by Ilana Waters
Abigail sighed. “Who wants another drink?”
“Me!” George and Arthur said in unison. Titus just smiled and ran his finger down my mother’s neck before she got up to retrieve more scotch. He tried to get up himself, but grimaced in pain before sitting back down.
See? I said. I told you that you needed more rest. You’re still sore.
Titus set his mouth in a line, but said nothing. In what amounted to little more than a mind-whisper, I heard him say, I hate your mother seeing me like this.
I snorted. You should’ve seen Abigail when she spotted you via the locater spell. She was speechless.
Titus raised his eyebrows. Really? She stopped talking for half a moment? A powerful spell indeed. We must find a way to bottle and weaponize it.
“I don’t talk too much!” Abigail called from across the room. She put several more glasses on the coffee table, along with more scotch, and began pouring.
“Eavesdropper,” I said.
“All women talk too much,” Titus added.
Abigail stopped mid-pour. “Yes, and our only saving grace is to marry chauvinist pigs.”
I made my hands form a T. “Hey guys, why not call a time-out for once?” George and Arthur joined us, and Arthur reached for the glass into which Abigail had poured the scotch.
“Lovely, thanks,” he said. But Abigail stood up with the glass in one hand, the other hand on her hip.
“You didn’t have a problem with my talking when we were making plans to save your sorry ass,” she said to Titus.
“That’s because I wasn’t present—or conscious—at the time,” Titus said. “Had I been, I’m certain I still would have observed you using far more words than necessary.”
“No trouble, then; I’ll just get it myself,” Arthur said. He took another glass and poured himself a drink, then one for George. George sat back and sipped the scotch as if enjoying a show.
“Fine.” Abigail sat in the chair opposite Titus, her own drink sloshing around in its glass. “Next time, we’ll leave you to whatever fate has in store, however gruesome.”
“Are you two really doing this after a rescue mission?” I asked. “Because if it keeps up, I’m sending you both to your rooms.” There was a moment of stony silence, and several more that involved downing alcohol.
And I thought my family was complicated, George said to me. This time, I knew Abigail couldn’t hear us. I often wonder what a psychoanalyst would make of yours.
A career, I replied. Then, abruptly, Titus turned to George.
“In case I didn’t say it before, my thanks to you, young man. All of you,” he muttered, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of Abigail, Arthur, and me. Abigail humphed and Arthur nodded. But I knew better than to expect flowery, profuse thanks from Titus. He hated admitting he needed help at all.
“Will you be calling your father and Colleen to tell them about this little escapade?” he asked George.
“Of course.” George nodded. “Probably tomorrow, I expect.”
“Well, do give them my regards, won’t you?” said Titus.
“Who’s Colleen?” asked Abigail.
“His sister,” I said quickly. Don’t you dare say another word, I thought to George, and was grateful when he complied.
“Maybe we should turn on the telly,” Arthur suggested. “See if Ferox has been up to anything else.” Before he could reach for the remote, Titus jutted his chin at the flat screen and it sprang to life.
“—in related news, the engineering juggernaut SkyTech asks anyone who knows the whereabouts of the stolen blueprints to come forward,” said a perfectly coiffed newscaster. “And in our next segment, authorities are still investigating the mysterious fire at the old Pinochi distillery. Local police believe it may have been a case of arson or vandalism, and urge anyone with information to call—” Titus turned off the TV.
“Ah, not trying to be a wet blanket or anything,” George said, “but is anyone else wondering why Ferox didn’t kidnap Joshua and Abigail as well? Do you think he still might?”
“Doubtful,” Titus replied.
“Likewise, I hate to bring this up, but are you sure?” I asked him. “After all, you were wrong about Ferox not wanting to kill you.”
Titus looked at me sharply. “I said if he wanted me dead, I would be. He didn’t when he sent me the initial message, but apparently, he changed his mind.”
“Of course,” said Abigail, but she sounded less than convinced.
