Crossfire (Book Two of the Darkride Chronicles)

by Laura Bradley Rede

  The rest of us head into the kitchen. Five is already at the table, headphones on, lost in her music. Luke sits down beside her and picks up the book he had been reading, one of Naomi’s dusty, leather-bound doorstops. Emmie is at the stove, singing a Whitney Houston song while she flips an omelet. Cicely perches on the stool beside her, the way she used to sit near her mom while she baked.

  I tug a lock of her blue hair as I pass. “Careful,” I say. “If you watch Emmie too much you might actually learn to cook.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Cicely says, “and that would be ironic, considering I don’t actually eat.”

  “Vampires make horrible cooks,” Emmie says. “No offense.” She slides the omelet onto a plate and passes it to Cicely. “Stuff just doesn’t taste the same to them.”

  “Or smell the same.” Cicely wrinkles her nose and passes the omelet quickly to me. “I totally get the garlic thing now. And hotdogs! God, hotdogs smell like gym socks! In all those old movies, they should totally have been scaring vampires away with holy water and hotdogs.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Spooky. I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

  D.J. shuffles in, snags the omelet out of my hand and skulks off to the living room to turn on one of his cop shows. “Hey!” I say. “Alpha eats first!”

  He ignores me.

  “Although,” Cicely says wistfully, “I am kind of wishing I had learned to bake. I miss my mom’s cupcakes.”

  “Just give me fair warning when you decide to try baking,” I say, “so I can have the fire-extinguisher ready.”

  “Now, don’t pick on Cicely,” Luke says, without looking up from his book.

  “Yeah!” Cicely gives me a smug look. “Don’t pick on—”

  I hear a car turning onto the drive outside.

  Cicely hears it at the same instant. We look at each other, surprised. Luke lifts his head from his book, suddenly alert.

  “What is it?” Emmie says. Then the sound reaches her, too, and her already wide eyes grow a little wider. “Well, who do you think…?”

  I shake my head. “No idea.” In all the time we’ve been here, no one has driven down Peninsula Road. The closest cabins are all closed for the season. There’s no reason to come down this street unless you’re coming here.

  “Five,” I say, “you haven’t predicted any—” But Five is already gone, disappeared out the back door.

  I head for the living room. “Hey!” D.J. protests as I snap off the TV, but I shush him with a look. Cicely dashes soundlessly to the front windows, peeling back a corner of the heavy drapes to peer outside.

  “I’m sure it’s nobody,” Emmie says airily. “Some friend of Naomi’s, or a shipment of hay, or—”

  Cicely drops the curtain. “It’s the police.”

  “It’s who?” Naomi has just come back in through the back door, a rain-soaked Grimm perched on her shoulder.

  “Do you think they heard the gun shots this morning?” I say. Emmie and I were doing target practice. (Not that Emmie needs it. Her dad taught her to shoot as a kid and she’s actually really good).

  “No one’s close enough to hear that,” Naomi says. “It has to be something else.”

  “Cicely,” Luke whispers fiercely, “go upstairs!”

  There’s a sharp rap at the door.

  “Too late for that!” Emmie puts on a big, fake smile. “Everybody just act natural. Naomi, you get the door.”

  We all settle stiffly in the living room and try to act like we’re not freaking out as Naomi opens the door.

  The cop is a middle-aged guy with his hat in his hands. His gray hair is receding in a widow’s peak and his police-issue jacket is tight across his paunch. He seems to be alone, unless there’s someone waiting in the car. I relax just one iota. We could definitely take him.

  “Bud!” Naomi cries. “What are you doing here?”

  “Good evening, Miss Naomi.” His Maine accent is thick. “I wanted to talk to you about—”

  He looks beyond her and notices the rest of us watching. “Oh!” He puts his hat back on and sucks in his gut. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  “Friends,” says Naomi. “Staying here for a few weeks.”

  The cop’s eyes scan the room. He lingers for a second on Cicely, but probably because of her blue hair, not because he recognizes her as the girl whose body was supposedly grave-robbed thousands of miles away. If he notices anything unusual about the rest of us, he doesn’t let on. “Well,” he says, “smart of you folks to come in the off-season. Practically have the place to yourselves.” He turns back to Naomi and lowers his voice. “Can we have a word alone?”

