by Sara Hanover
Whatever it was, daylight didn’t deter it. Nor the dog or the tell-tales or the fact that Steptoe lived here now. Or whatever protections the professor had laid when he was here.
I stepped back and away from the window slowly, so as not to stir the curtains at all. I did not want that thing, whatever it was, to know I watched. Had it been in our house? Had it had a presence that my mother accepted and invited in? No . . . if she had, it would have no compunction about coming in now. Once invited, the threshold seemed breached for that being. I wouldn’t have to worry about calling its name if the doorway couldn’t hold it back. So . . . no. That weakness, at least, shouldn’t exist. I prayed it didn’t.
I took another step backward and tripped over Scout. My maelstrom-constructed shield bounced off his hard head without a sound from him, and I threw my arm about his neck. “Are you all right? Are you? I could have cut your head off!”
He snuffled into my hold but didn’t seem to have tweaked a single hair in my accidental assault. I pondered the top of his golden skull. Was he immune to it? Or just so darn thick-headed he didn’t notice it bouncing off? If he was immune, that could have consequences that I should note. My shield had worked in defense against Devian and his troops, but it might not in offense. All the more reason I should crack that book I found in the cellar and see what I could learn. My father was but a thin shadow of himself, and time seemed to be running out.
Already on the floor, it seemed logical to crawl into the hallway before standing. Scout threw his head back so that he could look up at me, worry in his doggy eyes. I rumpled an ear. “I know,” I told him, although I really didn’t and had no idea. We were alone in this, the two of us, for the moment.
And then I felt it. The gloom that had been ballooning inside the house seemed to implode suddenly, my ears popping and Scout giving out a yelp. A noise followed the extreme silence, and I realized we were no longer alone.
I lunged for my bedroom and grabbed up my field hockey stick, my backup, and spun out my shield a little larger. We could go down the front stairs, or we could try the back ones at the end of the bedroom hall—scarcely used and often overlooked. I didn’t know the squeaky boards on that stair but knew they would bring both of us out into a part of the house which would be unexpected.
Unless our visitor had heat vision and hearing beyond reason. In any case, I didn’t anticipate outrunning them. I was in it for the fight.
I stayed as close to the banister as I could and found that the boards there were as quiet as I could possibly hope for. I went down with Scout on my heels, nose to the backs of my knees.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
S O S
HAD THAT ONE naming called a vampire into my house? Or had the specter outside decided to break in if it could, and do whatever damage it wished? Or was it some other dread being I couldn’t readily identify? Halfway down the stairs, I paused and whispered as quietly as I could. “Carter, Carter, Carter.”
He would come. I knew he would. But in time?
Horror movies never quite got it right. They have the creepy sounds, the erratic and unreliable lighting, the inadequate knowledge of the foe to be faced—but they never seem to mention the smell. A stalker has a body in the attic, his ode for the girl he covets, having taken out her mean girl rival. But does anyone smell the corpse? Ever?
Something crawls out of the sewer and into the bent old lady’s backyard, sending her fuzzy little dog into fits . . . but does the overwhelming aroma of sewage ever warn anyone?
Zombies creep up behind the teens in the abandoned high school lab, and putrefied flesh is dripping off them, but no one ever says, “Ew! What is that stink?” and turns around in time to book it out of there.
Not this time. The coppery scent of blood seeped throughout the house, filling my senses, making me gag at the thought of it: wet, slippery, crimson. On its heels came another odor, a little harder to place, maybe that of a very enclosed and molding crypt, and finally a nose-searing layer of acute peppermint essence as though the owner tried to mask its actual aroma.
We made it all the way down the stairs into the back of the dining room and kitchen area before Scout let loose an ear-blasting sneeze. The peppermint, I guessed. Whatever advantage I had just vanished.
It spoke to me. “Show yourself.”
I stood, back pressed to the wall, Scout half behind and beside me, and decided not to answer. The speaker did sound a little like Gollum, impressing me, and not in a good way.
