Heir of the Dog (Liars and Vampires Book 6)

by Robert J. Crane

  “There’s a boy here to see you,” my dad called back.

  My eyes narrowed. A boy?

  My heart rose as I thought of Mill, wondering if maybe he had come over to work things out, which was quickly followed by a flare of resentment that he hadn’t done that yet.

  But no. If it was Mill, Dad would have said so.

  I opened the door to my room, padding out into the carpeted living area in my bare feet, silently wishing my dad had gone for vague and it really was Mill, here with a fresh dozen roses and a grand gesture of apology. A Whitman's sampler wouldn't go unnoticed, especially after today.

  When I got to the door, though...it definitely wasn't Mill. Not even close.

  Out on the front step of the rental house, framed by the porch light and shivering in the darkness was the bespectacled face of Gregory Holt, my once and future neighbor and the nerdiest dude I knew. And by the look he was giving me...my trying day did not look to be over yet.

  Chapter 6

  “Can I talk to you alone in your room right now please?” Gregory spat the words out so fast that I wasn’t really sure that I had heard him correctly.

  His face was pale and his eyebrows one solid, worried line. His Star Trek T-shirt looked like something his mom had bought him when he was in sixth grade and for some reason the very sight of him wearing it, in the state he was in, sapped me of all my anger.

  “Um…hi?” I said, giving him a questioning look. “Let's go back to the beginning. What are you doing here? How did you know we were —”

  “Laura told me where your new house was,” he said. “Now please, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

  “Sure.” I looked over my shoulder at Mom and Dad, both of whom were watching the conversation with arching eyebrows. “If it’s okay with my parents?”

  Dad sized Gregory up in one up and down sort of look. The scrutiny in his eyes quickly changed to amusement. He glanced over at me and shrugged. No threat there. “Yeah. No problem.”

  “Okay, good —” Gregory said, stepping in boldly and then stopping like he'd hit an invisible wall of uncertainty. “Uh...where’s your room?”

  I rolled my eyes and waved him inside, then I closed the door.

  He looked like a rat caught in a trap. His eyes were huge and round and he kept looking around nervously. I might have been concerned if I hadn’t seen him act this way once before. And that thought didn’t really give me any peace about the whole situation, even though I found his ability to spit out words faster than an auctioneer kind of hilarious.

  As soon as I led him to my room and closed the door, Gregory wheeled around and pointed a finger at me.

  “I —” he said and then he paused, brow furrowing. “Hang on a second. What did your dad mean by that?”

  “Nothing?” I said, trying to hide a snort. “I'm sure he was commenting on the fact you look like an upstanding citizen, worthy of trust. Now...what did you need bad enough to track me down and pound on my door tonight?”

  Gregory gave me an uncertain look, but shook his head, letting whatever retort was in his mind give way to more important things. “Did you hear about what happened today at school?”

  “You mean the crazy guy who came tearing down the halls, shouting and looking for his son, Derrick? That thing?” I asked.

  “Duh,” Gregory said. “Yeah, that.”

  “Yeah, dude, I heard about it. I was in the room when it happened.”

  Gregory’s eyes widened and he gasped. “No way! You were? Really?”

  “Enhance your calm, Gregory,” I said. “Yes, I was in the room. Why?”

  “Derrick's a friend of mine,” Gregory said. “Close friend. Close-ish friend.” He sighed, shaking his head, shifting his weight to his other leg. “Look, we aren’t like, besties or anything, but we’re close. We play Call of Duty together pretty much every night of the week. Tightest bros of bro-hood.”

  I was having a really hard time keeping a straight face. I chewed on my bottom lip to keep myself from bursting out laughing. Tightest bros of bro-hood, huh? No wonder my dad didn't find him threatening. “When your bro’s birthday?” I folded my arms.

