Overbite

by Meg Cabot

  “I do not think you understand the gravity of the situation, Meena,” he said, hitting the down button. “It is vitally imperative that Lucien Antonescu be captured.”

  His English was a lot better now than it had been during his television interview with Genevieve Fox, as well as when he’d been talking to her and Father Bernard and Sister Gertrude . . . both of whom, Meena had noticed, were conspicuously absent from this operation.

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Meena asked. “But I don’t see how handcuffing me is helping the situation—”

  Father Henrique leaned over her. He was quite a bit taller than she was.

  “Don’t pretend you haven’t been consorting with him,” he said. “You were seen with him last night. You’ve helped create this situation. From what I understand, you’re the one who dreamed about it—the book—and put in the request for it. I imagine you even told him about it. And now he has it. You can’t even begin to conceive of what you’ve done. You’ve basically unleashed in him powers he never even knew he had. Now he’ll be unstoppable.”

  Meena, shaken, looked up at him. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about. That wasn’t in my dream. That wasn’t what I dreamed about at all.”

  “I told you before,” he said, “that it isn’t an ordinary devotional. And now that it’s fallen into his hands, there is no telling what he’ll do. So if you know where he is, you had better tell us, or you will basically be responsible for undoing everything—everything—we’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

  The elevator doors slid open, and he took her arm.

  “But of course,” he said, guiding her out into the hallway and toward a back exit, where a number of other guards were waiting, “it’s up to you.”

  It was at this point that she’d heard Alaric shout, “Don’t tell that bastard anything, Meena!” before his voice was stifled by the slamming of a car door. They’d stuffed him into a waiting van, which immediately drove off. Another van was idling behind it . . . for Meena, as it turned out.

  Meena’s heart had begun to thump with fear. She had no idea what Father Henrique was talking about, or what was about to happen to her. This was the Palatine, after all, a secret unit of the Vatican. No one even knew it existed. They could do whatever they wanted to her, she realized, and not be held accountable.

  Not that she really believed anything Lucien had been saying earlier, about how it had been her employer who’d sent David after her. That was absurd. The Palatine didn’t keep vampires captive to infect innocent civilians, then turn them loose into the population just to lure their number one target out into the open . . .

  Did they?

  “S-sorry,” Meena said, looking up at Father Henrique. “But I really don’t know where Lucien is.”

  Actually, this wasn’t entirely true. Mary Lou had said something about a cave. But she wasn’t about to share that information. Not just because of what Alaric had shouted. But because in her heart, she didn’t believe the priest was telling the truth.

  Father Henrique’s expression hardened.

  “I see,” he’d said. “May I give you a word of advice, Miss Harper? Choose your boyfriends with better care. Nothing good ever seems to end up happening to them. And I’d hate to have to say the same about Alaric Wulf someday.”

  Meena blinked. Had he really just made a threat against Alaric? She wasn’t entirely sure since, a second later, he smiled at her, as charmingly as he’d smiled at Genevieve Fox on TV.

  “I’ll see you back at headquarters,” he said.

  Then he strolled off, leaving her to be hauled, openmouthed in shock, into the waiting van.

  She was almost sure they were going to drive her straight to the river to shoot her, then shove her—along with Alaric—into the dark waters.

  But of course they didn’t. They took her straight to Palatine headquarters at St. Bernadette’s, which ought to have been comforting, but wasn’t. She didn’t see the van into which they’d shoved Alaric, nor could she hear his voice in the hallway. After what Father Henrique had said about him, she had begun to get a very bad feeling. Whether or not Lucien was correct about there being some kind of conspiracy within the Palatine, there was obviously no love lost between Alaric and Father Henrique.

  And now Father Henrique appeared to have been promoted to a position of some power. Not that she thought he’d abuse that power . . . but what had he meant about not wanting something bad to happen to Alaric? Had he meant that without Meena’s help, something bad would happen to him? It must surely have been that. Because everyone had seen Lucien intending to do bad things to Alaric (but only because Alaric had been trying to help her).

  Surely the priest hadn’t meant that he himself intended to do bad things to Alaric. Because when Meena pictured Alaric in her head, she didn’t get the feeling that he was in any danger . . . at least, not of the mortal kind. But she had no idea where he was. She herself was locked in the school’s old nurse’s office, clearly used in the past for isolating contagious children from the rest of the student population. There was absolutely no way out.

  And—should anyone happen to be thinking of rescuing her—absolutely no way in either, save the door. And that was locked.

  But evidently no one was thinking of rescuing her, since, as the hours crept by, the knob on the door never moved.

  The building was, of course, as thoroughly demon-proofed as Meena’s home, so Lucien couldn’t have gotten in if he’d wanted to.

  Which she had to admit was a bit of a relief, after the way he’d been acting during those last few minutes in the museum. Sorry as she’d felt for him when she’d seen the smoke rising from his skin as a result of its contact with the holy water, she still couldn’t believe what he’d tried to do to her. He had been acting like someone she didn’t even know. What had he been thinking, trying to kidnap her like that?

