by Parker Grey
But between the two of us, we should be able to handle one girl in a small mountain village. Right?
“All right,” I say. “Fine. The two of you win. Let’s go into town.”
Two hours and a long Jeep ride later, we’re walking through the small, charming cobblestone streets of Inversberg. It’s a picture-perfect small mountain town: stone buildings lining the street two stories high, flowers in the window boxes of every wrought-iron balcony.
Cheese shops. Wine shops. A Charcuterie shop, even a place that sells nothing but roses, which this little town is famous for.
Bianca walks between us, slightly in front, obviously thrilled to be out of the dull, boring cabin and in the sunshine for once. She’s wearing a sundress, her shoulders bare, the skirt swirling around her legs.
It’s a little distracting. Okay, it’s a lot fucking distracting. I spend minutes on end watching the way she walks, the way she breathes, wondering if she’s got a bra on underneath.
The thought that she doesn’t is tantalizing, distracting. Every time another man looks at her on the street, every time I see that light of appreciation come into his eyes as he watches her, I’m murderous.
Then I’m suspicious.
Then I decide that no matter what, he doesn’t need to be fucking looking at her — hacker group or no — and I glare at him until he finally looks away.
The urge to grab Bianca and pull her into an alleyway is nearly overpowering. The front of her dress is done with a few small buttons, and right behind them is the answer to whether she’s wearing a bra or not.
We go into the small grocer, and I stand for a moment by the refrigerated section, trying to cool myself down while Bianca looks over the apples, picking some out and putting them into bags.
She keeps going.
She’s really buying a lot of apples.
“What are you doing with those?” Beckett finally asks her.
She looks down at the bag full of apples, slightly embarrassed.
“I like apples?” she says, then laughs.
“Apparently.”
“They’re really good, they’re easy to eat, and they last for a long time in the fridge,” she says, with a funny little shrug. “I don’t know, do you hate them or something?”
“I just don’t like them that much,” Beckett says, eyeing the heavy bag.
“I can put some...”
There’s a flash of black in the corner of my eye, and it trips some trigger in my brain.
Danger, I think, pure instinct, and even though I turn instantly I don’t catch what it is. I just know that there’s something lurking in here, something I don’t like.
Something bad.
“Stay here,” I tell Bianca and Beckett, and Beckett stops mid-sentence, undoubtedly saying something about apples.
I follow the shadow deeper into the store, heart pounding.
Chapter Six
Bianca
Kieran disappears almost silently. One moment here’s there, frowning at the bag of apples in my hand, and the next moment he’s gone.
Beckett and I look at each other. I have no idea what’s going on, but Beckett’s eyes flick warily from my face, to the spot where Kieran disappeared, to the back of the store.
That makes me nervous.
‘What is it?” I ask, the bag suddenly tight in my hand.
“Probably nothing, but I’m not sure,” he says, voice tense. “I think...”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for an answer. His lips form a line and he frowns, the spot between his eyebrows just barely creasing.
“I’ve got a bad feeling,” he says, voice low and serious as he takes my hand. “Come on.”
I put the apples down and let Beckett lead me back into the sunlit cobblestone street, heart pounding. I don’t know what Kieran saw or what Beckett saw, but it was something that put them both on edge, and that means I’m on edge.
“You know how he is,” Beckett says, one hand on my shoulder. “He’s jumpy, especially when he’s on a mission like this, I’m sure someone just looked at him funny and now he’s on the hunt—”
Suddenly, there’s a huge crash behind me, glass breaking, something heavy smashing. A woman screams, and it’s not just a scream of surprise, it’s a scream of pain and terror.
I can feel the blood drain from my face, and Beckett grabs me, pushes me up against the warm stone wall in the bright sunlight.
“Don’t move,” he says. “Stay where everyone can see you, I’ll be back in a second.”
I open my mouth to say no, don’t, what if it’s a trap but then he’s gone, jogging around the corner, his whole body rigid and military. It would be sexy as hell if I weren’t so nervous.
Standing there, against the wall, I take a deep breath. It’s so bright, beautiful, and sunny that it’s a little hard to stay this nervous, be this freaked out.
I mean, who’d try something in broad daylight, in full view of a dozen people?
Well, who’d broadcast something during primetime on a national network?
I have a point.
I take another deep breath, collecting myself, my back and shoulders still against the wall. Beckett hasn’t reappeared from the alley, and Kieran hasn’t reappeared from the shop, but I crane my neck, looking for either of them.
I don’t find them.
But I find a dark, hooded figure in a cape. I jump about a mile when I see him, and then a cold shock goes through me, because he doesn’t move. He didn’t move, not at all.
He’s been standing there, across the street, in the shadow of an ironwork balcony the whole time. He could have been there for hours, he might have watched me go into the store, pick out apples, come out and—
He grins, his mouth oddly white in the dark shadow, even from this far away.
My whole body breaks into a cold sweat. I don’t know who it is or what’s happening. For all I know, he could be part of some animatronic Halloween decoration, only it’s not October. I just know that he’s staring at me, watching me, and grinning in a way that makes my blood run cold.
