Crossfire (Book Two of the Darkride Chronicles)

by Laura Bradley Rede

  “Do you want to see one of the necklaces?” The girl is trying to be helpful. She slides the velvet board out of the glass case and holds it out towards me.

  Panic grabs me by the throat. My fangs snap into place and I clamp my mouth shut to hide them.

  “No, nothing, thank you.” Luke pushes the board away with one hand and puts the other arm protectively around me. I bury my face in his chest like I’m a little kid, feeling the soft folds of his long black coat swish over me. When I peek up again, I see the bewildered look on the salesgirl’s face.

  “Como se dice?” Luke says. “Car sick? She is ill from too much driving.”

  The girl nods numbly. “Sure. Well, feel better.” She takes a wary step back.

  Luke smiles at her reassuringly. “Yes. Have a pleasant night.” He sweeps me away from the counter and towards the door, just in time for Ander to walk through it.

  Ander sees the expression on my face and his own expression darkens, going from worry to anger in seconds. “What happened?” He growls at Luke under his breath. “I told you to watch her for one minute—”

  “Calmate, perro.” Luke tightens his arm around my shoulder. “She saw a cross in the display case, that is all.”

  “Damn it!” Ander’s eyebrows narrow with concern. “I should have thought of that. Are you okay?”

  “Really, I’m fine.” I shrug Luke off gently. It irks me how both boys act as if I’m made of glass, when really, as a new vampire, I’m stronger than either of them.

  Stronger, but with more weaknesses. How can that even be? “Really,” I say, “it’s no big deal.” But I can’t help glancing warily at the display case, where the sales girl is pretending not to watch us over the top of a magazine. Suddenly the van I was so eager to escape seems like the perfect place to be. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  Ander looks relieved. “Good idea.”

  “No, wait,” Luke says. “Listen.”

  The little black-and-white TV behind the counter has shifted to the national news. I tune in to the reporter’s voice. “Small town Monument, Minnesota, continues to make national headlines as police investigate a bizarre case of grave robbing that appears to have ended in murder. The grave of sixteen-year-old Cicely Watson was found exhumed and the body missing three days ago. In an unexplained twist, the body of a nude man was found near the grave, pinned beneath…”

  I watch in horror as my school picture with my name beneath it flashes on the screen. It is quickly replaced by a photo of the toppled angel statue beside my gutted grave. The whole thing is cordoned off with yellow police tape. “The man’s body is yet to be identified, and the girl’s body has yet to be—”

  “Oh, Lord! Do you mind?” Emmie reaches over the counter and snaps off the TV. She smiles apologetically at the girl behind the counter. “It’s just enough to give a girl nightmares!”

  A few seconds later, we are back in the parking lot. Ander walks beside me, looking less like an alpha wolf and more like a vigilant sheepdog as he herds us all to the van. He looks relieved to see Five and D.J. already there, a few sacks of McDonald’s food and a bag from a drugstore in hand. D.J. has already torn into one of the bags and he’s wolfing down his last bite of Big Mac as I climb into the way-back. He’s clearly loving it, but just the smell of the over-cooked meat and greasy fries is enough to make me feel sick. I try to remember eating French fries with Ander in the back of Zoe’s car, or drinking a chocolate shake at the counter of the Heyday Café, but none of it appeals to me any more.

  The more I try to talk myself into eating, the more my mind goes involuntarily to Emmie. She’s back in the passenger seat now. Unselfconscious, she peels off the old sweatshirt she borrowed from Ander, her curls bouncing back into place as she drags it over her head and tosses it in the back seat. Now she’s just in her white tank top. I can see the v of her clavicle, the curve of her collar bone like the outline of an angel’s wing…

  Emmie must feel my eyes on her because she turns and gives me a smile. “You okay, hon’? Not exactly fun, catching that story on the news, huh?”

  “Not exactly how I thought I’d get my fifteen minutes of fame,” I say.

