by Ilana Waters
“Eh, this is bollocks,” said George. “There’s nothing here.”
“I tried to tell you,” I said, taking one more step. “Let’s just go back and—AH!”
There was no “one more step.” There was no anything, because the path we were standing on just ended. I started tumbling into the void, sheer panic enveloping me like water.
George’s hand shot out, grabbed my arm, and used a combination of strength and magic to pull me back up. I leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. My heart felt like it was in my throat, and my stomach felt like it was in my lungs. I waited until they settled back down before speaking.
“What the hell?” I breathed. Then I hit George in the shoulder. “This is what I get for following the likes of you.”
“Sorry, mate,” said George. “I had no idea.” We both held up our lights and looked over the ledge.
George gave a long, low whistle. “That’s at least a fifty-foot drop.”
“I can fly, remember?”
“Yeah, if you stop yourself in time. Good thing I was here to catch you.” He gave me a smug smile.
“If you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have been trailing down this cockamamie path in the first place. Hey, save your light. I think I found something.” I pulled a lever I’d felt on the wall. Sure enough, it turned on an enormous florescent fixture that illuminated twenty feet or so of the space below.
“Are you mad?” George said. “What if it had opened a trap door or the like?”
I held my hand out to where the path ended. “I think we already found the trap door, George.” From where we were standing, we could see long metal tables bearing various pieces of equipment, huge boxes on pallets, and several forklifts.
“I suppose Ferox and his vampires must have done all this.” George stared wide-eyed. “There’s no other explanation; no one else has been down here for thousands of years. But what happened? Did they just forget to build the rest of the stairway?”
“Doubtful. They must have left it off so that only vampires could gain access.”
“Or witches or mages.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure they weren’t expecting us.”
“Might as well have a look-see while we’re here,” George said. Again, he was off before I could stop him, and I had no choice but to follow as he flew down.
“What is all this?” George marveled. There were enormous plants in glass cases beside tables full of beakers and test tubes. Behind them were maps and blueprints lining the walls, with hundreds more rolled up on adjoining tables. But it was the next thing we saw that really caught George’s eye.
“Oh!” he cried, running a few yards down. There we found bizarre-looking body suits that seemed like armor for dinosaurs, as well as all manner of weaponry methodically laid out. What appeared to be miniature cannons stood next to the tables, in addition to many contraptions I didn’t even recognize.
“George, do you have any idea what all this is?” I stared at each incomprehensible object. This little expedition was making less sense by the minute.
“It’s warfare: the next generation!” he cried with delight, his hands running over weapon after weapon.
“Could you not say that with such enthusiasm? And don’t touch anything!” I grabbed his arm as he started to pick up what seemed like a combination shotgun and grenade launcher. “You’ll set something off and blow us both into oblivion.”
“Sorry.” George withdrew his hand, but continued to gape at the scene around us. “It’s just that these things aren’t supposed to be available for another ten, even fifteen years!”
“So how did Ferox’s vampires get a hold of them?”
They obviously didn’t manufacture all this themselves.” I waved my hand at the strange collection of items. “It doesn’t make any sense. Plants, maps, weapons . . . what would they want with—”
A chill ran through me, but it had nothing to do with the coldness of the underground. Suddenly, the words of all the newscasts we’d been hearing recently began coming back to me.
The engineering juggernaut SkyTech asks anyone who knows the whereabouts of the stolen blueprints to come forward—
GroGlobe, the leader in cutting-edge farming and agricultural research, has reported dozens of exotic plants and equipment missing from—
And now more about the leak regarding possible theft from several branches of the United States’ armed forces. Officials wouldn’t confirm if anything was stolen—
I began to break out in a cold sweat. “George,” I said quietly, but he was still going from weapon to newfangled weapon, nodding and smiling. “George!” He looked up.
“You know all those disappearances we’ve been hearing about recently? The various companies who can’t find their equipment and such? Including the US Army?”
George looked puzzled. “Yes, what of it?” But he was already looking around, the smile fading from his face.
“This is where it went!” I said. “Ferox’s vampires were stealing it.”
“But why?”
That cold, clammy sensation now felt like full-blown hypothermia, but of an emotional sort. My hands were practically shaking as I pointed to the military paraphernalia.
“Weapons, to make sure the mortals know they mean business, and to quickly quell any dissenters.” I pointed to the blueprints. “Engineering, architecture, and infrastructure to fashion accommodations fit for vampires, and to prevent a mortal uprising.” My finger moved to the front of the room where we’d come in. “Experimentation with agriculture to . . . to . . . why would they need agriculture? They don’t eat ordinary food.”
“But mortals do,” said George. “And they’d need the mortals to survive, probably after making them slaves.” There was no trace of a smile on his face anymore, and he stared glassy-eyed at the instruments around us. “Hell, who knows,” he murmured. “Maybe they want to figure out a way to grow plants after they block out the sun. What a perfect world for vampires that would be.”
We looked at one another, and then caught sight of another set of levers below the precipice where I’d almost fallen. Like zombies, we walked over to them and pulled down each one.
