“I’m sorry about your mom,” said Coral.
My hands shook. “You have no right to talk about my mother.”
“I don’t. I know you don’t trust me. You shouldn’t. But you’ve got to get over to Mr. Christopher’s, right now, before it’s too late.”
“What are you talking about?” Vince stepped between us. I’m not sure who he thought might hurt whom.
“Just go, okay?”
She rocketed into the air again, shifting into a bat. I should have guessed she could do that.
Vince and I looked at each other and ran. Streetlights came on, and people strolling and jogging swerved as we plowed forward. It took us some time to get to Mr. Christopher’s house, but we arrived, puffing. A car we didn’t know pulled away from Mr. Christopher’s house. If I’d been in one of Dad’s movies, I would have shot the tire out with a crossbow.
“We’re going in,” I said. I tossed Vince a cross and a squirt gun. Holy water squirt gun. I held onto my own cross and the XP-215, and we moved forward.
The front door was open, which was major uncool. I touched it and it creaked the rest of the way. The living room was untouched. Of course there would be no damage upstairs. I turned to Vince. “You stay here. I’m going downstairs.”
“No way.”
“Yes. Because if someone comes in, I don’t want us both being shut in the basement with, I don’t know, whatever’s going on down there. You stay right here.”
Vince didn’t argue. The basement door was splintered around the lock, something I liked even less than the front door being opened.
The first smell that hit me was Air Wick autumn spice. In the basement, a leisure room served as a front to Mr. Christopher’s crypt. It was dedicated to those times Mr. Christopher needed to wind down after a long night of doing whatever vampires did. There was a leather couch and a wooden bar that gleamed from polishing. A bear skin rug laid in front of a fake fireplace, which made the room look nicer than it was. No windows. The room didn’t smell like blood, even though the bar behind the refrigerator was stocked with it. A door in the right wall led to a black marble bathroom. On the opposite wall were the large doors that led to the crypt. I went through them and wandered onto a movie set.
Several smells hit me. Dirt, no doubt native soil. Rusty blood. Roses and candles. From here on back to the opposite wall, Mr. Christopher’s home was classic vampire. He had candelabras and a coffin on a dais, black and Victorian, with crepe draping. The lid was open. The lead weight of dread held me for a moment. “Mr. Christopher?” My voice trembled.
From the coffin there was a groan. I held the cross in front of me like a shield and stepped forward.
Mr. Christopher was in the coffin all right. A large piece of wood pegged him to the coffin like he was a beetle in a collection. He was pierced all over with splinters of rowan, like someone had tried to kill him with acupuncture. His body had regressed, skin dry and gray. The smell of rot made me step back. The worst of it was that he was awake. His yellow fangs snapped.
No vampire could have done this. A human had to come down here, most likely while Mr. Christopher was sleeping, and then they could have taken their time. That meant that Larissa had an active Renfield assistant, unless William and Larissa had figured out another work around, like wearing gloves, or getting rowan shots so they weren’t allergic, or something.
“It’s okay,” I said. I felt awful, because my voice shook. “I can take all these out, and you’ll be fine.”
“No,” his voice wheezed out of him. “Not you. Not safe.”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“Must. Your father…”
“You’re right. Dad can do it. I’ll get Dad.”
“No,” said Mr. Christopher. “Your father…kill…me.”
“Like fun,” I said. “No one’s killing you.”
“It’s…only way.”
“No,” I said. “I’ll figure something out.”
He coughed, but I think he was trying to laugh. “No. Poisoned.”
“All your blood is temporary,” I said. “We can fix this.” I didn’t have the slightest idea how. This was like diffusing a vampire bomb. I wasn’t losing Mom and Mr. Christopher. It wasn’t happening.
“Abby?” Vince’s voice came from the other room.
“I’ll be right back.” I ran back out to the apartment. Vince was on the stairs. “I told you—”
“Ned’s here. And he’s hurt.”
“Oh, come on!” I jerked open the refrigerator door. There was blood in bottles like wine. Beverage affectation was common among older vampires. There were also blood bank bags. I grabbed a couple of bags out of Mr. Christopher’s fridge. “The fun doesn’t stop!” The packets would be easier for Ned to drink, like juice boxes.
I tossed them to Vince. “Be careful. Don’t let him get you instead.”
I stood in the doorway and yelled back. “Mr. Christopher, I’m getting Dad. We are coming back. Hold on.” I hoped he could hold on. I raced up the stairs.
Ned was sitting on Mr. Christopher’s couch, his fangs penetrating the blood sacks, blood spraying his face. Vince was backed as far away as he could be. “He’s gonna need more blood,” I said to Vince. “In the fridge. Don’t go in the coffin room, okay?”
Vince scrambled down the stairs.
I turned my attention to Ned. “You were following Coral, and…?”
“Larissa wanted her back. I got in the way.”
“Before or after we saw Coral?”
“After. You know that thing about silver bullets? Even though they won’t kill us, they hurt like a son of a gun.”
“Are they still in you?”
“Yup.” Ned grinned and looked like