  “Not to worry,” she says brightly. “They’ll move on soon. Slow news week is all. And they’re looking for you dead, not alive, so the police aren’t exactly gonna put two and two together, now, are they? Still…” She cocks her head and looks at me thoughtfully. “I was thinking it wouldn’t hurt to change your appearance a little, just to be on the safe side. Cut your hair? Maybe dye it?”

  I tuck my long brown hair protectively behind my ear. “You know how many times Zoe has tried to convince me to dye my hair? No deal.”

  “Are you sure?” Emmie asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we love you just the way you are, but it might make you a little less recognizable. I asked Five to pick up some dye at the drug store…”

  Five runs her fingers through her own platinum spikes. “Blondes do have more fun.”

  I roll my eyes at her. Of course, Emmie is being sensible. And when Emmie is the sensible one in the conversation, you know you’re in trouble. “I can’t cut it,” I say, “because it won’t grow back. My physical self doesn’t change any more, remember?”

  “Oh.” Emmie frowns. “I forgot about that.”

  “Everyone has had enough change lately,” Luke says kindly. He settles into the way-back beside me, pushing aside the boxes to make room. “We should leave, yes? Where is Ander?”

  “He went back into the store,” D.J. says. “Here he comes.”

  I look out the window to see Ander trotting back across the parking lot. Why would he go back into the thrift store? He seemed so eager to get out of there.

  “Quick,” Luke whispers, “there is still time to leave before he gets here.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Luke…”

  “Una chisteza, mi corazon. Just a joke.”

  “Well, you gotta play nice,” Emmie says. “We’re in this together, remember?”

  “Ander and I are in this together,” D.J. says. “I’m his pack. You’re his friend, Emmie, and Luke is…” D.J. glares at him. “Luke.”

  And what am I to Ander? I wonder. In the three days we’ve been on the run, Ander and I haven’t exactly had time for a heart-to-heart about our relationship, but it has been on my mind constantly. Sometimes, I feel like being with Ander is hopeless. I gave up my life because I love him, and in the process I became something he can’t love. Simple. To save him, I sacrificed us. Where is the future in that?

  But most of the time, an irrational little hope burns like a birthday candle in my chest. Now that Ander is responsible for D.J., he is the alpha wolf of their little pack, and as alpha wolf he has control over his transformations. That means he doesn’t have to worry about hurting me any more. I could kiss him now, without fearing the passion he feels would turn him into a monster. Not only that, I know his secret now. I’m part of his world. When I think of it that way, I feel like Ander doesn’t have to run any more, like I can finally have my birthday wish. I can be with him.

  As long as he still wants to be with me.

  I watch him climb into the driver’s seat. He still looks like the boy I’ve always loved—that messy, short blond hair, those pale blue eyes, that big athletic build. But he isn’t acting the same. He’s distant with me. He doesn’t look me in the eye. Is it just the stress we’re all feeling, the weight of his new responsibilities? Or have his feelings for me changed? I study Ander as Ander studies the map, wishing I could read him, wishing I had the key.

  “Excuse me, do you know where we’re going?” Luke calls up to the front seat like he’s speaking to his limo driver.

  “Yes, I know where we’re going.” Ander glowers at him. “It’s right here.” He stabs at a point in the middle of the coast of Maine. “Brave Boat Harbor.”

  “How much longer, do you think?” I ask tentatively.

  “Not long,” he says. “We’ll be there before dawn
.”

  Before dawn. Ander pumps the gas, coaxing the old van engine until it finally turns over. My stomach flips, too. We have no idea what we’re heading into, and we’re going to be there soon.

  “Nervous?” Luke’s dark eyes shine at me in the dim back of the van.

  “A little,” I admit.

  He nods. “Perhaps this will make you feel better.” He picks up a cardboard box a little bigger than a shoebox and holds it out to me. “I bought it for you at the someone-else’s clothing store.”

  “For me? Like a gift?” My mind flashes back to the night of the Fall Formal, when Luke bought me the dress, silver-white like liquid moonlight. He sent it to me in a crisp, white box tied up with a silver ribbon.

  The box in my hand is dusty and brown. Is it something romantic? Do I want it to be?

