Ring of Destiny
a Reynald tale

By Eric Quinn Knowles

Copyright © 2012 Eric Quinn Knowles
Smashwords Edition


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Reynald Tales
Ring of Destiny
Maloch (December 2012)

Boltman
Part One – Adventures of Boltman
Part Two – Boltman and the Church of the Mind


*****

Chapter One
The Magi are coming, the witch had warned her. She thought she had lost them somewhere near Boise, and if not for the witch, the monsters would have taken her by surprise and killed her. She had struck her bargain and fled over the mountains, taking only a light meal first; one just sprinkled with terror, for the doomed child had been willing. But nothing in her life had prepared her for the rigors of crossing snow-capped mountains on foot. If she had still been human, the journey would have killed her. That had been weeks ago, and even now, in the lush, green land on the west side of the Cascades, where food was plentiful, she dared not drink until she found what she was looking for. The pain of hunger in her belly numbed her thoughts, and her flesh had grown dry and brittle as old parchment. But the faint smell of salt in the breeze told her she was close.
Lamplight beckoned from across the park, drawing her from the woods onto manicured grass where dewy blades squished between her toes and cooled her parched, raw heels. But her thirst required something more, and she dared not drink until she knew where she was. She gasped as a pair of shadows broke through the lights. Knowing how the strangers would see her, she disguised her appearance with the hood of her jacket and approached them slowly, limping from the ache in her bones that ravished her body like a fever. 
“Right as I was falling back, I threw,” a boy said. “I didn’t even know where Stevie was—just the general direction—and I just threw the ball.”
“How far?” a girl asked, walking with her arm in his.
She drew closer.
“Sixty yards. It was a bomb! Stevie had to run over two players to make a leaping catch in the end zone. The coach was stunned!” The boy laughed.
Football, she thought. Probably high school students. The girl fawned over him in a way she understood. She remembered that life, the life she was chasing. They saw her then and stopped, the boy growing protectively rigid. In her state, he would be a challenge.
“Help me,” she croaked, hurting from the dryness in her throat.
“Is that a homeless person?” the girl asked her boyfriend, genuinely concerned.
She drew closer.
“What do you want?” the boy said as she drew within a few feet and stopped. She tried to speak again, but her tongue was swollen. Her fangs ached and her heart fluttered, anticipating blood. “What do you want!” the boy shouted.
“Lenny,” the girl chided him as she stepped cautiously around his outstretched hand. “Are you okay?”
“Town?” She managed, straining to speak. “Where?”
The girl caught a glimpse of her face and winced. “Oh, dear. Lenny, we need to get her to the hospital.”
“Where?” She croaked with a final, desperate effort.
“Are you lost? You’re in Reynald. Reynald,” the girl said slowly, as if she were dense. 
She swayed with the news, letting out a low moan of relief, then stumbled forward to fall conveniently into the girl’s reluctant embrace. It had to be Reynald. How could she have gone on, if it were not? I probably smell, she thought in a spontaneous flash of pity as the girl helped her to her feet.
“Meliah…” The boy meant to caution her, but too late.
Reaching the soft flesh of the girl’s throat was easy, made simpler by shoving the girl’s chin up and back. A sharp click followed the release of her fangs, which she plunged into the girl’s neck with the mad, impassioned fury of the starved. The girl shrieked and pushed, but the clasp of her bite hardened as blood sprayed the back of her throat en route to her belly. It was her first hot meal in two weeks. The boyfriend grasped her by the shoulders and pulled, shouting as he tried to separate them. When she wouldn’t let go, he hit her, but by then she had enough strength to deal with the ham-fisted youth.
She dropped the girl—a meal unfinished—and leapt onto the boy, bringing him down onto his back with her weight. Handsome, she thought as she shoved his jaw aside to expose his neck. He screamed as she bit, surprised by her renewed strength. While the girl bled out onto the grass beside them—in her haste, she had used her full fangs and torn out the girl’s throat—she slaked her thirst until he was on the verge of losing consciousness.
She pinned the boy by the shoulders so that he was forced to stare into her eyes, to witness the blood and flesh of his girlfriend that dripped from her fanged maw. The boy saw her mummified flesh soften and smooth as it hydrated, felt her impossible strength weighing on him like an iron anvil, and was hysterical with terror.
“The Ring of Destiny! Where is it?”
“Why?” the boy cried, seemingly oblivious to her question.
“Where!” 
“I don’t know!”
“You’ll tell me.” She smiled her bloody promise. “I have until the full moon, but you’ll tell me before dawn!” She cracked a fist across his jaw so that he would stop blubbering. After bemoaning the loss of her other meal, she took the boy by the hair and dragged his bulky frame into the woods, towards the cave she had found on her way into town.
Reynald, she thought, elated by the life coursing through her veins. I made it!
***
Wednesday morning, Jared Wasson spent his free period at the Reynald library, munching absently on an apple. Other than home, the sleepy little library was the only place Jared felt comfortable, the only place where he welcomed anonymity. In the halls of Reynald High, where Jared transferred to just over a month ago, he was much like a ghost, moving unnoticed from class to class; even the teachers ignored him at times, unless his was the only hand raised, calling on him reluctantly. Jared often felt as though the people around him held their breath when he passed, as if they anticipated trouble in his wake. In Gainesville, he had friends, had been a successful athlete—until the accident. But in Reynald, Jared felt cursed.
He rolled the apple in his mouth, biting off a large, sour chunk. Perhaps he was a ghost; perhaps he had died and not known it, slipped in the tub, or been hit by a car while crossing the street; perhaps no one saw him because he wasn’t really there, walking amongst the living as if he were one of them. He had managed a few friends, like Dave and Trevor, but Jared felt like they only tolerated him.
I don’t belong here, he thought. He belonged at home, competing for State, for a scholarship and, in a few years, the Olympics. But all that had changed before Reynald. Jared rubbed his right thigh over the poorly mended break as he questioned just how his destiny had been diverted. I don’t belong here. But here, I am.
He shifted on the stone bench in the library’s foyer while he studied the prized exhibit of the town founder, Jeremiah Reynald; a resin statue of the fabled frontiersman in his trademark deerskin suit, with arms and chest covered in archaic tattoos. Over the statue’s chest laid a necklace, a broad band of polished silver. Each finger was adorned with one—sometimes two—ornate rings of silver and copper. Probably bought those at a dollar store. It was an underwhelming presentation, if not for the rune-covered medieval breast plate and square helm that stood behind and to the side of the statue. ‘The Armor of Reynald,’ a plaque read, ‘An exact replica of the chest plate and helm worn by Jeremiah Reynald in his war with the Indians.’
Jared checked his watch and sighed. This town sucks. He bit his apple, then slung his backpack over his right shoulder and limped back to Reynald High with time to spare before his next period. As usual, no one minded his presence. For a moment, Jared actually wondered if he was indeed dead. He stopped in the middle of a bustling hall just to see if anyone would notice, but the crowd merely flowed around him. Slowly, Jared found himself raising his arms out from his sides, but the crowd merely expanded around him mindlessly in an ever broadening arc. Only when the angle of his arms reached about thirty degrees did Jared notice an occasional nasty glance thrown his way. Mostly, the other kids carried on, like Salmon navigating an unexpected boulder in the stream.
Jared’s arms continued to rise, even as he saw that he was forming a bottleneck. He had not considered just how far he would go with the experiment when a tall, pale boy wearing a trench coat and a yellow-striped, black scarf stopped directly in front of Jared.
“You’re in my way,” said Charles Sheridan Helms.
Jared blinked in surprise, arms frozen in the air. “You see me?”
Sheridan observed Jared from head to toe with a quizzical expression. “You might try theater.”
“What?”
“If you’re craving attention.” When Jared failed either to respond or to lower his arms, the boy said in what sounded faintly like an English accent, “As much as I loathe to sit in these dreary rooms, to absorb the mindless prattle of my so-called peers, I have a Sociology paper to hand in. Do you mind?”
Jared dropped his arms, feeling stupid, and turned to let the boy pass.
“If you’re auditioning for a job, most of the corn fields are on the other side of the Cascades, thought you may need some makeup to look more authentic. The crows will never believe it, as you are,” Sheridan said as he slipped past.
Jared watched the tall boy disappear around a corner, then continued on to his class.
***
By the end of the period, Reynald High was abuzz with the news that spread like wildfire in a windstorm; the body of Meliah Jones, a popular cheerleader, had been found mutilated and bloodless on the rocks below the Lookout and her boyfriend, Lenny, was missing. Jared picked up snippets of macabre gossip as he made his way to his locker. He knew Meliah by proximity, though she had never spoken to him. She was cheerful and popular. Lenny was a garden variety douche nozzle, but Jared felt sorry for his parents and friends. 
As news spread, some of the girls broke into tears, to be led off to the counselor’s office by a comforting friend. The guys mostly stared at each other, disbelieving. The story, however, spread, and Jared had little difficulty catching the rumors.
“I hear Lenny killed her in some kind of sex-magic ritual,” he heard Sabrina Dorman tell a wide-eyed collection of attentive freshman. “They were drinking each other’s blood and he became possessed by a demon and threw her over the Lookout. And when he came to his senses and saw what he’d done, Lenny jumped over the cliff and killed himself. They’re waiting for the tide to bring in his body.”
“There’s no way he’d hurt Meliah.” Thomas Bukowski agonized with his fellow football players. “Yeah, he could have a temper when he drank, and he’d play rough a bit, but he’s not a killer.”
“It was a suicide pact. He killed Meliah, but then couldn’t do it himself. He left a note for his mom and ran away to Canada,” gossiped a pimple-faced kid Jared had never seen before.
“They deserved it,” a voice chortled, and was joined by others.
Jared turned to see who had spoken the latter. Albina Bronn shared smirks with a trio of her goth friends beside the water fountain. She sneered at Jared—who was staring, expecting anonymity—as if he were beneath her concern. Distracted, Jared bumped into a passing student who complained loudly. “Sorry,” Jared said, and continued on, shaking off Albina’s naked cruelty by turning his mind towards food.
His friends were at their usual table, near the back of the cafeteria. After waiting in line for his pizza bread and tater tots, Jared’s arrival was greeted with tacit approval. Jared ate his lunch quietly, listening with faint interest while Dave and John gossiped about Meliah’s murder and the disappearance of Lenny, but they offered nothing new. As usual, Nick and Trevor were in their own world, huddled over a book of world war two naval ships. Two months at Jeremiah Reynald High, and this was the best Jared had managed for friends. Still, they were a decent enough group of guys, and Jared always had a place at their table, or at least there was always an empty seat. And they were normal, which Jared knew would please his father. After his troubles in Gainesville, Jared needed normal.
Once his initial hunger was abated, Jared noticed Sheridan—the schools most notorious loner—who sat rigidly straight a few tables away, alone, nibbling on a thin sandwich while staring down at a book. The seats directly around the notorious recluse—all prime, social real estate at the heart of the cafeteria—were empty. He didn’t have any trouble noticing me, Jared thought, remembering that he had made an ass out of himself earlier.
Rumors abounded about Charles Sheridan Helms: arrogant child of aristocratic parents; a boy whose genius tested in the top one percent of the world; serial killer; homosexual. No one talked to the boy, who did not seem to mind in the least. For all the world it seemed as if Sheridan was content in his aloneness, which made him interesting. Jared shook the thought from his mind, refocused on his friends, but after a few minutes of being marginalized he turned back to stare at the pale boy, who closed his book and stared off in his thoughts, as if pondering what he had just read.
The boredom of the past month caught up with Jared. He was up and moving, lunch tray in hand and half way to Sheridan’s table before he realized what he was doing. He’s a trouble-maker, Jared thought, channeling his father’s voice, but it was too late to turn back and he was willing to take a chance. He sat on the same side of the table, leaving a single stool between them. Sheridan’s sandwich was halfway to his mouth when he realized he had company and stopped to offer Jared a cool, somewhat bewildered look.
“Hey—“ Jared started, then cleared his throat. He was more nervous than he expected. “Hey. I’m Jared.” The pale boy’s eyes lowered to appraise Jared’s outstretched hand with a look of curious disdain. After a painfully long silence, Sheridan returned to his book, opening the red-covered hardback to a page marked with a red silk ribbon. Jared tensed, embarrassed. What had he expected? Still, here he was, and now that he had committed himself, Jared was not about to fail. He licked his lips and tried again. “How’s it going?”
Sheridan’s chin snapped up. He slapped the book closed—The Murder Room, Jared noted—paused as if in prayer, then turned on his unwelcome visitor. With deliberate coolness, the boy scanned the cafeteria behind and around Jared, who turned to see what Sheridan was drawn to—nothing, near as he could tell. Finally, Sheridan settled on Jared. His eyes narrowed. “My dear boy, as you can clearly see, I am going nowhere—at least until that dreaded bell rings and I am forced to endure another period of wretchedly informed lectures.”
Jared had no idea how to respond. “I, uh… I’m having pizza bread.” He raised the cheese-covered wedge as proof and hated himself on the spot. “Sorry. I don’t know what the hell I’m saying. I noticed you were alone and I thought… ‘what the hell.’”
“Just so. I have sixteen more minutes to enjoy my cold, toasted cheese sandwich. To be followed closely by my customary libation.” He gestured toward an unopened can of Coke. “Both enjoyed best in the quiet solitude of contemplation.”
Jared noticed Charlotte, one of a group of cheerleaders at a nearby table, watching them, her dark eyes disapproving. Sheridan noticed as well. The look seemed to amuse him.
“I thought a libation was an alcoholic beverage,” Jared said. Sheridan cocked his head slightly toward his visitor. The corner of his lips twisted into a wry grin.
At that moment, the new girl entered the cafeteria. Jared’s head was one of many that swiveled like the arm of a compass to find true north. Her skin was golden. She had long, straight black hair that dangled lazily to the middle of her back, warm, green eyes, and a Hollywood smile. Her name was Sarah and she had a gift: when she talked to you, she knew you; you were her oldest, closest friend, and you would do or say anything to remain in her presence. Sarah had only just arrived and already her name was spoken kindly by almost every social click. Her popularity was uncanny.
While many of the students at Reynald High were cold and aloof, Sarah was kind, friendly. For Jared, she was a chance for a fresh start. He felt drawn to her in that moony, dizzying way that Jared knew could only lead to trouble, and he couldn’t care less. It was a sickness, really; a palpable longing that made Jared stupid; he felt it with some girls, and not always the prettiest or the most hospitable. It was an in-discriminant, consumptive sickness.
Sarah noticed Jared’s attention from across the crowded cafeteria and waved before being distracted by her growing entourage of admirers. Boys and girls stared, some waving or beckoning, while a much bolder few jumped from their seats and attempted to join her, hoping to spark a bit of conversation. Through them all, Sarah waded towards Jared like a queen, causing his heart to flutter. He wasn’t used to fear, but in Reynald, Jared had no reputation to support him, no true friends to get his back.
He straightened in anticipation, drawing Sheridan’s amusement.
“The new girl.” The pale boy smirked. “She makes quite an impression.”
“She does.” Jared gulped. A twisted web of anxiety and excitement constricted his chest as Sarah slogged through her admirers. Was she actually coming to sit with him? They had only talked in brief spurts in geometry, and how many jokes could a boy make about obtuse angles and the hypotenuse? What would they to talk about?
Sheridan continued, his tone suggestive. “One might say she possesses an unearthly charm.”
“She’s… perfect. You don’t like her?”
“Like is not part of the equation. I see. What I see at times will keep you awake at night.” 
Jared’s grin broadened nearly to his ears as Sarah came within a few feet. He started to rise, to gesture for her to join him, when she turned to join the welcoming group of cheerleaders. Charlotte gave Sheridan a rueful look before putting on the charm and joining her friends as they greeted the newcomer with gossip, smiles and laughter.
“She talks to everyone,” Jared said with a sigh, poorly masking his disappointment. Had she even seen him? He thought so. “Nerds, jocks, the generically unpopular, me—and yes, I put myself below the unpopular.”
“Open your eyes. You’re missing the details.”
Jared turned his frustration towards Sheridan. “And you are so observant, right?”
The pale boy’s nose raised slightly, his eyes scanning Jared. “Observation is the key, Wasson—yes, I know your name. For example, I can deduce by your attire that you are a recent arrival—“
“How?”
Sheridan accepted the challenge with a mischievous smile. “Despite the meager size of this town, its proximity to Seattle lends the local population to certain ambitions—style, as relates to our discussion. You’re wearing not just a tee shirt, but a simple one at that. Who are the Gators, anyway?”
Jared looked down at the faded emblem over his chest, dumbfounded. “They’re a football team, from my—“
“Home town. Of course. No one notices you, Wasson, because you don’t know your brands; Nike, Adidas. Perhaps you should try Banana Republic.”
“Really,” Jared said as a warning.
“Partly. I suspect you don’t even own a proper brand. No. For you, it’s comfort; familiarity governs your choices. You’re from a small town in Florida—where else would one find a gator—but you don’t fit in here.” Sheridan’s eyes flitted towards the table behind Jared. “You’ve chosen the company of the socially inane, but why? These days it’s better to be a geek or nerd. I grant you, it took some nerve to come over here, and more to stay; given your general confidence, I’d say you were a jock in your previous location. You probably play a number of sports, but your obvious upper body strength reveals you as a wrestler.” His eyes drifted down to Jared’s thigh. “But I suppose that ended with your broken femur—it’s the nature of your limp that gives the location away. An accident?”
Jared glowered.
“The jocks are your rightful crowd. You have their look, speak their language. Yet you show a preference for the banal company of the inconsequential, who have yet to notice your departure, I might add. Shall I observe further?”
Jared’s jaw clenched. “And you’re alone because you’re a cold, callous, self-righteous bastard.” He stood.
“Just so.” Sheridan grinned. The smug boy waited triumphantly while Jared’s cheeks flushed anger, humiliation.
His mind lost to emotion, Jared strode from the cafeteria as fast as his limp and his dignity allowed. Behind him, Sheridan smirked until the strange boy caught a frosty look from Charlotte.
Chapter Two
Two hours later, Jared’s mind drifted from another boring civics lecture, drawn inscrutably towards the memory of Sheridan’s keen dissection that reminded Jared of the life he had left behind; the smell of stale sweat and rubber mats; of deodorant on his hands and the slap of a palm on a rubber mat that coincided with a whistle and the rush of victory. He recalled cheerful voices ribbing him, the sounds of friends Jared had left in Gainesville. Unexpectedly, the smell of Meredith’s perfume filled his nostrils; Jared turned, following the scent but it led nowhere, as expected. Probably one of the girls on the other side of class, he decided, and found himself wondering where his ex-girlfriend was now.
He noticed Tina Flowers watching him with furtive glances from the other side of the classroom. She misunderstood his look and answered with a shy, brave smile. Jared half-smiled in return, but only to be polite; he often caught her looking, but Tina wasn’t the kind of girl he could ask out; she was nice. She was exactly the kind of girl he should ask, the kind of girl his father hoped Jared would meet. Truth was, Jared had no idea why he didn’t return the interest; it was as if some magnetic force repelled him; perhaps the same force that drew him towards trouble.
Jared allowed the scent of sweet perfume to fill his brain, triggering a flood of tactile memories: the touch of Meredith’s hand; the feel of her lips; the softness of her hair. He loved her still, as if compelled to, but few who knew her would call Meredith Barnes a nice girl. Even with the betrayal, he missed her. When he closed his eyes, Jared heard the soft whisper of Meredith’s voice in his ear, but he couldn’t see her face. Each time he tried, he saw Henry standing over him instead, just after the accident, beaming down on Jared with a triumphant, malevolent grin.
The acute memory of pain flushed Jared’s mind clear.
Mr. Richards was proselytizing the grand electoral process. Who cares? Jared wondered, when he was two years from being able to vote. If he wasn’t smart enough to vote now, what difference would two years make? Would his vote even count? Did anyone’s? All in all, it was a crappy day and Jared was eager to bring it to an end. The final bell rang, to his utter relief.
***
“Freak,” someone said to his back in passing as Sheridan placed a sociology textbook into its precise place in his locker, followed by his notebook, two freshly sharpened, hardly used number two pencils, and a black Bic pen.
“What’s with the trench coat?” asked someone else with the gruff voice of an overly-confident jock. Sheridan didn’t bother turning to see who. “I’ll bet he’s got a gun under there,” another boy said, half joking, half frightened, before they moved on.
The witless minds of Reynald High at their finest, Sheridan thought with an inward sigh.
“They’d leave you alone if you weren’t such a loner,” Charlotte said, appearing unexpectedly to lean a shoulder against the neighboring locker and studying him with those dark, all-seeing eyes. Someone called her name as they passed and Charlotte answered absently. She was the only student of color in Reynald High, from the only family of color in Reynald, and Sheridan wondered if it bothered her that everyone knew her name, that they presumed to know her.
He straightened the edges of his books. “I already have one friend.” Satisfied, he closed his locker and offered Charlotte a half smile. “One more and my social calendar will just be overwhelmed.”
“Also, it wouldn’t hurt if you changed up your wardrobe. I could dress you.” She winked.
“And then there would be makeup, I suppose. We’re not nine, anymore.”
Charlotte made sure no one was near, then said, “She’s a vampire.” 
“What?” Sheridan felt a flutter of panic.
“Nobody gets that popular without glamouring.”
“She tried you?”
Charlotte gestured dismissively. “Meliah’s body isn’t even cold and Sarah’s already asking about tryouts.”
Sheridan closed the locker, allowing Charlotte to catch up with him as he walked.
“She is, right? Tell me Sarah is a vampire, because I am dying to stake her.”
Sheridan measured his answer carefully. “As gruesome as Meliah’s murder was, it appears that the rumor mill may have it right this time.”
“Lenny?” Charlotte said, incredulous.
Sheridan speculated with cold curiosity. “He was a violent drunk. Perhaps he got carried away, killed the girl and ran away in his grief. Or killed himself.” Charlotte stopped him with a hand on his arm, turning him to face her.
She found the notion difficult to accept. “Sarah isn’t a vam—“ A handful of students passed within earshot, forcing Charlotte to wait. “She isn’t one of them?” she whispered.
“No,” Sheridan said and felt the familiar weight of shame press on the back of his neck.
As always, Charlotte accepted his judgment, though she was disappointed. She pursed her lips for a moment in thought. “The new kid, Jared?”
This gave Sheridan pause. “What do you mean?”
“There’s something off about him as well. I can feel it.”
Sheridan considered, not for the first time, that Charlotte might have some minor biological trait—probably genetic—driving her increasingly remarkable intuition. If he dared to compliment her, she would blame her training with Red Cloud, and Sheridan did not want yet another argument over her belief in magic. And in this case, he did not want to encourage her.
“He’s not a vampire.”
“But there is something?”
“A trace, only. I doubt he knows, but he is not dangerous.” Sheridan reconsidered. “Yet,” he added. One can never be too careful.
“We have to find out who did this.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Charlotte gaped.
Sheridan turned sideways to squeeze past a cluster of students gathered secretively around a locker. “There is nothing supernatural about it, unless you have evidence to the contrary.”
“It’s still a murder.”
“Yes, but not our problem. We’re not the police, Charlotte.”
“Since when do you turn your nose at a mystery?”
“It’s almost mid-terms. As much as I dread the task, I can’t afford to fail another class out of neglect or they’ll hold me back a year. Sorry. I’ll have to sit this one out.”
Charlotte stopped, staring after him with aggravated disappointment. Not that Sheridan bothered to look back—he knew that expression all too well.
***
Jared drifted languidly amongst his fellow students until veering off to his locker, where he gathered his homework into a black and orange messenger bag and made his way towards the school library. His father would be working until late, caught up in the chaos of flight testing as his project at Boeing was kicking into high gear. Home was the best place to study, Jared knew, but there were others in the library, and would be for another hour or two—even if they weren’t his friends, and even if they didn’t care to notice him, he preferred the company.
The library door creaked open, revealing an enormous portrait of Jeremiah Reynald which greeted all newcomers from its place on the opposite wall. A smattering of students were spread amongst the tables, working quietly, while a rowdy group of freshman boys disturbed the traditional peace from a table beneath Reynald’s portrait.
 “You pick up a bottle of the H-two-O, noticing—roll percentage,” Michael said from behind a cardboard screen that shielded papers, booklets and dice. Andrew, a small blond boy with thick, black-framed eye-glasses, bounced two dice between metal figurines on a soft tan mat.
“Seventy-two,” said Andrew, looking hopeful.
Michael rolled a secret die behind his screen. “The H-two-O has a faint, orange color and—“ another roll, “smells of caramel.”
Jared snickered to himself as he searched for a table. He might be a ghost in this school, but those boys were lepers, the unclean. At least I’m not one of them. Dave noticed him from a table near the door, giving Jared a slight nod—hardly an invitation. Jared nodded back just as slightly, and chose his usual lonely table in the back of the library. First he removed a granola bar from a side pocket on his bag, followed by his Calculus text and then a notepad. He planned to grab a Coke later, as a reward for progress.
He saw Tina enter the library. She gave Jared a look like she wanted an invitation to join him, but when he looked away reflexively, she scurried towards a distant alcove. As Jared laid out his homework, his reaction to Tina galled him. Why not? he thought, ticking off the reasons he should stand up right then and find her and ask her out: she was cute; she volunteered at the local pet shelter; she had decent friends. But Jared knew he wouldn’t bother, because some part of him didn’t want a girl like that; the same part that wanted trouble.
Jared was just settling into his first problem set when the library door creaked again and Sarah drifted into the room. She paused in the doorway, her eyes settling on the Gamer’s Club. Michael and his friends noticed her—how could they not? Their boisterous clamor died in a gasp and they exchanged shameful expressions as—to Jared’s utter disbelief—the most beautiful girl in Reynald High strode across the library, with all eyes upon her, and joined them. Sarah did not, however, look pleased. She circled their table, commenting softly, but her look was stern. Michael answered her in hushed tones, apologizing. Jared had no idea what to make of the scene, and when Sarah caught his stare, he regrettably returned his gaze to his homework.
His feelings for Sarah were just the opposite of those for Tina; a longing, a deep ache like that for forgiveness. And desire. When she was in sight, he had to be near her. Only once had Jared ever felt that same rush—for Meredith—but the two girls were a world apart. Where Meredith was trouble from the beginning, Sarah seemed the beatific angel.
In Gainesville, Jared would have his friends talk to Sarah’s friends and arrange for the two to meet outside of school—at the mall, maybe—but Reynald was another world. I could just walk up and talk to her, Jared thought, but recent experience had proven his social skills suspect. Another time. He pushed his nose deeper into his textbook.
A few minutes later, a soft, hypnotic voice spoke from the edge of the table. “Calculus, huh?” Jared looked up, surprised to find Sarah there, smiling warmly as if they were old friends. “I’ve never really cared for math, myself.”
Jared blinked.
“I mean, what good is it, really?”
“Oh.” Jared grasped for a reply. “You’d be surprised. Science, economics…” His brain fogged. “Other stuff.” He clamped his jaw deliberately to stem a budding flow of awkward stupidity. “Have a seat.” He stood to pull back a chair for her. Clearly, Sarah thought the gesture a bit much, but accepted, sitting gracefully with her palms on her lap, and her back straight.
Idiot, Jared thought as he returned to his seat.
Sarah waited for him before observing, “You’re in the history section.”
Jared hadn’t noticed. He glanced at the books that surrounded his small corner of the library. “Much more interesting than Calculus. Plus, it has the advantage of being as far from the epic journey of Gorland—the twelfth-level wizard in the Crypts of Gloom—as possible.” Jared gestured with his pencil towards the gamers, who were glancing his way, whispering amongst themselves. “They’ve been at it for weeks.”
Sarah’s soft chuckle helped put Jared at ease. “They do get loud, don’t they?”
“You could say that.”
Charlotte entered the library with a stack of books. She and Sarah exchanged cheerful waves, like old friends, but Jared noticed Charlotte’s expression grow cold and suspicious the moment Sarah turned her back to the cheerleader. Charlotte carried the books behind the librarian’s counter where she sorted them, glancing periodically his way while she worked.