I could feel the presence before the intruder turned the corner and entered the dining room.
Dark elf, I thought, looking at him. Not particularly tall—his brow probably wouldn’t measure up to mine—but filled with wiry strength it seemed, encased in supple leather from neck to toes, black leather that looked as soft as butter. It had been torn in places, stitched up finely, leaving scars. Wounds where a knife had slit through the leather first? Or perhaps just a frugal being who didn’t like changing outfits and repaired instead of replaced.
The smell of blood and decay rolled forward even stronger, and the peppermint followed when it said, “State your name.”
“No.”
“You know what I’ve come for. Give it over.”
It smiled, a one-sided tilting of lips that were too thin and without real color, and where humor never reached the eyes at all. I couldn’t even tell what color the eyes were from where we stood. They might have still been somewhat red. Whatever color, they were definitely glaring at me. This might have been the being who had chased me that night, but the minty odor told me it wasn’t. It roiled with the same intense menace however that had frozen my reactions then but did not now. Because I was prepared? Because fool me once, you can’t fool me twice? I didn’t know but found myself grateful that my mind and body seemed in full function. One of us wasn’t getting out of here alive.
I smacked the hockey stick against the floor. “Get out of my home. If you think you were invited or summoned, you are wrong. Your presence is revoked.” It sounded formal, in case that might do the trick. It didn’t because it just stood there. In fact, it might have inched a bit closer. I considered adding the only name I had, but I didn’t think this was the big guy himself, more likely a second or third in charge. And I had no idea how it got in. I didn’t want to open a door even wider.
Then it launched, faster than the blink of an eye, and if I hadn’t thrown my shield up, it would have struck right at my throat. It slid off with a grunt, belying its need for air, while I slammed back against the wall, both shoulder blades stinging, and Scout barking sharply behind me as he found himself squeezed. He wanted out. He wanted in on the attack, but I dared not let him free. Could he even survive the vampire’s touch, let alone its strength and ferocity? The pup was braver than he knew, and I was more afraid than I should be.
The hit proved to me how strong the damn thing was. I couldn’t take too many of those and stay on my feet. It intimidated me and knew it.
I reacted to the lunge a bit slowly, considering. I skewed the shield about, presenting its edge and thrust at the slightly dazed vampire who hadn’t anticipated a recoil—and scored. I followed up with a clout from my stick to the being’s head, heard it crunch in satisfaction, and then heard the sounds of both the near-separated arm heal back with a sloppy slurp and the head bones crackle back into place.
Oh, lord. They did heal as quickly as rumored. Maybe even quicker.
I struck at it again, full face, shoving it back as hard as I could. Felt like running into a brick wall, but I managed to get enough room to slither sideways. I found myself at the corner of the dining room table where the crew and I had held many a strategy meeting as well as meals, and the large redwood chair which had been Morty’s and now reigned as Hiram’s stood between me and my foe. A terrible match to the maple set, it was the only furniture that could bear an Iron Dwarf’s weight easily.
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p; It hissed as the chair firmly blocked it from me. I thought of what the professor had told me so long ago when we’d first become friends. That redwood had a virtue not unlike rowan, a guardian wood, a barrier against malevolent magics. I couldn’t haul the big framed piece of furniture about with me, but I could keep it between us for a bit. We dashed back and forth, slashing at each other until I was out of breath, but the vampire had no need for air. It curled its lips back over its gums and very, very sharp teeth. I chopped my shield at the vampire again and hit, solidly, but it also struck me, a back-handed swing that I couldn’t scramble away from.
My arm instantly went numb and icy. I dropped my hockey stick, unable to grasp. Hot tears sprang to the corners of my eyes at the pain and shock. I thought my limb would drop off and almost hoped it would, taking the anguish with it. I stood unable to move at all while the vampire decided to flank me. I tried to swallow a whimper without much success. It threw a strangled sounding laugh at me.