We turned around to find the rest of the lights coming on. Row upon row of tables, trucks, and machines were illuminated by massive florescent bulbs. We gazed far into the distant underground, but neither of us could see where it ended. My jaw grew slack, and even George was too shocked to form words.
It’s so much worse than we thought, he said to me.
“He . . . he’s so much closer than we thought,” I finally coughed. “Much closer. Ferox could actually do this.”
“But it all happened so fast,” George said softly. “How did they . . .”
“How did they build a palace out of a crypt in only a few days?” I splayed my hands out. “How do they do anything? Strength, speed, and magic, I suppose.”
“But there’s no one here to work these things.” George turned to me. “You don’t really think the vampires are going to be operating this whole mess, do you? The ones we’ve met so far seem to have rocks for brains.”
“It’s tempting to insult them that way, George, but I think they’re more cunning than they look. Even so, no, I don’t think they’ll be working all this by themselves.” I lowered my voice. “As you alluded to earlier, that’s what human slaves are for.”
George’s face was ashen in the overly bright light. This was far more serious than I was used to seeing him. “Guess they’ll be finishing the staircase then,” he said morbidly. “And it looks like we didn’t know Ferox as well as we thought. He’s far more clever and ambitious than we gave him credit for.”
“We have to get back and tell the others,” I said. “Titus, Abigail, Arthur. They need to know it’s imperative we finish Operation Blow the Vampires to Hell quickly—and why.” I flew up to the precipice and beckoned George to follow.
“Agreed,” he said. He waved his hand in the direction of the levers, and a
few of the far-off lights went dim again. “We’ll leave everything as we found it, head back up, and then—”
“What do you two think you’re doing here?” a voice said from below. Then, before we knew what was happening, a blurred figure leapt to the precipice between us and the path that led out. We whirled around to find ourselves face-to-face with Stavros.
“This is what you might call a restricted area,” he said, his steely eyes boring into us. His nose reminded me even more of a hawk now. A hawk that just caught two different prey in its sharp, unforgiving jaws.
“Really? A restricted area?” said George. “Well, then, we ought to ask you what you’re doing here as well.”
I hit George on the back. Fool! Why are you antagonizing him?
“I have a right to be here,” Stavros said, a smile spreading across his face. “Doing work for the master and all.”
“Those sounds we heard, like something scattering on the underground floor. That was you moving about, wasn’t it?” I asked Stavros.
“Yes, you really ought to make less noise when you’re walking, mate,” said George. “After all, you never know when someone might follow and uncover the extent of your evil plot and such.”
Stavros’s face twisted into a snarl, and he made a noise between a grunt and a scream. With speed only a vampire could manage, he pushed both of us off the precipice.
But this time we were prepared. I flipped over and landed on my feet, while George stopped himself about halfway down and stayed there, waving to Stavros.
“Sorry, but we won’t be that easy to dispatch,” he called. “Witches and mages can fly when we’ve a mind to. Why not come down here and we’ll all have a chat about it, shall we?”
Stavros gave another enraged cry and flew down, hands outstretched. He lunged for George’s throat, but George caught his forearms and spun him around. Stavros crashed into a glass case that held something resembling a nasty-looking rosebush. When he got up, his clothing was torn, and his face covered in ugly gashes. Although blood was running down his shirt, the wounds were already healing by the time he picked up a massive knife and came toward me.
What the hell is that thing? I thought to George. A machete? I was gathering magic as fast as I could, but it might not be enough. I started looking around desperately for a weapon.
I think it’s a futuristic weed-wacker, George thought back. “Here!” he cried, throwing me a rolled-up blueprint, which I caught in one hand.
“Are you kidding me?” I shouted. “What am I supposed to do with this? Hit him on the nose and say no?” Stavros was only a few yards away now, pushing aside tables and pallets that weighed hundreds of pounds with one hand.
In answer to my question, the blueprint lit up in my hand, courtesy of George’s fire magic. My air magic had surfaced enough to keep it going, and I threw it as hard as I could at Stavros.
The ball of flame hit him in the chest, sending him crashing into a forklift, where he dropped the machete/weed-whacker. Unfortunately, the fire burned out before it could kill him, but not before he got up again, looking even more like he wanted to kill us.
“George!” I cried. He was still hanging in the air when Stavros grabbed a pallet and hurled it at him. His head snapped up at the sound of my voice, and he rose high enough to avoid decapitation. However, he was not in time to prevent the pallet from hitting him in the stomach. His body doubled over onto the pallet as they both crashed into the wall and slid down.
“GEORGE!” I screamed. It was a natural reaction, but also one that reminded Stavros of my presence. He grinned manically and came at me a second time, fangs bared. Then there was a crackling sound where George had fallen, and I saw him rise in the air again, arms above his head. His cap was missing, but he’d set the whole pallet ablaze, and with a loud bellow, heaved it at Stavros.