“Do you know her?” Sarah asked.
“Charlotte? No—“
“She seems like a real bitch,” Sarah said vehemently, but with a winsome smile that give Jared chill bumps. When he couldn’t find a response, she leaned forward conspiratorially. “What are they doing, anyway, those boys?”
“Oh,” Jared stammered, still taken aback by the comment about Charlotte. “I thought you were with them.”
Sarah stared back at him, waiting while her expression communicated the obvious.
Jared lightly smacked the side of his own head. “Duh. Of course.” He laughed nervously at himself and leaned forward to meet her, delighted by the proximity. “I believe it’s called Dungeons and Dragons. Where I come from, no one would be caught dead playing a game like that in public. Sorry. It looked like you knew those guys.”
Sarah glanced toward the gamers, who were clearing away their figures and dice, glumly replacing them with books from the library shelves. “They’re helping me with a project. I’m a mid-quarter transfer, which means I‘m behind on my history class—amongst others—and Ms. Kensington is not very forgiving. I need to make an impression on my midterm paper.”
“She’s tough,” Jared said. Sarah nodded and the ensuing silence grew painful. “So,” he said, unsure what to say next. “What do you think of Reynald?” It was better than silence, and it bought him time to think of something better.
Sarah shrugged, her eyes and smile returning to their customary warmth. “I’ve moved around a lot. After a while it’s all the same; conservative, liberal, smart, stupid, nerds, jocks—“
“We call them geeks, here.”
“You’re different, though,” she said, as if he were a treat.
“Me?”
“I haven’t figured out why, yet. Any ideas?” By her expression, Sarah expected an answer.
“Uh… nope.” Jared chuckled nervously.
She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”
Jared’s mind scrambled, unable to keep up with their conversation to give him an edge, which he needed to ask her out. He noticed Charlotte, still throwing frosted looks their way. He was about to ask Sarah, when she changed the subject.
“Will you help me with my project?” she said, batting her eyelashes like weapons.
Jared felt a rush of delight, showing his enthusiasm in spite of his best efforts. “Sure.” He gestured with his hands. “Why not? What is it?”
“I’m doing a report on the town’s founder, Jeremiah Reynald.”
“I think it’s been done,” Jared said, trying not to sound lame. “A lot, actually. This town is kind of obsessed with Reynald. If you want to impress—“
“They know what they want to hear.” She leaned forward, crossed her arms in front of her on the table. “I happen to know that our illustrious founder was a collector of the occult.” Jared was genuinely surprised by the accusation. “He died with quite a collection of magical artifacts in his possession. I’m going to find them, and I’m going to tell everyone here all about them.”
“That is definitely unique. I haven’t heard—are you sure?”
“Positive.” Sarah’s eyes sparkled as she stood, took Jared by the hand and led him away from his homework. Dave stared in awe while the rest of the library gaped and Charlotte continued to glare, and Jared could have cared less about any of them or about where he was being taken. Sarah’s hand was soft and warm, and he was led willingly.
“I guess this means we’ll be spending a lot of time—“ he started until Sarah veered unexpectedly and led him to the table where Michael, Andrew and the other two gamers were studying. The four boys greeted Jared with a mix of expressions ranging from horror to loathing.
“This is Michael, Andrew, and Flavius,” Sarah said, bubbling. “I only deal with them. No idea who the other guy is. Guys, this is Jared.”
“Why him?” Michael said.
“Because he’s smart.” Sarah beamed at Jared, squeezing his hand before letting go. “Since you fellas seem to be having trouble, I’ve asked Jared to help.” She observed her study team with pride, ignoring the collective pouting. “Yes. This should be perfect. You boys get acquainted, then hop to it. I need progress by the end of the week. Paper’s due next Wednesday. Don’t forget!”
“You’re not joining us?” Jared said as she strolled away.
“I’ve got a cheerleading tryout to prepare for,” Sarah answered over her shoulder as she pushed through the library doors that creaked shut behind her.
Jared shifted uncomfortably amongst his new, unwelcoming band of brothers.
“What’s your class, man?” Michael asked, sneering.
Jared thought the question strange. “I’m a junior,” he answered as pleasantly as he felt reasonable.
The others snickered. “He doesn’t roll,” Flavius said.
“No,” Michael said. “But our Mistress—Sarah wants us to work with him, so we do.” The group agreed, as if they had no choice.
What have I got myself into? Jared thought. “So.” He met their gazes, waiting for an invitation, but no one answered. “I’ll just get my bag and you can fill me in on what you have so far.” Jared slipped from the table, wondering where he had gone wrong. When he returned, he took a good look at his new companions and realized, I’m one of them.
***
It was a long wait after the last bell when Sheridan saw the custodian leave the school parking lot. He stowed his homework, which had been tedious, slung his bag over his shoulder and climbed down the field bleachers, circumventing the cheerleaders whose incessant gossip he had worked hard to ignore. Football practice continued, which meant he wouldn’t have the entire building to himself, but jocks and coaches were predictable; he could avoid them easily.
It was the waiting Sheridan despised the most, the time between the final bell and when he could return to the school where, with the help of his forged key, the building transformed into his own personal laboratory, where Sheridan could be alone with his thoughts and the work that mattered to him. Until then, he wasted time on his class assignments; he used the bustling field bleachers for this because banality should be paired with banality, and because he didn’t want to soil his quiet places with the despondency that arose from writing sociology papers and random, useless book reports.
After making certain that he remained unobserved, the click of the school doors releasing their locks and opening provided the customary catharsis for Sheridan, who gratefully left the mundane world behind. He was mindful of his heels clicking on the hall floors, since he was not entirely certain to be alone, but his excuses were ready, and they would work. Using a second key, he unlocked the science lab and slipped inside, careful to lock the door behind him, and turned on the lights. He closed the window blinds, though there was little cause for concern, as the lab faced a rarely accessed alley.
Sheridan opened the lab locker using his pick set—the lock had recently been changed and he had not had a chance to forge the new key—and began removing a pair of plastic tubs, but his mind was already drifting. The tubs contained his most recent experiment, a study of vampire teeth, and Sheridan was on the verge of an important discovery as to the correlation between size and number of fangs and the age—and thus strength—of the vampire. Acquiring the teeth had been difficult, though Reynald attracted more than its share of vampires, amongst other things. Rumors of magical artifacts drew all sorts of creatures hunting for power. Preserving the teeth from the rapid decay common to the undead had been the challenge, but Sheridan had eventually formulated the proper solution. After two weeks of soaking in his alchemical brew, the samples were perfectly preserved from decay and could then be handled.
He was also studying the bite marks themselves, but that was a daytime experiment, one for his grade. Sheridan felt a perverse thrill that he was flaunting the teeth in front of his classmates and teachers, who believed him when he explained that the collection of fangs were a crafty fabrication on his part. Dr. Wong had given him points for ingenuity, though Sheridan expected a worrying note regarding his state of mind had been added to his permanent record. His fellow students had found the project titillating, and thus the legend of Sheridan’s infamy had grown. But this was his experiment, the one he pursued on his own terms, alone, without pretense.
Tubs in hand, Sheridan paused in front of the locker, staring down at the metal floor plate which was easily removed—if you knew how. I suppose I should study the tome, he thought, but felt little enthusiasm. The tome was an ancient chronicle, the only reliable source of information he had regarding Jeremiah Reynald’s mysterious artifacts. Why bother? Since Sarah’s arrival, Sheridan had pored over that thick musty book a dozen times and found nothing by way of description of the Ring of Destiny except that it was a plain silver band. In his portraits, the frontiersman was adorned with many rings, but none of them plain. And short of combing the town with a metal detector—which he didn’t have—Sheridan had no idea where it could be found. Oddly enough, the ring was Reynald’s last discovery, just before he put it on and lost the Battle of Overlook Ridge; an enlightening detail that often went unnoticed.
Still, Sheridan’s mind wandered back to another book, one he had been waiting for; a chronicle of the Vidocq Society entitled The Murder Room, by Mike Capuzzo. Information on the actual workings of the Society was hard to come by, and an expedition to Philadelphia was improbable; even if he could get there, the Society was famously exclusive. To meet with the greatest investigatory minds in the world—the men and women Sheridan saw as his peers—he would need a case to present, and not just any case. The Vidocq Society was inundated with cold cases from which to select as the topic of their monthly gatherings, where members solved the most challenging criminal cases over dinner. No, Sheridan would need more than just a simple case.
And the Society would not hear cases involving the supranatural, because that was not yet part of their worldly comprehension. Sheridan would change that, but for now he was—in their eyes, at least—too young and unproven. He needed a case unlike any other, something undeniable and shocking that would rock the Society to their core; they would be forced to embrace the world as Sheridan knew it to be, and then they would embrace him as a brother, a peer, an expert on extra-normal creatures and criminality.
After only a moment’s hesitation, Sheridan returned his experiment to the locker. He made himself comfortable at Dr. Wong’s desk, put his boots up and began to read, the book nestled on his stomach. Frank Bender’s ability to manifest unknown yet accurate details about a criminal through sculpting—often with little or nothing to start from—provided Sheridan with a delightful puzzle; the author hinted that Mr. Bender was a psychic who thrived at the highest levels of criminology because he never used the word, but there were no such things as psychics, as the term was commonly used. There was an as-yet-to-be-discovered medium between action and result, Sheridan was certain; a medium that obeyed rules outside the commonly accepted reality, and he would find it.
Charlotte and Red Cloud would say otherwise; they would call Mr. Bender’s talent magical, but one could not simply accept things as they appeared to be; one needed to know why. Otherwise, the unknown was all magic, and Sheridan found that notion repulsive.
He became lost in the cases of the Vidocq Society, engrossed for hours before he looked up and saw the time. His parents would be—not concerned, but angry, when he came home, unless he waited for them to drink themselves into a stupor. Even then, he risked a certain volatility on the part of his father once the consumption reached an unquantifiable, yet inevitable, level, which it most certainly had by now. He could go home and suffer the indignities which that option entailed, or spend the night in the science lab. Again.
Sheridan sighed at the inconvenience. He would have to rise by four in the morning to take his shower, then hide in a secret place he knew of while first the custodians, then the teachers, arrived in a slow trickle. Finally, when the students began to arrive, he could be seen without concern. This made for a long day, but it was worth it.
Sheridan’s eyes drifted back to his book as he turned the page.
Chapter Three
Jared arrived at school the next morning with a dab of his father’s Old Spice cologne on his cheeks and nose, having no idea where one was to dab; he could smell it; that’s what counted. In his tremulous right hand he held a small bouquet of red, yellow, and pink daisies he’d retrieved from the Fred Meyers two blocks North of the school. I should’ve gotten roses. These are cheap, Jared thought, chiding himself. But were flowers even appropriate? Would she want them? What if she’s allergic? What if I’m an idiot? Which, of course, he was; at least at the moment.
Jared entered the building from the East, where the burnouts staked their territory with a cloud of fetid smoke. Holding his breath, Jared waded through plumes and past obnoxious looks to reach the halls, lowering his bouquet in the hopes that—as usual—no one would notice him, but the flowers proved magnetic. Heads turned. Girls giggled and smiled while boys hooted and called out asinine encouragement. The simple bouquet transformed Jared instantly into the most notorious kid in school. Blood drained from his face, but he walked on towards the coffee bar where Sarah usually began the day holding court for her admirers. It was now or never, and Jared was determined to make up for his failings the day before.
‘Would you like to go to a movie sometime?’ he practiced in his head, ignoring the looks as he turned into another hall. Another minute, one more turn, and he would find himself directly before the coffee stand, Sarah, and God knew who else who would witness his pending failure. Someone whistled the theme to the film Rocky. Jared ignored that. ‘We should go for coffee sometime.’ What if she’s holding a coffee when you ask her that? Just say ‘Sarah, let’s go out.’
Jared rounded the corner to find himself directly behind her as she addressed a host of cheerleaders. In a moment of panic, he shoved the bouquet into a convenient trash bin. Mercifully, no one noticed. When he tried to speak, he discovered his throat cluttered with phlegm. Jared coughed into a fist, turning to hack it out, which drew Sarah’s attention. She thinks I did that on purpose! he thought.
“Jared?”
She was annoyed. He was blowing it. Jared tried to speak, couldn’t, and gave instead a tentative wave with a crooked smile that made the other girls guffaw and giggle.
“I’ll be just one minute,” Sarah told her friends before drawing Jared to a discreet distance where her irritation transformed to hopeful enthusiasm. “Did you find something already?”
“Some—No, no.” She meant the project, he realized. “We’re working on it, but I just saw you and I thought… I should say hello. So. Hi.”
Sarah grew frosty. “Today is the cheerleader tryouts, Jared. I’ve got other things to worry about.”
“They just had tryouts a month ago.”
“This is to replace that girl who died.”
“Oh, Meliah.” Jared found it unseemly that the girl would be replaced so soon, but decided to keep his thoughts to himself. “What time?”
“The actual audition? Two.” Sarah leaned forward, lowered her voice. “But those bitches have been auditioning me from the moment I first showed up here.” She saw the look of surprise on Jared’s face. “You have no idea.”
“You’ll make it.”
Sarah softened. Her eyes brightened as she gave Jared an appraising look. “Thanks! I’m going to do better than make it. You’re only young once, right? This time I’m going to make it count. We’ll talk in Geometry. You’re working hard on my project, right? Only six days left.”
“Of course. Actually, I was going to ask—“
“Wish me luck.” Sarah returned to her friends, sliding easily into their attention with a well-timed laugh as she took over their conversation.
“Geometry is tomorrow,” Jared mumbled and left, giving the flowers an extra shove down into the depths of filthy oblivion as he rounded the corner.
***
Two hours later, Jared discovered that his science teacher, Mr. White, had taken a sudden leave of absence due to difficulties with his health. Jared and his classmates were divided amongst the other science classes, the result being that Jared found himself in a lab with Sheridan and Charlotte. Not surprisingly, Sheridan was the only student without a partner.
The strange, pale boy did not take the news happily. “Doctor Wong—“
“We now have an even number,” she said, giving Sheridan an expectant stare. “Learn to share.”
“My experiments are moving along briskly, too briskly to bring someone—“ Doctor Wong’s stare became a glare and Sheridan knew he had lost. “You can, I assume, make yourself useful?”
Jared answered with a slight nod as he reluctantly took his place at Sheridan’s counter, glancing towards the clock while the pale boy straightened the elements of his lab project—sets of teeth complete with jaw bones, wax, shoes, and small tubs of mud—with a surprising relish. The setting piqued Jared’s curiosity.
When all was in place, Sheridan paused to offer an irritable introduction, as if he were wasting breath. “What we have here is a study in forensics, covering two points of interest. First, we have bite marks.”
Jared noted the sets of teeth on the table; there were four: two were human, as he expected, a third had long, canine fangs while another had jagged, sharp teeth all around, the sight of which gave Jared an uneasy feeling. He took the later set for a closer inspection, noting the human shape of the jaw. The workmanship seemed flawless. “You made this?”
“Just so. You’ll see here an assemblage of teeth; human, animal, and—shall we say, hypothetical? For substrate we have wax molds, which will have to make do since we don’t have access to a proper cadaver.”
Jared brushed the tip of a fang with his finger, recoiled from the sharpness. The teeth felt as real as they looked, igniting a mild rush of primal fear that Jared found difficult to suppress.
“Careful.” Sheridan gently took the set of fangs from Jared’s hands and placed it onto the counter at the precise location it had been previously. “The fangs contract easily without muscular control, and it takes the devil to pry them open.” 
“How did you—“
“Don’t worry, old boy. As I said, they are completely and utterly hypothetical.”
“Smashing, pip pip,” a boy named Earl said, chuckling not-so-softly from the work station beside them. Earl’s partner, who Jared didn’t recognize, chortled back, saying “tally ho, what?”
Sheridan either ignored them or was oblivious, concentrating on his work, but then Charlotte cleared her throat from the station behind them. Sheridan turned, giving her a questioning, somewhat irritable look. Jared watched as the two shared some secret, silent communication in which she insisted and he relented, then Sheridan sighed and turned his back on her. She gave Jared a particularly cold glare before returning focus to her own experiment.
Jared checked the time again, as if it couldn’t go fast enough, which it was decidedly not. I might as well work, he decided with a sigh. If Sheridan would let him into the project, it seemed interesting enough to while away the hour. He studied the materials laid out, anticipating the procedures such an experiment would require.
“You seem receptive,” Sheridan said. Jared answered with a nod, and he continued. “Allow me to demonstrate our side B.” Sheridan slid the teeth and wax carefully aside, replacing them with three plastic containers. “What we have here is—“
“Mud.”
“Yes, but—“
“Different types.”
The boy observed his mud with satisfaction. “Just so. Note the slight variations of brown in A and B, the faintest hint of red in C. Each soil sample has been gathered locally.”
“Why wet? Why mud?”
“Ah.” Sheridan picked a single hiking boot from a box under the table which also contained two unpaired sneakers. “Each shoe, in turn, is pressed with equal pressure in each soil sample, creating a footprint.”
“You’re cataloging the tracking characteristics of each soil sample,” Jared said, surprised.
Sheridan pointed to a set of tracks already made, one in each bin. “I’m also comparing the more detailed impressions with the less detailed, which is proving quite useful in the interpretation of partial tracks.”
Jared nodded his head approvingly. “Fascinating,” he admitted, impressed by his partner’s creative ambition. Across from them, he noted that Earl and his partner were burning a large marshmallow over a Bunsen burner and snickering while jotting notes.
Sheridan received Jared’s judgment enthusiastically. “The experiment is layered.” He turned the hiking boot over to demonstrate the mud-caked treads. “Second, we can observe the qualities of each soil, how they bond to the shoe, how they dry, etc. With such an understanding, we can determine not only where a person has been—“
“—but when.” The experiment was stunning, to be sure. “Why?”
“Forensics,” Sheridan said happily. “Such knowledge has its uses.” He glanced towards the clock above the classroom door. “The hour is passing. Shall we begin?” With a nod from Jared, the boy began preparing the first experiment by stirring the mud samples to erase the existing tracks. “Do you have a preference?”
“Bite marks. Definitely bite marks.”
“Excellent choice.” Sheridan pushed the containers of mud aside.
“So, where in England are you from?” Jared said conversationally, unprepared for the haughty reaction that his question engendered. A collection of giggling behind them brought Jared’s attention around, where for once Charlotte observed him with amusement as she and her lab partner shared a giggle. She was a mystery, Charlotte; a girl of striking beauty and charm with the sharpest, coldest glare Jared ever thought a woman capable of; a glare that seemed reserved for him. She shook her head ever so slightly, a warning, then drew her lab partner’s attention to their work.
“Why do you ask?” Sheridan said, exasperated.
“No reason.”
“Sadly, I was born in this hell-hole. I don’t speak like everyone else here because I am not like everyone else. I refuse to speak of parties, Gucci, reality television, or beer. I cannot help it if the sound of sophistication carries with it a hint of cultured arrogance.”
“Ok.”
“Right.” Sheridan sighed. “Let’s get to it, then.”
Sheridan demonstrated the process for making bite impressions followed by the process of interpreting the remaining marks. Jared was fascinated, finding for the first time that he and this strange boy had something in common: both enjoyed knowledge, giving themselves easily to focused work. Sheridan was highly intelligent, his experiments carefully planned, and he seemed to appreciate Jared’s diligence.
After some time, Sheridan seemed to react to the intrusive sound of Charlotte clearing her throat again. “I hear you have a research project of your own,” he said almost casually as they moved on to the shoe prints, pressing with precise pressure in each box.
Jared glanced back at Charlotte, who worked busily, then told Sheridan, “I’m helping Sarah.”
“Sarah McDonagh?”
Jared nodded. “She has a fascination with Jeremiah Reynald. She thinks he was part of some occult.” He shrugged, not that his partner could see it with his face just over the latest shoe imprint, probing details with a fine metal instrument while he studied the marks through a magnifying glass. “I’m just helping her out, doing some research into the old man’s journals at the library later.”
“The librarian, Mangus, is rather protective of our founder’s reputation,” Sheridan said. “Myself, I am somewhat of an expert on the occult. If I can be of any assistance, just let me know.”
“I will,” Jared said, though he expected his research would only serve to bring him closer to Sarah.
Chapter Four
Sheridan found Charlotte pacing menacingly outside the gymnasium at the end of the day.
She saw him and gestured towards the gym. “I’m going to kill her.”
“What’s happened?”
“Meagan and Tina are tripping all over each other. Victoria passed out during the first routine. The only girl performing well in there is Sarah, and she is humiliating everyone else. I know Meagan is better than that. It’s not natural! She’s glamouring everyone.”
“You know for certain?” Sheridan hoped that Sarah couldn’t be so stupid. “You’ve seen the tell?”
“No,” Charlotte admitted reluctantly. “It’s like she knows I’m immune. She never does it when I can see her eyes, but I see the reaction in the girls; they get dizzy, they smile too much—when have you ever seen Shannon smile?” Charlotte pointed towards the gym. “Every time Sarah makes eye contact with her, she’s grinning like a moonbeam. And she’s blowing it—except when she can make Sarah look good. I—“
“Charlotte. What exactly is the problem?”
She stared back at him for a moment before answering, eyes wide as though her head might explode. “She’s going to win!”
Sheridan responded with a sly smile, which Charlotte did not appreciate. She was probably going to tell him so, he expected, when Jared rounded the corner, looking quietly anxious, and surprised them.
“Hello.” Jared glanced between Sheridan and Charlotte, as if he had interrupted a random act of violence. Inside the gym, the song ended and girls were being called back into place.
“I gotta go.” Charlotte gave Sheridan a dark look as she crashed through the big double doors into the gymnasium where she began barking orders to the contestants.
“Here for the pubescent festivities, or just passing through?” Sheridan asked. To his amusement, Jared reacted as if he had been caught peeping.
“I… ugh… figured I’d watch. School spirit, and all that.” Jared cleared his throat. “You?”
“Passing through.”
“Ah.” Jared shifted, then gestured towards the gym. “I should probably…”
“Of course.” Sheridan waved the boy on with a slight, courtly bow.
Jared drove his hands into the pockets of his jeans, gave a polite nod, then pushed through the gym doors with his shoulder.
Once the boy was gone and the hall was empty, Sheridan moved to the doors. He was tall enough to watch through the glass portals, through which he saw an unusual crowd—fifty or so students and nearly all boys—gathered in the stands to watch the audition with naked enthusiasm. Impressive, Sheridan thought, giving Sarah a begrudging respect; her ambitions were unbridled, if not careless.
The crowd, of course, was there for her. Jared sat on their fringe, looking uncomfortable. Michael and his gang sat a few benches below him, whispering amongst themselves and throwing Jared vile looks that did not go unnoticed by their recipient. Flavius appeared particularly pale and uncharacteristically wore sunglasses; Sheridan noted the boy’s choice of a high collar.
Don’t get carried away, old girl, he thought. She was drawing too much attention. Once Charlotte felt confident of Sarah’s true nature, she would confront the vampire, and Sheridan would be forced to choose. But first, he needed Sarah to find what she was looking for—for all the good it would do her. What it would do for Sheridan was another matter.
While Becky Armstrong, the head cheerleader, called out the next audition piece, Charlotte sorted the would-be cheerleaders, then directed the first group to take positions while offering them encouragement. This Charlotte was the charming beauty with the confident, cheerful eyes; hardly the hardened warrior intent upon slaying her enemy. But she was both, and Sheridan knew how tenacious she could be.
Sarah, radiant and regal, mingled cheerfully with the nervous girls around her while Charlotte called out the numbers and the first group danced. Even to Sheridan’s untrained eye, their performance was appalling, a fretful display of gawky gracelessness that left more than one contestant in tears when the music stopped.
Sarah’s group took their positions next. The boys in the audience leaned forward in unison, intent upon their brilliant, confident idol. All, that is, except for Jared, who leaned back in direct defiance of the mob will, though he was equally entranced. The music began. Charlotte called the numbers and Sarah danced perfectly, a rocking minister of cheer and grace.
Most of the girls around her became lost, flustered. Only a few completed the routine, but none as well as Sarah, who ended with a spontaneous flip. Her feet planted perfectly, and Jared and the crowd cheered. She beamed back at them. Only Albina and her friends, sequestered at the top corner of the bleachers, jeered, but Sarah ignored them.
Sheridan noted the cluster of goths, never known for school cheer, were particularly virulent in her regard.
Through successive rounds, Sarah proved equally superior in tumbling and leaps. Normally confident girls tumbled over themselves, unless they were involved with her. Is she a complete fool? Sheridan wondered with some exasperation. He had assumed the audition was merely an attempt to maintain her cover, but Sarah, flush from her triumph, appeared intent on success. There was no fooling Charlotte now. What could Sarah possibly want with pompoms and miniskirts and drooling fanboys? Surely she wanted the ring for its reputed powers, or did Sarah know more of the artifact than Sheridan had given her credit for?
He noticed Jared watching him and chose not to respond. The auditions finally came to a close and after final words of encouragement from Becky, the contestants retired to lick their wounds and await their fates. 
“It’s all a waste of time,” a deep voice croaked next to Sheridan, belonging to a small—no more than three feet tall—gnarled figure with a conniving grin.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Sheridan said softly, cautiously.
Maloch stared up at the pale boy. “Ye still have two boons.”
“Three.”
“Two. Ye tricked me into informing ye of the vampire’s approach.”
“I did, and I did it fairly. Three.”
Maloch ground his yellow teeth. “Three, then. All the more reason to use one this very moment. Ask for the ring, and it’s yers,” he said with the cheerful confidence of a conniving salesman.
Sheridan’s eyes narrowed. “At what price?”
“Bah! Price? There is no price.” Maloch wrung his thick hands. “Ye deserve this, no? All ye have to do is ask.”
Sheridan considered the possibility, and not for the first time, but he had no confidence in Maloch, or the creature’s supposed magic. “No.” Not until I understand.
“No?” Maloch’s black brows arched.
“No. Thank you.”
Maloch puffed his chest as if to protest, but then vanished instead. Sheridan watched the shimmering that remained, noting its characteristics as it faded along with his chance to take the ring before Sarah could find it.
“Wh-who are you talking to?” a voice stammered.
Sheridan turned to find Kyle Weavers, a freshman, staring fearfully. The boy’s body was half turned, as if to flee at the first hint of trouble. “Myself,” he answered coldly. “Haven’t you heard? I am quite mad.”
Kyle’s eyes widened as he turned and left hurriedly the way he had come.
***
Some of the girls glared at Sarah, some cried, but many remained dazed and confused. The boys in the audience swooped down from the bleachers to the gym floor, surrounding Sarah in a rush to offer their congratulations. Jared chose not to join them, though he wanted to. She was talking to the gamers, to Flavius—giving orders, it seemed—so Jared stood, turning towards the exit where he was surprised to find Sheridan stoically watching through a pane of glass. 
Jared stepped gingerly down the rows, guarding his limp and feeling faintly, surprisingly dizzy. “Jared!” Sarah stopped him as he reached the gym floor. Her green eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen.
“How was I?” she said needlessly.
“Flawless.”
“Do you think they’ll pick me?”
She knew they would. She wasn’t even sweating, Jared noticed. “Absolutely.”
“I’ll know later today. Do you think Tonica is a better tumbler?” She didn’t, of course.
Jared found himself frozen, unsure what to say, but Sarah was staring at him expectantly. “Let’s go out!” he blurted, then agonized over his awkwardness.
Sarah’s eyes widened with delighted surprise. “You’re asking me on a date?”
Jared gulped. “Ye—“ his voice squeaked. “Yes. Definitely.” And it shouldn’t be this hard, he thought, blaming that damn, aching, longingness that befuddled his brain whenever she was near; puberty, he assumed, and hated it.
Sarah became suddenly grave. “What about my project?”
“Yeah,” Michael said, appearing from nowhere to stand at her side. “What about your part, research-boy?”
“I have a free period tomorrow. I was going to spend it at the library.”
