by Anna Todd
Then the door swings open so unexpectedly that you stumble again, nearly falling backward. Someone snags your shirt and yanks you forward so fast your head snaps back. The door crashes shut, and you find yourself staring into the smiling face of the blond man, the one who’d been sitting onstage a few seconds ago.
He’s tall, at least a foot taller than you, with curly hair and black eyes. His smile isn’t particularly nice. “Thought you’d come spying, did you?”
“What is it?” One of the men lowers the blueprint and glares over the top. “One of those nutty conference people?”
The blond bares his teeth, smile stretching wider. “How about it? Are you a nutty conference nut?”
“I j-just wanted a Coke,” you say, “and I heard you talking. I thought you might be actors.”
He looks over his shoulder. “Hah. Thought we might be actors.”
The man with the blueprint snorts, shaking his head. When he turns around to look at you, the light reflects off little round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He folds the blueprint carefully before tucking it into his pocket. “Bring the human over here.”
The blond has a firm grip on the front of your coat and tows you forward. You think about protesting, lashing out, but something about him seems to have frozen your hands at your sides. Something about all three of them is disconcerting. Maybe it’s the way they move, or the way they look at you like a starving man staring at a Happy Meal.
Or the way the man just said human. What is that supposed to mean?
The third one, a man with a crooked nose and narrow brown eyes, leans forward as you get closer, and the back of your neck prickles.
“I caught the spy,” the blond says. “I call first taste.”
What?
The man with the glasses gives you a long look, then he shrugs, disinterested. “Go ahead.”
“Hey, why do you get to eat?” Crooked Nose crosses his arms over his chest. “I haven’t eaten in three days. I’m starving here.”
“Tough.” The blond bares his teeth again, and this time there’s about a billion more of them, all bone white and glistening, jutting out of his gums like needles. You gasp and jerk backward, but he’s still got a firm grip on your coat.
“Finders keepers.”
“Hurry it along,” the man with the glasses says. “And don’t make a mess. I’m not hiring a damn cleaning crew every time I bring you on a mission.”
You know you should do something as your captor turns—scream, tear yourself away, punch him in the mouth—but the spectacle of those razor-sharp teeth freezes you to the spot. His hand closes around your throat, fingers tangling in your hair. He yanks your head back painfully, and now all you can see is the ceiling, spinning, blurry. . . .
And your only thought is I’m going to die.
You hear a thunderous crash, and then the crushing grip on your throat vanishes. The ceiling tilts as you fall backward, the ground coming up to meet you, making you wheeze as the air rushes out of your lungs. Above you the ceiling revolves in slow circles, and light bursts in front of your eyes. There’s shouting in the distance, and then an angry howl.
Dazed, you struggle to sit up, fighting for air.
Someone grabs you from behind, arms around your waist, lifting you up. Then you’re cradled against someone’s chest, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, heart beating wildly against your rib cage.
“You’re okay,” a deep voice says. “Just hold on.”
It’s about all you can do right now.
You keep your eyes shut, fighting the spinning sensation and the dull, angry throb in the back of your head.
Someone in the distance shouts, “Go! Get her out. I’m right behind you,” and that voice is so familiar that you almost open your eyes. In fact, both voices are familiar, but you can’t pin down why, or how. Or who they belong to.
All you can do is bury your face in your rescuer’s chest and hold on until the world stops spinning.
You’re moving now, being jostled. Your rescuer is running. Footsteps echo, then more angry shouting. This time it sounds like the blond man’s voice, and it almost makes you smile. Good, hopefully someone is giving him hell.
He tried to eat me.
The thought makes your smile slip, and you try to open your eyes, but it’s no use, the hall lights flicker past overhead, sending you back into dizzy spirals. Another couple of seconds and the noise fades. From somewhere behind you a door slams shut.
“Lock it,” a harsh voice says, and then there’s heavy breathing and a loud thump. “A barricade shouldn’t keep them out for long. I took out three of the damn things, but they’ve got backup.”
Finally your eyes flutter open, almost of their own accord. You definitely recognize that voice. . . .
A blurry figure looms over you, so close you almost jump. When your vision clears, your mouth drops open. No wonder you recognized the voices. That face . . . the blue-gray eyes, the shaggy dark hair . . . it seems impossible. You must have hit your head harder than you thought.
Still, you scramble upright, trying to get a better look. “Sam?” Then his face swims into sharper focus and reality snaps back into place, and somehow Jared Padalecki is still sitting on the bed beside you.
“I mean . . . Jared? What . . .” You trail off, sure nothing intelligent is coming out of your mouth right now.
He smiles, and honestly, it’s hard not to stare at his dimples. “Nice to meet you. You hit your head pretty good there. How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay?” It comes out as more of a question than a definite statement because not only is Jared sitting right beside you, but Jensen Ackles appears to be dragging furniture across the hotel room. He basically looks like he stepped out of an episode, complete with button-down plaid shirt. While you watch, slightly dazed, he drags the couch in front of the door.
The setup is so familiar, it’s almost eerie. Beer on the bedside table, a laptop open on the desk, scribbled research notes beside it. And . . . is that an empty pie container?
