Grabbing me by the wrist, she takes off again, moving so fast I can barely keep up. We’re both expecting more vampires to drop out of the sky at any moment, and when we make it to the fence without being attacked, I think we’re both surprised. The first police cruisers are veering into sight as Daphne braces her hands together to form a springboard—and then she’s launching me to the top of the fence.
She touches down on the other side right behind me, actual cops shouting at us to stop, but we take off at a sprint as the street floods with people escaping the factory. Cutting a corner, racing past the pumps of a gas station, we pelt into a residential neighborhood I don’t recognize. I’m gasping for air when we reach her car, and I’ve never been so glad to see the dented, rusting shitmobile in my entire life.
I’ve barely got the door closed as we peel away from the curb, and all the traumas of the past hour hit me like a flash flood. I bury my face in my hands so Daphne can’t see me cry, and I try like hell not to sniffle, but her awareness is hotter than the plastic-scented air blasting from the vents. “I know you’re upset, so I am seriously trying not to yell at you, Auggie Pfeiffer, but honestly. What the fuck were you thinking?”
I have to work the knot out of my throat in order to reply. “I’m sick of dying.”
“And you thought partying with vampires was the road to a long, prosperous future?” Her jaw is set so tight I can see the muscles shifting. “What if I hadn’t gotten your text? What if I hadn’t been able to drop everything and save you from fucking Rasputin and his gang of homicidal henchmen?”
“So what if you couldn’t?” My voice is as wrecked as I feel.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Has the Brotherhood figured out how to stop what’s happening to me?” I counter with another question. “Have they come across any spells or rituals or even superstitions, for fuck’s sake?” She has nothing to say, her hand flexing on the gear shift, and I make an ugly noise. “So that’s a no. We’re all just waiting out the clock. What happens when this thing takes me over, Daph? Will you still be protecting me?”
“Auggie, I don’t—”
“I can feel it!” I finally blurt, my voice breaking. “Before, it was just these weird episodes—strange dreams and sensing vampires—but tonight it was … part of me.” My glasses are fogged, and I take them off, tears making it too hard to see anyway. “I was inside people’s heads, experiencing their emotions and stuff … I was connecting people.”
Daphne glances over, her eyes sharp. “What do you mean? What exactly happened?”
“I could, like, read their minds,” I whisper. “I knew their memories, and what they were thinking, and … maybe I even saw parts of the future, too, I’m not sure.”
This is a lie. I’m positive it was the future, but I don’t want to have to explain what I saw—bowls of blood, and Jude taking off his pants. I’m still confused by both visions. But Daphne isn’t going to let me off the hook that easy. “This vampire, the one you said was part of a Corrupter group … did you read his mind, too?”
“A little bit. I saw…” He lost his virginity on a beach at night, terrified and ecstatic; he tells people his necklace is about finding the strength to move on, but he still isn’t over his ex. “He thinks I’m going to die. He wasn’t even sure the Corrupter was real until he met me, but now he believes, and he’s depressed about it—if you can believe that.” I laugh, wiping my eyes. “Jude thinks the same thing. The only way this ends is with my death.”
“Jude Marlowe?” Daphne’s hand slips off the gear shift. “You partied with Jude Marlowe?” She doesn’t even wait for a reply, exclaiming, “What have I tried to tell you? You can’t trust him, Auggie! Of course he thinks the only way to stop this is to kill you—it’s either make you serve the Syndicate or make sure you can’t serve anyone else, and considering how much power they’ve got already, I’m not sure they care either way!”
“I … I don’t think that’s his agenda.” I can’t put it any clearer than that. I didn’t read all of his thoughts, but the flavor of them still lingers. “He doesn’t want the Corrupter to Ascend, Daph, bottom line. But the stuff I saw in the future…” His skin warmed by candlelight, tonight is about us. “He doesn’t want to hurt me, either.”
“Don’t be so gullible,” Daphne snaps, her voice surprisingly cold. “He’s over four hundred years old, and there’s no way a Syndicate ambassador hasn’t encountered mind readers before. I’m sure he knows how to protect his thoughts. What else did you see?”