Michael leered, adding to Jared’s discomfort. Sarah deliberated, but then her charming smile returned. She looked at Jared differently, as if sizing him up anew. “You can tell me what you find over dinner, then.”
Michael’s face dropped, which gave Jared cause to smile. “Perfect. Hamburger Mary’s?” Sarah gave an indifferent shrug, but he couldn’t think of another place he could afford, and all the kids went there. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”
“Seven, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay.” He smiled back at her while cinching the strap of his backpack over his right shoulder. “It’s a date.”
“I have high expectations, Jared.”
Me too, he thought.
Chapter Five
The alarm from his phone yanked Jared from the depths of a dream so remote that he awoke in a fog with the vague sense of another life lived, in another time and place. His eyes strained, perceiving the football pennants on his wall as floating, colored triangles until his presence fully restored. It was—he checked his phone display—two minutes past five in the morning. Through his door, Jared caught the scent of pancakes frying in the kitchen. He pulled himself from bed reluctantly, straightened his Cookie Monster pajamas, and made his way to the kitchen where his father, John Wasson, was preparing breakfast, whistling with his native cheerfulness that Jared found insensible before dawn.
He fetched a Rockstar energy drink from the fridge and slid into a wooden chair at the intimate round table, where an empty plate waited beside a glass of milk. “Morning!” His father said. Jared grunted and a stack of three pancakes slid onto his plate. He set to them with butter, syrup, fork, teeth. An ungodly hour, five am, but Jared had a choice. His father worked hard and they had so little time together.
John Wasson set a plate opposite his son and sat. “How is school?”
Jared grunted and gulped his drink, which tasted like carbonated, sour metal.
“You should start drinking coffee. That stuff can’t be good for you.”
“It helps me wake up,” Jared said, feeling the beginnings of life in his brain. “School is all right. I’m doing good in my classes, so… there’s that.”
“You hanging out with your buddies?”
Jared shrugged. 
“Who was that boy I met last week, at the park? David? Dave?”
Jared nodded, plowing a forkful of cake through a pool of syrup. 
“You guys buddies?”
“Dad.” Jared chuckled. “You make him sound like my swimming partner. I had buddies when I was eight. At sixteen, we just call them friends.”
“Okay. So?”
“Not really. We’re friends, but…” Jared let the thought trail into a shrug.
“He did seem rather dull.” They ate quietly for a moment before his father continued. “It just seems like it’s taking a while. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re getting along with the other kids at school?”
“Yeah, dad. I’m fine.” Jared knew why his father was asking. He didn’t enjoy sharing his personal life any more than necessary, but after what he had put his father through in Gainesville, the man deserved something. “I did meet a guy the other day. He’s a character.” Jared rolled his eyes. He wanted to share more, but then it occurred to him that Sheridan Helms, with his trench coat and bad reputation, might not be the friend that John Wasson wanted to hear about. “He’s just an acquaintance, really. I’ve got some prospects.”
His father looked hopeful, curious.
“It just takes time, Dad. This is a small town. People are nice, but they don’t make friends as quickly here as they did back home. Kids here are… cautious.” And I have the plague, he thought.
His father began cutting pancakes. “Caution can be a good thing.“
For me, you mean, Jared thought. John Wasson did not trust his son’s choices, but Jared found it hard to blame the man. First Henry and then Meredith left him with a questionable track record. The two ate quietly for a moment, until Jared cleared his throat.
“Dad. I have a thing after school tomorrow. I’m a little short on cash?”
“Thing?” His father’s eyes lit up, but he decided not to probe further. “Sure. Will twenty cover it?” He reached for his wallet.
“Yeah. I’ve got some money. Twenty will probably cover it. Can we say forty, just in case? I’ll bring you back whatever I don’t use.”
Forty was a lot to ask. His father hesitated, and Jared feared he would be forced to reveal that he had a date, which would lead to endless, eager questions. Thankfully, his father handed over the cash without pressing. The two settled into meaningless chit chat until John dropped his son off a block from school, as requested.
***
The cozy library was located in downtown Reynald, a central strip three blocks in length and only two blocks from the high school, next to the park. Jared took a leisurely stroll during his free period. He expected to learn very little that would meet Sarah’s expectations, but he was obliged to make the attempt. If he could impress her with some nugget of information, so much the better. 
Jared found the stone bench in the foyer occupied by a man he had never seen in town, a husky Native American in his forties who grumbled over an iPhone while tapping a message. The man noted Jared with passive contempt before returning his gaze to the statue of Jeremiah Reynald, which he clearly despised. He considered the figure, the armor, then returned gaze and grumbling back to his phone, tapping away.
Jared strode through the foyer and into the nearly empty library. In the East Wing, a hulking giant of a man was stacking books while a woman scribbled notes at a table nearby. A fellow student Jared recognized but couldn’t name sat at an internet station in the West Wing, clicking intently. The front desk at the end of the hall was empty except for a bell and a stack of books. A small, portly man responded to the chime almost immediately, bouncing from a door behind the counter. Mangus recognized Jared at once.
“Jared Wasson,” he said, pleased. “You’re making our humble library quite a habit. Good for you! If more students were as studious as yourself, we’d have the funds for that South wing. How can I be of service, young man?”
“I’m doing some research on Jeremiah Reynald.”
“Ah!” Mangus pointed to a section of the West Wing. “We have an extensive collection: private notes, memoirs, biographies, novelizations. You may slake your thirst for knowledge, young man. As you will.” The librarian started for the refuge of his back room.
“I don’t have much time,” Jared said before the man could escape.
Mangus wagged a finger. “Tut tut. Knowledge takes time.”
“I’m looking for something specific.” This was the part where he felt foolish. “Do you have anything related to a collection of ancient artifacts that Reynald had, or may have collected, or any kind of mysticism that he may have been connected to?”
Mangus’s chin slid back, his face transforming into a look of distaste, as if he’d just eaten a bowl of sour olives. Jared heard the Native American behind him cackle loudly from the foyer. The librarian glared over Jared’s shoulder and hissed, “You be about your business, Red Cloud. This here is library business. We talked about this many times and more.” Mangus turned to Jared and placed both hands on the counter, fingers tapping. “Son, I don’t know what you’ve been reading on the internet, or gee-chatting, or whatever form of communication you kids use these days to spread rumors and misinformation.”
Red Cloud cackled again. Jared turned but the big man was tapping on his phone, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.
“Jeremiah Reynald was a great explorer,” the librarian continued, and Jared accepted the lecture out of courtesy, though he had little time for it. “He mapped this territory in seventeen-thirty and brought the first colony to this very spot—“ he thumped two fingers onto the desktop—“long before Don Bruno laid eyes on it. Jeremiah Reynald brought the local tribes together in peace, and the entire region—natives and colonists alike—enjoyed a decade of cooperation and prosperity until the tribes betrayed Reynald.”
Mangus threw a preemptive glare over Jared’s shoulder, towards Red Cloud. “All-out war ensued. Jeremiah Reynald led his people in a desperate battle for its very existence, defeating the Darmish Tribe and its coalition time and again until he was eventually betrayed at the Battle of Overlook Ridge. If it were not for his defeat, Reynald would’ve gone on to colonize this entire region, if not all of the West Coast.
“You would do well in your report to stick to the historical facts, young man; teachers don’t cotton to flights of fancy, and neither do I.”
Red Cloud made another noise—sounding conspicuously like a raspberry—earning another glare from the librarian.
“I entirely agree with you, sir,” Jared said. “I was obliged to ask.”
The librarian remained unappeased. “Then you have your references over there, and you have our exhibit, which is a model of historical accuracy. Don’t touch anything.” Jared nodded and Mangus took his contempt into the back room, closing the door behind him.
Jared considered the West Wing, where he expected to find more books than he could possibly study. The private notes of Jeremiah Reynald sounded interesting, but the mission he brought with him was hopeless. Sarah would have to accept a more traditional report. On his way out through the foyer, Jared found himself drawn to the life-size statue of the pioneer. The simple, silver necklace appeared to be embedded into the flesh of the statue’s upper chest, as if it were not meant to be removed. The tattoos of mysterious, ancient seeming runes were as entrancing as they were exotic.
Jared stepped past Red Cloud—still tapping away on his phone—for a closer look
“Details are surprisingly realistic,” Red Cloud said slowly. Jared turned to find the man talking to his phone while typing. “Demonstrating the depth of perversion of reality.”
“What?” Jared said.
A few more touches before Red Cloud looked up. “Can I help you?” His voice was deep, soothing.
Jared felt embarrassed. “Oh. Sorry. I thought—“
“I’m live-tweeting an analytical study of the tragedy displayed before you.”
“Oh.” What else could Jared say? He nodded, waiting for Red Cloud to speak again, or to return to his tweeting, or at least to stop staring at Jared, but the Native American continued, eyes narrowed, studying him. Jared could also see the librarian at his desk, watching and scowling at them both.
He gave another nod before exiting the library onto the sidewalk, where he stopped to check his phone; he had just enough time to get back to school before the next period. He was putting his phone away when Red Cloud emerged from the library. Jared was about to scurry off when the man spoke to him.
“Your questions make Mangus nervous.”
“Huh?”
“The librarian,” Red Cloud said, scowling. “Me Red Cloud.” He pointed to his chest. “Him Mangus.” He gestured toward the library. When Jared remained unresponsive, the man handed him a card from the pocket of his leather jacket. “If you want to know the truth about Reynald…”
Jared took the card: Red Cloud, Darmish Elder, Blogger. When he looked up, the Native American was already striding across the parking lot. Jared watched the big man cram himself into a gold Prius and drive off. Odd, Jared thought. He was going to be late for class.
***
No sooner had Jared returned to Reynald High, than Michael and Flavius cornered him in the halls. Michael’s pleasant demeanor was poorly feigned, while the pale Flavius sneered openly behind dark glasses.
“What did you find out?” Michael said, blocking Jared’s path.
“Nothing.” Jared gave both boys a look of warning as he stepped around Michael, unwilling to be made tardy for his next class. Flavius followed while Michael caught even with Jared’s stride.
“Nothing about artifacts?” Michael said.
“No.”
“Nothing about the Ring of Destiny?”
“Nope.”
Michael visibly relaxed, dropping off. Curious, Jared turned to confront him. “What Ring of Destiny?”
“You’d know if you weren’t half-assing your part of the research.” Michael smiled wryly. “All you want to do is get into our Mistress’s—into Sarah’s pants.”
Jared responded to the insult by drawing closer, raising in stature. Though Flavius unnerved him in a peculiar, subtle way, Jared feared neither of the boys if it came to fight. But Michael waived the threat off with an open palm, chuckling.
“Easy there, Hulk,” the boy said. “I’m just saying: you don’t understand what she wants. Sarah can be very, very disappointed. Let’s put it that way.”
“Then I guess she can tell me over dinner.” Jared enjoyed the way Michael’s jaw slid sideways.
“I get it.” Michael nodded. “That’s okay. She’s the hottie. You’re the big jock. It’s classic, really.” He glanced down at Jared’s injured leg. “Except for the gimpiness. But Sarah wants something that barrel chest of yours can’t give her.”
“Enlighten me.”
“It’s not about the research, dummy. It’s about the artifacts, the ring. She wants it, and she’s offering the ultimate reward for the one who brings it to her.”
Hot anger blushed Jared’s cheeks. He pushed into Michael with his chest, bumping the boy backwards. Flavius tensed, still wearing that sinister, toothy grin, but Michael waved off the assault, offering a bitter smile that promised revenge.
“You just don’t get it—what kind of world we’re living in,” Michael said. “Well, who can blame you. I’m sure if this were a game of dodge ball, you’d be right on top of it.”
Jared jabbed a finger into Michael’s chest and pushed. “You need to back off!”
Michael took a step back. “I need to find the ring, and I’m almost there.” He turned and walked away, with Flavius following him. “Enjoy weight-lifting class, or whatever,” Michael said over his shoulder. 
Jared smashed the side of his fist into a locker, glaring after the two boys. 
“Are you okay?” A voice said behind him.
Jared turned to find his neighbor, Veronica, looking concerned. It was her locker he had just punched, he realized with some shame. The class bell rang. “Yeah. Sorry,” he said and left. Behind him, he heard the spin of the locker’s combination wheel, then the click of the latch, then a scream and a thud. He turned to find the bloodless, rotting corpse that once was Lenny Farnham laying on the floor where it had fallen. Other voices added to Veronica’s screams.
Chapter Six
After two hours of lock-down while the Sheriff investigated the crime scene, Lenny’s body was finally removed. The janitors scrubbed the floor of the hall where the corpse had spilled, though there had been almost no blood. The discovery, and its implications, became a morose subject of gossip amongst the student body as they were eventually shepherded from the campus, their classes canceled. But most did not see the dead body, which was Jared’s first. He felt shaken, though not as badly as Veronica, who had been taken to the hospital to calm her hysteria.
Nobody seems to care that much, Jared thought, even before the lock-down ended. At first, there were tears and exclamations of fear, but it was less than an hour later before Jared noticed groups of students returning to their usual daily banter, as if there had been no crisis at all, as if Lenny had already become an abstract memory. The same was true of the faculty. By the time the students were released, it seemed, Lenny had been forgotten entirely.
Jared searched for Sarah, wondering if she was as shaken as he was. Cancelling their date seemed only sensible, but she was nowhere to be found; if she had a phone, no one knew the number, except perhaps for Michael, whom Jared refused to ask. So here he was at Hamburger Mary’s, his nerves frayed, his appetite lacking, waiting at a back table with his small bouquet of daisies lying pathetically on the table.
He was extraordinarily early. Staff and patrons were staring. Why do people only notice me when I don’t want them to? Jared thought. It was perhaps his fidgeting, he decided, and because he looked like a boy in the throes of being jilted. I meant to be here alone, he thought, posturing himself to carry the farce, but the flowers gave him away. If he had a book or a magazine, he would be better off, but all he had was the menu, which he set to reading for the sixth time—this time focusing on the adjectives—while his eyes darted repeatedly over the top, watching. 
The waitress delivered his third refill of Coke. “You still want to wait?” she said sympathetically.
“Yes, please. I’m early. Very early. My friend will be along shortly.” Friend? Jesus, Jared, pull yourself together.
The waitress offered a comforting smile and disappeared to reveal Sarah gliding into the restaurant behind her. When she spied him across the room, her expression brightened, and Jared felt a rush of anxious need that sucked the moisture from his tongue. His chair grated against the hardwood floor as he pushed it back, bumping the table with his knee as he rose. The glass shook, spilling Coke, which Jared anxiously proceeded to mop with napkins.
“Hi!” he said, offering a pathetic smile as she stepped up to the table.
Sarah spotted the bouquet and scooped up the daisies, her eyes sparkling with delight. “For me? Such a gentleman.”
The table finally cleaned, Jared moved to pull her chair but Sarah waved him off. They sat across from each other.
“I haven’t been given flowers in… decades,” Sarah said, setting the bouquet down gently.
She appeared oddly reposed for someone who had come so close to seeing a murder victim just a few hours ago. Does she even know what happened? Jared thought. “I tried to find you at school today,” he said, probing.
“I was there for part of the day. I left to work on my project. Why?” The corners of her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Did something happen?”
Jared studied her, uncertain if he was being toyed with or if she truly didn’t know. If she didn’t, did he even want to tell her? “No,” he lied. As if she won’t find out, he chided himself, but perhaps Sarah had known, and had forgotten the way everyone else had. Jared had no idea what to say next. “So, what’s new with you?”
Sarah’s smile thinned. “I made it onto the cheerleading squad.”
“That’s great! Congratulations! You… you don’t look pleased.”
“It was not unanimous.”
“Oh. But, you won. That’s great, right?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Someone doesn’t want me on the squad.”
“Ah,” Jared said, wondering why that mattered. Then, because it was expected of him, he asked, “Who?” 
“It’s a secret ballot.” Again, the look that suggested Jared should know already. “There’s a hat, black ball, white ball—you get the picture. Someone dropped a black ball.” Sarah’s back straightened as she folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll find out who eventually, though I have a pretty good idea.” The dark promise in Sarah’s tone made the hair on the back of Jared’s neck prickle. He sat speechless for a moment—while Sarah waited—until the waitress appeared.
“Would you like to order?” she said.
“I’ll have a house salad,” Sarah said, disinterested.
“What kind of dressing would—“
“It doesn’t matter.”
The waitress blinked. “Ranch, blue—“
“Ranch then.” Sarah sighed dismissively.
The waitress turned to Jared, her irritation barely perceptible.
“I’ll have the garlic stuffed burger, medium—“
“Garlic?” Sarah’s nose curled. “No no no. He’ll have the plain cheeseburger.”
The waitress looked to Jared, arching an eyebrow.
“A cheeseburger,” he confirmed. “Medium-well, please.” She nodded and left.
“I cannot stand the smell of garlic on a man,” Sarah said, waving a hand past her nose.
Jared felt his face flush. He shifted his Coke glass an inch to the left, twisting it slightly while he settled his mind. Then, in the ensuing silence, he fiddled with the straw before shifting the glass back to where it started. “We have something in common,” he said, finally. Sarah waited expectantly. “We’re both new in town.”
She settled then, her casual, charming ease returning. “You’re a Florida boy. Gainesville, right?”
“How did you know?”
Sarah smirked, emphasizing with a shrug. “I asked around.”
“I get the impression that you’ve travelled a lot,” Jared said. Often, Sarah gave hints of an accent; sometimes southern, sometimes that of a New Englander. She confirmed with a slight nod. “Is your dad in the military, or something?”
Sarah’s face darkened. She looked down into her palms, fingers splayed, before answering. “My father was a complete jerk. He took me from my family when I was… younger. I never saw them again.”
“You were kidnapped?”
Sarah ignored the question, her expression growing wistful. “I had a fiancé at the time. We were in love, and I thought we would be together forever. His name was Tom. I visited him once, years later, but… he had started a new life; wife, kids. You know.”
Jared leaned against the back of his chair, his mouth agape. “Sorry. I’m really confused. H—how old are you again?”
Sarah chuckled at herself. She pulled her hair over the front of her shoulder and began stroking it. “I am talking way too much about myself. I do that.”
“But—“ Jared started, but then Sarah’s green eyes glowed gold, bright as an exploding sun. Jared grew dizzy, swooned. His head tipped forward, then snapped back as if waking from a light slumber that left him dazed. Sarah was staring at him, her eyes large, dreamy and green, the color they were supposed to be. But Jared remembered gold. Their dinner was already on the table, he realized. “Whoa.” He rubbed his forehead and cheeks, pushing against the fog in his mind while Sarah watched, amused. “I got dizzy there for a moment.” 
“You weren’t even listening to me,” she chided him gently. 
Jared worried that she was angry, but her look said otherwise. He needed a moment to gather himself, which the burger and fries waiting on his plate conveniently provided. “Let’s eat." He scooped up the burger in both hands and bit, chewing slowly to bide time while Sarah watched. “You’re not eating,” he said after swallowing.
“I just like to look. I’m on a special diet—a very limited diet,” she added with some disdain.
“Oh.” Jared lowered his sandwich, feeling foolish again.
“No. Please, eat. I’m fine. I’ll be able to eat like a normal person soon. Very soon, I hope.”
Charlotte and one of her girlfriends entered Hamburger Mary’s just then, chattering and laughing together. For just a moment, when she noticed Jared and Sarah together, he thought he caught a look of concern from Charlotte, which Jared promptly dismissed as an after effect of the dizziness. Charlotte led her friend towards the bar while the two chattered excitedly. Only when Clarice—Jared recognized her now—took to a stool, did Charlotte acknowledged them. “Look who’s here,” she exclaimed, bouncing to their table’s edge with a giddy enthusiasm.
“Hi!” Sarah answered with equal exuberance.
“Congratulations, again.” Charlotte touched Sarah’s arm gently and the two girls smiled at each other like sisters. “You were the best! You deserved to join the squad!”
“Thanks! I couldn’t have done it without you!”
“That’s so sweet!”
“I have some great ideas for the squad that I can’t wait to share!” Sarah said.
“I can’t wait to hear them! It’s going to be a great year!”
“Absolutely!”
Charlotte looked to Jared—at his neck, he thought—then back to Sarah, noting their meals. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll leave you two to your dinner. See you at practice tomorrow,” she told Sarah, giving her a pat on the arm before rejoining Clarice. 
Sarah gave a cheerful half wave over her shoulder, but when she turned to Jared, her eyes were ice. “She’s the one,” she hissed over the table, leaning towards him. “She’s the one who black-balled me.”
Jared felt dumbfounded. “What?  How do you know?”
Sarah grunted, gave a shiver that shook her shoulders. She found a drop of Coke near her plate and wiped it with a napkin, all the while showing her disgust. “I can’t believe they let her kind in here.”
Jared stopped, his hamburger raised half-way, as a deep sense of disappointment overwhelmed him, followed by the heavy weight of dread. He glanced at Charlotte—who was tapping intently at her phone—noticing the soft sheen of her black skin. He put the hamburger down, hoping he had misunderstood or misheard. He checked his anger, wanting to be certain. “What was that?”
Sarah eyed him with sad affection—the look she might give a puppy. “I’m talking too much again, aren’t I.”
But Jared couldn’t let her naked racism slide. “You didn’t just—“
Sarah’s eyes became a brilliant gold and Jared felt the world disappear. Then he was snapping his head up, as if waking from a dream, just as before. This time, the world was spinning. Jared cradled his forehead in his palms, waiting for his vision to settle. “Wow,” he said, unable to recall the last few minutes.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that wasn’t soda you’re drinking.”
Jared smelled the Coke. “Sorry.” He shook his head, trying to clear the fog there. “I don’t… what were we talking about?”
Sarah rested her chin on the back of her palms as if on a platter and gave Jared her most seductive smile. “You were telling me how mesmerizing my eyes are.”
Behind his date, Jared thought he saw Charlotte watching them. “Yeah,” he said, staring into Sarah’s eyes with some trepidation. He didn’t remember anything of the kind, which frightened him.
“I was right about you. You are different.” Sarah sniffed. “You even smell different.”
“That’s—Old Spice, I think. I can’t remember that either, actually.”
“It’s the way you look at me, like you see the real me but you don’t believe it. I like it. It’s cute.”
Jared swallowed. “I like you, too,” he said reflexively, but he meant it. He needed her. The familiar longing to remain in her presence was overwhelming, but something about Sarah didn’t feel right. Must be my head, he thought, giving it a shake. “Sorry, I—I just feel a bit strange.”
“That’s okay.” Sarah looked down at his dinner. “You should eat that. It’s getting cold. Then you can tell me about my project while you walk me home. I might even kiss you goodnight. I haven’t decided yet.”
Jared swallowed a lump of nerves, reached for his soda, but considered his dizzy spells and thought better of it. “Can I get some ice water?” he asked the waitress as she passed.
***
A little later, Jared delighted in the softness of Sarah’s arm wrapped around his elbow as they sauntered through the outskirts of town. Under the headiness of her touch, she was practically holding him upright.
“So…” she said, letting her voice trail into silent expectation.
Jared remained unsure what came next. “So…”
“My project? Now that the cheerleading trials are over, I’m ready to devote my full attention to it. You went to the library, right?”
“Yeah.” Jared’s chin dropped as he measured how to break the news to her without spoiling the moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t find any references to artifacts, or the supernatural.”
Surprisingly, Sarah showed only mild disappointment. “That’s all right. Michael is making fantastic progress. Apparently, introducing you to the guys lit a fire under their collective asses. He’s quite useful, when properly motivated. Also, I took his twenty-sided dice away.”
They both laughed. “I know you wanted to do something more dynamic,” Jared said, “But we can still come up with a report to impress Ms. Kensington. We—“
“It’s the artifacts that matter, Jared. Without them, there’s no point.”
“Sure there is. Nobody expects you to be Indiana Jones. Reports are usually pretty stale.” 
She met Jared’s eyes, said, “I get what I want.” Then, as if recognizing he needed more, she said “I met someone—before I came here—who had seen a ring with its own eyes. The Ring of Destiny, it—he called it.” Sarah corrected herself, betraying her slip with a sly smile. “Legend has it, the wearer is granted the power to rule the worlds, both Fae and mundane,” she said, almost laughing.
“I still don’t see why you have—“
“Because I want it. This is not just about some school report. It’s complicated, Jared. Too complicated to explain now, but I need it. And time is running out.”
What she was saying made no sense to Jared, but he knew better than to say so. He chose instead to take her at her word, assuming all would eventually be made clear. “What if this person were lying, trying to impress you?”
“No.” Sarah smiled devilishly. “I made sure of that.”
They walked the next few minutes in silence, she as still as a pond within herself while Jared floundered to revive the conversation in some new direction. Finally, she brought them to a halt. “Here,” she said and turned to face him, unlinking her arm from his. They were on Maple street, near the woods where the houses became fewer and farther in between.
“The pink house?”
“No, silly.” Sarah’s smiled thinned, the way it did when she became serious. “I can’t take you home yet, Jared.”
Jared looked about the darkness, appalled. “You can’t expect me to just leave you here. Alone.”
Sarah laid a palm gently onto his forearm. “You remind me of Tom, sometimes,” she said simply. “I think that’s what I see in you. Partly, anyway.”
Jared didn’t know how to take such a comparison, but he liked the way she was looking at him, the way she was getting closer, and he liked the prurient hunger that grew in her eyes. He moved closer as well. Their bodies touched and instinct took over. His eyes closed as he leaned in. Their lips brushed against each other, but then she pushed him back gently. Sarah appeared strained, hurt.
“I can’t,” she said.
Jared felt his chest tightening. He’d blown it—somehow. “But—“
“Not yet. I… I can’t control myself. When I get started, I… we should wait.” Jared started to protest, his hormones screaming, but Sarah shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“We should wait until I—I feel normal, Jared.” Sarah pleaded for him to accept her explanation without question.
“What’s normal?”
“It’s better to wait.” Sarah took a step back, drawing her hands down over his biceps, over his palms, over the tips of his fingers, and then her touch was gone. “I need the ring first, Jared. Then we can be together.”
Jared stared into her eyes and became lost. “You mean… forever?”
She smiled, still backing away towards the shadow that drenched a large yard. “Forever is a long time. Let’s start with a while.”
“I don’t know why I said that,” Jared stammered. “I—“
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sarah said before she slipped into the shadows.
“Wait,” Jared whispered feebly, watching for a hint of her passing. There was none.
After a moment, he turned to make the long walk home, lost in thought while he replayed every nuance of their evening in search of the precise moment he had blown the date all to hell. Streetlights spotted him accusingly as he passed underneath. A half hour later, Jared was almost home—hopefully before his father—when he heard a soft, menacing voice that startled him.
“Dark night, to be alone. Some people have the worst luck.”
Jared leapt instinctively—a small, spinning hop—to find Flavius just a foot away, skin ghostly white beneath the street lamps and eyes inscrutable behind dark glasses. Black-red streaks of what looked like blood soaked through his shirt in long, thick lines. The boy had never been friendly, but the smile he gave Jared then exposed a raw malevolence, and revealed long, pointed incisors that Jared thought he would have remembered.
 “Jeez, you scared the crap out of me!” Jared said, a palm over his thumping heart. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on a food run. Looks like I hit pay dirt!”
“What happened to your teeth?”
Flavius brushed the tips of his fangs with his tongue. “I just got ‘em. Cool, eh? They’re for biting,” he said, strutting as he circled Jared, and then continued. “Why do cheerleaders always go for the jocks? You’re not special. I spent a year getting my Elven Ranger to the eighteenth level—a year! Do you know how much dedication that takes?”
Jared became aware of his danger, though he didn’t understand it. Is he on drugs? he thought, and took a step backward, though the boy’s circling made it difficult to get any distance between them. “Is there a problem?” Jared was readying himself for a fight he hoped to avoid. “Have you been drinking?”