  Meena had plenty of time to wonder. Left alone in the nurse’s office for hours, she had nothing else to do. They’d removed her handcuffs, but taken her cell phone away. Eventually, she must have fallen into an exhausted, troubled sleep on the examination table, since the next thing she knew, she was being shaken awake.

  “No!” she cried. “I don’t know! I swear I don’t know where he is!”

  “That,” Father Henrique said, drawing a chair close to the examination table, “is unfortunate. I was hoping you might have given our recent discussion some thought, and changed your mind.”

  Meena, blinking, shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “And you can’t keep me here. I demand to be released. Where’s Alaric?”

  “Actually,” Father Henrique said, “I have every right to keep you here. You are withholding valuable evidence we need in our pursuit of the most wanted criminal in the world . . . perhaps in the history of the world. But I’m not here to fight with you. I’m actually on your side, believe it or not.”

  Meena said, “I don’t believe it. If you were on my side, you wouldn’t have locked me in this room.”

  “It’s for your own safety,” Father Henrique said. “You do realize that Lucien Antonescu was going to try to turn you tonight, don’t you?”

  Meena glared at him. “He would never do that,” she said. Although, actually, he had tried it before. But they’d discussed it, and agreed he wasn’t to do so again. Had he changed his mind? She refused to believe it. And even if he had, how would Father Henrique know? “Not without my permission.”

  “That’s exactly what I was trying to tell you,” Father Henrique said. “He has the book now. Things are different. He’s different. With that book in his possession, Lucien Antonescu will become invincible. Compared to his father . . . well, that would be like comparing a baby to a charging bull. That book will make him the most powerful being the world has ever known. Perhaps . . . all-powerful.”

  Meena stared at him. There was no
thing evil about the book she’d seen in her dreams. There hadn’t been anything evil about the book she’d seen in the museum either.

  Although she’d definitely seen a change in Lucien.

  That change, however, had come before he’d gotten his hands on the book.

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she said finally. “I thought Lucien already was all-powerful. Isn’t that what prince of darkness means? How much more powerful—or evil—can he possibly get?”

  Father Henrique shook his head. “I’m sure you’ve heard,” he said, “of the horrors Lucien’s father inflicted upon his own people. The tens of thousands of men, women, and children he had impaled, alive, for no other reason than to intimidate his enemies. That is what I am talking about.”

  Meena, already tired and confused, could not even begin to reconcile this image with the one she had in her head—and heart—of Lucien. It was not possible.

  “If letting this book fall into Lucien’s hands could cause this,” Meena said, “then why on earth did the Vatican allow it out of Rome in the first place?”

  Father Henrique’s expression darkened.

  “Not everyone believes as strongly as I do that such a little book could contain so much strength over the dark lord. Obviously they believe he wants it back, because it belonged to his mother, and they were willing to use it as bait to lure him out . . . but they never realized the ramifications of allowing it to fall into his hands. I know you believe, Meena. Because I can see it in your face. Otherwise you never would have dreamed of it. You know of its power over him . . . you believe. And you can stop what’s about to happen . . . by just telling us where he is.” Father Henrique looked sad. “Believe me, Meena, I know how painful it can be sometimes to do the right thing, as opposed to the easy thing. But I’ve learned over the years, the greater good is more important than our own selfish needs. And if you truly wish to help him, you’ll tell me where he is.”

  Meena sighed.

  “You’re right,” she said.

  Father Henrique’s face brightened. “I am?”

  “About the book,” she said. “I do believe it’s more important than anyone else seems to believe. But you’re wrong about Lucien. He’s not evil.”

  Father Henrique’s face fell. “Miss Harper—” he began.

  “I have faith in him. Even if no one else does,” Meena said. “He’ll do the right thing. Now, where’s Alaric?”

  Father Henrique stared down at her with the angriest expression Meena had ever seen on the face of a man who had pledged his life to the service of others. It seemed to take him some time before he was able to calm himself down enough to say simply, “Good night, Miss Harper.”

  Then he walked from the room, locking the door behind him.

  Even though she disliked him intensely, Meena found herself feeling a little sorry for Father Henrique. He had obviously been thrust into a position for which he was both ill-qualified and ill-suited. She wondered who’d recommended him for this promotion, and if whoever it was was going to get fired. They deserved to be.

  Yet a little after dawn, the door opened, and Dr. Fiske, Alaric’s therapist, came in, announcing with an apologetic smile that he’d been appointed temporary head of human resources in Abraham Holtzman’s absence.

  He hadn’t come to torture or kill her, or even ask her where Lucien was. Instead, he only came to present her with a letter.

  A letter of termination of employment.

  Meena, not Father Henrique, was the one who was fired.

  Dr. Fiske had her read the letter over carefully to make sure she understood it, and asked her to sign it to verify receipt.

  Then he gave her back her purse and cell phone and said that a car was waiting to take her home.

  Meena, dazed, hopped down from the examination table. This was worse than being tortured in a way, because it was so mundane after what she’d been expecting.

  She was fired?