There’s a kitchenette off to Jared’s right, where a number of deadly looking weapons are spread across the counter.
This has to be some kind of weird dream.
“I knew I should have brought the rest of my stuff from the car,” Jensen says.
“You’ll just have to use what we’ve got.” Jared turns to the kitchenette and pulls a dish towel down from the cupboard, and when he comes back to the bed and offers it to you, you just blink at him stupidly.
“For your head.” He presses the towel into your hand. Then he takes your hand gently and presses it over a spot just above your left temple. Pain lances through your head and you wince, and then you find yourself flushing furiously, not only because Jared Padalecki just touched your hand, but also because you’re acting like a complete idiot.
All you can do is stare at both of them in shock, completely tongue-tied.
“Let’s do the short version of this.” Jensen turns to you and then glances over at the door. Scuffling sounds come from the hall outside. “We’ve only got a few minutes until these guys come busting in, and they don’t play nice. This isn’t pretend.” He moves for the counter, picking up one of the long hunting knives, moving it back and forth to show you. The fluorescent lights glimmer off the edge of the blade. “This is a real knife, not a prop. Those are real vamps. We’re real hunters.”
“Retired,” Jared adds, and grins when Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, we’re clearly so retired right now.” Jensen turns back to you. “These conferences serve two purposes. They attract trouble”—he grins, and the expression is sharp—“and we like trouble. We like solving trouble.” He gestures at the door with the blade. “And it’s a cover. We consult on cases in most of the major cities. We help other hunters out when they call. Any questions?”
You gape at him, then at Jared, who gives you a sympathetic shrug. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”
“So,” you
say slowly, trying not to overload on this new information, “it’s all real? All of it?”
“Basically.” Jared shrugs. “Some of its exaggerated, Makes a better story, y’know?”
Excitement starts to replace the shock, and you sit up a little straighter, eyes wide.
Jensen exchanges a look with Jared and then frowns at you. “You about to freak out, kid? Try not to, okay? We’ve got vampires to deal—”
“No,” you breathe, “it’s just . . . I knew it.”
Jensen blinks. “What?”
“I just . . . knew it couldn’t be all made up. I knew there was something else out there.” You try to scramble up out of bed. “I want to help.”
Jared puts a restraining hand on your shoulder. “Whoa, take it easy. You took a pretty hefty blow to the head back there.”
Jensen is already focused on the door again. “Enough talk, here’s the plan. We burst out, Jared and I take them on, and the kid runs.”
“I can fight,” you protest.
There’s no way you’re going to run and leave Jared and Jensen behind. What if you never see them again? Somehow you have to hang on to this mad, surreal moment. Even if there are bloodthirsty monsters outside who want to pick your bones clean, it’s a chance to hunt with the boys. To experience something instead of just watching it on TV.
The office can suck it. Hello, new career path.
You gesture at one of the hunting knives on the counter, a big one in a leather sheath. “Give me one of those. I’ll help.”
“No way.” Jensen grabs the knife you’re eyeing and shoves it in his boot. “You’re not ready for this.”
“Come on, I can handle it. Please?” You have no idea if you can handle it, but it’s worth a try. When you look pleadingly up at Jared, he hesitates and glances at Jensen, brows raised.
Jensen shakes his head. “You’ll probably cut yourself or something.”
Now it’s your turn to glare at him. “You don’t know me, I could be an expert knife thrower.”
He raises a brow. “Are you?”
“Well . . . no.”
Jensen shakes his head and motions at Jared.
You watch the boys drag the couch away from the door, trying to stay quiet even though you’re bursting with about a million questions about hunting, about the show. This is all real keeps repeating in your head, an echo of shock following it every time.
“Come on,” Jensen says, and waves one hand at you.
Heart pounding, you slide off the bed and walk over, and he grasps your shoulders firmly, green eyes fixed on your face. His expression is stern. “Wait behind us. When the door is open and we’re through, you run like hell. Got it?”
It’s impossible to talk with him looking at you like that, so you just nod. Got it.
Run like hell.
Jared and Jensen exchange another quick look, then Jensen shoves the door open with his shoulder. Both boys rush out into the hall, and you’re hot on their heels, breathing hard, heart hammering in your rib cage.
You turn and run, just like he said, but the snarling from behind is too loud to ignore, and you glance back once. Just once.
There are four vamps now. Jensen and Jared are outnumbered, fighting hard. You freeze, not sure what to do, not wanting to abandon them. It’s probably stupid—they’ve had a lot more training. They know what they’re doing.
But it just feels wrong.
Jared is grappling with the blond vampire, and he makes short work of him, driving his knife into the monster’s throat. Then he spins to meet another one.
Jensen fights two at once, and one of the vamps—the ringleader with the glasses—keeps making darting motions, trying to circle around him.
It happens in seconds: Jensen finishes the first vampire, turning too late to see the second one coming. They crash into each other and hit the ground hard. The blade flies out of Jensen’s hand and onto the carpet. It’s within your reach, just a few steps away.
For a moment you can’t move, feet rooted to the floor.
Jensen grunts, straining to keep the vamp from his throat with one shaking hand, reaching down with the other. Reaching for the knife in his boot.