Flavius stopped then, nodded happily to Jared. “I’m about to. It’s dinner time. Bang! Bang!” he said, pointing both forefingers at Jared like pistols. “It’s your time!” He made a show of holstering his fingers, then charged at Jared with a sudden, violent burst. The ferocity of the charge caught the former wrestler by surprise, allowing the maddened gamer to knock Jared onto his back. Flavius pounced, pinning him to the street with unexpected strength.
Jared grappled with the boy’s arms even as he saw Flavius’ jaw open, felt the heat of the boy’s stale breath on his face. He turned his head instinctively, and the exposure of his neck drove the maddened boy into an even deeper frenzy. Flavius was pressing down with all his weight against the strength of Jared’s arms, driving his fangs towards Jared’s neck, and he was winning. Then, seemingly upside down, Jared saw Sheridan slide into view holding a black device extended in one hand. There was a pop, and Flavius turned as if struck. Then came a clacking sound and the boy flipped onto his back, writhing in agony.
Maintaining a cautious distance, his taser at the ready, Sheridan circled to help a dazed Jared to his feet. “Are you all right? Jared!”
“Yes!” Jared brushed himself. “What did you do to him?” He gestured toward Flavius, who lay motionless, seemingly unconscious.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Sheridan turned his head to smirk, allowing Flavius the opportunity to reach out and yank the taser wires, snapping the weapon from Sheridan’s hand. With a triumphant, blood-thirsty cry, Flavius sprung onto his feet in a crouch, his arms dangling in front of him like a thin, pale ape; his eyes glowed fierce as he bared his fangs and hissed.
Sheridan pushed Jared out of harm’s way just as the animal leapt, knocked the boy backwards onto the pavement and pounced onto his chest. Jared stumbled from the push and fell, watching helplessly while the monster tore Sheridan’s scarf away and bit. And then leapt back with a look of vile horror. Flavius spat, as if expectorating a poison.
Dabbing his neck with his fingers, Sheridan rose grimly. He rubbed the trickle of blood he found there between his fingertips while Flavius spat and hissed.
“What the hell is going on!” Jared shouted, rising.
“Don’t care for garlic, do you?” Sheridan said to Flavius. “I’ve had six—no, seven—bulbs today; enough to make my blood quite toxic.” When Flavius turned his murderous intent on Jared, Sheridan was quick to step between them, drawing another taser from his trench coat. “And here we have an impasse. I hardly believe your master will condone Jared’s murder at your hands.”
This gave Flavius pause. He appeared beaten, even frightened, until a wicked notion crossed his mind. He rose to his full height, threw down his glasses and glared at Jared with black eyes that turned gold. Jared stared back defiantly, but then his head began to swim. He swayed.
“Look the beast directly in the eye,” Sheridan said. “That’s it.”
“Kill him.” Flavius pointed to Sheridan, his eyes still locked with Jared. “Kill him!”
Jared felt his mind slipping, his body turning against his fading will. Sheridan took one step back from both of them and turned slightly. POP. Jared felt the stab of the barbs in his chest like the stings of a bee. CLACK-CLACK-CLACK, the weapon sounded and Jared’s being exploded in pain. Every muscle in his body clenched and he was on his knees, then on his back, writhing. And then the pain vanished.
“A minimal charge,” Sheridan told him while warning Flavius back with a wooden stake he drew from his coat into his free hand.
Jared rose clumsily, gasping. “What the—“
“Kill him!” Flavius said when he caught Jared’s eyes again.
Once more, Jared felt himself responding unwillingly, but this time the barbs were already in place. CLACK-CLACK-CLACK. Jared was on his knees once more until the pain ended. He looked up at his pale friend, who seemed entirely too pleased with himself. “Stop doing that!”
“Look at me!” Flavius growled, his voice shaking with frustration, rage. “Look into my eyes!”
“Yes, Jared. Take a good, hard look. Once more, I think.”
“I really don’t—“ Jared looked—perhaps because he meant not to—into those furious, golden eyes once more, eyes that bulged, glowing so hot that the gold became molten, as if Flavius’s need for bloody obedience would consume him.
“KILL HIM NOW!”
Jared felt the command wrap around his will and squeeze. He took one fumbling step before he heard the first CLACK of Sheridan’s taser and collapsed. The pain fled after only a moment, leaving Jared panting and exhausted.
“That should do it,” Sheridan said. With a flick of his thumb, the wires that linked Jared to the taser were jettisoned from the weapon, which Sheridan calmly slipped back into a coat pocket. Flavius spread his confused, angry looks between the two boys. “Go ahead,” Sheridan said. “Once more. Give it the old college try.”
This time, when those eyes glowed just the first hint of gold, Jared reacted as if he had been tased yet again. Only he hadn’t.
Sheridan beamed triumphantly. “Three is best.” He turned to Flavius. “You were splendid, by the way.” Flavius charged then, grabbed a stunned Jared by the shirt with both hands and lifted the former wrestler with an unnatural strength.
“She’ll know it was you,” Sheridan said, giving Flavius pause while he held Jared suspended. “This, I believe, is what’s known as a pickle. Which you are in. Best you walk away.”
“They’ll never find his body,” Flavius said.
And then Charlotte, somber and grimly determined, appeared from behind a bush and killed him from behind with what appeared to be a thick, pointed stick through the chest. The beast’s face became the boy’s, eyes wide with terror and pain; the fangs retracted and then Flavius collapsed, dropping Jared to the ground, where he lay in a daze of confusion. Jared’s head turned and he saw blood draining from the wound in Flavius’ back, where the stake protruded still. It was all more than his mind could bare. Jared turned, staring up at twinkling stars while his consciousness faded.
He heard the other two talking. “I was right!” Charlotte said.
“Apparently.”
“How did you not figure her for a vamp?” Then Charlotte seemed to notice Jared, her concerned expression blotting out the fading stars. “Will he be all right?”
Sheridan’s face appeared as well, but closer. “He may have damaged his coccyx.” Charlotte gave the pale boy a look, to which Sheridan replied, “He’ll forget. They always do. Another artifact, no doubt.”
His head swimming, the veil of darkness thickening, Jared closed his eyes and surrendered to the deep black void, hoping to awake somewhere far from Reynald.
Chapter Seven
“I can’t believe she fooled you,” Charlotte said.
Sheridan sighed from where he knelt next to the unconscious Jared. Does she suspect? he thought, studying her. No. “I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”
Charlotte winked, offered a sly smile. Sheridan felt the implicitness of her trust, and felt ashamed, but Flavius’s corpse proved a ready distraction. Using the point of his stake, Sheridan exposed the fangs by pushing back the upper lip; there were only two, the canine teeth, and they were small. “Freshly turned,” he said even before exposing the still weeping wound on the neck. “Probably this evening.” Flavius had only just showed signs of the first bite today.
Why is she in such a hurry? Sheridan unbuttoned the boy’s blood-soaked shirt to reveal long, fresh wounds like the raking of claws that stretched across his torso.
“And she enjoyed it,” he said.
Charlotte snarled at the sight. “I can’t wait to stake her. Maybe we could use fire?”
Sheridan checked the boy’s clothes, finding that Flavius was wearing a black fanny pack, inside of which he found a stubby pencil, odd-shaped dice, and two pages of parchment paper, which Sheridan unfurled to read.
Charlotte peaked over his shoulder. “What is that?”
“Apparently it’s Mangethson Thornbloom, a twentieth-level cleric, and this,“ he switched pages, “is his spell book.”
“He just carries those around?”
“I guess one never knows when one might need a Wall of Blessed Fire.” Sheridan returned the scroll to its pouch, then turned his attention to the bottom of Flavius’s shoes, where he found reddish dirt clumped between the ridges. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
“We’ll have to dispose of the body somewhere else.” There was no point in hiding the truth. Charlotte might go to the cave for any number of reasons, and if she were unprepared… “She’s found our cave.”
“That bitch. Now we know where she is, we kill her tonight.”
“We can’t leave these bodies out in the open. And this one,” Sheridan meant Flavius, “is going to break down slowly, due to his freshness. We’ll have to bury him deep.”
“We’ve got two bodies to dispose of.” Charlotte gestured at Jared. “Lover Boy here is getting in the way.”
***
Sarah sat on a rock in her cave, one knee hooked over the other, her foot rocking lazily back and forth while her mind drifted dreamily towards new possibilities. If Jared let his hair grow a bit more, she imagined, she could twine her fingers through his tight cowlicks. She could find a smarter boy—Michael was there with her now, annoyingly tapping away on his laptop, TAP TAP TAP—but why? Love required something else, a magnetic bond that made a girl want a boy more than anything else. And Sarah felt drawn to Jared—probably a unique trait of his blood, she suspected now that she ruminated on his scent, but that hardly mattered; Sarah enjoyed the feeling. For the first time in decades, her desire for company exceeded her lust for blood.
A dreamy smile grew on her lips while her fingers teased the ends of her hair. Sarah drifted into a muse; admittedly, Jared did seem a bit dense where women were concerned, but he was malleable. He was not popular—yet—but the other girls accepted him easily enough, once they saw he had Sarah’s approval. In another school he might’ve been popular on his own, but in Reynald—but that might be the blood as well. Sarah shrugged. Still, despite a few similarities, Jared was not Tom.
The love of Sarah’s life had been tall and handsome. He had an acerbic wit—aided by a private school education—that had inspired a charming confidence; he had been unlike the other boys of her village, with whom Sarah was perfectly content until she met Tom on a Delaware beach in the heat of summer nearly a century ago. His parents disapproved, which only sweetened their love affair. As luck would have it, she had won the love of the heir of the Mark’s family, a wealthy and powerful Massachusetts clan.
Sarah’s eyes widened at the memory of the diamond engagement ring Tom had bought her—as if the ring were there before her very eyes, sparkling in the soft candle light, with Tom behind it, holding the ring aloft from his knees, eyes a dewy blend of anxious excitement. Sarah reveled in that blissful moment as if it were happening just now.
TAP TAP TAP.
A week later, Devorout found her on the streets of Boston while Sarah was shopping for her wedding gown. Meagan, Tom’s youngest sister, darted into a shop at the sight of some sparkling bauble, pulling at Sarah’s hand to follow her gleeful excitement. Fatefully, Sarah waved the girl off, begging a moment to collect herself from the headiness of the day. She was alone for only a moment, just long enough to sigh, when a rough hand struck the back of her skull, damning Sarah to oblivion.
She awoke in Devorout’s murderous arms, to the sight of her blood on his fangs.
One bite! she thought now, marveling even after so many decades had past. How old that villain must’ve been, to be so powerful? Even now, Sarah had no idea because her adopted father had taught her nothing but how to murder.
The books were wrong. There was no romance. Devorout was no handsome stranger, living some grand existence outside the bounds of Society; he was a cruel, ordinary lout. And Sarah did not arise to discover, in some magical trance, the beauty of creation. Instead, she awoke in his arms, in a dark basement that reeked of rotting meat and stale blood from the corpses that Devorout had heaped in a corner like penny trophies.
TAP TAP TAP.
The brute led her on a twisted, bloody journey, teaching her the skills of a predator until Sarah learned to savor those pleasures in a baptism of terror. As if she had a choice. It was years before Sarah found the means, the will, to escape the beast’s grip, and by then Tom no longer wanted her. He was married, with children, and when he saw her ghostly presence, Tom, the only man she had truly loved, shunned her; he cursed her name to God! He refused to speak with her; refused her explanations. In his eyes, Sarah was a beast to be exercised. In the end, Sarah tired of their game and proved him right.
Tom’s blood flushed the back of her throat again as she relived that sweet moment, their final embrace. The blood of Tom’s wife and daughters tasted even sweeter.
TAP TAP TAP. “You can’t hide from me, bitches!” Michael said.
Sarah turned a loathing glare towards her companion who, too engrossed in his own triumph, failed to notice anything beyond the sharp white glow of his laptop screen. He was on the internet, though how it worked without wires was anyone’s guess. Something to do with cell phones, Michael had explained, but she found that hard to believe. Sarah needed to eat, and where was Flavius? The memory of blood deepened her hunger.
“What are you mumbling about?” Sarah said, snapping.
Michael beamed. “I just broke into the library’s server.”
Sarah sneered. “Good for you.”
“It’s not just a library, though. I knew it. I knew it was going to be money. That place is way too obsessed about Reynald, and Mangus and his daughter—far too creepy to be normal.” Michael’s eyes flicked back towards the screen. “They’re part of something called the Reynald Society,” he read.
Sarah perked up at the mention of the town’s founder. “So?”
“Not only do they collect information,” his grin widened, “they collect artifacts. Reynald’s artifacts.”
Sarah was behind the boy in an instant, staring at the screen with no idea what she was looking at. She slid a hand over his shoulder and felt the flesh prickle beneath his shirt, sensed the blood rush to his face. “You found the ring?” she whispered, inches from his ear.
“Not yet. There’s a lot here to get through, but I found a couple of artifacts that are interesting. Check this one out.” Michael pointed.
“What does it do?”
“It’s like a save versus sanity, minus twenty,” Michael said, snickering.
Sarah gave the boy a malevolent look, letting her nails rake his shoulder as she moved back to her rock—just enough to convey her displeasure.
“It’ll be useful,” he said, wincing while clutching where she had marked him. “And I know where they’re keeping it.”
“Good for you,” Sarah said, bored as she stared out the mouth of the cave where she expected Flavius to appear any moment—if the fool knew what was good for him. “I need a drink. Where is he?”
Michael returned to tapping the keyboard. “I don’t know why you turned him. I would’ve been back an hour ago.”
“Because he was already drained once.”
“You haven’t even bit me yet. What’s up with that?”
“Your job is to find my ring.” Her tone was unmistakable.
“If I was a vamp, I’d have dinner on the table and I’d tear Mangus and his Society apart until they gave the ring up. They have it. I’m sure of it.”
“No need to call unnecessary attention with violence.”
Michael snorted, but a look from Sarah silenced him—for a moment. “Because you want to stay here? With him?” he said, staring into the glow of his screen.
“The Magi are coming, and I’m running out of time. If I have to kill everyone in this snotty little town, I will, but once I do that…” I’ll be on the run again. And the Magi never quit, she finished silently.
They were peerless trackers. Sarah had no idea how the fiends were so successful. Perhaps they used magic. Regardless, once the Magi had a scent they never lost it for long. Sarah’s deal with the witch had only bought her time, and her time was running out. But the ring could change that.
Sarah’s stomach growled and gurgled. Perhaps turning Flavius had been a mistake. She studied Michael, debating his usefulness. “You really want to be like me?”
Michael grinned at her and nodded, though his eyes betrayed his fear.
She rose slowly, her claws extending. Michael set his laptop on the dirt and rose. His body wanted flight—Sarah could sense the frantic pounding of his heart, the pulsing of his blood—but the boy stood his ground, gulping. With one hand, she tore Michael’s shirt from his body so that she could see the heaving of his lungs through his smooth chest. She laid a palm gently over his heart to feel its pounding, then Sarah sunk her claws just into his flesh and gouged down to the boy’s belly. Michael shrieked from the pain, his fear washing over Sarah while flavoring his blood.
“Are you going to drink me?” Michael panted, tears leaking from his eyes.
Sarah pinned the boy to the wall. She dug a claw into the flesh around his nipple while she watched terror play out in his eyes. Grinning, Sarah raked again, but slowly, savoring the boy’s anguished cries. “Eventually,” she said.
Chapter Eight
The boy awoke to an arc of gold light poking through the half closed curtains of his bedroom window. He wondered who, what, and where he was. There were pennants on the wall, and posters of athletes. I like sports, he thought. Glancing at his body he found himself dressed—mostly. On one foot he wore a white cotton sock, and on the other a loose sneaker pulled halfway off his heel, with the laces bound in a knot. A glance revealed the companion sneaker on its side near the closed door.
Jared, he remembered as he rolled upright to sit on the edge of the bed. Sunday? No. Saturday, he thought as the fog that shrouded his memory dissipated glacially. His body felt calm, rested in a way he had almost forgotten possible, the kind of rest one could only experience when all was right with the world, and fear and shame and doubt were distant thoughts waiting to be remembered. Jared yawned, allowing his lips to recompose themselves into a contented grin while he scratched his scalp.
He kicked off his shoe. Then, half awake, he ambled through the den and up the stairs into the kitchen, where a note waited on the table.
Called to Moses Lake again, the note began. Jared dropped it back onto the table, the rest unread. Flight testing, he assumed. But today he didn’t mind. Today was Saturday, and despite the growing sense that he might be forgetting something important, Jared was going to make the most of a free day.
Call Sarah! The thought leapt into his head unbidden, along with a compulsive desire for her presence. Maybe he could take her to a movie. Then he remembered that Sarah didn’t have a phone and sighed. He would find a way to reach her—after breakfast.
Jared fished through the overstocked refrigerator, reaching blindly around the milk to find his last Rockstar and knocked out an opened can of enchilada sauce while pulling it out. The can hit the floor, leaking red liquid instantly, the sight of which made Jared noxious. He watched the redness pool on the linoleum, glistening like blood, and his heart began to race. He felt himself sweating, then shaking in panic. The adrenaline shocked him awake as memories rushed into Jared’s consciousness: a flash of sharp, inhuman teeth; the look of murder in Charlotte’s eyes; a bloody wooden stake protruding from—
Fear engulfed Jared like a shadow. He backed into a corner where he cowered, clutching the cold soda can in both palms while waiting for signs of another attack, for the windows to shatter, or the door to explode into splinters, and sharp-toothed monsters to pour in. But the house was quiet. He was alone and no one was coming from behind the furniture, or through the walls, to kill him. Still, Jared cowered for some untold time, his brain churning memories and nightmares while trying to separate the two. What is happening to me? In his mind, he saw Sarah as he walked her home, saw Flavius taunting him, then saw teeth and tasers.
Jared gently set his Rockstar on the floor and stood, rubbing his thighs with his palms. This doesn’t make sense. He remembered the Cokes, the dizzy spells. Did someone drug my soda? Or was a he simply reliving a nightmare? I’m sick. That’s it. Jared took a deep breath, calming himself. He brushed his hair back, blew out air and set to cleaning the mess he’d made. But he needed answers. Sheridan would know; either the pale boy had been with Jared last night, or Jared had been dreaming. Charlotte had been there as well, and it occurred to Jared that she might be more forthcoming, but if Charlotte had been there, then she had killed someone with a sharp stick, or had tried to, which made Sheridan the obvious choice.
First, he had to find where Sheridan lived.
***
In a small town, it seemed that everything and everyone was never more than a few blocks away. Jared walked, his shoulders slumped and hands in his pockets, throwing nervous glances over both shoulders. There’s no such things as monsters, he reminded himself, and found little comfort. Don’t be an idiot! But he was equally afraid of madness.
Fortunately, there was only one Helms family in town. Checking the map on his phone, Jared picked out the house he wanted, a dilapidated, gray rambler with a yard of weeds and junk protected by a low, iron fence. Voices emerged from the house sounding like a man and a woman arguing something so familiar to them that it could only be nonsensical to anyone else. The voices rose in tone and pitch, became shouting and then shrieks, giving Jared pause at the unlocked, unlatched gate.
Then came a loud crash, like glass or pottery—something heavy. Then a man was screaming, “—no manners! No respect! You’ve made ‘im soft, like a girl! I’ll do things my—hey! Where are you going?” A quiet pause, then, “You can’t even stand up to me! You—“
“Leave him be!” A woman shrieked.
And then the argument became a cacophony of names and insults.
Jared rechecked the map on his phone; this was the place, though he could hardly believe it. He had expected a well-manicured garden, a medium-sized manor house with perhaps a servant to answer the door. No, this can’t be right, he thought. Jared was turning to leave when the screen door of the house creaked open, then slapped shut, and Sheridan appeared with an air of brooding superiority. His right hand extended stiffly into a coat pocket, trapping a book against his side. He wrapped a scarf around his neck with his other hand as he trotted down the steps towards the gate until he saw Jared and frowned. The boy’s embarrassment was palpable. Sheridan paused, then pushed through the gate, brushing past his unwelcome visitor with a sharp glare.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
With his limp, Jared struggled to keep pace and Sheridan was pitiless. “I need to talk to you.”
Sheridan spoke over his shoulder without breaking stride. “Am I remiss?”
“What?”
“As near as I can tell, we have twenty-two days before our lab assignment is due, and our experiments are well in hand.”
“Listen—“
“You appear in some distress; has someone stolen your beach ball? Well, I’m afraid I cannot help you, as I have things to do.”
“But—“
“If I’m lucky, there may still be some readable tracks in the sand at the creek.” Sheridan lengthened his stride. “If someone’s brood hasn’t trampled them all.”
Grimacing at the discomfort in his leg, Jared had no choice but to fall behind. “What happened last night?” he shouted after Sheridan, who slowed, peering at Jared from over his shoulder. “I remember being attacked, but—“
The boy stopped and turned, revealing a puzzled, almost disbelieving expression. “Attacked?” he said softly. 
Jared flustered, nodding and gesturing. “I know. I’m probably crazy, right? Thing is—I think Flavius tried to bite me to death, or drink my blood, or something. And I think Charlotte stabbed him with a—a croquet mallet?”
Sheridan’s reaction was much calmer than expected. The pale boy scanned the street, making sure no one had heard them.
“Either I’m crazy, and that really happened, or—or it didn’t, and I’m crazy. Either way, I don’t feel very good about myself right now.”
Sheridan closed the gap between them. “You remember?”
More came to Jared as they spoke, and he found himself flinching from the memory of a shocking pain. “Did you tase me?” Jared pulled his shirt open, searched beneath for the tiny barbed marks on his chest and found them.
Sheridan dipped his chin into his scarf, studied Jared with passionless eyes, taking in details one at a time until, some decision made, he pulled a phone from his pocket. “Damn,” he said to the phone, then dropped it back into the pocket. “May I see your phone? I’m out of minutes.”
Jared handed it over.
As he tapped at the screen, Sheridan began to walk—this time keeping a slower pace for Jared’s benefit. “Charlotte,” he said into the phone. “He remembers.” There was a pregnant pause, then, “Yes. Yes.” He turned to Jared with narrowing eyes. “No. Be at the playground in ten minutes.” Sheridan returned the phone to Jared, who ended the call before pocketing the device.
For the next few blocks, the pair walked together in contemplative silence. Jared felt more confused than ever.
En route to the school grounds, they discovered both of the sheriff’s cars outside an elegant brick house. Sheridan paused, studying the scene with an excited attentiveness Jared had only witnessed while the pair had worked at the boy’s experiments.
“What is it?” Jared asked.
“The home of Mangus Bronn. We should—“ he started towards the crime scene, then stopped as if pulled short by a leash. The boy grimaced. “We should carry on. Charlotte does not like to be kept waiting.”
***
“Why here?” Jared observed the nearly empty playground around them as he swung limply, allowing himself to drift like a pendulum while the chains creaked.
“Because it’s private,” Sheridan said while he kept a lookout for Charlotte, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Because we can see danger coming.”
A moment later, Charlotte appeared across the playground like a lone rider upon a desert, striding towards them in her black, red, and white cheerleader outfit. There was a game today, Jared remembered, and then he remembered the wooden stake sticking out of Flavius’s corpse, and tensed. If he wasn’t crazy, then he was in danger, but how could those memories be real? How could Charlotte be truly dangerous? But she was fierce, and she didn’t like Jared.
“Is she going to kill me?” he heard himself ask.
Sheridan smirked. “Are you a vampire?”
Vampire. The name was absurd. “That can’t be real.” Jared shook his head, but then he remembered that Flavius had fangs in his nightmare. “Can it?”
“Being reborn to an unexpurgated world can be painful. You have the Gift—or something like it. Trust that, and the mind will follow.” Sheridan started forward to meet the pissed-off cheerleader.
“What Gift?”
Sheridan answered over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t remember any of last night if you didn’t have it, and we wouldn’t be here.” 
Jared watched the two teenagers meet fifty yards away, where they could discuss him in private, no doubt. Jared’s stomach tightened, pained by the awareness that it was still morning, and his day could only get worse. He had come to his friend to be woken up, shocked back into reality, and possibly escorted to the psych ward in Bellevue for overnight observation, and had found something far more disturbing.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Jared checked the screen, expecting his father, but the number wasn’t programmed. Probably a telemarketer, he thought, but any distraction, any connection to the mundane, would be welcome.
“Hello?” he said.
“Jared.” A breathy voice said his name as if it were a secret handshake only he would know. It was Sarah.
Jared’s mind came to a screeching halt. He jumped out of the swing, flush with excitement, and set to pacing. “Hey, Sarah. How are you?” His eyes flicked towards Sheridan and Charlotte. “I thought you didn’t have a phone?”
“I just got one. I figured: all the kids have one, right? Sorry I bailed on you. I know that was lame.”
“That’s okay.” Jared knew he should say more, but his mind refused to reboot.
“I want to see you today,” Sarah said after an awkward silence.
Jared smiled. “What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know.” Her tone changed, as if the question irritated her. “Where do you usually take a girl for a second date?”
He noticed Charlotte and Sheridan approaching, giving him no time to pull his thoughts together. “How about I’ll meet you in two hours in front of the ice cream parlor?”
“And then what?”
“It’ll be a surprise.” Jared had no idea what they would do. “Sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you soon,” if Charlotte didn’t kill him with her croquet mallet; if Jared didn’t end up in the psyche ward after all.
There was a long pause. “You know, the chances of a kiss go up significantly after the first date. On the second date, it’s practically mandatory.”
Jared’s face flushed as his companions stopped before him, waiting. Charlotte did indeed look pissed. “I’m looking forward to it.” Jared pocketed his phone, greeting Charlotte with a feeble smile.
The tall girl studied him intently. “How could he not know he has the Gift?”
“It is unusual—to reach his age and not know,” Sheridan said.
“Maternal lineage?”
“He does possess a certain girlish sensitivity.” That got a rise from Charlotte, which pleased Sheridan.
“I’m right here,” Jared said.
The two stared back at him blankly, then Sheridan’s right brow arched.
“I’m right in front of you. What do you mean, Gift?”
“A loose term,” Sheridan said, “Like syndrome, to explain the as-yet-unexplained—probably a genetic trait.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes at her companion. “There’s more to it than science.”
“There is only science.”
Letting the issue drop, Charlotte motioned for Jared to take a seat on the swing while she sat on the next one over. “No one taught you?” He had no answer.
“Jared,” Sheridan said. “I’ve heard you mention your father, but never your mother.”
“She passed away when I was five.” The two shared a knowing look and Jared felt his patience diminish. “Am I crazy?”
Charlotte’s voice softened. “I know how strange this sounds—“
“So I am crazy.” Jared looked at them both. “I must be. Either I need a heavy dose of psyche meds, or you killed Flavius last night and I’m putting the only witness to your crime right at your feet. But then, I think you were defending me.” He held up his phone, giving it a light shake. “And I just made a date. How crazy is that?”
“What date?” Charlotte said.
“Sarah. My new girlfriend—at least, I think she’s my girlfriend. Did I imagine—“
Charlotte rose angrily from her swing. “She’s a vampire.”
“A what?” Jared stood as well. “That’s preposterous.” But the memory of Flavius’s fangs remained fresh in his mind. “Vampires aren’t real.”
“That monster killed Lenny and Meliah. She turned Flavius and sent him to attack you. You’re in danger, Jared.” Charlotte turned to Sheridan. “But why? What does she want?”
Sheridan looked down and was beginning a shrug when Jared heard himself blurt out, “Something called the Ring of Destiny.” The news stopped Charlotte cold. She gaped while the corner of Sheridan’s mouth twisted into a frown. Jared had no idea why he had even spoken. For a moment, the three stood staring at each other in silence, then Charlotte’s eyes grew wide, her mouth opened into an oval, and she began bouncing on her toes.
“Oh,” Charlotte said, as if someone had just challenged her to a fight. “Oh, no. Oh no no. That’s not going to happen! Did you know this?” She turned to Sheridan, who returned the faintest of head shakes without meeting her gaze.
“This chick—“ Charlotte started, then changed course. “You should’ve seen her smug look at the game. If she wasn’t the base of the pyramid, I would’ve staked her on the spot. She’s vying for head cheerleader! Can you believe it? She’s hunting the Ring of Destiny, for Pete’s sake; she’s going to take over the world and doom it to blood and darkness. Why does she have to be head cheerleader?”