Titus sighed. “Ferox still knows too little about you both. He probably doesn’t consider you that much of a threat.”
“Well, he’s about to learn differently.” I gritted my teeth and flexed my fingers. Magic crackled and swirled around them, glowing bright and angry. It also hurt like hell, since I was still sore from last night.
“Joshua,” said Abigail, “if he thinks we’re the only two people alive who know about ‘his’ crystal, it’s unlikely he’ll be killing either of us anytime soon. Of course, if he tries to kill you . . .” She balled up her fist and hit her palm, sending sparks of magic shooting through the air.
“Mom, don’t,” I implored. “Besides, it seems our friend Rattler lived to tell the whole distillery tale. So Ferox will soon know what we’re capable of and that Father is still alive.”
“You’ll all have to be even more on your guard now, in that case,” said George, looking serious for the first time in a while.
I raised my eyebrows at Titus. “If you see any nervous bellboys in the security monitor, do not let them up! And you be careful, too, Arthur,” I said, pointing at him. “Remember, Rattler has seen your face. George—”
“Please.” George held out his palm. A ball of flame rose from it, and Arthur gasped. “If they so much as try anything, they’ll be a pile of ash in minutes.”
“Right.” I nodded sharply. “Glad to hear it.”
“This is all nonsense,” Titus said. “The best defense is a good offense.”
Abigail looked at him warily. “And what do you plan to do to Ferox that’s particularly offensive?”
“Oh, nothing yet,” Titus said. Using telekinesis, he poured himself a glass of scotch and swirled the liquid around, watching its amber color in the lamplight. “For now, a simple message will suffice.”
“A message?” Arthur’s brow furrowed. “How are you going to get a message to Ferox?”
“It’s already done.” Titus shrugged and put down the scotch. “I simply took out an ad in the paper.”
“Please, Father.” I put my hand to my formerly broken rib, which had barely mended. “Right now it hurts to laugh.”
“It’s not a joke,” he said.
I blinked several times. “Are you serious? An ad in the—how would that work, exactly? ‘Ancient Roman vampire seeks same for midnight duels that end in bloodshed and carnage, coat and tails optional’?”
Titus closed his eyes as if trying to be very patient with me, which I’m sure he thought he was. “I merely said that I wanted to meet, included the time, date, and place, and waited for him to find it. It was in a form of Latin so old and obscure that only Ferox would recognize it.”
“And how are you so sure he will find it?” Abigail asked.
“My dear, Ferox has spent every moment he’s been awake observing mortals. Their current culture, their technology—hell, even their fashion sense. He even knew who Armani was.”
“Actually, one of his minions had to remind him,” I said.
Titus ignored the comment, but turned to me anyway. “You yourself remarked on how quickly he learned English. He will be reading every newspaper, watching every report, and trying to understand every discovery. He is assessing humanity—its strengths and its weaknesses—so he can find a way to rule it.”
“Let me guess.” I folded my arms. “You know this because, as you said about his first message, it’s exactly what you would do.”
Titus tilted his head at me and smiled. “It’s almost as if you know me.”
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“Well, if there’s anyone perusing the newspaper in that bunch, it must be him,” Abigail said, sipping her scotch. “I doubt those other idiots could read so much as a grocery list.”
“Or need to,” Arthur added.
Titus pulled back his shirt cuff and looked at his watch. “Actually, I believe it’s about time for my ‘date’ with Ferox, as it were.” This time he managed to rise from his seat with only a flicker of pain passing over his face. “Join me, all? Except you, I’m afraid,” he said, motioning to Arthur. “Best if you stay here.”
“What, you mean you’re going back underground right now?” Abigail’s voice rose with every word. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
“Calm yourself, pet.” Titus adjusted his collar and walked to the freezer. “I never said anything about going back underground. This is a perfectly agreeable meeting between two gentlemen in a very well-lit and public place. Well, public, at least.” He thrust his arm into the freezer, and I got a queasy feeling as he withdrew the bloody sack he’d stored there. Of course, he’d wisely put it in a leakproof bag earlier, but somehow that failed to comfort me.