  “It’s okay, Bud. We can talk in front of them.” She ushers him over to the armchair and he sits heavily. Emmie ducks out to the kitchen and swoops back in with a fresh cup of coffee and a smile.

  He nods at her. “Much obliged.” But he doesn’t smile back. Instead he just looks around at us, his watery little eyes full of worry. “And I suppose you’re right to talk in front of your friends, Naomi. You should all hear this, if you’re all going to be staying out here alone. The truth is, there’s been a murder.”

  Cicely and I exchange a look. We’ve seen enough people die in the past few weeks. We’re not up for any more.

  “Murder! Murder!” Grimm flaps nervously to the bookcase and stands there, hopping from foot to foot.

  “No! Here in Brave Boat Harbor?” Naomi looks stunned. “Who was killed?”

  “Becky Clarrik.”

  “From the diner?” Naomi sinks onto the couch beside me. “I barely knew her. Used to buy my coffee from her… she was just a few years ahead of me in school…”

  The cop nods. “She was young, poor thing. Found her dead this morning in the gardens at Hawthorn House.”

  “Hawthorn House?” Cicely says. “Which one is that?”

  “The historical mansion on the town square. They keep it as a museum. It’s the one with the—”

  “—gazebo,” Cicely finishes. “Near the church. Yes, I know it.” There’s a strange expression on her face. She looks ill. It strikes me as strange she knows the place at all. I wasn’t aware she’d ever gone into town.

  Naomi shakes her head sadly. “Any idea who did it?”

  The cop leans forward in his chair. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  Every muscle in my body goes tense. Are we suspects? Worse, does he know what we are? Has he connected us somehow to my brother’s dead body, back in Minnesota?

  Luke catches my eye. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. His look clearly says we can take him.

  I nod once. Yes. But not yet.

  “I don’t understand,” Naomi says. “How can we be of help, Bud? I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Sure,” he taps his temple with one thick finger, “but I was hoping you might know something about it, if you get my drift, the way your grandma just knew things.”

  “Oh!” Naomi relaxes. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t have that kind of gift. My grandmother was the psychic in the family, not me.”

  “Oh. I see.” The cop seems to deflate a little in his seat. He looks tired. “Well, that’s too bad. Your grandma was a great help to us, although I can’t go on record as saying that, and we could use a little help on this one.”

  “Really?” asks Emmie. “Why, I don’t believe that for a second! An experienced officer of the law like yourself? I imagine you’ve seen everything there is to see.”

  The cop’s bulldog jowls flush at the flattery. “Well, not everything, Miss. I mean, we’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Emmie’s eyes widen. “Was it real bad?”

  “Well, Miss, I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Oh, but you have to tell us now,” Emmie says, “or I’m gonna imagine the worst!”

  “Now, Emmie,” Luke cuts in smoothly. “You can’t pressure the gentleman. You might compromise the investigation, and get him in trouble with his superior officers. I’m sure he woul
d need their permission to disclose any details about the case.”

  The cop pulls himself up a little straighter in his seat. “Well, no, I don’t need anybody’s permission, per se…”

  Luke looks suitably impressed. “I beg your pardon! I didn’t realize you were the highest ranking officer on the case.”

  “I knew it!” exclaims Emmie. “So he can tell us!”

  “Well…” The cop looks confused, and I almost feel sorry for him. Luke and Emmie are playing good cop, bad cop with a cop.

  “It might be good for me to hear it,” Naomi says, “in case it jogs an intuition.”

  Officer Bud hesitates. He scans the room. We all look expectantly back. “Fine,” he says quietly. “But this doesn’t leave the room.”

  Luke and Emmie exchange a glance. Emmie is trying not to smile.

  “We promise,” I say.

  “Well,” he says, “if you must know, the victim was drained of blood from two puncture wounds, right here.” He stabs two fingers at his throat and I feel all the blood drain from my own face. He’s talking about a vampire bite.

  No one in the room breathes.