  Dr. Fiske wasn’t unkind. He was actually very understanding, and even sympathetic and friendly.

  But Meena, he said, had broken just about every rule in the Palatine Guard Human Resources Handbook, many in the past forty-eight hours alone.

  And so it was really very unlikely, given the magnitude, breadth, and scope of the damage her actions had caused—this line was used in the letter—that even if she appealed, she would be allowed to continue in the Vatican’s employ.

  So her services were no longer required.

  When Meena asked where Alaric was, Dr. Fiske glanced at his watch and said, “I believe he’s now on private transport back to Rome.”

  Of all the things Meena had been expecting to hear, nothing could have prepared her for this.

  “Rome?” Her voice cracked in disbelief.

  “Well,” Dr. Fiske said, looking somewhat surprised by her reaction. “It wasn’t the easiest administrative decision to make, of course. It was either a transfer or terminating his employment. And since he’s obviously an extremely valuable asset to the organization, I opted to transfer him. It seemed to make the most sense.”

  Meena shook her head. What might have made sense to Dr. Fiske made no sense to her.

  “And Alaric agreed? With Lucien Antonescu apparently in possession of some book that is going to make him the most powerful demon in the history of the world?”

  For the first time, Dr. Fiske looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t know about all of that. I’m just in administration. But I’m told he was perfectly amenable to the—”

  “You were told?” The alarm bells going off in Meena’s head were so loud that she thought for a second they were the building’s smoke detectors. “You haven’t spoken to Alaric yourself?”

  “Miss Harper,” Dr. Fiske said. He peered at her from above the rims of his reading glasses. “We are, as you stated, in pursuit of the most powerful demon in the world. I have had to step into the shoes of a missing colleague, who, I would like to point out, did not leave his desk in the most organized of conditions. But I have been Alaric Wulf’s psychotherapist for almost six months, and I think I am qualified to say that Alaric’s allowed his emotions to compromise his decision-making abilities, and has been doing so for some time. Ever since he met you, to be exact.”

  This did not in any way silence the alarm bells. “But I don’t think Alaric would—”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder, and interrupted gently, “Even you can’t deny, Meena, that you and Alaric Wulf have developed a relationship that has become so unhealthily codependent, it has already caused the deaths of several of our colleagues. It’s for the best that you achieve some distance and perspective. That’s why Alaric agreed to the transfer, and is on his way back to Rome, and you are being let go. Now please don’t ask me any more questions about Alaric, as I wouldn’t like to violate my obligation to maintain patient-doctor confidentiality—”

  The words caused the deaths of several of our colleagues hit Meena hard.

  Not because she believed she’d caused the deaths of Abraham and Carolina, and the rest of the team that had been sent to Freewell. She still didn’t know where they were, or why they hadn’t checked in. But when she pictured their faces in her mind, she was quite sure that they were alive.

  Still, it was because of her that they had gone to Freewell. It was because of her that they—and Brianna Delmonico—were missing.

  David’s death, on the other hand . . . well, that she had caused. It was because of her that he’d been turned into a vampire.

  She knew that, and was willing to accept it, as well as her dismissal from the Palatine.

  There was just one thing she wasn’t willing to accept. Something Dr. Fiske, apparently, did not know.

  “There, there,” Dr. Fiske said, seeing her expression, and apparently misinterpreting it. “I know it seems like the end of the world a
t the moment. But you’ll feel better in a few days. The sun has come up now, and it’s safe for you to go. A car is waiting for you. Good-bye, Meena.”

  Feeling numb, she took the letter Dr. Fiske handed to her. Then she walked out of the nurse’s office and down the empty corridor until she stood blinking in the early-morning sunlight on the steps of Palatine headquarters, near the fountain of Saint Bernadette kneeling before the footless Madonna, empty of water as it had always been.

  Because it was only just after dawn, no one was around, except for the car that, just as Dr. Fiske had assured her, was waiting beyond the arches at the end of the courtyard. Meena stared at it, her eyes aching, her mouth dry.

  What was it Alaric had said in the taxi on the way to the museum, when she’d asked when he’d be going to Antigua? Oh yes:

  Don’t worry. I won’t be leaving with any unsettled business.

  Meena knew there was no way that Alaric Wulf had boarded a private transport to Rome. Not willingly. Not without saying good-bye to her first. And not with Lucien Antonescu still at large.

  Alaric simply had too much unsettled business in New York to have left for Rome.

  Meena was certain that Dr. Fiske believed that he himself had not been lying. He’d truly believed what he’d been saying.

  Which meant someone had been lying to Dr. Fiske.

  As she stood on the steps to St. Bernadette’s in the early light of dawn, having had so little sleep and with her emotions stretched so thin, the complexity of her situation finally began to sink in . . . as did the realization that she was alone in this now. Everything was up to her. She was going to have to figure it out on her own.

  But it was all right. She could do it.

  She hoped.

  She slipped past the waiting Town Car—the driver inside was so engrossed in the morning paper he did not even look up—then walked back to her apartment.

  Part 3