“We don’t know precisely what the ring’s power is, or the mechanism by which it works.” Sheridan removed a black pouch from an inner pocket of his trench coat.
“Oh, please. What other destiny would a vampire want?”
“You’re assuming that one gets to choose their destiny. Also, I’m not convinced that Flavius was doing her biding in attacking Jared.” Sheridan opened the pouch, drew out a thin metal tool.
“So you did kill him,” Jared heard himself say.
“I killed a vampire. Sarah killed Flavius when she turned him. And I stopped him from killing you.”
Charlotte poked Jared in the chest with two fingers, challenging him with such a glare that he wished he was on his way to Bellevue. Her fierceness was so alarming that he barely noticed Sheridan take his wrist and raise it until Jared felt the boy prick him with the metal tool.
“Hey!” Jared yanked his hand free and stared at the small red wound.
Sheridan raised a small vial, offering it like an empty wine glass. “For science,” he said by way of an apology, and Jared let him collect a couple drops of blood. Then Sheridan stopped the vial and returned it to his pouch, then returned the pouch to his pocket. 
“We have to kill her, Sheridan. Tonight,” Charlotte said.
He considered, seemingly ignoring the horror of Charlotte’s intentions. “We know that she is freshly fed—regrettably. That gives us a day, perhaps two, to discover—“
“Why wait” Charlotte said with a shrug. “Kill the cheerleader, save the world, right?”
“To find the Ring of Destiny,” Sheridan finished, showing his irritation. “The vampire will not be the last creature to come looking for it. We both know that.”
“No,” Charlotte said, her hands on her hips.
Sheridan sighed. “We agree that the ring must be destroyed. But for that, we must find it.”
“So, there is an actual Ring of Destiny?” Jared said. “Like if I put it on, I can rule the world?”
Charlotte nodded gravely.
“Or I can become an Olympic wrestler, or Alex Rodriguez, if I want?”
“No,” Charlotte insisted, but then her certainty crumbled. “Can he? I assumed—“
“Whatever the ring does, it must be found and destroyed,” Sheridan snapped.
“So, this business about Reynald’s artifacts…” Jared let the question trail off.
Sheridan explained, irritated. “Reynald was not your typical pioneer. He was a demon. He founded this town as the beginnings of an empire that would spread across the continent first, and then the world. He disguised himself as human, but he used a number of magical artifacts to build his power—the Ring of Destiny being one of them.”
“Huh.” Jared wondered if he wasn’t the only one who belonged in Bellevue, after all.
“Before his defeat, Reynald hid most of his artifacts. Needless to say, this town has become somewhat of a destiny amongst the supranatural.”
“If she feeds again, we kill her—ring or no ring,” Charlotte said.
“Agreed. We’ll stop the vampire before she draws more blood, but first we have to get this boy ready for a date.”
“What?” Jared said.
“I should go with you,” Charlotte said.
“She suspects you.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed and—her hands still on her hips—she studied both boys while she made up her mind. “Whatever. I’ve got to get back to the game.”
“May I use your phone, Charlotte?” Sheridan said. “I’m out of minutes.” She gave up the device willingly and marched back across the field. “Come.” Sheridan pulled at Jared’s arm, guiding him from the playground towards Main Street. “We need to get some garlic in you.”
Jared felt more confused than ever. “I’m supposed to go on a date with a vampire?”
“Just so.” The pale boy smiled ruefully.
“What do I do if she tries to kiss me?” he said as he was being led by the arm. “She said she was going to kiss me.”
“Then kiss her back, of course. We’ll get you some floss.”
Chapter Nine
“Sarah hates garlic.” Jared swallowed his third raw bulb with a swig of water, his face puckering. His stomach churned, as much from the garlic as nerves. “Oh. That’s nasty.”
Sheridan swallowed another bulb as well. “For her, garlic is a poison. Once the garlic saturates the blood stream, you’ll be safe enough.”
“But I don’t smell anything. Shouldn’t it be coming out of my pores, or something?”
“Give it time,” Sheridan said. “Try not to let her bite you for at least an hour.”
They disposed of their water bottles and then Sheridan led them out from behind the Top Produce stand towards Molly Moon’s ice cream parlor. Jared followed, still confused; he hardly had time to digest the new world that had been thrust upon him; much of which made no sense. He needed to think. Instead he was chasing after Sheridan, who strode purposely.
“You think she’ll bite me?”
“For a vampire her age, it takes two bites to turn you. The first bite drains; without death, a type of virus is spread—I am convinced of that. A second bite, if the victim is again drained to the brink of death, weakens the immune system, allowing the virus to take over.”
“What if she just wants to kill me, to drink my blood?”
“There is that,” Sheridan said. “Sarah wants something more from you. More likely, she will attempt to glamour you.” He noted the question in Jared’s expression. “To bend you to her will.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Jared was certain.
“She already has—twice, at least. Do you have Charlotte’s number in your phone?” Jared checked, his retort stifled. He nodded and Sheridan continued. “Dial her number just before you meet your date and then lock the keypad,” he said while studying Charlotte’s phone. He tapped at the screen. “If I can find the mute… ah.”
“She can’t just control me, like some kind of zombie.”
“At the restaurant, did you experience spells of dizziness, followed by a lapse in memory?”
Jared swallowed.
“Were these incidents preceded by an unnatural golden glow in her eyes?”
Jared didn’t answer.
“Happens to the best of us, until we’re conditioned. You should be safe now, but it wouldn’t hurt to avert your eyes.” Sheridan stopped outside the Starbuck’s just half a block short of Molly Moon’s. “Play along if she attempts to glamour you, but don’t stare too closely. We don’t know her age as yet, and thus her power. Best not to take chances.” He looked down at his book. “I think I’ll catch up on some reading, until you draw her out.”
Sheridan looked up and stopped. “She’s early.”
Jared’s anxiety kicked into high gear when he saw, through the screen of children being shepherded into Molly Moon’s, Sarah seated on the patio with a steaming coffee in front of her, staring off into the distance with a blank expression. At the sight of her, Jared’s stomach did more than churn, it flipped, and for the first time she inspired more than a giddy nervousness; she inspired fear.
“Call me,” Sheridan said with a flippant wave of his hand as he turned into the Starbuck’s.
Jared followed, ducking into the coffee store before Sarah saw him. “I need time to think,” he was saying when the cold glare of Michael—seated at a small table near the door—caught his attention.
“Well, well, look who walked in.” The smug boy leaned back from his MacBook Pro, watching them enter with a triumphant sneer and making it clear that he gave considerable meaning to the company Jared kept. Sheridan noted the purple blotch on Michael’s neck, obvious above the hem of his tee shirt, with thinly veiled contempt. Jared eyes focused deeper, on the two raw, red dots in the center of the blotch, and felt a sense of panic. Michael, however, bore the mark with pride.
“Michael,” Jared said reflexively. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m working on our Mistress—Sarah’s project. I thought you would be at the library.” He gave another meaningful look to Sheridan, who slipped into the line for coffee that extended almost to the door.
“I’m meeting Sarah, actually.” Jared’s eyes drifted towards the blotch. “Next door,” he added, drawing some satisfaction as Michael’s sneer hardened, became brittle.
“You’ve found something?”
“No. No, I—have you?” Jared was trying to remember to be polite, but the boy’s derisiveness was overbearing, and Jared found his patience over-taxed.
Michael rose, pulled his jacket over a blue shirt that read, I’d rather be playing Cosmic Encounter. When Jared’s eyes drifted once more to the blotch, Michael turned his chin to offer a better view. “It’s called a hickey,” he said, then snapped his MacBook shut. “I haven’t found the ring—yet. But I found something awesome. If this town knew what I had, they would fear the crap out of me.”
Jared cocked his head, trying to understand just what the boy had meant and in the ensuing silence Michael’s smug veneer weakened, showing self-consciousness.
“Awkward,” Sheridan muttered without turning from the line.
Michael glared as he pushed his MacBook into a blue backpack and cinched the flap. He gave a final sneer, answering a curt nod from Jared, then pushed out the door.
“That was extra creepy,” Jared told Sheridan, who affirmed with a raised eyebrow.
“You’d better get going. I expect Sarah doesn’t like to be kept waiting. And no need to tell Charlotte about that bite mark on Michael, just yet.”
Jared was near panic. “I can’t think straight. I need time—“
“And you have none. Sorry, old boy. Off you go. Best get right into it.”
“Where do I take her? What do we do? I don’t even have a plan.”
“There’s a lovely view of the Sound from the Lookout, where Sarah killed Meliah and possibly Lenny. She’ll appreciate the irony, and the weather is reasonable, for October.” Sheridan seemed impressed by his idea. “A lovely place to talk, and you shouldn’t lose reception there. Remember: we need to learn about the ring, why she wants it, and anything about Sarah’s history.”
The line moved forward by one person. “Finally,” Sheridan exhaled.
Jared sucked in a deep breath, letting his shoulders drop on the exhale. This doesn’t make sense, he thought, but there would be time to sort out the truth later. For now, he needed to pretend that life was normal; he needed to chat up the most beautiful girl he had ever met, who might be a vampire, and take her into the woods where she could easily kill him. Piece of cake. Jared considered running, but then Sarah could chase him down, if she were a monster. If she wasn’t and Sheridan was wrong, Jared would look like a complete fool.
He turned for the door. If he waited any longer, his head would explode. 
“Call me first,” Sheridan said, holding up his phone and giving it a little shake.
Jared nodded, placed the call and saw his friend answer. He then locked the keypad and shoved the phone into his pants pocket before deciding his shirt pocket would be more receptive. The door opened even as he reached for it, and Tina appeared, her face beaming when she saw him. A cluster of her friends giggled behind her. Tina stopped, shyly blocking the entryway, but Jared brushed past her, unwilling to break the grim momentum he needed to face Sarah. He did not allow the time to feel badly about his behavior; that would come later.
Outside, Mrs. Stein and her party were gone and Sarah saw Jared right off, her bored expression brightening. She stood to hug him tightly. “You went into Starbuck’s without saying hello?”
“I didn’t see you. There was a gaggle of kids, and—“
“That lady’s brood.” Sarah chuckled, seeming more at ease than ever. “They were a handful.”
Jared was staring into her eyes, scanning for a hint of gold but finding only a deep well of bright green. He scanned her perfect, brilliant smile for fangs, and felt foolish. “What would you like to do? I mean, I was thinking we could walk over to the Lookout, and look out over the Sound.”
“Cute.”
“No pun intended.”
Sarah looked away for a moment, thinking, then showed him a coy smile. “Sure.”
“Are you hungry first?” Jared regretted the question immediately, but Sarah only shook her head. “You want some ice cream, some coffee—more coffee?”
“Are you nervous, Jared?” Sarah’s mouth was slightly agape and Jared found himself again searching for fangs. Vampires—Flavius—had fangs. He shrugged sheepishly, offering his elbow. Obviously pleased, Sarah looped his arm snuggly and, her coffee in her left hand, allowed Jared to lead them down Main Street. The feel of her arm on his was soft. Weren’t vampires supposed to be strong? Flavius had been strong—stronger, anyway.
“It’s not a race,” Sarah said, bemused, after a few minutes and Jared slowed their pace, blushing. “Look at you! Mister awkward.”
“No, I…” This is nuts. He dismissed Charlotte and Sheridan’s warnings; he would try to get their information, but the more he looked into Sarah’s eyes, the more absurd the accusations against her became. The would-be vampire hunter was at least a cell tower away, and Sarah’s proximity was dizzying. “You caught me. I can be awkward, sometimes. You do have that effect on me.”
Sarah delighted in his confession. “It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?” They had left Main Street, strolling now through the sparse neighborhoods on their way to the Lookout. “The sun is out, despite the fall, and it’s still relatively warm. I could get used to this. I’m in school again, soon to be head cheerleader—“
“Ambitious.” 
“I’ve got a nice boyfriend,” she continued. Sarah expected Jared to blush again, and he obliged. “It’s just… normal. I haven’t had normal in some time. I hope I can keep it.”
“I—“
“This is the way a young girl’s life should be.”
They turned a block to find Mr. Connor struggling to carry an unwieldy bag of groceries from his Capri Classic parked in the driveway. The man was in his eighties, hunched and grunting. Before Jared could react, Sarah was helping the retiree, who brightened considerably from the attention. Helpless with nothing to do, Jared followed them to the front door of Mr. Connor’s house, wishing there had been another bag to carry.
“Thank you,” the man said to Sarah, then to Jared he said, “Don’t let her go.”
“I won’t, sir.” Jared grinned.
Mr. Connor gestured lazily to Sarah, who was fawning over him. His eyes sparkled. “She’s a keeper.”
“Yes, sir.”
“See?” she said as they walked away. “Normal.”
Jared felt the phone in his shirt pocket like the weight of shame. Sheridan’s nuts, he decided. Vampires aren’t nice. At the end of the neighborhood, Jared pointed to the narrow path that wound through a light wood to the Lookout, where he hoped they would be alone. Jared took the lead, holding back the hanging brush for his date until they came to a clear view. The Lookout hung sixty feet over the Sound, which splashed roughly against the rocks below, and with the clear sky they could see the snowy caps of the Olympic Mountains on the peninsula. Fortunately, the bench was clear.
Jared sat and stretched his arm across the back, inviting Sarah to sit as snuggly as she dared. She obliged happily, pressing against his side while resting a palm on his thigh. They watched the gulls splashing in the waves, enjoying each other’s silence, but Jared had too many questions, and he was uncomfortably aware of Sheridan listening. If Sarah was evil, then Jared was a fool; just a turn of her chin and she could plunge her fangs into his neck. But instead of danger, he felt—something else.
“So,” Jared started. “If we’re dating—officially—does that mean I get to see where you live, finally?”
Her body tensed. “Maybe.” 
“Why is it such a secret?” he teased. “Do you live in a coffin, or something?” Sarah’s head snapped around, her green eyes darkening, and Jared remembered what an idiot he could be at times. He rushed to recover. “Or a dungeon, a cardboard box, or something? What?” He answered her glare with a nervous chuckle.
There was an animal wariness to her gaze. “Jared,” Sarah said softly. “Do you…” but her question trailed off. She turned back to the view, her lips squeezing together.
“What?” he said again, but Sarah did not answer. “I didn’t—I was just being absurd. I mean, there’s no such thing as vampires. Obviously. That would be crazy.” He chuckled weakly, feeling every bit the fool. What would Sheridan think? “I’m just being an idiot. Sorry.”
If Sarah were a vampire, then she was sure to kill him now, but she only gave Jared a glance from the corner of her eye before returning her gaze to the Sound. Still no sign of fangs, he noted.
Eventually, Sarah said, “You wouldn’t like my place. It’s cold, damp. Truth is, my life is quite a mess right now, Jared, but I’m working on it. I’m just… tired. I feel like I’ve been living this entire life that I didn’t choose. For as long as I can remember, people have been making decisions for me—“
“Your father?”
Sarah gave a faint nod. “I just want a normal life. I want to make my own decisions about how to live it.” She thought for a moment. “Do you know what it’s like—having your destiny stolen from you?”
He saw real pain in her eyes. “Yes,” he said, glancing down at his poorly mended leg.
“I want my destiny back. That’s why I need the ring. Once I have that, I’ll move out, find a nicer place to live. And then you can come over. Everything will be much simpler then.”
“But what does finding this ring have to do with it? Is it valuable? Are you going to hock it, or does it—I don’t get it.”
“I know.” Sarah sighed. “Perhaps that’s best, for now.”
Talk of the ring made Jared more nervous. By all accounts, Sarah seemed a normal girl; every minute he spent with her made it seem like it was Sheridan and Charlotte who were crazy, but the way Sarah talked of the ring made him wonder. He felt more confused than ever, and keenly aware that Sheridan was listening expectantly.
“You mention your dad sometimes, but you don’t say much. He’s here in Reynald, right? Did you and your mother run away, or—“
“You’re asking a lot of questions,” Sarah said.
Jared opened his mouth, but he had said too much already. Surely there was a padded cell waiting for him, followed by medications and years of therapy. He might as well enjoy this moment, with her.
A breeze picked up, coolly brushing Jared’s cheeks. Sarah sniffed, bolting upright. She recoiled from him, yanking her hand from his thigh as if it had been caught in a trap. “Did you eat garlic before our date?”
“Well—“
Sarah pushed further away on the bench, as far from Jared as she could. “You know I hate garlic.”
“I—“
“Why would you eat garlic before our date!”
“I didn’t know we we’re going out, remember? You called me after lunch. Sorry.” He shrugged.
Sarah’s nose crinkled as she turned away from the stench, waving a hand at the air between them. “What did you eat?”
He caught the odor that was now gushing from his pores, as if the barbarian gates had been thrown wide. “I had putanesca pasta at Lombardi’s,” he lied.
Sarah crossed her legs and pouted on the farthest end of the bench. Her eyes narrowed as she told him, “There’s no way I’m kissing you today. Or tomorrow. It’ll probably be Monday before you stop stinking.”
They sat quietly while Jared tried to imagine a way he could salvage his relationship; he failed, a humiliation magnified by the fact that it had been witnessed. A ray of sun touched Jared’s jeans where Sarah’s hand had been and then he remembered what had been nagging at the back of his mind: the sun! Of course, he thought, cursing himself and cursing Sheridan. Vampires don’t walk in the daylight. She’d explode, right, if she were one? Scowling, Jared removed his phone from his pocket and killed the call.
Sarah gave him a fowl look.
“Just checking the time,” he said, then dropped the phone into the pocket.
“I need to go. I have things to do.”
Jared stood, ready to walk her home if she’d let him. You bastard, he cursed Sheridan.
Chapter Ten
A perfect sunny afternoon, ruined. Sarah left Jared behind at the Lookout, her thoughts clouded, arms wrapped around herself, to wander listlessly along Main Street. Does he know? she asked herself, or was this just a disturbing synchronicity. In her time, Sarah had seen how life had a way of making its point; perhaps her destiny had changed; perhaps life was reminding her that she could not escape what she had become. Not without the ring, anyway.
Would it be so bad if he did? If Reynald’s ring worked the way she assumed, then it was better that Jared remained ignorant. If he knew the things she had done, he couldn’t possibly love her. But that was the disease, the curse, the demon or whatever it was that made her do so many evil things. But all would be forgotten, perhaps forgiven, once Sarah’s humanity was restored. No, she decided. Better he never knows. And if the ring failed her, or she failed to find it, there was another choice; if Jared were like her, he would understand. She would remain evil, but no longer alone.
Beyond the businesses of Main Street, Sarah spied the houses, many of them large and beautiful. She imagined a life in them, with a soft couch and bed, and a cozy fireplace, watching the cold dark from the warm side of a window pane. She could have that now, but folks always knew who belonged in a home—the nice homes, anyway. For Sarah, a dry cave was more than she could hope for. But human beings didn’t live in caves.
Sarah spied a pair of fellow students, Ralphie and Madeline, clinched side-by-side as if they couldn’t survive without touching as much of each other as possible. The pair turned onto the sidewalk just in front of her, walking slowly, clumsily, enjoying the way the rest of the town noted their intimacy. Ralphie’s fingers were in the back pocket of Madeline’s ever-so-tight jeans—a scandal in Sarah’s time, but she found the prurient behavior titillating. Two teenagers in love, as if their togetherness were the height of all meaning; perhaps it was; perhaps these two would spend the rest of their lives together in mortal bliss.
A giant appeared on her side of the street just ahead, his head looming above all others as he emerged from an intersection. Sarah shrunk in fear at the sight of him, her eyes darting for an escape without trying to draw the man’s attention. He was tall, broad,  and dressed like a lumberjack in coveralls and flannel, with a shaggy black beard that hung down to the flat brass necklace that rested on his chest. Another smaller man joined him; they did not belong in this town, or among the rest of humanity, Sarah thought, but she knew them, had fled from them across forests, plains and mountains. All for naught.
The Magi were here.
The two men were joined by a third as they surveyed the street, searching for her. After only a few words, the men split off; two walked away, but the lumberjack was heading straight for Sarah. There was only moments left before he would spy her slinking behind the young couple; he would recognize her, would kill her on the spot despite the many witnesses. The Magi had no fear. But then she passed a narrow driveway that led to a small parking lot behind May’s Doughnut shop. Sarah darted into the alley and hurried out of sight behind the converted house. Her heart could not race, but Sarah knew fear, knew death.
The witch was wrong! Sarah had saved the woman’s sickly child by giving the boy the gift of immortality; in return, the witch had thrown the Magi from her trail, disguised Sarah’s passing, but not as long as promised. The Magi were early. A rush of panic overwhelmed her as she imagined her hopes and dreams , her true destiny, evaporate. Now there would be no ring, no love, no humanity; she would flee this moment or die.
Or she could fight. The thought of a Magi’s blood in her mouth gave Sarah a wicked smile. The hunters were separated, and if she could catch one alone, even the giant… Sarah walked behind the buildings, shadowing the Magi’s path, guessing at his pace. Was he searching the shops through the windows, and how long would he pause, if at all? 
From the back of a tea shop, Sarah peeked to see the Magi just as he passed. Quick and quiet, as she had learned from decades of murder, Sarah slipped back onto the sidewalk, trailing the Magi by a few feet. The thrill of danger made her salivate. A daylight attack would bring trouble, but Sarah knew she would flee this night, regardless. Why wait? she thought. Why flee hungry?
A tingling spread through her jaws, her fangs readying to release, as Sarah edged closer. Closer. Claws extending, she raised her hands to strike when someone gripped her body from behind, pulled her. Sarah recoiled, turned, but no one was near. She turned back towards her prey, but then she felt the unseen force tighten around her again; this time pulling with a sustained strength, dragging her back the way she had come.
Sarah struggled for control, her resistance triggering a burning, searing pain inside her skull that lessened, became barely tolerable, only when Sarah complied with the desire of the unseen force. Dark magic. She recognized the summons for what it was; the prerogative of a powerful sorcerer. Enraged, her revenge foiled, Sarah gave way to the summons; townsfolk were beginning to notice her strange behavior and Sarah could not resist the Magi now, if they found her. Now her fury—at being hounded across thousands of miles; at Devorout for stealing her innocence; for decades of forced, bloody murder and torture—all focused on one doomed being: the summoner.
So Sarah surrendered to the summons, allowing it to draw her through one backstreet, then another, on towards the edge of town. By the time the spell brought her to a small, dilapidated house she had never seen before, Sarah was salivating for blood. Why the hell aren’t I living here? she thought. Another wrong to avenge. The door was unlocked; the inside a burned wreck. Onward the summons pulled her, to the kitchen, through a door, then down a flight of creaking wooden stairs to an unfinished, dusty basement. Four teenagers chanted around a circle of archaic symbols scrawled onto the concrete floor with red chalk. Albina Bronn sat at the circles edge, hunched over a plain notebook and scribbling furiously with a quill pen while chanting under her breath. 
Michael, Sarah called for help, knowing it was probably too late.
The chanting teens—some of whom held wooden stakes—parted, making way for Sarah, who knew that she would be bound the moment she entered their circle. She threw her might against the spell, reaching up the stairs against the torrent of flames that roasted her mind in blistering agony.
Albina, meanwhile, kept her gaze on her notepad, sweat dripping from her hair onto the page as she scribbled feverishly.
Even as she fought, Sarah was pulled inch by inch towards the circle. Michael! Her thoughts screamed from the flames roasting her skull. He was young, weak, all but useless, but at that moment he was all Sarah had.
***
Reynald High was quiet on the weekend. Sheridan liked the way the click of his boot heels echoed in the hall, defining the expanse of his pleasant solitude. Inside the lab, Sheridan set his venti Americano, the one he’d stolen, on the counter where he planned to work. At the Starbucks, he had employed a certain trick, one he could get away with once in a while, when Sheridan was broke; when the store was busy and the orders were backed up, he’d order a tea, then wait for a more desirable beverage to make its way to the pickup station. If the intended recipient was slow, or didn’t hear their name, he’d scoop the cup as if nothing were amiss, take an immediate sip and walk out; if someone saw him, if they bothered to complain, he would simply claim to have absently grabbed the wrong drink. Even when they noticed, people rarely stopped him after he took a sip; they just scratched their heads and asked for a replacement. Sheridan was careful; if his trick was noticed, he made sure to wait a good while before trying it again. A man of his means had to be resourceful.
He removed his pouch and set it on the counter next to the coffee, then hung his scarf, then his coat, on the rack in the corner and set to preparing his experiment while considering the failure of Jared’s mission. Charlotte was right, of course; Jared was wholly unprepared for this intrigue, might’ve easily gotten himself killed, but the rewards had been worth the risk, if Jared had been remotely confident. More hormones than sense, he thought. He had his suspicions as to why.
Inside the locked cabinet, Sheridan found his class experiment, the one he now shared with Jared. They had actually worked well together, he remembered. When puberty is not front and center, he can be quite disciplined. Jared had taken to the experiments easily, and Sheridan was forced to admit that the boy made an amiable companion. Only Charlotte had ever shared in his work, but not since the end of primary school, when the rest of the world discovered that she was beautiful. Now she was the warrior, and he played the mad scientist alone.
Sheridan pushed his project aside, selecting instead a large microscope, which he set on the counter beside his coffee. A burner and a set of beakers followed. From his pouch, he removed the vial that contained one, maybe two, drops of Jared’s blood that he smeared onto a glass slide. Even under the highest magnification, the blood appeared normal. Next, Sheridan donned a pair of vinyl cloves. From another vial in his pouch, he removed a sprig of wolfesbane and added two of the dried, helmet-shaped flowers into a saline solution, which he then placed over a lit burner.  
Content to wait, Sheridan opened his copy of The Murder Room to the page marked with a red silk ribbon. Frank Bender and Richard Walter were taking their turns at the mystery of the Boy in the Box, a notorious unsolved murder from the nineteen-fifties. Bender’s ability to interpret the merest of evidence into recognizable busts was uncanny, but it was Richard Walter who impressed Sheridan the most; Mr. Walter was the underappreciated godfather of modern criminal profiling, a man who understood the mind of evil better than anyone alive, and who kept his secrets close to his vest, lest they fall into the wrong hands. Walter and Sheridan were alike; they both understood evil in ways the rest of the world was not prepared for, but it was their war to fight.
The Murder Room excited and frustrated Sheridan endlessly; he belonged with the Vidocq Society, solving cases, instructing them in the need to appreciate the supranatural. Instead he was in high school, in Reynald of all places, under the miserable parenting of a pair of poor drunks. But the stories in those pages gave him hope; in a few years Sheridan would be free to travel alone to the Society’s headquarters in Philadelphia to find Mr. Walter—if the man didn’t kill himself with Cools first—but it would be many more years before Sheridan could demonstrate what he was uniquely capable of offering the greatest organization of detectives in the world.
The Ring of Destiny could change that. But Reynald’s greatest artifact remained elusive. If Mangus and his minions had knowledge of the ring, they were not sharing. The few old texts not under the librarian’s control revealed nothing as to its whereabouts. Sheridan was obliged to wait for the vampire to find the ring for him, if Charlotte didn’t kill Sarah first.
When the concoction was ready, Sheridan closed his book. He added a drop of the solution to Jared’s blood and saw, through the microscope, the reaction he had expected. “Just so.” He dialed Charlotte’s number, only to realize the phone in his hands was hers. Quickly, he extinguished the burner and cleaned up his work, careful to remove any trace of his presence.
Chapter Eleven
“I’ll kill you slowly,” Sarah swore in a deep, clear voice, but the spell drawn onto the basement floor confined her. She had no more than a half-step in either direction, limited not by fire or pain, but by a simple, invisible, infuriating force that bound her. The chanting had stopped, and Albina—the Quill of Summons set aside—was looking down her pale, pierced nose at the captured vampire. “Fight me!” Sarah barked, gnashing her full row of fangs for affect, but Albina remained unimpressed.
“What do you want?” Sarah said, hissing every word.
