Overbite

by Meg Cabot

  Obviously, very few of them had seen Genevieve Fox’s news report about the city’s sudden spike in missing people . . . all tourists. And yet, Genevieve pointed out, for some reason alerts to the media about these people had not been issued. Was this because the mayor did not wish to disseminate to the public warnings about a vicious serial killer in their midst during a time when tourism to the city was at an all-time peak?

  The mayor’s office had already issued a statement assuring the public that there was no cause for alarm. There had been no change in the procedure for disseminating reports of missing persons to the press . . . merely a concern that the potential downside to such reporting was that the public might become “desensitized” over time. The mayor’s office and police were aware of and actively working on each and every case Genevieve had mentioned.

  This, however, did not exactly jibe with the interviews Genevieve’s colleagues managed to snag with family members of the missing.

  And though Alaric’s name was never mentioned, “a source working closely with the NYPD” was said to have grave doubts that anyone there was taking these cases very seriously.

  “And where does that leave ten-year-old Kaileigh Anderson,” Genevieve looked into the screen and inquired, “who only wants to know why her nineteen-year-old brother, Jeff, didn’t return to their home in Fairfield, Connecticut, after what was supposed to be a fun night out clubbing with friends in Manhattan last Saturday night?”

  “Please,” Kaileigh sobbed into the camera while she clutched a photo of a Goth-looking young man. “Someone find my brother.”

  “Jesus Christ, Meena,” Jon said, turning down the volume on the TV as he skimmed her letter of termination. “What, exactly, is going on?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. She lifted her purse onto her thighs. “That’s why I need your help. I know how good you are with computers.” From inside the roomy bag, where she already kept her wallet, hair product, antibacterial gel, and an assortment of makeup, notebooks, pens, wooden stakes, and vials of holy water, she pulled Jon’s laptop. “I want you to hack into the Palatine’s computer mainframe and find Alaric.”

  “What?” Jon looked shocked. “You just said they transferred him to Rome!”

  “That’s what someone wants me to believe,” Meena said. “And I can see how they’re going to try to justify it. All that stuff Genevieve Fox is saying on the news about the people gone missing? I saw Alaric talking to her last night. That’s his theory—that there’s something eating all these tourists, and there’s a cover-up going on—”

  Meena could barely get the words out. Last night a tiny part of her had thought Alaric had been hitting on Genevieve Fox, and vice versa.

  Now that she’d seen the news story—and it was the lead story on every local channel; she’d made Jon check—she knew what they’d actually been discussing.

  She fingered the necklace Alaric had given her, which she hadn’t removed, even while showering, per his orders. She supposed that wherever he was, Alaric regretted giving it to her now. She would, if she’d been him.

  She’d been an idiot.

  “Wait,” Jon said. “Why don’t you think that’s really where he is?”

  She gave him a scornful look.

  “Oh, right, Jon,” Meena said. “Alaric just went back to Rome. Without saying good-bye to us. With Abraham still missing. With some kind of demented killer roaming loose in the city, killing all the tourists. With Lucien still evading capture. Because that sounds so like Alaric Wulf.”

  Jon nodded. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. Alaric isn’t in Rome. But, Meena, even talented as I am—and I am incredibly talented—I cannot hack into the mainframe of a secret demon-hunting military force of the Vatican and—what is it you want me to do?”

  “We all carry cell phones with GPS trackers,” Meena said, holding up hers. “I’ve called his a dozen times, and it goes straight to voice mail. He hasn’t returned any of my messages. They’ve changed all my passwords, so I can’t log on to the system anymore, and when I call anyone at headquarters, either here in the city or in Rome, I can’t get through. I think they’re blocking me. Jon, I know Alaric hasn’t left the city. He’s here somewhere, and he’s in trouble. I need you to find out where he really is so we can go rescue him.” She pushed his laptop across the table. “You’ve got to help me.”