  “I know!” he says. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  No, the problem is it isn’t hard to believe. In fact, there are two suspects sitting right in this room—three, if you count Five, who is probably eavesdropping somewhere nearby.

  But the cop doesn’t seem to suspect that. He may know Naomi’s family is “intuitive,” but he must not be in on the truth, that witches and vampires and werewolves are real. If he was, he’d be on to us by now.

  “You mean some crazy thinks he’s a vampire?” Emmie says. I’m beginning to think she should have gone out for Drama Club back home, because her shock looks perfectly real.

  At the sound of the word “vampire,” D.J. lets out a low growl. I kick him under the coffee table to shut him up.

  The cop glances around. “You got yourself a dog, now, Naomi, on top of everything else?”

  “No,” she says quickly. “But I’m going to get one—a big guard dog—if crazy people like that are wandering around.”

  “That’s odd,” the cop says, “because I could have sworn I heard a dog.”

  “Grimm,” says Naomi quickly, “did you do your doggie impression? Now do your wolf.”

  The raven on the bookcase cocks his head to the side and fixes her with a beady eye. Then he tips back his head and howls.

  It’s eerie how accurate it is—not a fake howl learned from listening to humans, but the complex melody of a real wolf. It’s a lonely, yearning sound, and he does it like he’s heard it a million times.

  The cop shakes his head. “I swear that bird’s uncanny.” He plants his big, square hands on the armrests and hoists himself out of the chair. “I should go. I think I’ve said more than I should. You kids be careful. Don’t go out alone, and stay in the house after dark until we get this sorted out.”

  We nod obediently.

  “And Naomi,” he adds, “if you, you know, get anything…” He taps his temple knowingly.

  She nods. “I’ll let you know. Such a sad situation!” She walks him to the door.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it. They’re sending a forensics team from the state.” I can hear the resentment in his voice.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll solve it.” Emmie beams at him. “If we stop talking your ear off and let you get back to work.”

  “I should,” he says. “Oh, but, Naomi,” He pauses in the doorway, “one more thing. You haven’t seen any more of that wolf-dog, have you? The one folks saw around here over the summer?”

  “No.” Naomi doesn’t flinch. “I’m sure I’d be missing chickens if he was still around. Imagine he moved on.” She shrugs. “It was probably just a husky anyways. You know those Boston tourists. They have big imaginations.”

  Officer Bud nods, satisfied. “This was far too clean for an animal attack, anyhow, but you know the state’s going to ask. They’ll want to know about anything out of the ordinary.” He pauses, as if just realizing we might be considered a bit unusual, too. “Where did you kids say you were from?”

  Emmie pours her accent on thick. “I bet you can guess.”

  “Georgia, right?”

  She lights up. “You got it on the first try!”

  He peers around at the rest of us. “All of you?”

  “Yup,” I say, in a way I hope sounds southern.

  “And how long were you planning to stay?”

  We all look at each other. “At least another couple of weeks,” I say. The thought of leaving at all makes me feel ill, but we may have to now.

  The cop looks satisfied. “Probably best to stay around until we get this settled. Might look strange if you up and left now.”

  “They’re not leaving any time soon,” Naomi smiles at me. “Not until Ander finishes fixing the roof on the hay shed.”

  The cop softens. He nods at me approvingly. “Best get that done before the snow flies. We’ve had a warm fall, but it can’t last.” He flips up the hood on his police jacket. “Well, I’m off. Take care.” He steps out into the drizzling rain.

  We are all completely silent until we hear the police car pull off down Peninsula Road. Then the room erupts.

  D.J. is on his feet. “You!” He turns on Luke. “Your kind can’t control themselves, even for a few days!”

  Luke regards him coolly. “And you can?”

  “You see?” D.J. points an accusing finger at Luke. “He doesn’t deny it!”

  “D.J.,” I warn, “chill out.”

  “I didn’t kill the girl,” Luke says. “What makes you think I did?”

  “I don’t know,” D.J. says. “Maybe that smug look on your face?”

  “Hey!” Emmie says. “That’s just his natural expression!”

