Chapter 13

I stared glumly at the tall glass in front of me. In it, liquid the color and texture of mashed corn bubbled. I had no idea what was making it bubble like that. Cautiously, I touched the side of the glass. Wasn't hot.

I didn't want to know why it was bubbling.

Slumping in my chair, I tugged my blanket closer, the soft fabric wrapped around my shoulders and over my knees. My drenched clothes had gone straight into the garbage, and I wore a loose sweatshirt and black sweatpants, borrowed from Zora.

The Crow and Hammer pub was quiet—unsurprising for a weekday night. I was the only person sitting at a table, though half an hour ago, the rest of my "team" had been here too. All of them, even the bully Darren, had waited while a guild healer repaired the wound to my neck and performed the additional anti-vampire magic to stave off infection. With a final blood test, she'd confirmed I was safe. No contamination.

The team had cheered the good news. Maybe guilt, more than concern for my wellbeing, had fueled their celebration, but it had still been nice.

Footsteps pattered down the stairs from the guild's upper level. Zora strode to my table, unclipping her baldric. She leaned her broadsword against the table and dropped into a chair.

"Drink your potion," she ordered, nudging my glass closer to me.

"Sanjana didn't say what it was," I mumbled. A yellow bubble bulged from the lumpy surface, then popped with a tiny pff.

"It's for the hypothermia. It'll keep you from getting sick." She gave a short laugh at my expression. "It looks worse than it tastes."

Grimacing, I lifted the glass but couldn't bring myself to drink it.

"Try closing your eyes."

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a sip. Thick liquid hit my tongue and its rich flavor pinged across my taste buds.

"Popcorn?" I said disbelievingly, eyes opening.

"Told you it wasn't that bad. Drink up!" She leaned back in her chair, her humor fading. "You're lucky to be alive."

I took a few uneager gulps of the liquid popcorn. "I need a proper vest like the rest of you have."

"I thought you were wearing combat gear under your jacket." Her face contorted with emotion before she rubbed her hands over her cheeks. "Robin, I'm so sorry. I should have confirmed you were prepared for the job. I just assumed… but I should have checked!"

Her final word came out harsh and fuming, but her anger was directed at herself, not me.

"Zora…" I cleared my throat, wondering if I was about to make a huge mistake. "It isn't your fault. I don't have any combat training, but I let you and the others think I did so I wouldn't be left out."

Brow furrowing, she studied me. "No combat training? How is that possible? Your demon…"

"I'm… gifted at controlling my demon," I lied. "But me, on my own, I don't have any training. I've been a contractor for less than a year"—correction: for six weeks—"and aside from defeating the escaped demon on Halloween, I haven't done any combat jobs."

She frowned, deep lines framing her lips.

"I'm sorry I misled you," I mumbled, my gaze dropping to my half-empty glass of potion. I took another gulp.

"I see," she said after a long pause. "The responsibility is still mine, but… thank you for telling me." Another uncomfortable pause. "Now I'm even more shocked that you survived tonight."

Suppressing a wince, I downed the rest of my potion and set the glass aside. Popcorn. So wrong. "I got lucky."

"How did you find your way out?"

I silently panicked, casting around for a plausible explanation. "The vampires had lights set up. I followed the lights to an exit."

"You said you killed four. Do you think there are others?"

"Yes." I wasn't sure where my conviction came from, but it was strong. "I think there are a lot more."

"Hmm." She gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "If you're right… We sweep the drains every couple of months for new nests. How could a large nest have formed in a few weeks?" She drummed her fingers on the table. "Too many vampires too quickly… and their behavior… I don't get it."

"Oh! I forgot." I slid a hand into my sweatpants pocket and pulled out the flip phone. "I took this from a vampire. It got a bit damp, but I think it's okay."

She picked it off my palm. "Okay, now I'm freaked out."

"Huh? Why?"

The display lit up as she flipped the phone open. "Vampires steal things they need—clothes, food if they haven't transitioned to an all-blood diet yet, and other essentials—but a phone? I've only seen new vamps who haven't broken away from society using phones."

She pressed a few keys. I leaned over to see what she was doing, wishing I hadn't lost my glasses. Maybe I should get one of those straps old ladies used to hang their eyeglasses around their necks.

Zora pulled up the phone's call history. One number repeated over and over, with only a few others scattered throughout the list. We exchanged a look, then she selected the predominant number and pressed the call button. The speaker began to ring. One… two… three…

The line clicked.

"Report," a male voice barked.

Zora snapped the phone shut, ending the call.

"Well," she said slowly, "that's ominous."

I nodded. "I'm guessing vampires' lack of organization means they don't normally report to each other."