  “Oh, sure,” Jon said sarcastically. “No problem. I’ll get right on it.” He leaned across the table to take the phone, not the laptop, then examined it. “Meena, this is an expensive piece of equipment. If they went to all the trouble of changing your passwords to keep you out of the computer system, why did they let you keep this phone?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, with a shrug. “They’re using it to track me.”

  “You?” He shook his head. “What for? Where do they think you’re going to go?”

  “It doesn’t matter where I go,” she said. “It’s who they think is going to come to me.”

  Jon looked at her. “Oh my God. They’re using you to find Lucien. They really don’t care what happens to you, do they?”

  “No,” she said, plucking the phone from his fingers and dropping it into her half-full cup of coffee. “Are you going to help me or not?”

  Jon’s eyes widened. “But, Meena . . . do you realize what you’re saying? Who you’re going up against?”

  “Do you have a better suggestion?” she asked.

  “Uh,” Jon said, “run?” He grabbed his laptop and stood up. “Let’s go rent a car and get out of here. If we leave now and ignore any speed limits, we can make it to Georgia by nightfall.”

  “Jon,” Meena said, “I’m pretty sure Lucien and the Palatine can still find us in Georgia. Besides, what about Alaric?”

  “Oh.” He looked crestfallen. “Yeah.”

  They both jumped at a sudden pounding on the glass door to the Beanery. Jack Bauer, who’d given up on any crumbs that might drop from Meena’s muffin, leaped up from beneath her chair and began to bark.

  “Jesus!” Jon cried, alarmed.

  It turned out to be only the three men with the popped collars whose table Jon had kicked over.

  Meena relaxed . . . until she saw that two New York City police officers were accompanying them. One of the police officers pointed at the door handle and shouted, “Open up. Now.”

  Meena looked at the police officers, and then at her brother.

  “Is there a back exit to this place?” she asked.

  “Uh,” he said, “yeah. But it just leads to an alley. It’s where all the shop fronts here put their garbage until trash day. It’s pretty disgusting.”

  “Can you get to it from around the front?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “Only through here. Wait . . . Are you seriously suggesting what I think you are? I mean, we can’t just—”

  “You can stay here if you want,” she said, picking up her bag and Jack Bauer’s leash. “I’m going to go look for Alaric.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Considering the direction in which her life had been heading lately, Meena shouldn’t have been surprised when she walked out the back door of the Beanery and was attacked by a vampire.

  Sure, it was broad daylight. But the alley received no sun whatsoever at that time of day, thanks to the buildings rising up on either side.

  She’d only turned her back for a second to watch her brother lock up behind him.

  It had been less than twelve hours since she’d been fired from the Palatine, and she’d already forgotten rule number one of demon fighting: never turn your back.

  It was Jack Bauer who saved her life. He began growling and tugging on the end of his leash.

  When Meena turned to see what was wrong with her dog, she noticed a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. It appeared to be coming from the direction of a Dumpster a few fee
t away.

  She could never say later what made her duck . . . her gift, or simple instinct. But she did, letting out a warning scream to Jon.

  And so Brianna Delmonico—who leaped for her, gaping jaw first—crashed against the back door of the Beanery, missing Meena, her intended target, entirely, but half flattening Jon with the force of her momentum.

  “Jesus Christ,” Jon cried, dropping his keys in surprise.

  Brianna did not look as if she’d spent the past forty-eight hours attending Mommy-and-Me read-alongs at the local bookstore, or anything of that nature. She was wearing a velour tracksuit that might at one time have been pink, but was now stained bright red—at least down the front—with blood.

  The blood did not appear to be her own. She lifted her head from the door and whipped it around to face Meena—completely ignoring Jon—letting out a hiss that revealed a set of blood-soaked fangs. Clearly dental hygiene was no longer a priority in the Delmonico household.

  “Get out of here,” Meena shouted to her brother from the pavement of the alley, to which she’d dropped. “Go!”

  Jon didn’t hesitate. He wriggled past Brianna and into the alley, fumbling in his apron pocket.