For a moment, I stare out the windshield, trying to formulate an answer. The ribbon of incense, Gunnar saying words I can’t remember as his finger drips into a bowl. “Why would a vampire mix his blood with mine?”
“What?” She cuts a look my way that actually scares me, her face taut with alarm. “You saw yourself taking a blood oath with Jude Marlowe?”
“I don’t—” I choke, her anxiety contagious, and don’t correct the misunderstanding. “What’s a blood oath, what are you talking about?”
“It’s a covenant—a ritual, where your blood binds you to your word. You make a pledge, and magic forces you to honor it.” Her hands squeeze the wheel so hard her knuckles pop. “If Jude gets you to swear your allegiance to the Syndicate, and seals it with your blood, you’re theirs forever, Auggie. It doesn’t matter who or what is in charge of your body—as long as the same blood flows through your veins, you’re on a mystical leash until the end. If there is one.”
Her meaning sinks in, and I grip my seat belt. I’ve got no idea what this entity will want when it busts me open and spreads its wings—but it won’t be good. After generations of Rising and failing to Ascend, surely the Corrupter will have its own plans for what to make of its glorious return. But if any of these vampires can compel me to sign some mystical contract in blood, I’ll tie the Endless One to their agenda for a literal eternity.
“What if I take an oath to the Brotherhood?” I blurt. “Then the Corrupter’s hands are tied, right? Even … even if it Ascends, the world would still be safe.”
She opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t have a chance to. At that exact moment, something crashes down onto the roof of the car, the impact sending us out of control. I gasp as Daphne jerks the wheel, our tires slewing over rain-slicked pavement, and we spin for a sickening moment. Then she hits the brakes hard, and I lurch forward against the resistance of the seat belt.
The thing on the roof tumbles over the windshield and slams onto the hood, just as Daphne hits the gas again, yanking the wheel and veering into the oncoming lane, trying to dislodge it. But it spears a set of black-tipped claws through the car’s metal skin, holding on tight as we swerve back and forth. My eyes reel as I make sense of what’s right in front of me, nothing between us but a sheet of glass—the mantis-like limbs, the scraggly beard, the eyes that glow ferociously when they meet mine.
For the second time tonight, I’m face-to-face with Rasputin.
20
The photos I found of the Russian cleric were freaky, but none of them prepared me for the terrifying thing crawling across the hood of Daphne’s Saab, vampirism turning an already frightening figure into a nightmare on steroids. His face is gaunt, his hair tangled by the wind, but his eyes are dazzling—deep and golden, they move without moving—and as he drags himself closer to the windshield, one handhold at a time, my vision tunnels on those two bright spots of light. The car swings from side to side, but the motion is lulling, the air warm and pliant.
“August Pfeiffer.” His lips don’t move, but his voice fills my head, a soft, rasping purr. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you. Our time is at hand.”
I breathe deep, and a knot inside me loosens, weeks of stress dissolving. For the first time, I know the answer to my problem, and the relief is indescribable. The Order of the Northern Wolf needs me, and I need them, and only if we’re together will I ever be truly safe. Lightness travels through me, and I’m practically floating as
my fingers seek the release for my seat belt. He’ll catch me if I climb out the window, and then—
“Don’t look at him!” Darkness falls instantly, Daphne’s hand clamping over my eyes, and all the heaviness and pain slams back into my body. I gasp for air, dizzy, the car still weaving and skidding over the road. “Don’t look at anything—just keep your eyes shut and hang on!”
When she peels her fingers away again, I do as I’m told. Two seconds of eye contact, and I was so deep in the hypnotic thrall of an undead cult leader that I was prepared to literally fling myself into his arms. Daphne hits the gas, the car leaping forward again, and I yelp with terror when my side of the vehicle smashes into something.
We rebound from the impact, fishtail, and straighten out. A blow hammers against the windshield from the outside—once, twice, the glass cracking loudly—and I whimper like an animal. Am I going to be ripped out of my seat by a claw-handed monster, dragged off to Vampire Jonestown with my eyes squeezed shut the whole way? Once again, Daphne’s voice breaks through the dark spiral of my thoughts, clipped and urgent. “Brace yourself, Auggie, this isn’t going to be fun.”
