Before she even lowered the weapon, his body had eaten itself up, shriveling.

  Quickly and cleanly, she thought. It’s what he’d asked for.

  Dawn waited for a new burning sensation to crisp her skin, but it never did. She hadn’t enjoyed killing Claudius at all.

  Kiko, Natalia, and Frank came to her, pulling her away from the empty chair, and she let them.

  Then, with the psychics and a garrison of Friends, she took up her weapons and headed for the exit, ready to fight whatever waited for them now.

  COSTIN knew his Friends were fading quickly. All of them save Breisi were slumped on the ground, their movements lethargic, even while they attempted to make him believe the opposite. Breisi’s essence was thin, but she was still inspecting the tunnel.

  He rose through Jonah’s body, requesting dominance from his host, and they traded places with no resistance, Costin slipping into a state of vivid sight and sound.

  After the tunnel and cage blossomed in his vision, he breathed in the dank air, getting back into the rhythm of dominance.

  “You did well,” he told his spirits. Only a quarter of an hour ago, his Friends had secured him and Jonah from the second red-eyed being who’d come to harass them for what seemed like hours as it clearly attempted to learn how the spirits functioned. Costin knew this one was a different shadow than the first creature, even though it wore a mask. The figure was taller, broader.

  But now it had left them alone, allowing the Friends to finally collapse.

  Costin was growing hungry. This body had not rested much while the Friends had guarded him, and he hadn’t fed since leaving headquarters. He would need blood soon, but he did not know where he would get it. And he had rarely gone without Dawn before, whether her blood was bagged or fresh.

  Jonah’s voice sounded through their body. “I suppose it’s time now.”

  “Dusk has come,” Costin said.

  “It won’t be long.”

  “Until what? We fade to a useless, crawling shell?”

  “Until something happens.”

  And Costin knew that his host was talking about the team going Underground, if they had succeeded in isolating the correct location. At least, he hoped that was where they would be headed, and not to him.

  As Breisi returned to the cage, he could sense that she was all but vanishing to the ground with the rest of the group.

  His best, his strongest.

  And as she melted, Costin tried not to feel just as finished.

  SEVENTEEN

  LONDON BABYLON, COMMON AREA MAZE

  YET another game?” Wolfie said as Della and the other survivors, plus Polly and the few girls who’d stayed behind, locked him to a pair of shackles dangling from the maze wall.

  Even hours after deserting the Lion and the Lamb Pub aboveground, they were manufacturing methods to keep him from hearing any of Mrs. Jones’s messages, for if he did, it would be the end of them.

  First, upon their return, an enthusiastic Polly had waylaid Wolfie after Stacy had instructed her to do so while the older girl sneaked into his quarters to nick his mobile. Polly had kept him occupied for perhaps thirty minutes before he’d got restless and went in search of his phone. When he couldn’t locate it, he had scoured the remainder of the Underground, never knowing that, by this time, the Queenshill girls had done away or tampered with every communication device in the area so he might not go back aboveground where he could access them, should he think to.

  Next, Stacy had thought to ease his concerns by lying to Wolfie that she and Della had postponed their feeding and rest time to go above and use a phone to access his answering service. However, she added, Mrs. Jones had left no word of her whereabouts. But Stacy had sent recruits out to comb London for Wolfie’s mistress, knowing odds were the girls wouldn’t find her. This and the fact that Wolfie’s ego was of such proportions that he didn’t think Stacy would possibly fib to him, had consoled him somewhat. Still, the lack of communication from Mrs. Jones had clearly frustrated him.

  And frustration normally caused Wolfie to revert, which indeed he did—back to a place where he wouldn’t have to think about his missing companion for the moment.

  They knew him all too well.

  This made it simple for Polly and the Queenshill students who hadn’t gone to Southwark—the unburned, still-lovely ones—to set about soothing him, lying with him for hours during a binge rest while the Southwark survivors had finally fed and rested themselves.

  And this brought them here, hours later, to the maze where they’d lured Wolfie after he’d awakened in a bid to once again steer his thoughts from Mrs. Jones. They normally kept any shiftless, easily missed boy they stole from above for playtime in this maze, where chains, shackles, and an array of blade toys hung from the walls while the aroma of blood and sweat lined the darkness. Tonight, the room belonged to Wolfie.

  As the schoolgirls finished shackling him, he seemed to go along with their game, though Della knew that, at any moment, he might begin missing Mrs. Jones again.

  So fickle.

  “Now that darkness is here,” he said, “I should really go back up top to roam for her.”

  Stacy and Della exchanged glances as they donned gloves and went to another area to drag out a coil of silver chains they’d set there earlier. They and the other Southwark survivors were still healing and growing out their locks of hair, so they had left the enticing of Wolfie up to Polly and the few others who had remained unscathed.

  Hence, the unburned girls pushed Wolfie against the maze wall, tearing at his clothes while Della and Stacy drew on their lightning-quick speed, then wrapped the links around his bared skin.

  As they stepped back and stripped off their gloves, he asked, “What’s this?”

  He writhed under the silver. They had known he was sensitive to it, since they had inherited the trait from him and not Mrs. Jones.

  A poison, Della thought. A comeuppance. Now they would see how well he ordered them about to find his mistress.

  But, just as Wolfie seemed to realize what they had done to him, it happened.

  A blast of agony, a clawing into the very core of Della.

  All the Queenshill girls hit the fl
oor as one, moaning, screaming, rolling round as if to keep in what was coming out.

  Della had felt pain such as this only once in her experience—when she had exchanged blood with Wolfie and the cat. Her body had seized up then, too, her innards seemingly pulled and tied as her composition altered, her blood thrusting through her and breaking every inner barrier.

  Hurt . . . as if half of her was being ripped out.

  And then . . .

  Then it finished.

  Della lay still, peering round. The other girls were just now gaining their bearings, as well.

  There was something . . . different. Was it the quality of her sight? The smells of the old blood and fear-sweat from the boys the recruits had brought down here for fun earlier?

  Had it all changed in a way she couldn’t begin to describe?

  Della looked up to where Wolfie gazed at them, his mouth twisted in . . .

  Disgust?

  Putting a hand to her face as she sat up, Della ran her fingertips over her cheek.

  The same, she thought. But . . . not the same.

  Then, as Wolfie’s head lowered, he let out a groan, straining against his chains.

  “Gone,” he said. “All gone.”

  That was when Della knew.

  One of the other Queenshill girls said it aloud. “Mrs. Jones . . . dead?”

  As if wishing to test the theory, Stacy, who was just to the left of Della, shifted into her vampire form, letting out whimpers of fright as she did so.

  When she finished, Della tried not to cringe from her classmate, for Stacy was a smaller version of Wolfie as a vampire—hairy, with pointed ears, canine teeth with two longer fangs in a long snout, hunched and beastly in the skirt and blouse made ragged from her . . . change.

  Then Stacy glanced about the room at her classmates while she touched her own face, horror shaping her mouth.

  Wolfie was weeping now, on his knees. He was seeing reflections of an unadulterated him, and it didn’t seem as if he could withstand the lack of Mrs. Jones in the girls.