  “Oh my God,” Meena heard him saying a few seconds later. “Oh my God . . . I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Meena didn’t have time for her brother’s problems. She was busy dealing with Brianna, who’d lunged at her again.

  And this time Meena couldn’t duck, because she was already on the ground. She had nowhere to go. She grunted as the larger woman’s body hit hers, momentarily knocking the breath out of her. Vampires were naturally strong, but in life, Brianna must have spent a lot of time working out, because her muscles were like rocks. Meena regretted the many nights she’d picked the Palatine’s research library over the gym.

  Fortunately, not content to be left out of the fight, Jack Bauer threw himself at Brianna Delmonico, viciously assaulting her ankles just above her Nikes.

  Brianna let out a guttural sound, clearly in pain. But even Jack Bauer’s sharp little fangs sinking into her flesh didn’t distract her from trying to sink her own into Meena’s.

  “Jon,” Meena cried, reaching up to wrap her hands around the throat of the woman with whom she’d shared a boyfriend. “A little help, please.”

  “Hold on—” she heard Jon say. Then he made a sound like he was retching.

  Was he throwing up?

  Then, just as those inch-long incisors were about to plunge into the same holes the woman’s husband had made in Meena’s neck, Brianna turned her face away with a look of absolute repulsion.

  It wasn’t until she saw the direction of Brianna’s gaze that Meena realized why: Alaric’s cross.

  For a moment, the two of them lay there, Meena breathing hard, Brianna . . . well, Brianna not breathing at all, just hissing in anger and disgust.

  That was all the time Jon needed to recover from whatever was wrong with him, reach out, grab a handful of Brianna’s blond hair, then flip her off Meena and onto her back.

  Before the vampire even knew what had hit her, Jon was standing over her, one foot pressed to her chest, and the SuperStaker pointed in her face.

  Meena lay still on the alley floor, sucking in as much air as she could, grateful finally to have the weight of Brianna’s body lifted from her. She gazed up at the thin slice of blue sky she could see between the tall buildings, across which a couple of fluffy white clouds slowly drifted.

  The clouds looked exactly like the ones that had drifted across the sky outside the window of the castle in her dream about Lucien and his mother, so peaceful and serene. Meena wished she could lie there forever, enjoying the view.

  Then Jack Bauer trotted up to her face, gave her cheek a little lick, and went quickly back to growl at Brianna some more.

  “All right,” Jon was saying to Brianna. “I saw what you did to that guy over there. If you think I’m going to let you do that to my sister—”

  Brianna lunged at him, her jaw snapping. Jon squeezed the trigger on his hair dryer. A blue dot of light appeared on Brianna’s head.

  She instantly began screaming in pain and fell back to the ground, writhing and clutching her head. A trail of smoke wisped up from her burning hair.

  “Jon!” Meena cried, gasping as she sat up.

  “Holy crap,” Jon said in a stunned voice, looking down at the SuperStaker. “It works. It actually works.”

  “Jon!” Meena cried again, this time because Brianna had lunged again. Only now she was going for the hand that held the SuperStaker.

  Jon pressed the trigger once more, hitting Brianna in the chest with the blue dot. She began to writhe, then crab-walked until her back came up against the wall of the opposite building, not seeming to know what had hit her.

  “Jon,” Meena said, again, climbing to her feet, “what is that thing?”

  “It’s a gun that shoots UV rays,” he said. “I invented it. Well, I made an adjustment to a gun of a similar design that the police are already using in crime-scene analysis—”

  Noticing that Jon was distracted, Brianna tried to slink away. Jon was too fast for her, however. He trained the blue light on her throat, causing her to squeal and back up against the wall once more, looking back and forth frantically for some means of escape.

  There was none. She was trapped.

  “As you can see,” Jon continued to Meena, “it’s pretty effective.”

  Meena, impressed, said, “Ask her where all that blood down her shirt came from.”