The engine revs, the car hurtles faster, and I sink into my seat. Rasputin’s fist comes down on the windshield again, the glass shattering; then the wheels meet resistance, the vehicle bucks up, and—impact. I’m slammed forward so hard the seat belt rips skin from the side of my neck, and I cry out as glass, metal, and plastic are crushed together with a deafening roar. My head bounces against the side window, lights flashing, pain cutting a path from my scalp to my stomach.
For a moment after the car settles again, I grip the dashboard, convinced I’m about to vomit or die. The air stinks like gas, my ears are ringing, and my thoughts won’t fit together—puzzle pieces with all the wrong ends trying to join up. My right side hurts so badly I can’t move, and when Daphne puts her hands on me again, I let out a pitiful moan. “Auggie? Auggie, I’m so sorry, but you need to take these.”
She tucks something into my mouth—two fat, smooth capsules that she places between my back molars, before pressing my jaws together to split them open. Fluid rushes across my tongue, thick and coppery, and I’m swallowing it before the bright tingle it leaves behind registers. Vampire blood. My eyes open in surprise, the car a swirl of foggy colors that snap into focus as the substance races to my stomach and begins to spread.
“Auggie!” Daphne snaps her fingers, pulling my attention. The pain in my side is already dulling, my thoughts unscrambling as the static in my brain dissipates. Our eyes locked, Daphne reaches down and unbuckles my seat belt. “Listen to me: As soon as you get out, you need to run, okay? Head straight home, don’t stop—we’re only about a mile away, and those capsules should give you enough juice to make it in a few minutes.”
“What do you mean? What’s happening?” I reach for the torn skin on my neck, and feel it close under my fingertips. The windshield is destroyed, the front end of the car wrapped around the trunk of a massive oak, and my door hangs open. At first, I don’t see Rasputin—but then movement catches my eye from the middle of the road, a dark shape flung some twenty yards from the crash, slowly twisting its limbs back together.
“I told you I’m going to protect you, and I meant it.” Daphne leans over and kicks hard at her door, forcing it open with an angry croak. “I’m going to keep him busy, but … I don’t know how long that’s going to work. So I need you to watch out for yourself. The second you get out of the car, just run and don’t look back. Understand?”
I blink, the words clear but confusing. “What do you mean, you don’t know how long it’s going to work?” She opens her mouth, and for a moment I think she’s going to tell me something … but then she looks away. My voice rising, I demand, “Daph?”
Instead of answering, she reaches across me, grabbing hold of my injured shoulder and rolling it. The sudden pain makes me gasp, bones and tendons crunching back together as she manipulates the joint—but when she releases it, the throbbing ache is gone entirely. With a smile, troubled and brief, she says, “Don’t be a hero, and don’t wait for me.”
And with that, she turns and clambers from the car. Panicked, I roll out on my side, tumbling onto someone’s lawn—lights springing on up and down the block as people react to the crash. Rasputin is just beginning to stand when Daphne advances on him, and even from thirty feet away, I can see malevolence in the feral grin that sharpens his face.
Getting to my feet, I start to run … but guilt slows my pace. Don’t be a hero. How can I run away, seeking cover while Daphne fights this battle on my behalf? She knows she’s outmatched, we both know it—and despite what she said, I can’t help but look back, watching from half a block away as she squares off with a hundred-and-fifty-year-old vampire.
When she gets close, she twirls, slashing at him with the stake. But he vanishes, blinking out in a puff of vapor—only to reappear instantly, right behind her. Before I can shout a warning, I realize she’s anticipated the trick, lashing out and slamming her foot into his pelvis just as he materializes; he reels, but when she dives back to bury the stake in his chest, Rasputin counters with a blow that sends her flying through the air.
He turns toward me, then, those horrible eyes burning brighter than the streetlights, and I hear his voice thundering in my head. You’ll join us, August Pfeiffer.
“Keep running!” Daphne shouts, scrambling to her feet. She charges a second time, leaping into a spin kick that catches air when Rasputin relocates again—but once more she’s anticipated the feint, the point of the stake catching him in the shoulder when he reappears on her opposite side. He growls, his face darkening, and Daphne screams, “Go!”