  “Luke,” I say quietly, “we talked about this. We’re both still recovering from nearly bonding. I think it’s better if we keep some distance, just be friends.”

  A pained expression crosses Luke’s face, but he manages to keep his voice light. “Oh, it’s nothing much. Just a token. You know, querida, as friends.”

  I eye him doubtfully, but I open the box.

  Then I laugh. “What is this?”

  “A camera!” He looks extremely proud of himself. “And film!”

  “A really big camera.” I heft it out of the box and turn it over in my hands. It’s an old Polaroid Instamatic with a big ice-cube of a flash bulb. There is dust in the accordion folds and it smells like old plastic.

  “The girl in the shop said the picture slides out here.” He points to a slot in the bottom.

  “Yeah, I know. Our photography teacher showed us one last year.” I don’t have the heart to tell him this isn’t exactly a miracle of modern technology. Does he know people take pictures on their phones? “But, um, why did you buy this for me?”

  “I have known enluzantes who could not see themselves in mirrors but who still showed up on film.”

  I sit up a little straighter. “I could see myself in a picture?”

  “Perhaps. But I was unsure if a modern camera would work because there is no film, yes?”

  “Right. Digital.” I turn the camera over in my hands with renewed interest. “Let’s try it.”

  Luke looks pleased. I glance over the seat behind me. Ander is craning his neck, trying to watch us in the rearview mirror. Luke takes the camera from me and wipes the dust off the lens with his sleeve. Then he puts his arm around me and aims the camera at us both. “Smile!”

  A brilliant flash of light illuminates the back of the van.

  “What’s going on back there?” Ander calls from the front seat.

  “Nothing!” Luke and I chorus. The camera whirrs and spits out a picture. Luke pinches it gently between his thumb and forefinger. “She said we shake it?”

  I nod and he waves the picture gently. I blow on it for good measure, shut my eyes like I’m making a wish. But I only shut them for a second, because I’m dying to see if it worked.

  At first there is nothing. Just murky brown. Then slowly the shadows begin to form, like shapes rising up through muddy water. I see the dark silhouette of Luke’s coat first, and I’m afraid he will be left sitting alone, his arm around nothing.

  But then I see myself emerge like a figure in the fog. It’s shocking how relieved I feel as I watch myself grow solid in his arms.

  Luke gives my shoulder a squeeze. “There you are.”

  And there I am. But not the me I remember. I mean, the long, dark hair is the same. The big brown eyes. But even in the washed out colors of the Polaroid I can tell I am pale. And more than that, my smile…

  I reach up and carefully touch my fingertip to the point of each fang. I hadn’t even realized they were out, but there they are, preserved on film. The girl smiling hesitantly from the Polaroid picture is a vampire.

  I push the picture away, but Luke doesn’t notice. He’s just happy his gift worked, happy for the excuse to have his arm around me again. “Enluzantes endure many things,” he says. “The fear of crosses, the threat of the sun, the fact that they can not dream. But it’s a particularly cruel curse to make a woman unable to see her own reflection, particularly a woman as lovely as you.” His bright smile beams at me in the dark, his fangs a reflection of my own.

  At the moment, not being able to see myself seems almost like a mercy. “Is that why the Hunters put that curse on your family line? Just to be cruel to the enluzantes you make?”

  He shrugs and I feel it in the dark. “The Hunters say they cursed some lines with the inability to see themselves in mirrors so there would be an easy way to tell if someone was undead. Simply hold up a mirror and…” He shrugs again. “But it is more than a test, yes? It is a sort of subtle torture. I knew a woman once—an enluzante who could not see her reflection in mirrors any longer. She had been Jewish in life, and she told me about sitting shiva, the period of morning after a loved on dies when all the mirrors in the house are shrouded. She said when she became an enluzante, it was as if she was sitting shiva for herself forever, as if every mirror in the world was covered for her.” He strokes my hair gently. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.”

  I nod numbly. The first time Luke and I met, I quoted a line from a Chekhov play: I am in mourning for my life. At the time, I had no idea how true that could be. “When you die,” I say quietly, “you are supposed to lose your soul, but I feel like I lost my body because I can’t see it reflected.”