This time the vampire really was on fire—and we made sure he stayed that way. I held my palms out, facing each other, and pushed air around the inferno. George and I got as close to Stavros as possible, only a few feet away from the makeshift armory. I saw perspiration run down the sides of George’s face as he kept the flame alive. I felt suffocated by the heat as well. Stavros was flailing and screaming, the latter that ungodly, earth-shattering noise vampires make when they’re in pain. George and I grimaced, but we kept going.
Almost there . . . almost there . . . I thought. Stavros’s screams started to die down, and I was sure we had him. I let up on my magic—only a bit—but it was a bad move. Stavros flung his arms wide and somehow burst out of our spell. The force of it sent George sprawling next to the broken glass case, and me onto a table of things that looked like guns. Stavros was still on fire, of course. But now his burned, melting body was coming at me again—inhuman in sound, appearance, and rage.
“The MK360!” George screamed. “Hit it!”
“What?” I yelled back. Stavros was only feet away, his blackened face and burning flesh like something out of a horror movie.
“The big machine on your right!” said George, struggling to get to his feet. “Pull the trigger!”
“The wha—oh.” I felt a small lever near the back of the MK360. Stavros was so close, I could see where skin had peeled away from his lips, exposing the teeth and jawbone. His hair was gone, his clothes were rags, and he was inches from my face. Unable to look away, I pulled as hard as I could on the lever with one hand, praying like hell it was the trigger.
It was. There was a terrific noise that sounded like pfwoom, and a recoil that threw me rearward and off the table. For a few moments, there was nothing but a mass of gray smoke. When it cleared, we saw Stavros’s headless body stumbling back until it hit the wall and sank, unmoving.
I coughed and coughed, waving my hands in front of me to help the smoke dissipate. George managed to get up and join me, scratched and bruised, wincing in pain. We gaped at the hole the MK360 had made in the bedrock, smoke curling around its charred edges. I imagined whatever manner of bullet or cannon it expelled had taken Stavros’s head along with it.
“How far in do you think that went?” I asked George as we peered inside.
“Not a bloody clue.” He shook his head and glanced over at me. “You look like hell,” he said gleefully. Indeed, my clothes were singed and smudged. I ran my hand over my face, and it came back decorated with soot.
“You, too.” I jutted my chin at him. “You all right?”
“Eh, I’ll live.” George made a face as he pushed back one of his shoulders. He turned around, called the missing cap into his hand, and adjusted it on his head.
“Do you think they heard anything?” I asked, lifting my gaze. “Or felt anything?”
“Not likely.” George brushed himself off. I tried to as well, though it did little good. “We’re too far down for the sound to carry, and earth makes a great muffler. Any vibrations could be chalked up to the kind that happens constantly around here, for one reason or another.” He walked over to what was left of the weapons tables and started putting several of the smaller items in his pockets.
“George! Stop that.” I ran over and grabbed his arm. “Are you mad?”
“What?” he said innocently. “Can’t I take a few souvenirs after all I’ve been through?”
“No, you may not. We’re not even supposed to know about any of this!”
George heaved a sigh. “Fine. Have it your way, killjoy.”
“Besides, we’d better get out of here.” I looked at the splintered pallets, the broken glass, and the general disaster area we’d created. All around us, the smell of smoke lingered, as well as the stench of the vampire’s burnt body. “It won’t take them long to figure out Stavros is missing.”
“Will the ever-loving Father Ferox even care?” George asked as we flew back up to the precipice. “He didn’t seem terribly brokenhearted when he learned of Merula’s passing, considering how he learned of it. Or the untimely departure of—what were their names?— Cronus and Grendel, for that matter.”
; “It’s not his emotional reaction I’m concerned about. If he knows Stavros was checking on something here and then disappeared, he may figure out that someone discovered his secret. Or two someones.”
“Good point,” said George as we started walking back. “We’ll block the entrance to this part of the underground with some boulders. Of course, if the vampires ever get through, they’ll see the colossal mess we made down there. But I wonder if it even matters to Ferox that we know? I mean, it’s not as if he’s ever hidden his intentions about ruling the world from us.”
“It might matter if he discovers we’re hell-bent on stopping him,” I said. “Besides, as my father always says, ‘The less an enemy knows you know, the better.’ ”
George nodded. “A wise man, your father. Homicidal, but wise.”
It took a great deal of pained effort to move enough boulders in front of the entrance, even with magic. As I’ve always said, earth is a stubborn element, and we were nearly worn out.
“Should we bespell the entrance to seal it?” George asked when we’d finished.
I shook my head. “There’s no point. And if they do find it, it might buy us some time if they don’t realize that creatures with sorcery had anything to do with it. There’s enough magic on it just from positioning the boulders.”
“We should’ve turned off that last light before we left.” George grinned, wiping aside the red curls plastered to his forehead. “It’s important to save electricity.”
“Let’s just work on saving humanity first.”
Chapter 21
You can imagine the reactions when we stumbled into Titus and Abigail’s suite and informed them of the evening’s events. Titus spent a good quarter of an hour berating us for being so reckless, which wasn’t entirely fair. I did point out that it was more George’s fault than mine. However, he got most of the sympathy, especially from Abigail as she fussed and fretted around him.
