boys, clothes, and music long after Mom had turned out the lights. The dream phone was the quickest and most reliable way to get in touch with Aunt Mab, who’d never bothered to install a real telephone at Maenllyd, her remote manor house in north Wales.
It didn’t matter that it was early evening in Wales. Mab could communicate by dream phone even while awake. I wasn’t that advanced in my skills; I had to be asleep, or close to it, to place or receive a call. So lying board-straight in my bed, wide-awake and unable to relax, wasn’t the best idea right now.
But I couldn’t help it. Worrying about a Hellion sneaking into Boston through my dreams wasn’t much of a sleeping pill. And taking a real sleeping pill would leave me too zonked to make the call.
I willed myself to sleep—a guaranteed way to keep insomnia going. I tried counting sheep. Has that ever actually worked for anyone? I got to three hundred and forty-two before I gave up.
I was still cold. Maybe a warm bath would soothe me to slumber. Reluctantly, I threw back the covers. The bedroom was freezing. Juliet liked the apartment cold when she slept in her coffin, but this was ridiculous. When I clicked on the bedside lamp, I could see my breath form little puffs of steam. It felt like Juliet had opened all the windows to the frigid night air. I pulled on my bathrobe and stuck my feet into slippers, then opened the bedroom door and padded out into the hallway. It was even colder out here. I’d turn up the temperature a few degrees before drawing my bath. The way it was now, stepping into my nice, warm bath would feel like plunging into a tub of ice cubes. I headed for the living room to adjust the thermostat.
In the hallway, I paused as a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature prickled the back of my neck. A low murmur of voices flowed from the living room. Was Juliet watching TV? It didn’t sound like it. She always turned the sound way up, forgetting she had a roommate who might happen to be sleeping. Besides, one of the voices sounded like Juliet’s. Sort of. She spoke in a hushed monotone, like she was chanting. Other voices—two? more?—chanted something in response. I couldn’t make out the words, but they didn’t sound like English. I listened. Some kind of ritual? The voices would say something, and Juliet repeated it.
Half-blind in the dim light that spilled from my bedroom, I crept forward and tried to peer into the darkness. Juliet sat in a chair, facing me. Her eyes were closed, but her lips moved. Beside her stood a robed figure. It was tall, over six feet, and a hood shaded its face. Icy waves of bitter cold rolled off the creature. It reached out a skeletal hand and touched Juliet’s chest, over her heart.
At its touch, her eyes flew open. Immediately, they focused on me. “Vicky!” she gasped in that strange voice. The creature turned. Its hood fell back, revealing a skull-like face with massive yellow fangs. The thing snarled and launched itself through the air. It was like being tackled by an iceberg. A brickbat of ice, an explosion of stars, and then total blackness.
8
SOMETHING WAS BEEPING. SHORT, SHARP BURSTS OF HIGH-PITCHED sound pushed their way into my throbbing brain, piercing my consciousness like arrows. Eyes closed, I reached out and hit at various objects on my nightstand until I managed to turn off the alarm.
I opened one eye. It made no difference whatsoever, thanks to the blackout shades. But when I turned on my side, the glowing red numbers on my bedside clock read 6:00 P.M., the time I’d set the alarm for. I’d been out about four hours. The last thing I remembered, I’d been attacked in the hallway, but here I was, tucked into my bed and feeling like someone had split my skull open with an ax. Gingerly, I touched the pain’s epicenter on the left side of my forehead. There was no goose egg, not even a bump. In fact, the pain was already fading. By the time I sat up, it was nearly gone.
The apartment was warmer. As I got out of bed, it felt downright toasty. I opened my bedroom door and listened. No chanting, but the clink of utensils drifted from the kitchen. I picked up the bronze-bladed dagger I kept on my nightstand and held it ready as I edged down the hallway, sliding my back along the wall. I stopped short of the living room and peered around the corner. The room was empty. On the coffee table, Kane’s roses had all wilted, slumped over as if in defeat. Still clutching the dagger, I crept through the living room to the kitchen doorway.
Juliet sat alone at the black-and-chrome table, sipping coffee.
Feeling paranoid, I tucked the dagger into my waistband at the small of my back and entered the room.
“Evening.” I took a mug from the cupboard. Inhaling the fragrant steam as I filled it with coffee, I felt almost normal.
Juliet looked up from the paper she was reading—
“So, um, what was going on here today?” I asked.
“Oh, did I wake you when I came in? I tried to be quiet.”
I stared at her.
Juliet, normally imperturbable, fidgeted, cleared her throat, and took a sip of coffee. She picked up her paper and put it down again. “All right. So I usually don’t come in after dawn. But thanks to those Goons, I got thrown off my stride last night. It took me ages to find a meal. We went back to his place, and by the time I left the sun was already rising.”
“Juliet, this isn’t about whatever time you got home. What were you doing in the living room? What were those creatures?”
She took another sip of coffee, her eyes boring into mine over the rim of her cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. Vampires aren’t exactly famous for their honesty, but I couldn’t believe she was lying to me. “Are you
Juliet gave me a long, level look. “You must have been dreaming.”
I opened my mouth to deny it, to remind Juliet I never dreamed unless I wanted to. But then I remembered the Destroyer. Two dreams in a single day? Yesterday, I’d have said it was impossible. Today, I wasn’t so sure. I’d woken up in my own bed, with a fast-fading headache and no sign of injury. All Cerddorion are fast healers, so it was hard to know whether I’d really been knocked on the head.
But I’d been unconscious, not asleep. Hadn’t I?
Juliet flipped a page in the
My need to talk to Aunt Mab was growing more urgent by the minute. Damn it, why didn’t she have a real phone? It would take too long to call the village pub and ask them to send her a message. And I couldn’t use the dream phone now. I had to meet Tina in less than an hour.
Juliet studied her paper intently. Maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe I
If Mab couldn’t tell me how to regain control of my dreams, I didn’t know what I’d do.
AS I ENTERED THE LOBBY OF TINA’S GROUP HOME, MUSIC blasted from the lounge. The zombie house mother, who sat reading a romance novel behind the reception desk, seemed oblivious. She regarded me over her reading glasses, smoothed a strand of gray hair that had escaped her bun, and smiled absently. “Tina’s in the lounge, dear.” She licked her thumb and turned the page, then reached for an apple from the bowl by her right elbow. The bowl by her left elbow held half a dozen cores.
The music got louder as I went down the short hallway. By the time I turned left into the lounge, it was rattling my teeth.
Tina stood in the middle of the room, holding a hairbrush like a microphone and screaming into it as she wiggled her hips. Even by Tina’s standards, today’s fashion choices were over the top. Along with her tight, tiny black miniskirt and gold halter top, she wore hoop earrings that would come in handy if someone wanted to play a pickup game of basketball. Her hair was teased halfway to the ceiling.
From the speakers, a voice snarled, “Grave robber …” and Tina wailed, “Oooooooo.” The singer shrieked,