I clenched my teeth and shuffled one foot, slowly trying to unfreeze. I couldn’t just stand still, or it would charge again. Frustration bubbled out between my lips. I would die here, rooted in place like some idiot plant if I didn’t shift my weight. Hold my own. Think of some cursed way to get back in the fight. My pup butted up against me, bumping one hand, and knew instantly from my reaction. I couldn’t move, but Scout could.
He leaped out from behind me, teeth flashing, clawed paws scrabbling, and the vampire gave way, retreating hastily. Tingling started in my arm as it did. I managed to kick myself farther behind the redwood chair for safety and croaked a call for Scout.
My pup would have none of it. He’d tear this enemy to bits. He’d run him out of our home. He’d scare the being so badly the vampire would not dare to tread the earth again. With a roaring growl, Scout attacked. He leaped in a golden blur.
The vampire scooped him out of midair and held him up, teeth at his throat. I screamed as it did. Teeth flashed and sank in. Scout flailed, paws and tail thrashing to get loose. The creature flexed long, pale fingers to hold him tighter and dipped its head lower. I couldn’t watch—flesh would rip and blood gush—but they did not. The vampire gave a long hiss and tossed him aside, his body slamming onto the floor. Scout went still, eyes rolled back, but only a few red drops bubbled out.
The blood must have tasted awful. The vampire kicked his limp form aside in disgust and jumped at me, landing on the seat of the redwood chair. It shuddered and danced but bore the insult of the redwood. It reached for me triumphantly. A jagged line of warmth lit me from my toes to the top of my head.
Scout had given me the time I needed to move again. I sliced crosswise at my attacker, and hot crimson splattered me and the chair, sizzling as it touched. I shrugged out of the spray as the vampire curled in upon itself. In a blink of my eyes, it healed. But its anger didn’t dissipate. I bent and grabbed up my hockey stick, considering breaking it in two and shoving it into the vampire anywhere I could, staking it. With any luck that would at least slow it down.
Outmatched, I knew I couldn’t stay out of its reach much longer. My right arm still ached beyond belief, and holding the stick seemed an impossible task to ask of it. My shield construct wavered ominously. The stone drew from me, my reserves faltering.
Where was Carter? Had he not heard my plea and summon?
Or anyone else? Anyone. Except my mother. I didn’t want her here, to see me fall. Never.
From the kitchen, a terrible metallic ringing began, loud and clashing, angry and alarming. My father, doing what little he could. It was enough. The vampire straightened and looked askance to see who approached to help. I struck, cleaving its face in two. Undead flesh sloughed off bone even as bone itself parted and gave way. The odor pouring out of the wound near strangled me, and I recoiled.
Then it, too, healed before my very eyes, an impossible thing. I had no hope unless I could take its head off entirely. Only now, enraged and bold, it wasn’t giving me a second chance. It bounded off the chair, recklessly throwing itself at the shield, uncaring at what damage it might feel, knowing it couldn’t be stopped.
Not unless I was awfully lucky.
I hacked and slashed with my stick, stumbling away from the chairs and table, trying to give myself enough room to act and react. Leaving the redwood behind emboldened the vampire. It grinned, slashing at me with both hands swinging, fingernails elongated into hard as ivory talons. I ducked and twisted, hearing them swish closer and closer until the realization hit me that it toyed with me. Like a cat playing with a mouse.
My shield grew more and more compact until I had barely more than a Frisbee in size left in protection. My hand burned with the heat of the stone. Angry with me? Or desperately trying to conjure up more energy from somewhere, anywhere.
Behind the vampire, Scout heaved to his feet and shook his head. A few drops of blood ran down his throat ruff to his chest, but he didn’t look that badly damaged. Dazed, though. He staggered a step toward me, and I was too busy watching him to duck.
I should have ducked.
Really.
Blinding pain exploded along my chest, neck, and the side of my head. I could feel myself tossed to the side as my feet went out from under me. My shield disappeared. My hockey stick dropped. And then, in a cloud of darkness, the rest of me followed to the floor.