  “I don’t know and what does that have to do with anything?” Gregory asked, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

  Ah, yes. Such a typical teenage boy response. Actually, I reflected, thinking about how often my dad forgot his own mother's birthday...maybe it was just a guy thing in general. “Oh, yeah, you guys are super tight. You're practically sharing one of those T-shirts that parents shove their kids into when they aren’t getting along,” I said with a smirk.

  “Listen, my mom made my brother and I wear one of those when we were younger. It ripped so fast that she didn’t even bother try getting a new one —” Gregory said.

  I did laugh at that, snorted out my nose, in fact.

  “It’s not funny. My little brother is like the Tasmanian Devil.” His face became serious again and I could see the strain behind his eyes. “Cassie…you have to help him. You have to help my bro.”

  I stared at him. Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Tasmanian Devil one or the one you play video games with?”

  “The video g – I mean, Derrick,” he said. “You’re like…the one who helps people. When things get sticky, you always find a way to get people out of these situations.”

  I chuckled, but it was mirthless. “You think things work out well when I’m around? Gregory, you’ve seen my life fall completely to pieces not once, not twice, but at least three times now and you somehow think that I'm good at working these things out?”

  “You’re still alive, aren’t you?” he asked. “And so is everyone you were trying to protect. You've saved my butt, too. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

  And he saved mine once. Which I hadn’t forgotten, either.

  “Look, Cassie…you just have a better head on your shoulders for this kind of stuff. Maybe it's from your liar past, where you learned to look people in the eye and say whatever to get them to do whatever, all on the fly – whatever the case, you got this in a way no one else our age does. Or older people, either.”

  “That was an interesting analysis of how my compulsive lying has helped me in life. Not sure I quite see the benefits that way, but...interesting.”

  “But you know what it’s like to be going through a trial like Derrick is,” Gregory said. “His parents are in the middle of a really messy divorce. Like, the kind where his mom woke him up in the middle of the night, covered in blood and dragged him out of the house to live somewhere else.”

  “Whoa.” I said.

  “Yeah.” Gregory nodded. “I’ve been at his house when his dad gets home. The place just goes quiet except for him the minute he walks in. You can feel the atmosphere change. You ever see fear enter a room just by watching the faces of the people who live there? It's eerie. My skin crawled the first time it happened.”

  “But he's out now?” I asked. “He and his mom?”

  “Yeah,” Gregory said, running his hands through his hair nervously. “But I think we all saw today that things are clearly not okay. They're not out of the woods. So...can you help him? Please?”

  “You mean help him like I helped Laura?” I asked. “Because I’m starting to get a really strong sense of de ja vu right about now.” I folded my arms. “I should start charging for this…”

  Gregory shook his head. “No, not like with Laura. Because vampires aren’t involved this time.” But his face went pale. “Wait, you don’t think it’s vampires, do you? His dad's not...” He held his first two fingers in front of his mouth.

  “Buck-toothed?” I asked, keeping a straight face. “No, his dentistry seemed on point.” I chuckled. “No, it's not vamps. Not after we killed about ninety percent of the Tampa clans at Draven’s place,” I said. “Iona and Mill think the Tampa territory is still unclaimed. And his dad couldn’t be a vampire anyways.”

  “Why not?” Gregory asked, his brow furrowing.

  “S
unlight, bro,” I said, pointing at the dark window. “He showed up at the school in the middle of the day unprotected.”

  “Oh,” he said. “You’re right.”

  “Is that what you’ve been thinking all along?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “Yes? Maybe?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Cassie, I have no idea. All I know is that things have been super weird in the last, like, six months. I don’t know what to expect anymore, or what to rule out. All I know is that my friend is suffering and you somehow have this magical ability to make people’s problems go away,” Gregory said.

  “Gregory, I am not the Godfather,” I said. “Or a faerie godmother.”

  “The way you murder vampires, you sure could have fooled me,” he said. “And I'm not asking you to turn a mouse into a carriage horse or make me a new dress.”

  I gave his Star Trek T-shirt a look. “You sure? Because if I had magic, I'd be all about glamouring those threads into something silky and beautiful rather than...well...” I waved a hand.