  Meena still felt that Alaric, Abraham, and Carolina were all right . . . but the sight of all that blood was making her nervous. This woman had hurt someone she knew. She could feel it.

  “If you’ve done anything to any of my friends,” Meena warned Brianna, her insides clenching, “I’m going to have my brother set you on fire with this thing.”

  Brianna glared at Meena venomously. “I always hated you,” she said. “I was glad when they sent me to kill you.”

  “Blast her,” Meena said to her brother. “And make it quick. We don’t have a whole lot of time. Those cops looked mad.”

  “I know where some of that blood came from,” Jon said. “Go take a look behind that Dumpster.”

  Hesitantly, Meena walked toward the Dumpster to peer around it . . .

  . . . and instantly understood why Jon had been retching earlier.

  They’d found one of Alaric’s missing tourists.

  Or at least, what was left of him.

  This one was missing a large chunk of his neck. It was clear now where the blood down Brianna’s tracksuit had come from. Judging by the dead man’s expression, which seemed startled, death had clearly come as a surprise . . . for which Meena supposed he could only be thankful. She remembered David’s bite, and how she hadn’t even known it was there until Lucien had pointed out that it was bleeding.

  There had to be some kind of anesthetizing agent in their fangs. She wondered if the man had been on his way from sampling some of the food booths at the San Gennaro Festival. He’d probably just wanted to explore the neighborhood and digest his meal a little—his last, as it turned out—when Brianna attacked.

  Meena thought she was going to be sick.

  “What kind of vampire are you?” Jon was asking Brianna, threatening her with the SuperStaker. “You’re supposed to drink people’s blood, not chew big holes in them. You’re getting this all wrong.”

  Meena turned away from the corpse, something stirring in the back of her mind. A vampire that ate its prey’s flesh . . . where had she heard that before?

  “Who sent you here?” Jon demanded of Brianna. “Who turned you?”

  Brianna continued to snarl at him, almost as ferociously as Jack Bauer was snarling at her.

  Backed into a corner as she was, however, there was nowhere she c
ould go.

  “Here,” Meena said, kneeling beside her brother. “Let me try.”

  Jon thrust an arm out in front of her protectively. “Not too close,” he warned, holding up the SuperStaker.

  “It’s all right,” Meena said. Looking Brianna straight in the eye, she said, “Brianna, I’m sorry this happened to you. It’s all my fault. I know that. And I’m so, so sorry.”

  Jon looked at her like she was nuts. “Sorry?” he cried. “For what? Her husband tried to kill you. And so did she. She did just kill that guy over there!”

  “I know,” Meena said. “But none of it would have happened if it weren’t for me. And—”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jon interrupted. “You didn’t start any of this. And anyway, she stole your boyfriend, remember?”

  Meena glared at him. “She didn’t steal him. He walked. And would you let me finish? Just because she’s been turned into a vampire doesn’t mean she’s lost of all of her humanity. There could still be something left of the old Brianna in there, fighting to get out. I think that’s what my dream is trying to tell me about Lucien.” She looked down at Brianna. “It could be true of her, too.”

  Brianna looked straight back at her, bared her fangs, and hissed.

  “Yeah,” Jon said. “I’ve never seen Lucien do that. Except the time he tried to fry us all alive.” He aimed the SuperStaker at Brianna’s head. “Tell us who turned you, or I swear I will burn a hole the size of a quarter right through your scalp—”

  Before he got a chance to follow through on his threat, however, the back door to the Shrine of St. Clare’s thrift shop burst open, and Yalena stepped out.

  “Jon?” she called, looking around. “Jon, are you out here? There are some police officers who—”

  Then several things happened at once.

  Yalena saw the dead body behind the Dumpster and screamed.

  Jon saw Yalena, and was so distracted, he relaxed his grip on the SuperStaker.

  And Brianna saw that Jon had relaxed his grip on the SuperStaker. She leaped onto Jon, sinking her fangs into his shoulder.