And then he lifts one hand in a wave, his unnerving grin plastered onto his face.
I start walking. I know that Beckett told me to stay right there and not move, but he’s not here. He’s not watching this creep in a cloak wave and grin at me, he’s not here to go tell him to knock it off or find out what’s going on.
And you know what? I’ve seen horror movies before. I know what happens to the girl who just stands still and screams while the bad guy comes for her.
She dies first. That’s what.
No thanks.
I walk as fast as I can along the cobblestone street, my summer dress swishing along my thighs. Even though it’s warm I can feel cold prickles along the back of my neck, the ooze of cold sweat trickling down my body.
He’s coming, I think. He’s watching you, and he’s walking after you.
Don’t turn around. Don’t look. Don’t let him know you’re afraid, just act normal.
I last another fifteen seconds, and then I can’t help it. I turn around and look.
There he is, half a block behind me. His creepy cape is billowing out behind him, lined with blood-red satin, his face deep in shadow under the hood. I can tell he’s wearing a full tuxedo despite the summer heat, along with white gloves, walking swiftly. Purposefully.
He’s coming for me. There’s no other interpretation of this I can make, nothing else I can think.
I gasp, try to get a hold of myself, my hands balled into tight fists at my sides as I push myself to walk even faster down this street, even though I don’t know where I’m going. Inversberg is tiny, only a few blocks long, and already the houses and shops are spacing out, but I can’t turn back.
He’s back there.
I look again, despite myself, and this time he’s closer. Still marching steadily for me, and I’m almost out of town, nearly to the dark woods that surround the place.
Go somewhere, I think. Do someth
ing, only don’t go back, do something smart and clever and outwit him somehow...
Up ahead, I can see one last shop, the door open, a chalkboard sign out front that says ‘Lose yourself in a book!’
There, I think. Go in there, call for help, people who like books are always good people.
Despite myself, I break into a run, but I can hear footsteps behind me, way too close. The bookstore is only a block away, and I put every ounce of effort and energy I’ve got into sprinting for it, completely panicked, every alarm bell in my body blaring at full volume.
Fifty feet. Twenty, ten, and then I’m there next to the cheery chalkboard sign, wrenching open the door so hard that the bells on it slam against the wood.
“Hi, welcome to Isabelle’s—”
“Please help me I’m being chased he’s right behind me call someone please,” I gasp, nearly running into a table filled with kids’ books.
I dart around it wildly, heading for the counter in the back of the store where there’s got to be a phone as I hear the bells on the door again.
He’s right behind me, he’s right—
“Günther!” a woman’s voice says sharply.
I rush between two bookshelves, careening toward the counter. There’s no one behind it right now, and I scramble around it, frantically looking for a phone.
Somewhere in there, I look up, toward the front of the store, and I come to a dead stop.
The guy in the cloak is just standing there, hood off, head down, shoulders slumped. The woman who told me hello is standing in front of him, about a foot shorter but clearly in control.
“You know better!” she says.
“I forgot,” he mutters.
I stand up straighter, hands on the counter.
“You can’t just forget,” she warns. “You promised everyone that would wouldn’t play Dracula with strangers, and now here you are, and that poor girl is terrified out of her wits!”
I bristle at that. I’m not some poor girl, and I’m not terrified out of my...
Well. I did kinda freak out there.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I thought she was...”
The woman crosses her arms.
“Are you lying?” she asks, her voice still stern.
“I thought she was Rosalind?”
“Günther.”
“Maria?”
“You didn’t think she was anyone, you just wanted to scare her, and you know you broke your promise.”
“Sorry, Belle,” he whispers.
The woman sighs.
“Sit down,” she says. “I’m going to call your grandpa to come get you.”
Günther slumps off, and Belle turns authoritatively, walking toward me.
“Hi, I’m so sorry about that, he’s totally harmless but I know he really scares people,” she says, walking toward me. “Are you okay? Can I make you tea or anything? I’m Isabelle, by the way.”
Up close, she’s prettier and younger than I thought she’d be: honey-brown hair, warm brown eyes, the kind of welcoming smile that makes me feel a little better.
“I’m fine,” I say, still catching my breath. “Is that— does he—”
She leans in, confidentially, her eyes looking sad.
“He fell out of a tree as a kid,” she says, voice hushed. “Doctors didn’t think he’d live, but when he finally woke up there was... damage.”
“I see.”
“Right now, he’s really into vampires, and he’s invented this game where he stalks people around town, pretending like he’s lurking in the shadows, and everyone who lives here knows him and kind of ignores it. Some people even gave him the costume because, you know, poor Günther. Six months ago he wanted to be a ballerina, and was always pirouetting into bookshelves.”
I move around the counter and sneak a glance of the guy in the cloak. Sitting there, head and shoulders slumped, messing with his fingers, he’s not scary at all.
“Right,” I say, still trying to collect myself.
Isabelle cocks her head.
“Let me call his grandfather to come get him, then I’ll make you some tea, all right?” she says.