  Luke nods seriously. “I used to believe the undead had no souls. But your soul lives, Cicely. I can see it in your eyes.” He turns towards me, one arm still around me. His gaze catches and holds mine, even in the dark. “And your body…” The cool tips of his fingers trail along my arm, sending a shiver through me. “Your body is still very much here.”

  “Luke…” I want to protest, but it feels so good to be touched. So reassuring. I turn the Polaroid picture over in my hand and there I am. Still real. Still me. Ander once told me he had a mantra—something Michael gave him—to help him stay calm, so I made one up for myself in case it might help. I try to focus on it now. Life after death. Life after death. I take a deep breath, even though I don’t need to any more.

  “That’s right,” Luke says. “Relax.”

  “Alright,” Ander calls from the front. “Time to switch seats. Luke, I want you where I can see you.”

  Chapter 2: Ander

  “Are we there yet?” Five whines from the back seat, then cracks up at her own joke. Oh, I had forgotten what a joy it is to travel with Five, but it’s all coming back to me now.

  “Yup. Almost there.” I’m guessing we should be close—we’ve been driving all night—but the truth is, I have no idea. The last time I was in Maine, I was a little kid traveling here from Vermont on our annual family vacation. It’s not like I was the one doing the driving then—and it’s not like I ever thought I’d be back this way again. When I ran away from home, I intended to stay away from the East Coast forever. But what choice do I have now?

  I squint out the window. The fog has set in and I can’t see a damn thing. I can hear the Atlantic Ocean slapping the rocks on our right and smell the thick pine forest on our left, but that’s about it. Occasionally little cabins and antique shops rise out of the fog like ghosts, but most of them are boarded up for the winter and they’re getting fewer and farther between. Along this part of the coast, little towns can give way to wilderness fast, and this whole stretch of road feels abandoned.

  “What about you?” Five turns to Luke, who’s sitting in the passenger seat. “You’re the navigator. How far do we have to go?”

  “The map doesn’t do us much good if we can’t see any land marks. I say, why don’t we ask the psychic? You can see the future of those you bite and you’ve bitten Emmie, so you must know where we’re going and what we’ll find when we get there. You owe it to us to—”

  “I don’t owe you a damn thing.” Five snaps her an
tique lighter shut. She’s been messing with it all night, flipping it open, snapping it closed, the flame flashing and dying. It’s getting on my nerves. “Do you think all the undead are your little servants? Why not just command Cicely to love you, if that’s the way you feel?”

  “That isn’t how I feel.” Luke glances nervously towards the back of the van and I know he’s wondering if Cicely can hear us. He lowers his voice. “I may have been raised to think a certain way, but I assure you, I have changed.”

  Five laughs bitterly. “Bullshit,” she says. “No one changes.”

  “And in any case,” he adds quietly, “Cicely is special.”

  Five smirks at him. “Sure,” she says. “She has a certain je ne care quois.”

  “Hey,” I say. “Do you think you two could shut up and let me drive?” The road keeps twisting and it’s taking all my concentration to not drive us right into the rocks. I turn up the radio to drown Five out. It’s Luke’s classical crap, but it’s better than Emmie’s country crap, and the creepy violin seems to go with the fog outside. At least it muffles the sound of Cicely feeding in the back and the constant snapping of the lighter.

  Luke takes a deep breath. “Please, Five,” he says with forced politeness, “can you tell us where we’re going?”

  Five laughs. Her lighter is open now, and I can see her face in the rearview mirror, the flame giving it an eerie glow. “Where do people ever go in fairytales? To see the witch in the woods.”

  “Really,” Luke frowns. “That doesn’t—”

  “Hey,” D.J. says. “Is that it?”

  A sign looms up out of the swirling fog. Peninsula Road. I pull the van carefully off to the side, dig the red envelope out of my pocket and slide out the note inside. I know it by heart, but I want to see Michael’s careful script. Naomi Faire, Number One Peninsula Road, Brave Boat Harbor, Maine and then below it, underlined Involve her only if you must.