  “Ouch. You really aren't a faerie godmother, dispensing all fashion criticism and no assistance.”

  “Look, Gregory, I talked to him a little bit today. He told me basically everything you told me. But I don’t see what I can do aside from offering some emotional support. Which you are more capable of doing, being his friend. Or gaming bro. Just hand him a controller and a hill to die on in some virtual foreign battlefield and he should be right as rain in no time. Or as right as he can get given the circumstances.”

  Gregory hung his head. “Wouldn’t it be great if all of life’s problems could be fixed like that? By just playing video games and just tuning everything else out?”

  His serious tone sort of caught me off guard. “I know what you mean,” I said. “And...yes.”

  Something about the pitying tone rang the bells in my head. I knew what Mill would say before I even finished the thought. No. Big fat no and stay out of it. Just like he did...every time I stuck my nose in the world of the paranormal.

  What could I do? I honestly didn’t know how to help, especially not with a werewolf's domestic violence situation. Where do you go for that? The cops would be helpless. Would the Amish be able to give some advice? Push me in the right direction? Protect Derrick and his mom from his dad?

  Aside from knowing the Amish, I could still probably do more than most. I did have connections. I knew a Faerie, for heaven’s sake. And even though I'd definitely leave Mill out of this one, I could get Iona to help, maybe?

  The image of Derrick standing under the oak tree that afternoon flashed across my mind. He looked so consumed in his own thoughts and I’d recognized the haunted expression on his face, having seen it on my own so many times in the mirror.

  Would wild werewolves kill their own children? Would Derrick’s dad find him before the police captured him? A sick feeling boiled in the pit of my stomach.

  Too many questions, too many fears that Derrick was likely dealing with. I could almost feel them for him and I didn't want to reach the bottom of any of them.

  If I didn't help...he was helpless and one of those terrible things my mind was racing around might just become reality. My stomach dropped further.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Cassie, thank you so much, ” Gregory said, his face visibly relaxing, splitting into a smile. “Seriously, you’re the best. What changed your mind?”

  “Well,” I said, trying to put the words together from the thoughts and feelings that had finally driven me off the fence, “I guess I thought that he shouldn’t have to deal with the fact that his dad’s a werewolf by himself. Assuming he knows the truth, which I'm not sure he does.”

  “That's really kind of you, to get involved in this for a stranger like—” Gregory was nodding along happily until what I said finally caught up in his mind and his eyes went wide as his pupils seemed to suck in on themselves. “Wait – did you say werewolf?”

  Chapter 7

  “Hey, Mom.”

  My mother was in our dining room, staring out of the French doors that led to the backyard. Whenever she sat at the table, she was surrounded by stacks of legal docs, real estate deeds, wills and other important information about people’s lives. Her chin in her palm, her eyes narrowed as she stared into the darkness beyond the glass-paned doors, lost in thought.

  After a moment her eyes fluttered and she sat up straight. She turned her eyes up to me and smiled. It was tight, distracted. “Hey,” she said, taking a deep breath. And that was all, not a breath about Gregory ringing the doorbell and wanting to talk to me in my room alone.

  “Scone?” I said. My dad had baked them while I was in with Gregory. I held out the only one that I hadn’t already eaten.

  “Oh, thanks,” she said, taking it. But she just turned it over in her hand and looked out the doors again. After another moment, she stirred. “Is Gregory all right?”

  There it was. She seemed to finally remember what was going on around here.

  “Yeah, he’s fine,” I said. “He just had to ask me something about one of his friends. Derrick. He was the kid whose dad…”

  “I see,” she said, nodding. I couldn't tell if she actually did see or if she was just too lost in thought to formulate a more thorough response. “He seems like such a nice boy.”

  “Who, Derrick?” I asked. She hadn't met him, as far as I knew.

  “No, Gregory.” She still wasn’t really looking at me. And her words were quiet.