Chapter Seventeen
Beckett
“HOW COULD YOU FUCKING LOSE HER?” Kieran roars.
“I was gone for fifteen seconds to investigate—”
“You don’t fucking leave her, you sock-headed moron!” he shouts. “That was a fucking distraction, a goddamn trap!”
He’s right. Jesus, I know he’s right, the knowledge burning its way through my chest in a fiery flood as we stand in the middle of this street, shouting at each other. There’s a small ring of people around us, all a good twenty feet away, just waiting to see what happens next
“I evaluated the surroundings and felt that my attention was best spent elsewhere,” I growl through gritted teeth. “Maybe if we focused on finding where she went rather than figuring out whose fault this is—”
“Yours,” he grits back, jabbing one finger into my chest. “This is your fault, you blithering—”
I grab his finger, jerk his hand away from me.
“We can fucking do this part later,” I snarl. “I’m gonna go find Bianca. You coming?”
Kieran steps back, glaring, and I turn on my heel, striding down the street.
We check the doors on both sides, townspeople pointing us on, my blood still boiling, nerves writhing. As we make our way through town I’m more and more nervous, less and less angry at Kieran.
He’s right, I think, over and over again.
I should never have let her out of my sight, that’s the oldest trick in the book.
What if she’s gone forever? What if I never see Bianca again?
What if...
“Clear,” Kieran calls from the opposite side of the street, his voice grim.
“Clear,” I answer back.
The forest is looming close, right at the edge of town, and the fact is weighing heavily in my gut. We’ve only spent a few minutes looking for her in town, but what if it was too long?
They could be miles away by now, I think, my hands balling into fists. We should just sound the alarm and go, not bother checking this last store...
But Kieran’s already crossing the street, scowl etched on his face, so I walk toward the cheerful chalkboard sign on Isabelle’s Bookstore, heave the door open, and peer in.
Sitting in a chair, a head snaps up, and I frown. The guy’s wearing a black cloak lined with blood-red satin, but he can’t be more than nineteen or twenty, and he’s got the open, guileless face of a child.
“Have you seen a woman?” I ask, somehow unnerved by the scene.
He nods, and I realize he’s also wearing a tuxedo. The fact only unnerves me more.
“Belle’s here,” he offers. “She’s a woman. And there was the pretty girl who...”
“Beckett?” Bianca’s voice asks.
My knees nearly go weak with relief as she suddenly appears between two bookshelves.
I don’t say anything, just stride toward her and wrap my arms around her slight frame, hugging her so tight that I’m not sure she can breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps out. “He was chasing me, and I just got so freaked out that I—”
“It’s fine,” I murmur, my lips against her hair. “I should have never left you there alone, I shouldn’t have let myself get distracted, it’s completely my fault.”
The bells on the door ring behind me, and I turn my head to see Kieran come through. The instant that he sees Bianca in my arms, his face changes completely, from worried anger to total relief.
Wordlessly, I let her go and she goes to him, letting him envelop her in his arms.
“I’m fine,” I hear her whisper. “I was about to come look for you, but I wasn’t sure where you’d be...”
The other woman in the store is just watching the three of us, face slightly amused, arms crossed in front of her chest. She’s pretty, brown eyes and brown hair, kind of a bookish look ab
out her. When she sees me looking at her, she raises her eyebrows and walks over to me.
“I’m so sorry about that,” she says. “The guy in the cape is Günther, he had an accident as a child and right now he’s obsessed with thinking he’s a vampire. I swear he’s not dangerous, it’s just this game he likes to play. When he catches you he just laughs and then goes to catch someone else, I swear. But I know it’s easy to get freaked out by a guy in a cape chasing you...”
I look over at Günther, and I feel a little bad for the guy. That does explain the look of childlike confusion on his face, or why someone is wearing a tuxedo and cape in the middle of town at all.
“Thanks for letting her in,” I tell the woman.
“Of course,” she says.
Bianca and Kieran finally separate, and then the three of us just look at each other.
Then we look at the woman who owns the bookstore, who’s very slightly raising one eyebrow.
“Oh, Belle, these are my... friends,” Bianca says, in a way that makes it clear that friends is not at all the right word. “Kieran and Beckett.”
Belle clearly doesn’t believe the friends bit, but she shakes our hands very pleasantly anyway.
“Well, now that you’re here, feel free to look around,” she says. “This vampire should be out of here shortly, I’ve called his grandpa to come fetch him.”
In his chair, Günther sighs.
Fifteen minutes later, Kieran and I are both waiting at the counter with huge stacks of books. Probably at least a few hundred euros’ worth — it’s the least we can do for the woman who helped Bianca out.
As Belle rings us up, I peruse the books on a table behind us. It seems to be the political area.
And it’s very... opinionated, with titles like Why Griskold Doesn’t Need a Monarchy or Viva La Parliament!
I shrug to myself. It’s always good to have a lively discussion about how we’re governed.
But then one more catches my eye.
The Hidden Beast in the Tower: Why Julian of Griskold Should Not Be the Next King.