“You don’t belong here,” Albina said, gloating.
“And what, pray, have I done to offend you?”
“You broke into her house,” said one of the teens, a boy Sarah didn’t recognize. A sharp glare from Albina shut him up.
Sarah forced a sense of calm, knowing that she would need more than brawn if she was to survive the next few minutes. She shrugged. “So let me go, and I’ll leave town.” After I kill everything you love, she thought, smiling her unspoken promise.
“Too late,” Albina said. “This is where I would say something like, ‘you should’ve thought of that before you broke into my home’, but I guess that’s out now.” She rolled her eyes at the boy who had spoken out of turn.
The boy shrunk from her wrath.
“And why would I break into your home?” Sarah said as if bored, but she remained alert for any vulnerability. The air was ripe with magic; more than these young fools should possess and enough to block her glamour, unless she could shake their confidence. And there was the chance that one of them would get too close and cross the circle’s border. Sarah taunted the goth girl in order to buy time. “Obviously not for your makeup kit. Try a rouge, jeez.” She enjoyed the sight of Albina’s jaw clenching.
“You stole something from my father’s collection, one of Reynald’s artifacts. Those are under our protection.” Albina jabbed an index finger into her chest, twice.
Sarah smirked, examining the group of gawky teenage misfits that encircled her, an assortment of dyed hair, pierced noses and eyebrows, and black lipstick. “Ah. So this is the grand Reynald Society.”
“We caught you,” Albina said. “Return the Horn of Fear, and we’ll let you go.” She gave a casual shrug, but her expression said otherwise. 
“Hm.” Sarah played thoughtful. “Fear? Horn? Doesn’t ring a bell. But I’ll make you a deal: give me the Ring of Destiny, and I’ll only kill that one.” She tipped her head towards the boy. “The rest of you will live,” she added, in case they were idiots.
Albina raised her stake to her shoulder, showing Sarah the sharpened point. “That’s big talk for someone in a binding circle. What is it with you vampires? You’re all bluster, like you’re the biggest, baddest monsters out there. Ooh! And tortured, too. Right?” Albina and her friends laughed. “Do you want to cry before we kill you, damn your Maker? Pledge your eternal love to Jared? I’m not the most sympathetic of confessors, but it’s not like you have a choice.”
Sarah showed them her fangs and felt the level of fear in the room rise, a localized phenomenon, she realized, emanating from the boy. If he was weak, if he let his guard down… She glared into his eyes until he quaked, and then her eyes glowed a molten gold. The boy swayed as she drew him under her spell. “Kill her,” Sarah commanded.
The boy shifted, dazed, and then Albina slapped him. “Get it together, Paul! Or go outside.” The others murmured agreement.
“I’m fine,” Paul said, though he was visibly shaken.
“You need to work on your protection spells.”
Paul nodded sheepishly.
Albina returned her gaze to Sarah and smirked, looking her captive over like a hand-me-down dress. The others tensed, sensing her mood, while Albina twirled her stake in her grip, judging just where to strike first. Sarah bent slightly at the knees and held her claws at the ready, turning inside the circle, but she was surrounded and there was no room to maneuver. The first attack could come from any of them, could come from all of them at once.
Albina feinted.
Sarah turned to face her directly and then felt a sharp pain in her side. She swung around wildly, reaching to catch her assailant’s arm, but her claw bounced harmlessly off the binding force. And so their dance began. The group’s excitement escalated as they struck and feinted opportunistically, toying with her. Sarah swatted some of the stakes away, protecting her heart, but she could do no better than scratch the arms of her assailants in return. Only a stake through the heart would kill her, but their strikes were doing damage. She could not fend them off for long, but she would fight, try to catch one of them with an arm in the circle. She would kill before she died.
After what seemed like an hour, Sarah was bleeding from several holes in her back, shoulders and sides when a loud crash at the top of the stairs broke up the assault. Heads turned. A young girl left her stake, and the hand that held it, dangling just inside the circle. In one deft motion, Sarah yanked the girl into her grasp and ripped out the girl’s throat using the full breadth of her fangs. Hot blood splashed her face as she threw the body down, letting the others see the girl’s life spray the floor in pulses of crimson. At the sight of their friend’s life spurting out in great pumps of red gore, a chorus of screams arose from the teenagers. Sarah delighted at the look of shock on Albina’s face.
Someone ran down the stairs, Sarah heard as she spat a gob of flesh into Albina’s face.
“In Valen’s name!” She heard Michael exclaim, but dared not look. She was watching for another mistake, another chance to kill.
“Kill them!” Sarah screamed.
“The Horn!” Albina shouted, a look of shocked terror overcoming her.
“No!” Sarah turned, but she was too late.
The tone that arose from Michael’s lips on the ancient artifact emerged as a feeble rumbling, transformed by the concrete floors and walls into a mild cacophony, but it was enough. The teens, already shaken by the death of their compatriot, succumbed quickly to fear, practically trampling over each other and Michael to escape, Albina among them.
Sarah’s savior, himself caught in the grip of the horn’s fear, stumbled down the last flight of stairs even as the panicked teens pushed past him. How he came towards her without bolting with the rest of them, Sarah did not know, but in his fear, Michael put the horn to his lips again.
“Stop!” she screamed, but he blew the horn again, this time stronger, and when the waves of sound finally dissipated, Michael was lying in a quivering, nonsensical state on the concrete floor, just outside of Sarah’s circle.
“Michael!” Sarah retracted her fangs and claws, and watched over his crumpled form from inside the circle. “Well, he gets points for bravado, at least,” she decided, but what to do now? Her servant was descending into a crippling madness and Sarah remained trapped. Albina and her friends had received a weak blast; soon, they would be back to avenge their friend’s murder. She looked about for ideas and spied Michael’s phone on the floor beside him, having fallen out of his pocket. But it was outside the circle as well.
“Oh!” Sarah exclaimed, delighted at the idea that popped into her mind. She pulled her own phone from her pocket and dialed Andrew’s number. “These things are handy,” she said. When Andrew answered, she told him where she was. “Get a car and pick me up. Now.” To his response she said, “Like I know what an Outback is. Is it a car? Then bring it.” She looked at the archaic symbols that held her hostage. “And bring some sandpaper, or paint.”
***
Charlotte lived in a beautiful Tudor home with a landscaped, well-kept yard, a stark contrast from Sheridan’s prison across the street, which reminded him of an abandoned, turn-of-the-century graveyard. The surest sign that there was no god, in his mind, was the cruelty of being born to people who would call such a place home. That Charlotte and her family saw his shame on a daily basis gave him a loathsome feeling in his belly, like a slow-killing cancer.
Sheridan approached cautiously, making certain that his parents were neither in their yard—why would they bother?—or watching the street from their windows. What were the odds, he wondered, that they were even conscious, or sober?
Knocking on Charlotte’s door triggered a rush of memories; fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, home-cooked meals, the smell of cleanliness, and the peace of gentle, contemplative discussion. His sense of shame deepened.
“Well, hello!” Mrs. Brown said when she opened the door. “Charles, I haven’t seen you at our door in ages. How are you?”
“I’m well,” Sheridan said. He sensed that more was expected of him, a sense which he often ignored in others, but Mrs. Brown deserved better. Sheridan cleared his throat. “Is Charlotte home?”
“She came home after the game, changed into her hiking gear and took that gym bag with her. I don’t see you very often, Charles. Did something happen between you two?” Her concern was heartfelt.
“I became highly unpopular.”
Mrs. Brown’s smile stretched from ear to ear, radiating motherly compassion. “I don’t think Charlotte cares about that.”
“No. But I do. Thank you, Mrs. Brown.” Sheridan backed off the porch. “I know just where to find her.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you, Charles. You should come by more often. I hope everything is okay over there?” She nodded across the street, concern wrinkling her brow.
“As ever, Mrs. Brown. Thank you.” He turned and left, digging for his phone. He knew precisely where his friend had gone, and she was walking into a trap.
Chapter Twelve
Jared sat at the dining table alone, browsing multiple web pages on his laptop in a stream of impulsivity, soothing his frantic mind through an endless maze of overstimulation; ESPN, Sports Illustrated, Gator News, Victoria’s Secret, and Amazon, amongst others. And then there was the tab for Bellevue Hospital’s psychiatric ward, sitting at the ready, which he couldn’t bring himself to read. No matter how distracting the other sites, his mind and mouse wandered aimlessly, never reading more than a paragraph or two, or clicking through a couple of pictures, before jumping on to something else, always mindful of the phone number waiting on the hospital page.
Jared had called his father, unsuccessfully. He wasn’t even sure what he would say, but it would not be a scary message left on the man’s voicemail. John Wasson worked more than most parents, and other kids would be jealous of Jared’s independence, but his father didn’t have a choice; he was providing, raising Jared without help. John Wasson deserved better.
How do I explain this? Jared thought. I wonder what kind of medication they’ll put me on.
He heard the vibration before he saw his phone brighten beside the laptop. Jared snatched it up, disappointed to see Dave’s number on the screen. He almost didn’t answer, but a call from any of the guys was unusual. “Hello?” he said.
“Hey, Buddy. What’s up?” Dave said enthusiastically.
“Not much.”
“Cool. I’m down at the Seven-Eleven with Nick and Trevor.”
“Yeah?” That meant they were playing the old arcade game, Gauntlet Two. Jared had heard the guys joke about it at lunch.
“We need a fourth player, buddy. Warrior need food!” Dave laughed.
“Me?”
“Yeah, man! What are you doing, hanging out with Sarah or something?”
The question was overtly casual and unexpected, but Jared chose to ignore it. He sat back, thinking. “I’m not doing anything at all, actually.”
“Well grab some quarters and come on down. Better hurry, though. Trevor is being loud and obnoxious, as usual. I think the old man is going to give us the boot.”
“Sure. Why not? I’ll be there in a few.” Jared ended the call. Maybe Sheridan was wrong about them; maybe Jared had misjudged the guys. Playing video games and cramming junk food sounded like a perfect distraction.
Ten minutes later, Jared strolled into the Seven-Eleven with a pocketful of quarters. The boys greeted him cheerfully, which was also unexpected. They were tapping away at the games controls, contorting their bodies as they cranked the joysticks, jostling each other and laughing. Jared joined into their game, so that all four players were working together to defeat the monsters of the dungeon, to gather treasure, and to eat food the characters needed in order to stay alive; it was a game of cooperation, until the It level, where one player became a magnet for the evil hoards until either killed or tagging another character, thus passing on the curse. They never could get past the It level, all their careful coordination descending into a riot of chaotic self-preservation.
After about a half an hour, they bought some sodas and stood outside to take a break. Jared felt almost normal, sipping on a Coke and laughing while Trevor and Nick acted out the key moments of the game.
“So what’s up with you and Sarah?” Dave said.
“Yeah,” Trevor said.
Jared sipped his Coke, shrugged. “Nothing.”
“I heard you had a date last night, at Hamburger Mary’s,” Nick said.
“And I saw you two walking arm in arm today,” Trevor said.
They admired him, Jared realized, a conspiratorial smile turning the corners of his lips as he blushed. “Yeah,” he admitted, “but I don’t think—“
“Aw, man!” Dave said, giving Jared’s shoulder an exuberant, manly squeeze.
“We should have a party tonight,” Trevor said. “I can have my cousin get us some beers. We can hang out in the park and get blasted!”
Jared shrugged. He could do worse than spend the evening with friends, and the hospital wasn’t going anywhere. Nick liked the idea, and Dave told Jared, with a light punch into the front of his shoulder, “Bring Sarah. Tell her to bring some of her friends.”
“What?”
“Yeah, man. It’ll be fun. Come on.”
The comfort of being with friends in a time of crisis drained from Jared’s body in the span of a breath, leaving him angry and alone. He felt like a fool. He looked over his so-called friends one at a time, was going to tell them what he thought of them, when a trio of strangers walked into the parking lot, looking like they’d taken a wrong turn on their way to a lumberjack convention. The biggest man had a wild-man’s shaggy black beard. The other two were smaller, leaner, but all three shared a mean, backwoods look. Each of them noticed Jared, returned his stare, and Jared thought he saw the big man sniff at him as the men passed. The boys watched the men file into the Seven-Eleven.
“If those guys are looking for flapjacks, they’re in the wrong place,” Trevor said.
“So, what do you think?” Dave asked, ignoring the interruption.
Jared shook his head, showing his irritation. “I gotta get some things and get home. Some other time. Ok, guys?” He backed towards the door. “Thanks for calling me, though. It was fun. Let’s… let’s do it again sometime,” Jared said acerbically and went into the store.
Despite the disappointment, the boys had given Jared an excellent idea on how he could cope with the stress and confusion of the last twenty-four hours: he was going to load up on Rockstars and spend the evening playing Fallout New Vegas at home until he either passed out or finished the game. He was done with Reynald, where people died and disappeared, done with Sheridan and Charlotte, done with vampires and cryptic girlfriends. For the first time, he was angry at his father for bringing him here. Jared used that anger and built a wall, behind which he placed everything that bothered and frightened him; he was going to baptize himself in sugar, caffeine, and video games, then he was going to wake up to a new, more accommodating world, and to hell with everything and everyone else.
Inside, one of the strangers was chatting up old man Bart while another was picking up a copy of every newspaper on the rack and the big man was stocking up on chips and canned food. Jared ignored the looks the men gave him, grabbing two giant-sized Twix, Rollo’s, and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby ice cream, and made his way to the cold beverages.
“A sleepy town, for so many murders,” the stranger was telling Bart.
“A lot happens in this town,” Bart said, happy to be heard. “Reynald is a strange place, but people forget.”
“Yeah?”
“Like everyone wakes up in the morning and their minds are wiped. Hell, I’d forget too, except I save all the papers.” Bart pointed at the stack of newsprint in the other stranger’s arms.
Dave and the other boys were back at the game, their banter subdued. And they were giving Jared long looks, but he pretended to ignore them as he stepped to the counter. The stranger nodded, stepped back, and Bart rang up Jared’s purchase quickly. As Jared left, he thought he heard the stranger ask after him.
This town is crazy, Jared thought as he crossed the parking lot on his way home. His phone buzzed in his pocket. The number seemed familiar. “Hello?” he said.
“Jared. Sheridan.”
Jared wished he hadn’t answered. Sheridan was calling from Charlotte’s phone, he realized; he needed to program the number so he could avoid future calls. “Am I remiss?”
“Listen—“
“I’m pretty sure our lab project is well in hand. I can’t imagine why else—“
“I realize you blame me for ruining your date,” Sheridan said, exasperated. “You don’t believe me, but I need you to look past that for the moment. Charlotte is in danger.”
“What?”
“She’s in danger and I need your help.”
“I—“
“Please,” Sheridan said, as if the words were bitter. But his plea was heartfelt, desperate.
“Okay,” Jared said, knowing he was going to regret this.
***
“Do I look bloaty?” Sarah asked, poking at her cheeks, but Michael lay at her feet, writhing in the agony of his death. It was the least she could do. It had taken a fair amount of her blood to restore his sanity, and upon their return to the cave, via Andrew’s mother’s Outback, Sarah had drained his blood for a second time; the turning bite. He would not be strong, none of them would, but she needed an army. Fast.
Sarah turned to Andrew and the other boy, who laid pale and unconscious on the dirt floor. She felt decadent, gorged on their blood as well. She had once dreamed of travelling to Africa, where Devorout had described slaughtering whole villages, rivers of blood served in troughs, but that had always been a fantasy to her. Never had she fed so well, and Sarah thought she might vomit, but oh well; she would need to feed on the two boys again as soon as possible to turn them. She felt forced to work quickly—almost too quickly to enjoy herself.
The Magi, Sarah remembered, her face drooping into a pout. They ruin everything. Reynald wasn’t such a bad place to live, at least for a few years while Sarah acclimated to mortality, but the Magi had given her no choice but to flee—unless she could kill the hunters. Sarah studied her minions. Fodder, she thought, but they might prove a useful distraction. The hunters were trained to kill her kind, but if she could surprise them, she just might have a chance. And if their battle were kept out of the open, she just might be able to stay in Reynald, with Jared. After her victory.
Her stomach churned, pushing blood up into her throat where Sarah forced it back down through an act of will. Michael gurgled at her feet, then bolted upright, his eyes flashing in terror until he saw Sarah. The hunger was upon him; Sarah knew from experience. He must feed soon, or the madness of thirst would corrupt his mind for eternity.
The blood pushed up into her throat again. Too much, Sarah thought.
Michael’s jaw dropped, his meager fangs extending. He poked them with his finger, then his eyes scanned the cave for food.
She could feed him like a bird, Sarah realized; she had enough blood pushing for release to feed all three. Instead, Sarah turned and vomited a huge gout of crimson onto the cave floor between them. I have my boundaries, she thought, wiping her chin with the back of her wrist.
Michael recoiled from the blood. He gave Sarah an urgent, pleading look.
“You’re dead. That’s food.”
Slowly, Michael’s lips spread into a devilish grin. He roared triumphantly as he pounced onto the bloody earth, snorting as he lapped dirt and blood while Sarah stared at the others, wondering how long she must wait before administering the turning bite. Devorout had never taught her the art; had never taught her anything except how to kill.
They should probably be conscious, I suppose, she decided. She kicked Andrew’s leg with the tip of her shoe and got no reaction. Sarah huffed, rested her elbow on her thigh and her chin on her palm and waited, watching.
Eventually, Michael recovered from his frantic feeding. “I feel sick,” he said, dirt glued to his lips and both palms on his belly. “Will you sing me Soft Kitty?”
Sarah scowled. “What is that?”
Michael rolled his eyes, as if she’d missed something important. “Nothing.” He looked over his unconscious friends. “I get to boss them around still, right?”
“As long as you remember: I boss you.”
Michael grinned. After a long moment of silence, he said, “So, when do I get to kill someone?” To the look Sarah gave him, he said, “We kill selectively, right? We kill the townspeople one by one, making it look like an accident so that we can stretch out our food supply as long as possible?” His eyes flashed. “We can breed them, like in Farmville!”
He thought a bit, his expression growing pensive. “Who should I kill first? Mr. Carter, for making me do summer school? Becky Armstrong for laughing at me when I asked her out?” He set to absently chewing his nails. “I should kill Pollyanna Price, just for having to say her name.”
Andrew stirred, groaning.
“You’ll all need to feed soon,” Sarah said. “We’ll need an easy kill, somewhere you all can practice without being caught.”
“We could kill my parents,” Michael said, but then showed a change of heart. “But my baby sister probably needs them, and we can’t kill her.” He met Sarah’s dark gaze with trepidation. “We can’t kill my baby sister. I mean, she’s innocent. She’s—I have some cousins in Everett we can kill! They’re complete assholes.”
He’ll learn, Sarah thought. Andrew’s eyes opened to reveal a glazed stare. The other boy stirred as well. Sarah readied herself for the turning bite when a shwooping sound caught her attention; she turned to see a dark object spinning, arcing through the air towards her, spewing flames. She caught the bottle in one hand, swinging it in a circle to vent the weapons momentum so that it wouldn’t break.
Frightened, Michael jumped to his feet and pressed back against the cave wall. “Damn!”
Sarah stood calmly, staring at the flaming rag that was stuffed into the top. “Take it out.”
Michael hesitated, then, taking her steadfastness as a promise, dipped his fingers into the flame to tug out the burning rag like a Kleenex. The flames kissed his fingers and Michael cried out. He flung the rag onto the dirt by Andrew and clutched his fingers as he danced, yipping.
“You’ll heal.” Sarah strode to the cave entrance where she found Charlotte at the bottom of the hill, glaring up with a wooden stake in her hand. Michael appeared at Sarah’s side, the Horn of Fear in his good hand. He was wincing, but she saw the wound was already on the mend.
“You and me!” Charlotte challenged her, jabbing the stake at Sarah point first.
Michael hissed at the girl, showing his puny fangs. “Shall I kill her for you, Mistress?”
Sarah smiled. “I have a much better idea. Michael? Blow your horn. And this time, give it some oomph.”
***
Jared hurried home to stow his drinks in the fridge, tossed his candy onto the kitchen table, then noticed he had missed a call from his father. A voicemail told him to be home for an early dinner.
Jared hurried as best as his limp allowed to the parking lot on the edge of the woods, where he found a haggard Sheridan pacing in front of a large black duffle bag. Worry replaced the pale boy’s typically calm demeanor. At the sight of Jared’s approach, Sheridan sighed visibly, then squatted to fish inside his bag.
As angry as Jared was, Sheridan’s flagrant concern worried him. What sort of danger could Charlotte be in, unless—the newly constructed wall in his mind deflected that possibility instantly. “What’s going on?” Jared gestured with open palms as he closed the final feet between them.
“Your timing is impeccable,” Sheridan said. “I only just arrived myself.” He stood, thrusting a black plastic object at Jared’s chest, forcing Jared to take the object into his hands. A taser, he realized, just before Sheridan added a six inch, sharpened wooden stake.
“What is going on?” Jared asked again.
“I hope I’m wrong.” Sheridan zipped the bag shut, lifted it in one hand, then stood to face Jared. “But I’m never wrong. Come.” He started into the woods and Jared followed. “Charlotte has quite a head start. We may already be too late.”
They were only a few feet onto a narrow, rarely-used trail when the faint sound of a horn drifted over the trees. Jared stumbled, felt his chest tighten with anxiety, his breath shorten. He wanted to run, and would have, but Sheridan turned, his expression now pink with anger, and took him by the jacket. Jared resisted the urge for flight, but barely. “Wh—what was that?” he asked, feeling himself drawing back against his will, but Sheridan held him in place.
The pale boy shook him roughly. “Snap out of it,” Sheridan hissed.
The shaking brought some clarity to Jared’s mind, but the anxiety remained. “Was that a Viking horn?”
Sheridan pushed on with greater urgency, answering Jared over his shoulder. “The Horn of Fear, I suspect; one of Reynald’s artifacts, supposedly under the protection of the Reynald Society,” he said scornfully.
“I heard that horn and I almost ran away like a little school girl,” Jared said, embarrassed.
“Fortunately we are just at the edge of the horn’s range.”
“But, that didn’t scare you?”
“Not at this range,” Sheridan said, without looking back. “I don’t feel emotions the way you do.”
“What does that mean?”
“Shh,” Sheridan hissed and doubled his step until they were jogging as fast as the narrow trail allowed.
They pushed through the overgrowth of bushes and branches until they broke into a cozy, peaceful meadow, a cul-de-sac embraced by rock walls. Sheridan was the first to spy Charlotte’s limp form lying motionless in the tall grass. He jolted forward, at her side in an instant, his black bag dropped carelessly along the way. His eyes wide with panic, Sheridan lifted Charlotte into his arms, anxiously studying her face as he brushed hair from her eyes. “Charlotte?” he whispered, but she only moaned in reply.
Jared arrived at his side as Sheridan patted the girl’s cheeks. “Is she all right?” he asked.
“She’s alive. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
A harsh sound, someone clearing their throat, caused Jared to turn. Just above them, he saw Sarah standing at the entrance to a cave he hadn’t previously noticed. She watched, gloating, with the backs of her wrists resting on her hips.
“Sarah?” Jared asked, confused as much by her presence as by the rush of longing that always came when she was nearby.
At the sight of her, Sheridan’s expression hardened, became venomous. He gently laid Charlotte back onto the grass and stood over her, drawing a taser into each hand. Jared recognized the grim, determined look of someone ready for a fight they did not expect to win.
“If the horn appears, do not let her blow it,” Sheridan said to Jared. “At this range, it may kill us both. It will certainly kill Charlotte.”
Sheridan started towards Sarah, but stopped as Michael, Andrew, and the other boy emerged from the cave to take her side, each of them pale and showing fangs behind malicious grins. Michael dangled an old horn in his hand, taunting.
Jared saw Sheridan’s fingers squeeze around his weapons, saw his sharp eyes darting from one person to the other, sizing them up. Jared gave his own weapons a blank look, as if they might as well be cooking utensils. He looked up to Sarah again, and felt his wall crumbling.
“You picked the wrong side, didn’t you,” she said, then looked to Sheridan, whose smoldering rage delighted her. “We have a vengeful lover! Hold on there, lover-boy. There’s still a chance for your precious girlfriend, though I’ll admit, it’s not a good one.” She frowned, offering condescending sympathy for Charlotte’s limp form. “She got a pretty good dose.”
Michael nodded, sneering, and showed them the horn.
“This is from a horn?” Jared said.
“You’re not very sexy when you’re dense, Jared,” Sarah said reprovingly.
“But—“
“Everything I told you is completely true,” Sheridan told him, grimacing, eyes fixated on Sarah. “She is a vampire. And now, it appears that she has minions. It’s us or them.”
As if in answer to Jared’s perplexed expression, Sarah’s jaw cracked and she showed him two rows of impossible, wickedly sharp fangs. A primal fear engulfed Jared then, setting him back on his heels. It was the same fear he had experienced at seeing the jaws of Sheridan’s experiments, the instinctive panic that came in the presence of evil. He stared into her hideous face and knew that she was a monster.
The delicate wall that Jared had only just built came crashing down.
Just as fast, Sarah’s fangs disappeared. She shrugged, as if the gesture explained everything. But, to his shame, Jared still wanted her, as if the nakedness of her evil intoxicated him.
“I was going to tell you, eventually,” Sarah said, then turned to Sheridan. “The horn took your girl, and only the horn can bring her back. You can try to take it by force, but…” she surveyed her companions, and let the thought trail. “You can fight and die like food, or we can make a trade.”
“I don’t have the Ring of Destiny,” Sheridan said.
“You’re smart. Find it. I’ll give you until first period Monday morning.” Sarah’s eyes drifted down towards Charlotte. “Do you think she’ll last that long?”
Sheridan brooded, then put his weapons away. Wary of betrayal, he bent, scooped Charlotte into his thin arms and rose onto wobbling limbs. His cheeks flushed with the strain as he gave Jared a silent, pathetic plea.
The former wrestler stepped forward to help, but stopped when Sarah called his name. He turned to look up to her and found himself pinned by her golden, trance-inducing stare. And then he jumped, his body jolted by the unconscious expectation of electrical shock that did not come. The dizzying need for her presence, however, remained. Despite all sensibility, Jared wanted to go to Sarah, to stand beside her, to be as close to her as possible. His mind, already clouded, slipped behind his unearthly desire and Jared felt his feet shifting in the grass.
“Jared!” Sheridan’s voice cracked with urgency.
Jared turned, saw Charlotte’s long twitching body drooping in the pathetic boy’s arms and shook the cobwebs from his mind. “Of course,” he mumbled and gently scooped Charlotte into his thick arms.
Sarah gaped, then glared at Sheridan. “Does everyone practice magic in this town?”
“You’ll have to blame Pavlov’s dog, this time,” Sheridan said, backing away with weapons raised as Jared carried Charlotte from the clearing.
“Whatever,” Sarah said. “Monday morning!”
Jared ducked through the trees, turning to shield Charlotte’s body from hanging branches, and left the clearing behind. He heard Sheridan following closely. “I don’t know what happened back there,” Jared said, hurrying as fast as his limp would allow. “I almost—“
“A lot. Don’t stop.”
“I don’t want to be a vampire, but—was that the glamour?”
“You foiled the glamour. I conditioned you with the taser, during Flavius’s assault.”
“Then—“
“Demon blood,” Sheridan said. “One of your parents has demon blood—Tayloew blood, to be precise—and has passed it to you. Don’t slow down,” he hissed when Jared tried to stop and turn. They pushed on and Sheridan continued. “Hence your preternatural attraction to the vampire, though no doubt your hormones played their parts as well.”
“Preternatural?”
“Tayloew’s are your classic minion demons. They are drawn to power and evil, typically in mindless hoards.”
“Oh,” Jared said because he could think of nothing else. He felt he should be offended, but the news was too shocking. Now the world he knew contained vampires, magic horns, and Tayloew demons. He thought of Meredith and Henry and all the trouble he had never been able to prevent himself from getting into. “That kind of makes sense,” Jared said. “I’ve always—“ He slowed, and again Sheridan pushed him on.