“However,” he said, walking towards the elevator, “you’re all free to spend the evening with Arthur, if you like.”
“Not bloody likely.” George finished his drink in one gulp and got up. “No offense, Arthur.”
“None taken,” Arthur said, pouring himself a third scotch.
“And you’re an even bigger fool than I thought if you think I’m staying here.” Abigail plunked down her glass and stood up as well.
“Looks like I’m coming, too,” I sighed. “Really, Father, what have you gotten us into now?”
“A very enjoyable evening, I hope.” Titus pressed the elevator’s “down” button. “But first, I have to make a stop.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I need a hatbox.”
Chapter 14
I’ve no idea how Titus got an ad in the newspaper so quickly. I can only surmise he phoned the paper just before dawn, while the rest of us were asleep. Regardless, within half an hour we were sitting in the back room of a dimly lit bar, which Titus had reserved. We stood before a large pool table on which he’d placed the hatbox. I looked at the pool cues lining the walls, sizing them up in case I had to use one as a weapon. It’s a shame, really, the way a general’s son is forced to think.
The back room was separated from the rest of the bar by a thick curtain, but it didn’t prevent all the smoke from getting through. It irritated my eyes and throat, and when I coughed, my aching rib made it feel like I was being stabbed in the side.
“You all right, mate?” George asked. “That’s quite a hack you’ve got there. You really ought to give up those cigs.”
“Funny,” I said. “I believe they were advertising for a stand-up comedian at the bar. Why don’t you see if the position hasn’t been filled?”
Everyone’s eyes took some time adjusting to the lack of light, except for Titus’s. They were focused straight ahead, his lips lifted in a tiny smile. A smile I wasn’t really sure was warranted under the circumstances.
Are you sure you want to do this? I asked him. You’re not fully recovered. Hell, neither am I. We’re in no shape to fight if it comes to that.
It won’t, Titus answered, his lips unmoving.
You seem as certain of that as you were that Ferox didn’t have it in for you. I’m just saying it’s not only our lives on the line if this turns sour. Abigail and George are here, too.
Ferox would never be rash enough to make a scene in public, thus exposing the existence of vampires, Titus said. Nor would he make followers who would do so. Not ahead of schedule, anyway. Trust me.
That’s what I’m trying to do. Really, if Titus thought Ferox and his present lot were discreet, I didn’t want to see what outlandish looked like.
Slowly, a corner of the curtain across the room began to move, and in slipped half a dozen vampires—including Rattler. Somehow he’d managed to procure another duster, this one with big red Xs on it. The skin on his face was perfect: there wasn’t a mark to indicate he’d been anywhere near fire or explosions the night before. It made me want to stab him in every one of his Xs.
“What?” said Rattler, after a few moments during which no one spoke. “No hugs and kisses from our good friends?”
“Touch me with your lips,” said Titus, “and it will be the last thing you ever do.” Rattler just looked at his comrades and smirked.
“And is the fair Signore Ferox nowhere to be found?” Titus lifted his chin and looked at the curtain. “I must say, I wish I was surprised. But it sounds like the sort of cowardly behavior I’d expect from him, sending you meaningless lackeys to do his dirty work.”
“Ferox isn’t a coward,” said one of the other vampires, leaning his long, veined forearms over the pool table. I felt Abigail and George tense up, the magic starting to gather in their bodies as well as in my own. I began adding up the distance between myself and the nearest pool cue and dividing that by how long it would take me to reach it. “When he thinks something is important enough to show up for, he shows.”
“Right,” agreed one of the female vampires. This one had short red hair and an ice-blue scarf around her neck. “If he ain’t here, it’s ’cause he doesn’t think you’re worth it.”
“Au contraire, my dear,” Titus said, his hands lingering over the hatbox. It was deep black velvet with a navy ribbon around it. “Once he discovered I survived, he realized I wasn’t going to be as easy to dispatch as he imagined. He thinks he has reason to fear me. And he’s right.”