Then you’re moving, reaching for the knife at your feet, snatching it off the carpet. Four long strides, ignoring the trembling in your hands, and you flip the knife around without thinking, plunging it into the vampire’s back.
He rears back with a growl of surprise, reaching for you, and you stumble backward. But then Jensen is on his feet. He shoves the creature off, striking out with his blade, slashing a red ribbon across the monster’s throat.
The vampire crumples, hitting the ground at your feet. Blood splatters the carpet in a dark red spray, and you grimace and jump back. How would you explain blood on your shoes to Stephanie?
For a moment, it’s quiet.
Jared stands up, brushing at his shirt like he can get the dots of vampire blood out that way. “Well, that’s another shirt ruined.”
Jensen snorts, but he’s distracted, still staring at you, his brows raised. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m impressed, kid.”
Your face is glowing again. Is it obvious? Is it beet red? You duck your head and shuffle your feet. “Thanks. It was . . .” What do you say . . . fun? Not fun. Exhilarating?
“Felt your blood sing a little?” Jensen grins, and it’s crooked and beautiful, and you feel your face go even hotter. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re a born hunter.” He reaches down and scoops up the leather sheath, and after a second of contemplation, eyes searching your face, he holds it out to you. “What? Don’t you . . . want your knife back?” Jensen shrugs. “It’s not the blade or anything. Relax. It’s just a knife, I’ve got more.”
You blink and take the sheath, sliding the knife in carefully, making a note to wash the sticky blood off later, before it dries. “Thank you.”
Jensen levels a finger at you. “But it’s sharp, don’t forget that. Don’t go waving that thing around unless you need to.”
Behind him, Jared bites his lip like he’s trying to hold back laughter.
“Thanks.” It feels like your insides are buzzing, making you shift from foot to foot. “This was . . . awesome.”
Jensen laughs, and Jared leans one arm over his shoulder. “Here.” A slim white card is between Jared’s fingers. “We’re hitting up LA next, consulting on another case.”
“Sounds like another Wendigo.” Jensen shoves his hands in his pockets and affects a bored expression.
Jared gives him a look. “We don’t know that yet.” Jared turns back to you. “Anyways, take this. You know, in case you ever find yourself hunting something that gets a little out of hand.”
“Who you gonna call?” Jensen pulls a face.
You laugh, taking the card with one shaking hand. “Thanks. I . . . I’ll call if something comes up.”
“Right.” Jensen nods and drops you a quick wink before turning away, throwing back over his shoulder, “Take care of yourself, kid. And be careful.”
And then they’re gone, walking away down the hall and around the corner, Jared saying something about “the cleanup crew,” and you take one last look at the vamp blood on the carpet and make a beeline for the Coke machine.
You could really use a sugary drink right now.
AN HOUR LATER you finally stop shaking.
Stephanie and Amy find you between panels, both of them red faced and out of breath, both still in full-on fangirl mode.
Stephanie grabs your arm as soon as she gets close enough. “Oh my God, I was waiting in line and Misha smiled at me!”
“That’s really cool.” You grin, still completely full of energy. It’s tempting to join Stephanie in her flailing, but it would be hard to explain exactly why.
“I’m so sorry you missed out on the photo ops.” Stephanie pats your arm, her expression sorrowful. “You poor thing, you must have been bored out of your mind this entire time.”
All you can do is nod and press your
lips together and smile so big it hurts your face, because if you open your mouth right now, the whole story might come spilling out.
Stephanie raises a brow, like she’s about to ask what you’re smiling about, but then Amy’s tugging on her arm, saying they’re going to miss the next panel, and Stephanie turns away.
You trail behind them into the auditorium, still smiling, fingers wrapped around the little white card in your pocket.
Everything Is Not What It Seems
Karim Soliman
Imagine . . .
You pick up your ringing phone as you drive the lonely road taking you out of Los Angeles.
“I have news,” you say immediately.
“Good news?” Zack asks from the other end.
“Yup,” you confirm. “I’m in.”
“Are you sure? I’m counting on you to rock this party.”
Sure? After you’ve borrowed your dear stepfather’s car, there’s no turning back. You wish you could see Jeff’s face. Your stepfather will go nuts when he doesn’t find his precious Dodge parked outside the house. Well, he should have thought carefully before making a reckless move like marrying a woman with a good, obedient kid like you.
“Did you say that to Chris too, before he turned you down?” you gloat. You should have been called from the beginning.
“I told you it was a mistake—you know you’ve always been my man.”
“Good. I see you’ve learnt the lesson.”
“Yes, I have.” He sighs. “Please, it’s going to be a night to remember. Don’t ruin it.”
Then suddenly a beep cuts short the conversation. Looking at your phone, you see there’s no coverage. Damn you, Zack! The venue he has picked for that party is cool, but the road to it is abandoned and a bit treacherous. You haven’t even seen a vehicle in the last twenty minutes, until just as you think that, you spot a white Ford Escape on the right side of the road. You slow down to check it out, but you see no one there. Who would leave such a ride in this deserted place?
“Hey! Over here!”
Startled by the feminine cry that comes from nowhere, you press the brakes, the wheels squealing.