  “Well, it has to be one of you,” D.J. says. “Where’s Five? She took off pretty quick.”

  “Present and accounted for.” Five slips in from the kitchen, her blond spikes wet with rain. “Also not guilty.”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  “Five hates cops,” I say.

  “Yeah,” D.J. snarls. “Most killers do.”

  “Now come on,” Naomi says. “I’m sure Five wouldn’t go around killing innocent people.”

  Five gives her a languid smile. “Innocent people is an oxymoron, but I haven’t killed anyone lately.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Hang on, D.J.,” I say. “Five may be a killer, but she’s a smart one. She wouldn’t hunt so close to home, and she wouldn’t leave the body out in the open like that, either. It was a vamp, sure, but one who acted on impulse and didn’t know how to cover their tracks. Undead, probably. A newbie.”

  I don’t mean to look at Cicely when I say it, but I can’t help myself.

  As soon as I do, I regret it. I can see the hurt register in her eyes. “You think I did it, don’t you?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “But you’re not saying I’m innocent, either.” The hurt is quickly turning to anger.

  “Everybody calm down.” Naomi reaches for D.J.’s arm, but he shrugs her off. His breathing is rapid and shallow, his pupils big and black. Outside, the storm is picking up steam. Rain lashes on the porch roof. Somewhere, thunder growls.

  “Say it,” Cicely says quietly. “Say you don’t believe I killed her.”

  I want to say it. I do. Things have been getting better between Cissa and me, and I don’t want to throw it all away.

  But I can’t say it. Cicely is a newborn vampire—impulsive, ravenous, insatiable. Obviously she’d never kill someone on purpose, but I of all people know what it’s like to be out of control.

  I keep my voice quiet. “I’m just saying if you did…”

  “But I didn’t!” Cicely stands up so fast she blurs. Her fangs are out. “I can’t believe you would think that of me!”

  I lower my voice. “Listen, Cissa, you’ve been handling everything so well
, but everybody knows it’s hard. If you were to screw up—”

  “You’d what? Defend her?” D.J. is looking at me in horror, like he’s seeing me for the first time. “I knew you were on their side now, but—”

  “Out!” I round on D.J. “Get to your room, now!”

  He can’t defy me. I’m his alpha. But he manages to give me a sullen stare. “Because you think I’m going to turn, or because you know I’m right?”

  Naomi grabs D.J.’s arm. “I can calm him, Ander. Please, let him stay. We have to talk this out.”

  I growl at Naomi, low in my throat, but I know she’s right. If D.J. leaves now, the rift between us all will only get worse. “Drink your potion!” I bark at D.J. He picks up the bottle and takes a big swallow, his eyes still dark with mistrust.

  “Let’s be logical,” Emmie says calmly. “The police said the girl was killed last night, but Cicely, you were here then, right?”

  “I saw her go out.” D.J. is glaring at Cicely. It’s all too easy to picture him as a wolf, the raised hackles, the bared teeth.

  Cicely looks cornered. “I went out, but just for a walk on the beach. I’m in all day, so at night I sometimes go out.”

  “Alone?” D.J. says.

  “Yes, alone.” The resentment in Cicely’s voice tells me she would rather be with someone else, and I feel guilty. I really should spend more time with Cissa. It’s just that it’s still so hard.

  “So,” D.J. says, “no one can vouch for you?”

  I growl a warning. “You’re crossing a line, D.J.”

  “I can vouch for her,” Luke says simply. “I followed her.”

  “You did?” Cicely looks surprised. “Why?”

  Luke shrugs. “I always do.”

  “But,” Cicely says, “I would have heard you or smelled you.”

  Luke smiles. “You may have vampire senses now, querida, but I have two hundred years of experience on you.”

  “You know,” I say, “bragging you’re a super-stalker doesn’t exactly make you look innocent.”

  “The point,” says Emmie nervously, “is Cicely has an alibi.”

  “Two vamps isn’t an alibi,” D.J. says. “It’s a frenzy. Two vamps could take out a human like that.”

  Luke’s voice is full of quiet menace. “Almost as quickly as we could take out a little wolf.”