“You wouldn’t have survived if your nasty, meddling family hadn’t gotten in our way,” Rattler said. He pushed back the sleeves of his duster and stood directly in front of my father, with only the pool table between them. Instinctively, we all drew closer to Titus.
Why didn’t I think to grab a pool cue before they came in?
“But isn’t that what you wanted?” Titus asked innocently. “To draw them out and do away with all of us at once?”
You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? I thought to him.
“What we didn’t want was you killing off four of our friends.” Rattler’s face had gone hard now. Slowly, the other vampires gathered on either side of him.
They’re blocking the only exit, you do realize. My thought went out to everyone on our side of the pool table, but Titus was still unmoved.
“And really, old man, I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you,” said another one of the vampires. This one had a thin, peaked nose that reminded me of a hawk.
“Stavros is right,” Rattler said. “After all, we did manage to sneak away with you once. You might want to be a little more wary of us.”
Titus smiled. “Possibly. But it’s no reason to lose my head. Though I imagine that whole abduction exercise was because your master didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t a rival.”
I’m not sure I believe it either, I thought to myself.
Rattler inhaled sharply, and I could see the veins on his neck constrict. “If you won’t cooperate and submit to his rule—our rule, then we can’t be certain of that, can we?”
Titus chuckled. “Seeing as how Ferox has failed to conquer and rule anything in this century yet, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. But just to show there are no hard feelings, I have a gift for you all.” He patted the hatbox and pushed it over to Rattler.
The vampire with the red hair sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?” she asked. The others wrinkled their noses as well. Abigail, George, and I looked at each other. We weren’t vampires; we smelled nothing.
But Titus should be able to. What the hell is going on?
“Just my little way of saying I forgive you for the kidnapping, the torturing, the near- erasure of those dearest to me. Go on.” He nodded toward the box. Rattler narrowed his eyes at Titus, then at the box. He started to take the ribbon off.
“And you’re going to
want to open that very slowly,” Titus added.
“Don’t!” said Stavros. He grabbed Rattler’s wrist. “It could be a trap.”
“Yeah, or a bomb or something,” said the red-haired vampire.
Rattler rolled his eyes. “Don’t be idiotic, Sasha. A bomb going off would kill them too, remember?” Still, he followed Titus’s advice and opened the box slowly. I noticed Rattler’s singed fingerless glove had a hole where I’d shot him with the arrow. He moved his hand very gingerly, and I congratulated myself on being able to wound him even that much. Too bad it would heal soon.
There was some dark blue tissue paper on the surface of the box. Instead of taking it out, Rattler tipped the box upside down and dumped out the contents. His eyes bulged and his face went even paler than it already was. His companions cried out and leapt back. Abigail’s hand went to her mouth, George’s jaw dropped, and I tried to hang onto the contents of my stomach.
Merula’s head had rolled out and all the way down to the left-hand side of the pool table.
Her eyes were wide open and terrified, as I imagine they must have been at the moment Titus killed her. Ice from the freezer had formed droplets on her hair and lashes, though the droplets were melting now. Her entire face had a blue, waxy look about it, and the bottom of her neck oozed blood onto the green felt.
So that’s what they smelled, I thought.
Except Titus, of course, who had pretended not to smell anything. “Do deliver that message to your master, won’t you?” he said to Rattler and the other vampires. I recognized his general’s voice—the one he must have used when thousands of men were under his command. “Show him that I haven’t changed as much as he’d like to believe. Show him what happens to those who trouble me, or any member of my family.”
Rattler’s face went from shocked to enraged to very, very twisted. He snarled at Titus and reached over as if to strangle him across the table. Immediately, Abigail’s hands lit up with magic. George and I called pool cues into our hands and pointed them at the vampires. No, no—it’s not about a stake through the heart. Does anyone really believe that anymore? But it’s a terrific way to focus magic. Plus, being stabbed with a cue hurts like hell, even for vampires.