Black, all black—and a stunning bolt of white light pierced my closed eyelids and took all my sight and senses from me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SAY MY NAME (PART 2)
“HOW MANY FINGERS am I holding up?”
My head hurt. My whole body hurt. Someone had dropped a brick wall on me. Make that two or three brick walls. I couldn’t even see any fingers. I thought vaguely that I might know the voice. I groaned, the action piercing my throat like a sharp knife. I must have been trying to lean up a little because I collapsed flat onto the floor again. Nice floor. Soft floor.
“Tessa. Open your eyes.”
I couldn’t. Why didn’t they just go away and leave me alone? Broken yet comfortable. Did I still have two hands and two feet? I patted them on the surface under me. More of a convulsion, actually. A possible yes. The movement gave me a recoil of hurt, though.
“A world of hurt.” I think I mumbled that. I know I sure as hell thought it.
“Who am I?”
I opened my mouth, only to be rewarded with a drink of cool, soothing water, much needed. Except that I had been trying to do something even more basic, like breathing. I coughed, choked, and hacked. Then I curled a finger or two, asking silently for water again. This time I got it down my throat successfully.
“Doesn’t look good, guv.”
Second speaker sounded familiar, too. I thought about it for a very long while and realized I had lapsed back into unconsciousness where it felt much nicer to be. Not as painful or demanding.
A hand lifted my head up. The nice feeling fled abruptly. “Come on! What’s my name?”
“Wanna sleep.” Broken glass seemingly filled my throat and mouth as I tried to complain. I shut my mouth firmly, determined not to try that again.
“Hospital . . .”
“No. Not secure enough and we don’t need questions asked. Tessa. Listen to me. Who am I?”
My lips felt crusty and dry. I licked them. Salty. Very, very salty. Had someone tried to make a pretzel out of me? I felt all twisted up and overbaked. I squirmed a bit. More crunching beneath me. Sand? What the heck . . .
“Carter,” I got out. “What is this stuff?”
“Thank gods.”
He had come. Strong arms lifted me and half-pulled me into a lap. “That, Tessa, is salt. You’re drowning in it.”
I wrenched my eyes open and saw his face, his blurred face, looking down at me. “Salt?”
“A shitload of it.”
I turned my gaze, agony piercing my head and neck as I d
id, to see a bowler hat, snapping black eyes, apple cheeks, and a fashionably suited man also looking down at me. “Steptoe?”
“In the flesh! Now be quiet and have some more water before you dry up.”
Carter put a bottle of water to my mouth, and I gulped happily. Well, not too happily; everything still ached beyond measure. I managed to wiggle a few fingers. “Pup?”
“Out back, growling at shadows, but he’s fine. A slight limp. You got the brunt of it.”
I locked my unreliable sight on Carter’s face. “Tell me you got it. Tell me there’s nothing left but a greasy smear.” I knew now what that white flash had been . . . nothing less than Carter’s arrival and fury. My sun lion.
“We got him.”
“Good. Beyond good.” I felt woozy again. “Did you know the floor is really, really comfortable?” I drifted off again.
By the time I woke, dusk had fallen, I’d been moved to the sofa, and my dog had draped himself over my legs and feet. Carter, my mother, and Steptoe ate delicious smelling shortbread cookies while debating my general health. Mental and otherwise. I could hear their suppositions as they drifted out to the living room. I don’t know if I was insulted or just intrigued.
I pushed a hand out from one of Aunt April’s antique but welcome afghan blankets. “Leave any for me?” They came over to answer.
“A whole platter,” Simon said, looking a little peeved.
“I’ll share.”
“That’s the sport!”
I rolled an eye at my mother. “Does Mom know?”
She sat up, straight and indignant. “Of course I know. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I mean . . . everything.”
“I swept up a barrel of salt. I damn well know quite a bit.”
“Okay.” I didn’t want to mention anything Carter didn’t want her knowing. I settled for putting my left hand in front of my face, making sure my stone was still in place. I tapped it with my right pointer finger. “It came for this.”