Fire blazing in his eyes, Rasputin lunges straight at her—and disappears in a dark smear, just as before. The trick is old now, and Daphne anticipates it … but when she spins around to catch him, her stake finds nothing but air. Reappearing in the exact same place he vanished from, Rasputin catches her arm in midair, and the sound of bone snapping is as horrifying as our head-on collision with the tree.
Shock pulls all the blood from my head and pushes my stomach into my throat, and the night wobbles as Rasputin rips the stake from Daphne’s limp hand, crushing the wood into splinters. And then I watch, frozen, as he wraps a hand around her chin and twists her head, viciously and effortlessly, to the side. There’s a nauseating crack … and Daphne drops to ground, limbs sprawling. Her blond hair streams over the wet road, her eyes half open and turned to the sky—glazed and unfocused.
Dead.
I gag stomach acid, tears flooding my eyes, everything too bright, too real. The vampire blood surges and snaps in my veins, anger and grief hurtling up out of the darkness—and deep down, in a place I can’t name, I sense the Corrupter’s power. He likes the chaos inside me. My fingers itch with the desire to rip Rasputin’s head clean from his body and watch him crumble into nothing but dust and bone.
But when I meet his golden gaze, my hands squeezing into fists, the air between us darkens and narrows. Again his eyes move without moving, and pressure builds in my head. He’s trying to mesmerize me, and only a slender membrane of resistance—maybe the vampire blood, maybe the Corrupter—is holding him back. Just like that, I know I’m not strong enough to fight him; I’m barely strong enough to fight this.
A window slams open somewhere nearby, a high, thin voice shouting, “Whatever’s happening out there, we’ve called the police, and they’re on their way!”
Rasputin glances sharply in the direction of the sound, and I spin on my heel, obeying Daphne’s final command: Go.
She was right about the extra juice—I’m moving like Mario with an invincibility star, trees blurring as I skid around a corner and sprint for my own neighborhood. It’s one mile, and with every foot of ground I cover, I expect Rasputin to drop on me out of nowhere. I expect him to materialize in front of me, to close in on me from behind, but both times I allow myself a glance over my shoulder, the streets are dark and empty
.
I don’t understand it. I don’t understand anything. By the time my house comes into view, my chest is heaving, and not from the exertion. Daphne’s last moments hurl themselves constantly against my memory, a moth trapped in a jar, and the only thing holding me together is sheer, unbridled terror. I have to get inside.
But the night isn’t done with me yet.
My hands are shaking as I stumble up the front steps, my keys dancing as I struggle to find the right one. Only three vampires are watching my house tonight—but who do they work for? I don’t believe Rasputin would just let me escape like that, and I can’t accept that he did. He followed us from the rave and killed Daphne right in front of me—why am I not in a cage right now? What does he have planned?
Throwing open the storm door, I’m just about to jam my key in the lock … when, once again, I realize I’m not alone on the porch. Something moves in my peripheral vision, a shadow more solid than the rest. Whirling, I yank my crucifix free so fast the stitching of my pocket tears—but then: “Auggie?”
The voice is so familiar, yet unexpected, that I almost drop the cross. The darkness under the overhang is a black quicksand, swallowing everything, but the vampire blood lets me see her face anyway. “A-Adriana?”
“I didn’t think you were ever going to come home.” She shivers, her breath coming out in a machine-gun stream of ragged puffs, and worry is written in the set of her brow.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, unlocking the door as quickly as possible, sounding angry when what I really am is frantic—grief-stricken. My throat is a fist closed tight around my tears, and every breath I take is a reminder that Daphne is dead, and Rasputin is somewhere behind me.
“Waiting for you,” she answers with vacant simplicity, stepping out of the shadows and blinking as if the moon hurts her eyes. “I must have fallen asleep. It’s … it’s really cold, Auggie.”
A horrible thought comes over me, like a centipede crawling up my arm, and I shove the front door open and hurry inside. The house is warm—and empty, and silent, but it’s a safe zone of a sort, and just standing inside it makes me ready to weep for a dozen more reasons. I turn back, my breath tight, the crucifix still biting into my fingers. “I mean, yeah, it’s cold. It’s the middle of the night. Why were you waiting for me?”
The Fell of Dark Page 18