  Part of me wanted to ask what was going on, but the other side of me didn’t. It could have been a million things – work, rebuilding the house, dealing with the insurance company over our, uh, other house fire in New York...

  “Yeah, he is,” I said. “Which is probably why Dad let him come to my room with me, unchaperoned.” I waited, but when she didn't say anything, I decided to toss out some bait. “I wonder if Dad would be cool with Mill doing that.”

  That got a response. She arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Funny, Cassandra.” She rose from the table, sighing heavily again. “I’m sorry. You haven’t really ever had to deal with something so traumatic at school. You must be feeling...well, quite a bit.”

  “Not the worst, but,” I said, “yeah, it was a rough day.”

  “A rough day…” Mom said, wiping her hands on her slacks. “Yeah. Well, I am going to go make some tea. Would you like some?”

  “Only if it’s iced,” I said. “Because I think the hot tea will only be slightly cooler than the temperature outside.”

  Mom smirked and made her way to the kitchen. “Earl grey. Content yourself with disappointment.” Her smile faded. “Life's going to be full of them.”

  I watched her go, shoulders slumped, moving slow and I wondered what sort of things she might be dealing with. Mom’s job was tough, but usually she kinda had it on lockdown. Whatever it was, I contented myself with the knowledge that it couldn't be as bad as werewolves.

  Chapter 8

  “Good morning, Queen of the Paranormal,” Xandra greeted me as I walked up to my locker, flashing me a wide grin. Today she wore her long, blue hair in two French braids, revealing all of the different shades of blues and a few greens that her hair had been over the last few months. It was impressive, really.

  “Would you please not call me that?” I said, stifling a yawn. The school was buzzing around us with activity and some kid walked past in the opposite direction, strong coffee wafting past with them, almost making me Exorcist my head around to follow my nose.

  “What? I think it has a sort of ring to it,” Xandra said. “The sort of ring that I like and I’ll keep on saying because of it.”

  “Any ringing you're hearing is probably just early onset tinnitus from listening to Maroon 5 too loud. Or at all, really.” I rolled my eyes as I changed out books at my locker. Drop off math and history, pulled out English Lit, lightening my load by half but also making my backpack 50%
less effective to swing at any werewolves or zombies that happened to invade our school today. Hey, you never know.

  “Don't be a hater. So why’d you just like stop texting me last night?” she asked as we headed up the stairs toward the junior hallway.

  “Oh, I totally forgot to tell you,” I said and ran through a quick summation of Gregory's visit.

  “So wait, he didn’t know about Derrick’s dad being a —”

  I gave her a leveling glare. “I don't think anyone knows that, possibly including Derrick.”

  “Right, right, I wasn’t going to say it,” she said.

  “Yeah, keep that word on the DL,” I said. “Oh and Mill never called me.”

  Xandra rolled her eyes dramatically. “Mill this, Mill that. Part of me wishes you were obsessing about turning grain to flour.”

  “What?” I asked as we passed a troupe of drama students loudly reading a passage about being true to thine own self. “Am I talking about him too much lately?”

  “You’re in the lovey dovey phase. I sort of expect nothing less,” Xandra said with a teasing glint in her eye.

  My cheeks burned. “Well, fine. I’ll shut up about him. I’m angry at him, anyway.”

  “What's that like?” she asked. “Does he do it like a modern boy, or like 1850's style, where he sends a sternly worded letter to your parents about your behavior? 'Dear Sir and Madam, I have occasion to scribe this letter to you today on the commencement of your daughter's ill humor regarding a jest I made on the 5th of April this year—’”

  “You are in rare form today,” I said, snugging my backpack tighter over my shoulder. “As far as I know, Mill does not correspond with my parents, old-school or modern, text-message style. He does kinda seem like an old school guy, though, in that I haven't heard from him since I stormed out of his place.”

  “You brought him into the modern age with that one, I guess.” Xandra's lips pursed impishly. “He's probably just used to having his suitors – no, suitress – wait, what did they call women in his day?”