“Jared. I’m sorry, but Charlotte is in great danger.”
Her body was wet with sweat, and she was beginning to whimper. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s caught in the grips of terror. If we do not find help for her soon, she will lose her mind forever.”
Jared settled her weight in his arms and pushed himself harder.
Chapter Thirteen
Demon blood, Jared thought, his mind racing.
In his arms, Charlotte was beginning to spasm unpredictably, making the journey harder, but they were close to the parking lot. And then where? Jared wondered. Her cheeks were streaked with tears now, and Charlotte was murmuring unintelligibly, moaning. She was getting worse. Jared would carry her as far as he needed to, but she was getting heavier, he was breathing harder, and his mind was distracted.
Demon blood, he thought again and again. Drawn to evil.
His thoughts turned to Henry, the friend his father reviled enough to move Jared three thousand miles to separate them. The two had been constant companions from the moment they had met on the first day of junior high, though Jared could never put his finger on why, being the unlikeliest of pairs. In grocery stores, Henry squeezed loaves of bread like he was playing an accordion, stole comic books and candy bars, and he encouraged Jared to do the same; once, Jared had done just that and the guilt weighed so heavily that he had nightmares for the following week; he left the trouble-making to Henry from then on, always disapproving but unable to pull himself from the boy’s sphere of influence. Jared was drawn to Henry in a way he couldn’t explain to his father, who recognized the trouble in his friend from the start.
“You’re a good kid,” Jared remembered his father telling him. “Hanging out with a boy like that is going to get you into real trouble one day.” That was after the two boys had been caught throwing frozen eggs through the neighbor’s windows. Jared took the blame for that one, because if his father knew it was Henry’s idea, that Jared had followed the boy into trouble despite his own certainty that they were doing wrong, John Wasson would’ve forbidden his son from ever seeing Henry again.
It took a summer of work to pay the damages, and hours of volunteer service to regain the trust of his neighbors, but it took Jared much longer to feel good about himself again. Henry found Jared’s repentance a constant source of amusement. That was not the first time Jared had weighed the value of their friendship and found the results lacking, but he couldn’t bring their friendship to an end. And he couldn’t explain why, but he needed Henry.
Then the accident happened. After a summer of work, Jared dropped into Henry’s weight class. For the first time, the boys competed for the same spot on the varsity wrestling team, and Jared won. Despite the enthusiastic congratulations, Jared sensed his friend’s anger. After school, when Jared tried to apologize, Henry challenged him to race up the oak tree at the edge of campus; it was a game the two had played many times before. They jostled their way side by side into the thinnest branches near the top, cackling and taunting each other. Jared had nearly won when Henry slipped—he claimed—knocking the championship wrestler from the branch to fall twenty feet to the ground and breaking his femur.
We shouldn’t have ever been friends, Jared thought. We were never alike. Was this the demon blood as well? And where did the blood come from?
They broke into the parking lot where Jared was surprised to find Red Cloud waiting with his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the side of his gold Prius. At the sight of them, the big man lurched to their aid. He offered to take Charlotte, but Jared shook him off and Red Cloud opened the passenger door instead. Jared slid into the back seat with Charlotte still in his arms, expecting they would take her to the Reynald emergency center, but what could a doctor do for her? Did the doctors in this town know how to deal with the Horn of Fear? Was Jared the only one who didn’t know about vampires and magic and demons?
We can make a trade, Sarah had said.
“What happened?” Red Cloud asked as Sheridan slid into the rear passenger seat.
“The Horn of Fear.” Sheridan looked to Red Cloud expectantly.
The man nodded, surprised and grim. “We’ll take her to my place,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat. Sheridan cradled Charlotte’s head on his thigh, gently stroking her hair as the Native American put the Prius into gear.
Red Cloud owned a cabin near the Lookout. When the Prius lurched to a stop on the dirt driveway, three car doors opened at once. Jared climbed out with Charlotte, her murmuring growing darker, her spasms more desperate. He followed Red Cloud onto the porch with Sheridan at his heels.
“Shouldn’t we take her to a hospital?”
“Medical doctors are good for cancers and tumors,” the big man said, holding the door as Jared eased Charlotte through the entryway. “There is nothing they can do for this.” Inside, the cabin was like a museum, decorated with artifacts from many cultures and time periods.
Red Cloud guided Jared into a room, gesturing for him to place Charlotte on the bed. He knelt beside her, covered her jerking body with an afghan and laid a palm over her forehead, his brows drawing together as he took her measure.
“Are you certain it was the Horn of Fear?” Red Cloud asked.
Sheridan answered from the doorway, arms folded across his chest. “There is no doubt.”
Red Cloud took Charlotte’s pulse. “She has taken a powerful blast.” He looked thoughtfully down at the floor.
“Can you help her?” Sheridan asked.
“I can journey for her—“
“She doesn’t need magic. She needs medicine. Herbs, or something.”
Red Cloud scowled at the boy. “Well, let’s just go scrape some bark and brew it into a tea, then. That cures everything.”
Sheridan grunted.
“I’ll do what I can.” Red Cloud gestured towards the door. “Now go outside. Both of you. Your energy is disturbing. Don’t knock over the crystals on your way out.”
The boys relented.
Jared sat on the porch, watching while Sheridan paced, hands jammed into the pockets of his coat. Jared had only a vague notion of what Red Cloud meant by a journey, but the Native American seemed the unlikeliest of shamans, and what could a journey actually accomplish? Judging by Sheridan’s increasing rate of pace, he doubted that the boy expected anything positive to come of Red Cloud’s efforts. So why were they here?
They were quiet for a long while, the faint droning of a drum emerging from within the house. Jared listened, wondering what the drumming meant. Finally, Sheridan spoke up, his pacing uninterrupted.
“I screwed up,” he told his shoes. His face tightened, became even paler. “Charlotte wanted to kill the vampire the moment she arrived, but I stopped her. She was right, as always. But I told her that Sarah wasn’t a vampire. I lied. Now Lenny and Meliah are dead—I couldn’t have prevented those murders; she had only just arrived—but Flavius, Michael, Andrew—“
“But they’re not all dead,” Jared said. “Michael and the others—“
“There’s no coming back.” Sheridan looked at the back of his hands. “That’s blood on my conscience, but I hardly noticed until…” Sheridan stopped, tipping his head back to gaze at the sky, then down at Jared with a look of unbridled emotional agony. “I wanted the ring for myself, you see.”
“Why?” Jared asked, surprised. “What does it do?”
Red Cloud interrupted, emerging from the house to wave them in.
The boys sat together on a leather couch—Jared slouching while Sheridan leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows on his knees—while Red Cloud chose a comfortable, leather recliner. On the opposite wall, Jared noticed a collection of frightening, carved wooden masks. 
“I won’t waste my breath trying to explain to you the particulars of your friend’s predicament. The horn is powerful magic.”
Sheridan grunted, but Red Cloud ignored him.
“She is in a place of madness. The only hope for Charlotte is the same magic that put her there—find the Horn of Fear, and destroy it.”
“Grind it into dust and administer it through a serum?” Sheridan asked, visibly relieved.
“We must break the horn to break its spell. That is part of the ritual.” Sheridan slapped his knees and lurched up, to pace the living room while Red Cloud continued. “Whatever your feelings about my methods, know that that girl’s only hope is to retrieve the Horn of Fear, and soon.”
Sheridan stopped and said, “How soon?”
“Twenty-four hours, but sooner is better.”
Sheridan returned to pacing, the knuckle of a forefinger just under his nose. Despite the contemptuous attitude, Jared noticed that the boy took Red Cloud seriously.
“She is strong,” Red Cloud said. “Though her body is no longer safe, her spirit is using what I’ve taught her,. And she is fiercely stubborn.”
Sheridan gave a faint nod, agreeing. 
“Sarah offered a trade,” Jared said. “She’ll give us the horn if we give her the Ring of Destiny.”
Red cloud shrugged indifferently while Sheridan ignored the comment altogether.
“Do you have it?” Red Cloud asked.
“No,” Jared said, his eyes downcast.
Sheridan vented his frustration. “The legends say that once Reynald wore the ring, he never removed it. A plain silver ring! In his portraits, in accounts of his appearance, the man wore many rings, but none of them plain. If it were the Necklace of Destiny, I’d have found it. I need help, Red Cloud, and I’ve no idea where to find it.” The admission galled him. “I. Need. Help.”
“Then perhaps yer looking in the wrong place,” a voice croaked next to Jared, causing him to jump from the couch where a small, gnarled creature reclined comfortably, grinning. Looking for reassurance, Jared turned to Sheridan, who eyed the creature with loathing; Red Cloud rose, reacting angrily, but no one was doing anything about the intruder’s presence, and where did it come from, anyway?
“You’re not welcome here,” Red Cloud hissed.
The creature smiled smugly, flashing yellow teeth. “Ah, but young master Helms beckoned me. When my master calls, Maloch answers.”
Red Cloud turned his anger on Sheridan. “Now you’re dealing with the gren?”
“As an experiment,” Sheridan said testily.
“And what of him?” Red Cloud gestured towards Jared. “How does he see it, or hear it?”
Before Sheridan could answer, Maloch turned his toothy grin on Jared. “The boy is part demon.”
Red Cloud’s eyes widened. He looked to Sheridan, who returned a slight nod, as if the news were trivial.
“But I did not call you, Maloch,” Sheridan said.
“Oh, but ye did. Oiy need help, ye said, and here oiy am. Where else would oiy be, until ye release me. Two boons—“
“Three.”
The gren’s smile broadened, but Jared sensed a swelling menace in the creature’s presence. “Oiy’ll not stay here forever. Oiy’ll not be yer slave. Ye caught me fair, so three boons ye get, and it’s time to ask. Ye need help, and oiy’m your gren. Ask for the Ring of Destiny, and Oiy’ll give it to ye, and we’ll be that much closer to fulfilling our contract, like proper gentlefolk.”
“And if I asked you to save Charlotte’s life?”
“No!” the Native American shouted, lurching to his feet.
Maloch rubbed his stubby fingers together. “Two boons at once! Now yer trading proper-like.”
“How would you do it?” Sheridan demanded.
Maloch raised his right hand, the thumb and middle finger resting against each other. “Oiy’d snap my fingers, and yer wish becomes my command.”
“No,” Red Cloud said, looming over Sheridan. “Boy, you’re messing with powers beyond your ken.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing!” Sheridan snapped, then asked Maloch, “but she wouldn’t be whole, would she? She wouldn’t be herself. You’d find a way to rob me of her.”
Maloch played hurt. “Ye wish, and oiy grant. Wish well, boy, and the world is yours.”
“You can’t—“ Red Cloud started.
“And I won’t.” But Sheridan showed the pain of his temptation. “Go away, Maloch. You’re wasting my time.”
Maloch’s smile faded. He snapped his fingers, disappearing in a twinkling cloud of resentment.
“I thought you didn’t believe in magic?” Red Cloud said.
“Maloch is an on-going experiment, nothing more. His skills have nothing to do with magic, but I have no time no to decipher his modality. I know he’s dangerous, Red Cloud. I won’t make a mistake.”
Red Cloud sniffed. “You’ve got the dragon by the teeth, boy. I don’t know how you caught him, but you risk much in holding the gren to his honor.”
“I’ll deal with him later. I hate this town. I hate this life. The only thing I care about is Charlotte! We must find that ring.”
The two began conversing, exchanging ideas in a type of shorthand that left Jared feeling useless. He checked his watch, noting that he was late for dinner—again—and this time his father had been very specific. “I have to go,” he said. The two stopped and stared, bewildered. “I’m supposed to be home, to meet my father. I can come back and help… later.” Jared shrugged, wondering what he could possibly do and wishing he’d not seen the gren, that he’d ignored Sheridan’s call and stayed home playing Fallout.
Sheridan appeared about to object when Red Cloud told him, “There’s nothing the boy can do now, anyway. But we may need you tonight,” he told Jared.
“No problem. I just need to make an appearance.”
Sheridan nodded and Jared left, escaping Red Cloud’s cabin as quickly as he could. It was almost five o’clock when he reached his home and the sun was setting. His father was already there, waiting at the dining table with a spread of cold Chinese takeout and a displeased look. Jared slid sheepishly into a chair opposite his father, hoping his display of contrition would be enough.
They dished their plates quietly, his father seething and Jared feeling horribly guilty, but he couldn’t help being distracted; he didn’t know Charlotte well, but the thought that her fate was in his hands—and Sheridan’s—was frightening and exhilarating, and here he was, dishing Almond Chicken and sneaking the extra egg roll. After all, he was famished.
“Were you out with your friends? Dave… and those other guys?” his father said, twirling his fork for emphasis. Every word was an accusation.
“No. Well, I was earlier. I played some video games with them at the Seven-Eleven. But then I met up with this other guy, Sheridan. We—“ Jared caught himself, unsure how to explain his predicament: his girlfriend was a vampire; Sheridan was some kind of supernatural detective; a cheerleader was on the verge of insanity because of an old horn; a magical creature called a gren was granting wishes that nobody wanted. Better not, Jared decided, and stuffed a wad of almond chicken into his mouth. They had come to Reynald to get Jared away from trouble.
“Sheridan who? Do I know him?”
“He’s my lab partner in science class, and no, you haven’t met him.”
“What’s his last name, again?”
His father was prying. Jared knew where the conversation was headed, but he played innocent. “Helms, I think.” He bit the lion share of an egg roll and chewed heartily, hoping his father would stop asking questions and eat. Jared couldn’t help the sense that Red Cloud and Sheridan needed him, that they were waiting, and time was running out.
“Helms,” his father said, tapping the Moo Shoo Pork with his fork. “Isn’t that the family that lives in the rundown house on Martin Street?”
Jared nodded, shoving the rest of the egg roll into his mouth before he’d finished chewing the first bite.
“If rumors can be believed, your friend’s parents are the town drunks. Their home certainly looks the part. This is your new friend?”
“He’s not a friend,” Jared complained around a mouthful of food and then swallowed. “He’s my lab partner. I’m helping him with some kind of tracking experiment; we had work to do in the woods by the park.”
His father dropped the pretense of eating and leaned back into his chair. “So you and this friend of yours are running around in the woods now?” He gestured with both hands, the way he did when he was angry.
“It’s an experiment. For school. And I told you, he’s not my friend.”
“Well, is he a good student?”
“Dad, can we just eat? I have a lot of homework to do tonight.”
His father was quiet for a moment, but he watched Jared all the while. “I’m a little concerned, Jared. We left Gainesville for a reason. I don’t want to see—“
“It’s nothing like before, dad—“
“No?” His father pointed towards the front door with his fork. “You’re home late. You’re hanging out with the town trouble-maker, and now you’re telling me you’re running around in the woods together?” He shook his head. “I can’t do this again.”
“Dad!”
“I let you make your own choices with that Henry kid, and look where that got us? We’re on our own, buddy. I can’t watch over you all the time.”
Jared resented the reminder. They had been on their own since his mother had died when he was five; his father had never remarried or, as far as Jared knew, dated again, which was somehow Jared’s fault as well, he felt.
“I’m working hard to give you a good life, to get you into a good college, but you have to help me.”
“I know,” Jared growled, not wanting to show his agitation but they had had this conversation many times, and Charlotte needed him.
“Then tell me why this is happening again.”
“It’s not—“
“No? You come bounding in here—you’re bouncing on your seat like you’ve got ants in your pants, like you can’t wait to get back out there to Sheridan, or Dave, or whomever, to do whatever. It’s dark out!”
“It’s five o’clock.”
“There’s no good reason to be out there.”
“I…” Jared slumped in his seat, staring down at his plate. “You won’t understand,” he grumbled.
“Try me.” John Wasson folded his arms across his chest and waited.
Jared wanted to explain, but nothing he could tell his father would make any sense to anyone; he would end up in that padded cell in the Bellevue hospital after all. “May I be excused?” he asked finally. “I have a lot of homework to do.”
“You haven’t even finished your dinner.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
His father grunted his disapproval. “Up to you.”
Jared scraped his dish clean before loading it into the washer. He wanted to reassure his father, but the truth was, he had fallen in with a bad crowd. The sooner he helped to save Charlotte, the sooner he could wash his hands of them and settle down to a normal, quiet teenage life. He said nothing as he went downstairs to his den and hung the do not disturb sign on the knob, hoping that would keep his father at bay for a few hours.
His phone vibrated and Jared saw a text from Charlotte’s phone, which had to be Sheridan. Meet me at the town library. Parking lot. Hurry. Jared turned on the radio to KPBX—a classical radio station that broadcasted out of Seattle—as was his custom while studying, and used his desk chair to climb out the window.
Chapter Fourteen
Sheridan saw Jared jogging—despite the limp—into the parking lot within minutes of his message, which was not soon enough. Could the boy be trusted? Sheridan was used to having Charlotte at his back, but now he needed to trust someone new, untested; if his plan failed, he was going to need someone who could fight, and Jared was strong, at least physically.
Jared arrived, barely winded, but wincing at the discomfort in his leg. “How is she?”
Sheridan was already walking towards the library entrance. “Worse.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“We talk to the one man who might know the ring’s whereabouts, if he doesn’t have it himself.”
Jared grunted. They were almost to the doors when he blurted, “You’re a demon too, right?”
Sheridan stopped, turned and arched a brow.
“Well, I, uh, I assumed—that’s how you know about these creatures, right? That magical thing that kept talking about boons, and vampires, and… stuff.”
“While I have my own knack for finding evil, I am not a demon. Neither is Charlotte. That curse, I’m afraid, is yours alone.”
“Then—“
“At the playground, we mentioned the Gift. That’s what I call it. The Gift is rare, passed down through generations, usually on the mother’s side; some genetic anomaly which allows one to perceive an unexpurgated reality. Normal people—especially adults—tend to forget when they encounter something supranatural. The gifted do not.”
They started again towards the door, which Jared leapt to open, holding it for Sheridan. “Well, maybe I’m gifted too,” he said, eyes bright with hope. “Maybe I’m not a demon.”
“In much the same way that I recognize evil, you are drawn to it,” Sheridan said as he passed the boy. “If it’s any consolation, you’re only part demon; even if you are Taeylow.”
From inside the foyer, Sheridan saw Mangus at his desk, berating a disgruntled but submissive Albina. The librarian’s voice was a whisper, but the sharpness of his gestures, the redness of his face, was unmistakable. From the stacks, the great hulking assistant saw Sheridan’s entrance and lumbered warily out to meet him.
Sheridan turned to the statue of Reynald, his eyes scanning the figure rapidly for clues. Mangus, being the leader of the Reynald Society—which Sheridan knew was far more than a simple historical club—was unlikely to form the town founder’s statue with anything less than a perfect representation, and he had the materials to do just that. Sheridan hoped the replication would offer some clue to the frontiersman’s greatest artifact, but he had been down this road before, and, as now, emerged with nothing. Each finger was adorned with one or more intricately designed rings—none of them plain, none of them the fabled Ring of Destiny. He noted the necklace of flattened silver, the rune covered medieval breast plate and great helm.
For a demon, Reynald really had a poor sense of style.
The giant of an assistant stomped towards him with shoulders pulled back and elbows bent slightly out, as if he were carrying luggage.
Sheridan approached the giant as casually as he could manage, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, as if the man were no more of a threat than an unseen insect. The giant grunted happily, tightening his ham-sized fists as he strode to meet the boys.
“Darryl,” Mangus called softly.
The giant stopped, grunting dissatisfaction, but did not turn aside.
Sheridan rounded the big man without breaking stride, and Jared followed, giving Darryl a wider berth.
Albina glared at Sheridan before sulking away, as her father commanded with a gesture.
“You have something I want,” Sheridan said as he stopped in front of the desk.
“This is a library. We have all sorts of things that people want. Books, mostly.”
“Ah, yes. But I want more than a book. I want the Ring of Destiny.”
Mangus’s eyes narrowed, his lips thinned. He glanced nervously about the library—which was nearly empty—to make certain no one else was in range of hearing. “Perhaps you would like our fantasy section.” He gestured towards the west wing.
“You hold a collection of our great founder’s artifacts.”
Mangus laid both wrists on the counter’s edge, his fingers folded into loose fists, as he appraised his interrogator. “We hold a number of his possessions—in trust for the community.”
“Yes, but some are more valuable than others. It seems you’ve lost one of those.” Sheridan delighted in the man’s discomfort. “And here I thought your little group was just a historical society.”
Mangus raised his chin to look down at him. “My boy, I don’t have time—“
“Your home was robbed earlier, and then a particular horn—not much to look at, really—appeared in the wrong hands. A horn that has left my friend quite out of sorts.”
“Regrettable.” Mangus drummed his fingers on the counter. “There has been a lapse in our security, which we will correct shortly.” 
“I’m going to help you. I’m going to get you your horn, and it will only cost you—a plain, silver ring.”
Mangus scoffed. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m not asking.”
“Aren’t you the boy who burned the Book of Secrets?” Mangus hissed.
Sheridan’s jaw twitched. He and Charlotte had destroyed the book after discovering a group of popular girls where using its pages to expose the darkest secrets of their enemies.
Mangus continued. “Well, I don’t have your ring. And even if I did, you’re not the only one who wants it.”
“The vampire—“
“I’m not speaking of her. The Magi are in town.” When Sheridan was unable to mask his ignorance, Mangus gave a triumphant smirk. “You know nothing of the Magi? Then you’re not as smart as you believe.”
“Part of your order?”
Mangus scoffed. “No, though the Magi are nearly as old. Corn fed boys and girls, mostly, steeped in the knowledge and gifts of the supernatural. Unlike you and your friends, these are the true hunters of evil, a term for which the Magi have a rather broad definition.” His eyes flicked towards Jared. “No, they are here for the vampire, but they will take the horn, the ring, and anything else that rises above or below the level of humanity. They have the trail of your vampire. Now, it’s only a matter of time.”
“I have to save Charlotte,” Sheridan said through gritted teeth.
“”I wish I could help,” Mangus said with feigned pity. “But the less the Magi know of us, the better.”
“Then I’ll tell them all about you.”
“Oh, I mean us,” Mangus said, amused. “The Magi are quite possessive of their perceived prerogative. They are the preservers of the mortal world. They will not take kindly to you and your friends. They most certainly will not take pity upon your girl’s plight.”
Sheridan gave the librarian a final glare, but there was nothing more to say. He turned and strode back the way he had come. Jared followed, looking nervous. Once outside, he paused to reassess the situation.
“What just happened in there?” Jared said.
“I failed.” Sheridan raised a knuckle to cover his upper lip.
Jared, however, looked hopeful. “What about these Magi? Is it possible—“
“Mangus fears them. I doubt I will fare better. There is only one thing left to do.” Sheridan hoped his friend was up for it. “I’m going to the science lab. I want you to buy ten bars of soap—bars—and meet me at the lab as soon as possible.”
“What?”
“The ring—if it is in Reynald, if it exists at all—is outside my reach. We’ll have to go for the horn directly. We attack the vampire tonight. We’ll destroy her minions, her nest, and take the horn ourselves.”
“But—“
“It’s the only way to save Charlotte,” Sheridan said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his need. “If you want to quit, Jared, now is the time.”
The two met each other’s eyes for a long moment, sizing each other up.
“Soap?” Jared said.
“Ten bars.”
“Ok.” Jared jogged out of the parking lot, grimacing as he went.
Sheridan hurried for the lab, running a checklist through his mind. After the soap, and a trip to the gas station, everything he needed would be there.
***
Sarah led her brood under the cover of darkness, cutting between houses and crossing streets, taking care not to be seen. Michael followed closely; for once he was quiet, using his newly sharpened senses and showing the proper caution; he understood that they had enemies about, while the others giggled behind her like a pack of hungry hyenas, whispering to each other the names of those they would drink.
“I’m going to kill Gabe Abness, and I’m not even going to drink his blood,” Parsons whispered, to Andrews delight.
Parsons. Sarah had relearned the boy’s name for probably the tenth time since she had recruited the group to help her find the ring. She expected to forget his name again, even if she had to kill the boy herself.
“Shh!” Michael hissed at the others, who giggled and lowered their voices, but they were still trading names.
“Idiots,” Sarah whispered, to no one in particular. If the boys brought on trouble, she would leave them behind. As far as Sarah was concerned, Andrew and Parsons were already dead. Which, of course, they were. Even that irony was not enough to break her foul mood. Her plans were in shambles. If it wasn’t for the dynamic duo of know-it-alls, she would have her boyfriend. If it wasn’t for the Magi, she would have her ring; she would know love, romance and all things mortal again—until the game no longer suited her.
But the Magi had come for her. They were trained hunters, the killers of all things not human, and the jerk-wads had it in for Sarah. Most likely they had picked up her trail as she had killed her way through Wyoming. Probably she had killed one of their kin. Even if the brutes were seeking vengeance, the Magi had no right to deprive Sarah of the life that had been taken from her once already. Every girl had the right to be young.
“Are you sure that leaving the cave is the right move?” Michael whispered next to her. Sarah gave the young vampire a hard look. “It just seems like the cave was safe,” Michael continued, ignoring the warning.
“You think?”
“It’s not like anyone could sneak up on us.”
“And there’d be a chance to flee, if we were discovered?” she asked, noting the look of recognition in his eyes. For an idiot, he had potential—if he lived long enough. “Jared and that paste-eater found us.”
“Yeah, but—“
“And the Magi will be checking the woods.”
“But a cave? Who would think—“
“Where do you think vampires live, Michael? You think we live in gothic mansions, that we mold into society and become investment brokers, shedding our identities every ten years or so before anyone recognizes that we never age?”
Michael’s look said that was exactly what he thought. Come to think of it, that wasn’t a bad idea. But not with the Magi around, and they were everywhere, it seemed. Sarah found herself wondering if not all vampires lived in the wild, hunting like beasts the way Devorout had taught her. Perhaps there was another way to live, but at the rate Sarah killed, she found the notion of hiding in plain sight difficult. Of course, she wasn’t always hungry when she killed, and feeding did not have to be so messy. But the Magi seemed to sense the presence of vampires from miles. How could her kind survive in the open, with the mortal hunters always at their heels?
“The Magi will expect me to go to ground. A cave is exactly where they would expect to find me. Besides, I don’t trust those two to stick to our deal. I need leverage. And you boys need to feed. I need you all to be as strong as possible.
“Are you sure this is the way?” Sarah asked, looking about the unfamiliar neighborhood.
Michael grinned. “I’ve lived in this town for my whole life. I know every house, every occupant. I could find my way through Reynald, blindfolded.”
Sarah brought them to a halt. “And where is your house?”
His grin faded. “Just down the next street.” He half-gestured the way, blinking.
Sarah looked at her scrawny, pale minions; her last line of defense. “We’ll need to stop for a snack.” She started again, changing direction, and Michael caught up beside her.
“But—my baby sister?”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Get over it, already. You’re going to live forever. She’s food, now. Get used to it.” Michael’s lips twitched, but he said nothing as he pointed the way to his home, where his family was waiting for him.
***
With a bag of soap in hand, Jared tapped at the science lab window. Sheridan appeared, peeking through the blinds, and gestured for them to meet at the nearest entrance, where the boy handed him a simple respirator. Jared chose not ask about the mask, or the key. The echo of their footsteps in the dark, empty halls made him anxious, the way Jared had often felt when following Henry into trouble.
Even outside the lab door, the smell of gasoline was potent. Both of the boys slipped on their respirators and entered. Jared was instructed to shave the bars of soap into a tub. Sheridan wanted the flakes as thin as possible, and shortly after Jared started the work, as he observed Sheridan’s efforts with the gasoline, he figured out what they were doing.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jared asked, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
“Vampires burn, Jared, but the horn will not,” Sheridan answered testily. “In approximately thirty minutes we’ll be outside the cave. If you can find a better way to retrieve the horn and save Charlotte before then—“
“What about Maloch?”
“No.”