"Nests appear to have a loose pecking order, but you're correct. They don't normally answer to anyone." Her hand tightened around the phone. "I'll take this home so Felix can start working on it immediately."

My brow crinkled. Felix was the guild's third officer, but the rest of her sentence wasn't making much sense.

She noticed my confusion and laughed. "I guess no one's mentioned that Felix is my husband."

"He… oh." Her husband. Huh.

"He's our tech expert. He can find out more about that phone number." She slid the phone into her pocket. "Whatever's going on with the vamps, it's got me worried. They don't normally act like this, and I want to get to the bottom of it before anyone else is bitten." She pushed back from the table. "Do you need a ride?"

"Yes, please."

Zora led me behind the bar and through the empty kitchen to the back door. Outside, rain poured down in sheets—the water that had nearly drowned us in the storm drains.

As I settled into the passenger seat of her black coupe, exhaustion permeated my bones. I felt hollowed out and wrung dry, and hopeless frustration kindled deep in my gut. I'd nearly died tonight, and what had I accomplished? All I had were more questions.

Were the vampires from the storm drains connected to the ones at Claude's townhouse? What was their interest in Uncle Jack? How close to finding him were they? Where was Claude? Did he know vampires had searched his house, destroyed his belongings, and stolen his computer? Was he searching for Uncle Jack, or had he gone into hiding too?

As the wipers swept back and forth across the windshield, my mind whirred to the same beat. An image rose to the top of my churning thoughts: the letter my mother had written to Uncle Jack, every word in her loopy script emblazoned in my memory.

I know now that I was wrong about many things. I'm only just beginning to realize how wrong.

What had she been wrong about?

You know what's coming for us, what will happen if they find us.

What had been coming for them? Who had she been afraid of?

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to protect my family.

In every memory I had of her, my mother was a woman of light, laughter, and confidence. I could scarcely imagine her as uncertain or fearful. She'd always known what to do, no matter what had happened or what trouble I'd gotten myself into.

Please help me, Jack.

My parents had died in a car accident, I reminded myself. A regular accident. Thousands of people died in collisions every year. It had been raining and dark. The road had been slippery.

Was it too much of a coincidence that they'd died a week after my mother had realized she and her family were being hunted?

The Athanas Grimoire was worth ten million dollars just for the demon names it could reveal, but was it only those names my mother had dedicated her life to concealing? What else did the grimoire's ancient pages contain?

Zora dropped me off at my apartment building and promised to keep me posted on any leads the vampire's cell phone might produce. I let myself in and trudged up the stairs to the third floor. Though I tried to be quiet, Amalia's bedroom door opened as I was toeing off my wet shoes.

She leaned against the jamb, wearing a fuzzy housecoat. "How did it go?"

"We found vampires," I answered evasively. "I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

"Sure." Her nose wrinkled. "By the way, you stink."

I was sure I did. "The shower is my next stop."

Not waiting for her reply, I hurried into my bedroom, but I wasn't ready to shower and collapse into bed yet. My plain desk was stacked with books about Demonica, and I shifted the piles to uncover a title that predated my obsession with the darkest magic of the mythic world.

The Complete Compilation of Arcane Cantrips, the book that had sparked my fascination with magic. I searched through the pages, and when I couldn't find what I wanted, I shook it by the spine. The pages flapped and a single white sheet, folded in half, fell out.

Grabbing the paper, I dropped into my chair and unfolded it. The grainy photocopy displayed a single page of the Athanas grimoire, the paper dark with age, the handwritten ink faded. Greek letters scrawled across most of it, but in the bottom corner was an illustration.

It was a drawing of Zylas, or a demon that looked very similar to him.

I ran my finger across the Ancient Greek writing, then pulled out a scrap of paper and a pencil. Lower lip caught between my teeth, I studied the first line of the page—a title. I scribbled across my scrap page before firing up my laptop to check a suffix.

The final word stumped me until I realized it wasn't a word. It was a name.

The Twelfth House – Vh'alyir

I gulped against the cold shiver creeping up my spine. My attention shifted to the short paragraph below the title. I copied the lines onto my scrap paper, identifying the clauses, cases, pronouns, conjunctions, root words, and anything else I could pick out. My pencil scribbled urgently, then my fingers zipped across my keyboard, looking up the words I didn't know. I scrawled a new line, honing the translation.

A few minutes later, I sat back in my chair and lowered my pencil. I couldn't tear my eyes off my careful printing, staring at the result, wondering if I'd messed up the translation.

But I'd made no mistake.

Never summon from the Twelfth House. For the trespass of this sacred covenant, the sons of Vh'alyir will destroy you.