“Maybe trying a wish—“
“No!” Sheridan barked, startling Jared. Then his anger subsided. “The gren are tricksters,” he explained, almost apologetic. “Even if Maloch could save Charlotte, there would be a price—a price I would gladly pay, but I fear that price would fall to Charlotte.” Sheridan observed their operation, drawing satisfaction from the process. “No, we need science, not carnival magic.”
Jared brought the soap to Sheridan’s table and watched as his friend cooked the ingredients, pouring the result into three mason jars. “What if we start a fire?” he asked.
“That is the point.”
“I mean a forest fire. The whole town could burn.”
“Then let it,” Sheridan said, and Jared knew he meant it.
They packed the sealed jars into Sheridan’s messenger bag and were leaving the building when Jared swallowed his fear and said, “I’ll go in first.”
Sheridan gave him a confused look.
“Sarah wants me for some reason. She wants me to join them. When we get to the cave, I’ll pretend to give her what she wants. Maybe I can grab the horn and run.”
Sheridan appeared stunned, but after a moment he shook his head. “That’s too dangerous,” he said as he cinched the bag over his shoulder and started walking.
Jared caught up to him. “You’re carrying home-made napalm, and you think my plan is too dangerous?”
“Touché.”
Chapter Fifteen
Even before they reached the cave, Jared knew that Sarah was gone.
“How?” Sheridan asked.
“You said I was drawn to evil. Now that I know why, it makes sense.” Sheridan was still looking at him. “It’s a feeling,” Jared said, finding it difficult to explain. “A longing. That’s the best I can describe right now. When she’s next to me, the sensation is… overwhelming. But when I get near—My point is: I don’t feel anything here.”
Sheridan surveyed the empty cave and cursed. Using a flashlight from his bag, he began a frantic search of the small clearing. After a few moments, he paused, called to Jared. “Here,” he said, marking a place in the grass with his light, but Jared saw nothing. Before he could ask, Sheridan led him through the trees. But after a few minutes, the seemingly invisible trail gone cold, Sheridan led him back to the meadow and began again. The cycle repeated a number of times—the markings always oblivious to Jared—until the boy gave up, exasperated.
“It’s too dark for tracking,” Jared said.
“At my skill level, at least,” Sheridan said, giving the flashlight in his hand a frustrated shake. “They could be anywhere, and Charlotte is running out of time.”
“Maybe I can help,” Jared said, surprising himself.
“How?”
“I’m part demon, right? Maybe I have some power—or I can channel magical forces—or something.” He looked hopeful to Sheridan, who must know, but the boy only scratched his brow while making an irritable face.
“I’m sorry to tell you, old boy, but Tayloew demons are basic minions. As far as demons go, they are just cannon fodder. They are also not very—“
“But I knew Sarah wasn’t here. That’s something, right? Maybe I’m picking up her energetic trail, or something.”
“Your genetic disposition manifests through your emotions. More than likely you were just following your—“
“I know when she’s near, and I know when she’s not. I can find her!” Jared gestured with both hands.
Sheridan was going to object, a grimace forming, but then surrendered to exasperation. He nodded and said nothing. Jared closed his eyes and asked himself, how? If he didn’t think, if he kept his mind from being a distraction, there was a vague sense of desire that vied for his attention. He followed the sensation out of the cave.
“How—“
“Shh,” Jared hissed. “I don’t know how, but I know that if you ask me questions, if you distract me, I’ll blow it.” As it was, Jared wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t leading them to ice cream, or peanut butter filled pretzels, or anything else he desired, but he chose to set his doubts aside and trust his instinct. Sheridan followed silently as Jared led them through the woods, into the park. and then onto Main Street, where Jared began to doubt himself. When they reached his street, he knew he had made a mistake. Jared’s gut tightened. He had convinced Sheridan to trust him, to waste precious time on a foolish idea.
“I screwed up.” Jared rubbed stress from his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I’m really sorry,” he started, but Sheridan continued past him, scanning the neighborhood for any sign of Sarah and her gang.
“Why here?”
“This is my street. I blew it. I brought us to my house.” Jared gestured. When Sheridan ignored him, he said, “Did you hear me?”
“Your lights are on.”
Jared joined him. “My dad. He took the evening off so we could hang out.” The admission triggered a fresh rush of guilt. “We got in a fight and I snuck out. If he discovers—“
“Does your father have company?”
“What?” Jared stared at the living room window, where the curtains were wide open. A figure crossed the frame, carrying something over its shoulder. That must be his father, but it looked—then another figure appeared, wielding what looked like a baseball bat. The first figure reemerged, carrying a bat of its own, and the two figures began assaulting each other. They were playing, Jared realized, using the bats as swords. His chest tightened, overwhelmed by the sudden press of fear and rage.
“Dad!” he exclaimed, started for the house, but Sheridan blocked his way.
“Wait! Jared!”
“They’re in my house!” He gestured, incredulous.
Sheridan looked over his shoulder at the window, then back to Jared. “Just so. Still, you can’t go in there.” Jared easily brushed the thin boy aside, but Sheridan followed. “Think, Jared. Engage your mind. They’re waiting for you. Your father is alive.”
Jared tightened his fists, determined to fight his way through the house until he found his father.
“She’s using your father as leverage. Sarah knows that you’ll want proof of life before you’ll find the ring for her. She won’t kill him.”
Jared hesitated, looked to Sheridan, then back to the window. The figures were there, smashing their bats together, then smashing each other. Now that he was closer, Jared could make out Andrew and Parsons laughing.
“They’re not hiding themselves,” Sheridan said. “They want you to see. They want you to go in there.”
Jared squared his jaw. “Then that’s what I’m doing.”
“You can’t—“
“So we just burn my house down, kill my father, and get your horn? Is that it?”
Sheridan’s lips thinned as saw the figures inside pointing down at them. “They know we’re here.”
Jared looked up. “Then I’m going in. Like you said, she needs me. I’ll be safe.”
“I’m not always right, Jared.”
“If I’m not out in twenty minutes, burn the house down.” He strode onto the lawn while Sheridan ducked behind the large pine tree in Veronica’s yard across the street.
The front door to Jared’s home opened before he was even on the porch. Michael gloated through the screen, with Parsons just behind him. “It’s way past your curfew, young man.” When Jared reached for the screen, Michael held it closed, easily resisting Jared’s strength. “Too late. You’ll have to sleep outside with the riff raff. Come back in the morning and we’ll let you make our breakfast.”
Parsons giggled like he was choking.
“Let him in.” Jared heard Sarah’s voice behind them. Her tone was unmistakable and Michael obeyed. He and Parsons stepped aside to let Jared pass.
In Sarah’s presence, Jared felt the pull of his need for her. He had thought the effect would lessen, now that he knew the cause, but Jared felt the desire for her comfort as greater than ever. And he resented it. “Where’s my father?”
Sarah smiled coyly and held out her hand, but Jared refused. Undeterred, she led him up the stairs, into the living room, drawing him forward with a nod of her head as if she were leading him to a surprise present. The room was destroyed, littered with broken plates and cups. Andrew stood in the midst of the destruction, grinning with a baseball bat slung limply over his shoulder, broken ceramic and glass laid out in lines that emanated from him; they were playing baseball with the dinning ware, Jared realized, but that was the least of his concerns.
Sarah rounded the corner into the dining room first. What she saw caused her brow to furrow, and, a moment later, as Jared rounded the corner behind her, sent him into a heart wrenching panic. Lashed to a chair at the far end of the long table, his father sat hunched, head bowed, shirt torn, blood running from his mouth onto his chest.
“Dad?” Jared wanted to rush forward, but did not dare.
John Wasson looked up, weary and beaten, and agonized at the sight of his son. He grunted, trying to speak around a sock that was taped into his mouth. Jared wanted to race to his father’s side, but knew he couldn’t free the man—not yet. Sarah and her gang were more than Jared could handle, and his father appeared too exhausted and hurt to put up a fight. As much as it galled him, Jared needed Sarah’s permission to take his father away, or he needed Sheridan to provide a distraction. As the pale boy had said, Sarah had his father for a reason; the house was a trap, and he had walked right into it. She wasn’t about to let them go.
Thick wooden splinters lay on the chipped glass table within Jared’s easy reach. The rest of the broken chair was piled at his feet. “What did you do?” Jared said, unable to contain the quake in his voice. He did not want Sarah to know how he felt, to have that power over him.
Sarah looked to her minions, who had gathered in the living room to observe Jared’s despair. “What the hell?” She gestured.
The boys looked confused, frightened. There was some jostling, grumbling, and then the other boys separated from Parsons, pointing the blame his way. “I told him not to,” Michael said.
“I…I assumed—“
Even as Parsons stammered his apology, Sarah strode towards him and struck the boy with the back of her hand. The motion was almost trivial, but the force of the blow sent Parsons crashing backwards into the front window. The shocked boy slid down to sit on the carpet, a hand pressed to his cheek.
“Ow,” he said, surprised, and looked about to cry.
Jared took advantage of the distraction to scoop one of the splinters from the table and stuffed it into the back of his waistline, covering the weapon with his shirt.
“I didn’t tell you to kill him.” Sarah eyed her minions reprovingly. “I didn’t tell you to hurt him. I said watch him. How hard is that to understand?”
“I think he assumed that, since we killed my family…” Michael saw the darkness in her glare and let his sentence trail off.
Her anger forgotten, Sarah sauntered seductively to her hostage’s side. She laid a comforting arm across his shoulders while gently patting the man’s chest with her other hand. “Nobody so much as scratches this man without my permission. After all, we might be family someday.” She gave Jared a winsome smile that sent a cold shiver through his spine.
“You have me now. Let him go,” Jared said, his mouth dry.
Sarah strolled around the table, her finger tracing a line on the glass, to take Jared’s clammy hand. “Let’s talk in private,” she told him. 
Jared gave his father a pregnant look as she pulled him from the dining room, down the stairs, to his den. He had no choice but to follow. His sports trophies and memorabilia were torn and smashed, scattered about the room. The contents of Jared’s bookcase had been spilled into a pile at its base. But on one of the otherwise bare shelves, Jared saw the horn, the one Michael had been holding at the cave; the one that Charlotte needed to save her sanity.
Sarah observed the mess and shrugged. “Boys will be boys,” she said, dropping into the Papasan chair next to his desk.
“This is all to get me to help you?”
“Not all.” Sarah chuckled. “A girl’s got a right to meet her boyfriend’s father, doesn’t she?”
“To be my girlfriend, you’d have to be human. But you’re not, are you?”
The mirth drained from Sarah’s face, leaving a wry smile. “Are you?”
They glared at each other for long minutes before Jared broke the silence. “We don’t have the ring.”
“I know.”
He let his exasperation show. “We don’t even know where it is.” Jared gestured broadly around the room.  “This whole thing is a waste of time. The Magi will find you if you stay here.”
“So you know about them?” Sarah said, impressed.
“You should go. Take whatever we have, stock up on food—“ Jared stopped himself, realizing what he was saying, and swallowed. “—and go,” he finished bravely.
“We don’t eat Kraft dinner, Jared.”
“I don’t get it. What’s so special about this ring? Does it make you more powerful? Because you’re already a badass.”
“Is that what the paste-eater told you? I didn’t choose this life, Jared.” Sarah rose with difficulty, confounded by the awkwardness of the Papasan, but retained her composure. She slunk up to Jared, her eyes never leaving his. The closer she came, the more Jared felt his need for her clouded his judgment.
“My family loved me,” she said. “My fiancé loved me, and I him. I had a destiny, Jared; a destiny that Devorout robbed from me, and I want it back.”
Jared realized what she was saying. Finally, the words made sense. “The Ring of Destiny.”
Sarah was close to him now, staring at Jared with unblinking eyes as her palm slid across his chest to his heart. “My destiny was to live a human life; to love, to grow old, to have a family—well, I wasn’t big on the family part, but it was expected of me. And I don’t want to grow too old… Anyway. All that was taken from me. Decades of wanton lust, carnage, and murder only go so far to make that up.” She took offense at Jared’s reaction. “Disappointed? I was made a killer, forced into this life. It can be so seductive. But I want more. I want the life I lost, to live like a normal person again, to hold a boy’s hand and think naughty thoughts that don’t involve blood. That’s what the Ring of Destiny will give me.”
Sarah placed a second palm onto Jared’s chest and pressed until he backed against the wall. “We can be together, Jared. We can be just a normal boyfriend and girlfriend. We can go to movies and prom, and drink beer in the park until the sun rises or the sheriff chases us home. You can surprise me with roses for no reason, and buy me presents when I’m feeling blue. And we can be together.”
Jared felt his heart racing, his head spinning. With a trembling right hand, he reached behind his back and drew the wooden splinter from his waistline. Even in the fog of his unnatural desire, Jared knew that he would never have a better chance to kill her. With Sarah gone, he would open the door for Sheridan and together they would kill the other vampires and free Jared’s father; they would save Charlotte, and Jared’s nightmare would finally come to an end. Only he couldn’t bring himself to do it. With Sarah’s lips brushing his own, her breath on his mouth, Jared felt his body grow limp. Mesmerized by her proximity, Jared felt his grip on the splinter loosen and then fail. His arms wrapped around her hips. He pulled her closer and felt his lips parting to meet hers.
They kissed for several blissful minutes before Sarah’s lips slid from his, brushing his cheek. Then there was a click, and Jared felt a stab of pain in his neck, followed by the ecstatic rush of his blood flowing into Sarah’s mouth.
Chapter Sixteen
Sheridan watched through the branches of the pine tree as the curtains of Jared’s living room closed. Only a shadow-play remained, which offered him nothing by way of information. Too much time had passed; more than he had promised. He stared down at his cache of homemade fire bombs, wondering what to do. Letting Jared go into the house alone had been a mistake. One of many, lately.
“Yer not as smart as ye thought,” Maloch croaked beside him, causing Sheridan to flinch from his reverie. The gren sat comfortably on Veronica’s lawn, his stubby legs stretched out, palms planted on the grass behind him. Sheridan glared at the creature. “Ye let that boy go in there,” Maloch said, grinning. “Now ye’ll have to choose between killing him and killing her, but then, ye don’t mind a killin’, do ye—except in an abstract way, of course. Wouldn’t it be nice to be a real boy, to feel like everyone else? That could be yer wish,” he said, eyes brightening as if the idea had only just occurred to him. “Ye have three, ye know, and we both know what happens if ye don’t use ‘em.”
“Is that even possible?” Sheridan said, doubting. “How could I trust you?”
“Well, oiy guess ye should’ve thought of that before ye set that little trap of yers. The wishin’, that’s on you, my boy.”
Maloch’s offer was new, something Sheridan had never considered before. The gren was not entirely correct; there were times when Sheridan had feelings, like now as he stared at Jared’s house; he had two friends now, both in danger and in both cases, it was his fault. Frustration tightened his chest; not the most ideal of emotions, but it was something. The shadows had ceased to dance in Jared’s living room, and Sheridan knew he must make a decision soon.
“What to do, eh?” Maloch tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Ye burn the house, ye burn yer friend and his father, but the horn will survive; perhaps ye’ll have time to save your girlfriend.” The gren shrugged. “Perhaps it’s too late for her. Ye could forgot Charlotte, find a different way to save the boy, but then, what if she could be saved?” Maloch whistled appreciatively. “It’s quite the pickle.”
Sheridan felt the anguish of his dilemma flush red on his cheeks. “If I use a wish, you’ll corrupt it somehow. And I have neither the time nor the faculty to puzzle out a full-proof request. If I ask for Charlotte back, what condition would I have her in? The same applies for Jared. And if I ask to be normal, how would you define such an existence?”
“Nothing worth doing is ever simple, is it?” Maloch rose, dusted off his trousers. “But now a ring… that’s plain and simple. Yer boy may be dead, may be turned already, but if he’s whole, that monster will trade him, the father, and the horn for her precious Ring of Destiny. One simple wish out of three; a panacea for all yer aches.”
Sheridan glared at the small being, then turned away, his next words formulating carefully in his mind.
“Oiy’m offering ye a bargain!”
With no alternative in sight, a solemn Sheridan swallowed his doubts, turned to the gren and held out his hand. His voice was harsh. His words measured. “I wish for the Ring of Destiny to be in the palm of my hand at this very moment in time and space.”
Maloch beamed a victorious smile. “Ah, yer a clever boy.” He winked.
Sheridan felt the tiny weight appear in his palm and gasped to see an enormous, sparkling diamond ring on a thin gold band. He plucked the ring and held it to reflect the street light. He marveled at the diamond’s elegance, its… modernity. Doubt crept into his mind. “The legends say that the ring is plain. And silver,” he said carefully.
“It’s a ring of destiny, to be sure,” Maloch said, beaming.
“Reynald’s ring?”
The gren’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Ah, ye should’ve been more specific. That there is a five carat diamond ring, the crown jewel of the Ring of Destiny series, courtesy of Kay’s Jewelers.” Maloch swelled with delight, savoring the rage that overcame Sheridan’s expression like a shadow. “It’s from New York,” he explained. When Sheridan failed to reply, the gren shrugged. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste. Oiy’ll trade up fer ye, but just this once.”
In a moment the ring that was worth a small fortune vanished. In its place, Sheridan felt the weight of a nylon loop, which his fingers wrapped instinctively around. The loop was large, plastic, hung down to his shoes, and it was covered in glitter. It was a hula-hoop.
Maloch’s beaming smile brightened. “From Kenner! The crown jewel of their Destiny line—a ring of destiny, ye might say. As such as every young, aspiring princess should wear.” 
Something about the hoop jarred Sheridan’s memory, demanded his attention, but he lost the thought to blinding rage. Maloch’s grin twisted into a show of mirthless malice. “Two wishes left, and my patience is wearin’ thin. Don’t ye keep me here much longer, boy. Oiy suggest ye formulate yer next wish with greater care, ‘cause oiy’m not in a generous mood.”
Sheridan started at the creature. He threw down the hoop and charged, but Maloch proved spry; the gren fled giggling across Veronica’s yard to disappear in the shrubs at the base of the tall, backyard fence. Sheridan followed, sprung to the top of the wooden fence and slid himself over to land at a run. Maloch—still giggling—ran into a small copse of trees at the back of the yard.
Sheridan followed, the futility of the chase just dawning on him when he crashed into a tree that seemed to move into his path, knocking him breathless onto his back. A hulking man in flannel and coveralls, sporting a long black beard, glared down at him. Another, smaller man appeared to the bearded man’s left, bearing a wood-tipped iron spear like a walking stick.
“You’re playing with fire, boy,” the hulking man said, not unkindly.
“The Magi, I presume?” Sheridan said and, realizing they had no intention of restraining him, rose to his feet.
“You’ve heard of us?”
Sheridan noted the plain copper hoop that ringed the hulk’s thick neck. How could I be so stupid? he thought. Sheridan brushed bits of grass from his coat, buying time to compose himself. “Your name precedes you,” he said finally.
Another man appeared to the giant’s right, a crossbow slung over his shoulder and Sheridan’s bag in his hand. “I circled the house,” the man said. “She’s in there, all right, with four—maybe five—minions, fully turned.”
“She is decisive,” the hulk said, unimpressed.
“Our best approach is the back of the house, through the garage door. Only the neighbors on the east side of the house will have a view—if they bother with their bathroom window.”
“Civilians?” asked the hulk.
“One, maybe, but he’s probably dead, or being turned.” The crossbowman opened the bag, showing Sheridan’s homemade bombs to the others.
The hulk observed the jars, and gave Sheridan a reappraising look.
“The boy has the right of it,” the spearman said. “We could take the house down with these, catch the vamps as they flee—if they escape the flames.” He raised one of the jars, noting the viscosity of the contents. “That’s some nasty stuff, boy.” He returned the jar to the bag.
“My friend is in that house. With his father.” Sheridan’s frustration grew as he realized the fates of both his friends were slipping from his grasp.
“Turning or turned, most like,” the crossbowman said.
“She’s young, your vampire; seventy—eighty years? I’ve seen her teeth,” Sheridan said, in answer to their questioning looks. “She needs two bites to turn, which requires several hours in between for the victim to recover from the initial loss of blood—longer, if she wants the new vamp to be strong.”
The Magi eyed each other, sharing unanswered questions about their mysterious guest.
Sheridan gestured towards Jared’s house. “She needs an army to battle you. If she turned Jared and his father as fast as you say, they’d be forever weak and damn useless. They may be bit; she may plan to turn them, but they’re still human right now.”
“Who are you?” the hulk demanded.
Sheridan straightened to his full height, raising his chin. “Charles Sheridan Helms. I hunt the evil in this town. Who the hell are you?”
The two soldiers shared a smirk, but the hulk only smiled—a begrudging smile that showed he was willing to accommodate the boy only so far. “You’d make a promising Magi.”
Sheridan’s eyes narrowed as he looked the men down and up. “So I can wear flannel and coveralls, and grow an uncivilized beard? I think not. I have a greater destiny,” he said, but his destiny now felt further away than ever. With the arrival of the Magi, and Jared’s capture, the Ring of Destiny—which could deliver Sheridan from suffering another day in Reynald, another minute in the grips of drunken, incompetent parents; which could place him on the doorstep of the Vidocq Society, where he belonged, where his life would have purpose—had been reduced to a bargaining chip, and all his hopes had been laid waste.
But Jared had trapped himself, had knowingly walked into danger and put Sheridan in this position. The boy felt a rage for his friend, which quickly simmered, then died. Jared made his sacrifice for his father; he was brave, and there was still the remotest hope of saving both him and Charlotte.
“I can give you the Ring of Destiny.” The words were heavy on Sheridan’s lips.
The hulk’s brows rose. “You have it?” Beside him, the spearman shifted slightly, wrapping both palms around the spear’s shaft.
“Not on me, no, but it’s not in her hands. That’s what matters.”
“The ring is a powerful artifact. If it falls into the hands of evil—“
“Agreed. If I bring you the ring, you can use it to draw her out, but I get Jared; I get his father, and I get the Horn of Fear.”
The hulk grew testy. “Your town is cluttered with these magical artifacts; evil is drawn to this place.”
“How I know, But that’s my problem. I need the horn to cure a curse; it will be destroyed in the process, I assure you.”
The hulk considered under the observation of his men, then nodded. “You have one hour, no more. If you’re not back with the ring, we deal with the nest our way. If your friends are still human, we’ll do our best to see no harm comes to them, but I can give you no guarantees.”
“Fair enough,” Sheridan said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “One hour it is.”
The deal made, Sheridan turned and ran, the edges of his trench coat flapping.
***
Jared awoke, feeling the weight upon his stomach and knowing it was Sarah before he even opened his eyes to find her watching him, gloating.
“Hello, sunshine!” she sang.
Jared moaned.
Sarah pulled a glass of orange juice from the headboard and held it to his mouth. “Drink this. I found it in your fridge.”
Ignoring her offer, Jared tried to sit up, but Sarah was unyielding with her weight and he was forced to drink. “What happened?” he asked, and then remembered. He felt the wound at his neck, and was surprised to find only a little blood. The wound was surprisingly small and delicate given the monstrous row of fangs which the vampire possessed, and he had the weakness that came with a severe loss of blood. Am I a vampire? He still felt human. He felt like a boy who had failed his father and his friends. He felt regret, hopelessness, and sorrow.
“I drank you. As much as I could without killing you. You taste delicious, by the way!” She tickled his chest playfully, but Jared remained stoic.
“Am… am I…”
She shook her head, forced Jared to take another drink. “I had to bring you as close to death as possible. I’m not sure why, but that seems to be how it works. Now we get your strength back, and then…” She giggled lightly and shrugged.
There was a noise from upstairs, a rumble of thumping like children stomping in glee, then what sounded like an agonized groan. Jared started, but he was too weak and Sarah was unyielding. “My father…”
Sarah reached over his head, returned the glass back to the headboard, then hovered over him, her calm, green eyes inches from his own. “I admit, this has not gone entirely according to plan. Your friend seems to have given you up for dead, by the way.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“You think he loves you? That boy is almost as cold as I am.”
“He won’t give up on Charlotte, and you have the horn.”
She considered, accepted his statement as fact, then sat upright, resting her palms on Jared’s belly. “The Magi probably have him. No doubt they’ve found the house by now. They’ll see I have minions. They’ll wait, try to assess the threat. As long as I have hostages, they won’t risk the life of a precious mortal.”
She rolled her eyes upward at the fresh sound of thumping and giggling upstairs. “If the Magi only knew what I’ve been reduced to. Monkeys from the zoo would make better minions.” Sarah looked over Jared’s head, lost for a moment in thought, then ran a cold finger over his bite wound, scratching lightly with her fingernail.
“You could tell me where the ring is,” she said, as if an afterthought.
Jared heard an agonized groan, certain it was his father. “I have no idea,” he said, pleading, his rage useless. “Please.” Even if he found the strength to throw Sarah from his chest, he did not have the strength to escape or fight.
Sarah grunted, her gaze thoughtful. Then her eyes brightened as she remembered something. She reached to the headboard again, then showed him the broken piece of chair he had dropped in the den, and smirked. “We should talk about this.”
“I couldn’t—“
“Of course you couldn’t,” she cooed at him as if he were an infant. “I own you.” Sarah looked up at the ceiling, delighting in the faint echoes of agony. “They’re hurting him.”
“You promised—“
“A girl gets what she wants, Jared. You want to help your father? Of course you do. You’re very noble.” She brushed her forefinger lightly under his chin. “I like that about you. Tell me where the ring is, and I’ll let him go. I’ll even let you join him. I’ll take the ring, and my minions, and leave this dreary little town forever.”
“I have no idea where the ring is. And you won’t let me go anyway, will you?”
Sarah gave a fiendish grin. She probed his wound with her fingers until he flinched. “I can’t. We’re closer than ever now. But I would let your old man go.”
“Sarah. I really don’t know.”
Her playfulness melted into a pout. “The paste-eater doesn’t know either, does he?”
Jared shook his head against the bed-sheet, hoping he wasn’t sealing his father’s fate. But if he could take advantage of her feelings for him, if Sarah was remotely capable of mercy—it was a slim chance.
Sarah sighed deeply, then shrugged it off. “Who needs mortality, anyway. It was only going to be temporary. I figured I’d stay here awhile, live a normal life, maybe marry you, maybe even have a couple of kids.” She thought about that. “Maybe. I want to grow old—er. I figure, about… ten years, and then I would take off the ring. I mean, I don’t want to die, or get wrinkles. I just want to find out what I’ve been missing.”
She gently brushed Jared’s cheek with the knuckles of her first two fingers. “And then, if we were really happy together, I could turn you, and then we could spend the rest of eternity together. Well, we can still do that—not the way I wanted, of course. And this will be harder on you. You’ll have to kill your father.”
“What?”
The look she gave him was meant to be sympathetic. “It’s part of the ritual. Trust me, it’s for the better. It’s actually kind of fun.” Her cheeks and nose scrunched together in a display of conspiratorial delight.
“No, I—“
“When you turn, which we’ll do the moment I think you’re strong enough—probably in the next forty minutes—the only way you can embrace your new life is to let go of your old one.” She saw the pain on Jared’s face, gave a patronizing moan. She took the bottom of his shirt, rolled it up towards his chin, exposing Jared’s belly and chest. “Don’t be so sad. It’s okay. The things you’re going to have to do to live—you won’t want your father to know, anyway.” She laid her nails at the top of his chest, her claws extended slightly, and dragged them down towards his belly, pressing just deep enough to scratch. “And those horrible, nasty, things…” Her smile grew devilish as she dug her claws even deeper until Jared yelped, breaking his skin, drawing thick lines of blood. “You’re going to learn to love them.”
Jared twisted and bucked, but he lacked the strength to challenge her. His chest heaved as his breath quickened with fear, but the pain continued until Sarah reached his navel and stopped. Then, her eyes on his, she leaned forward, tasted his blood on her tongue. “Mmm,” she said, delighted. “Almost ready.”
Chapter Seventeen
“How is she?” Sheridan said into his phone when Red Cloud answered.
“Not good. Do you have the horn?”
Sheridan grimaced as he entered the library parking lot, breathing heavily. “Jared is captured and the Magi have control of the situation, so they believe. I need another hour. Perhaps two.”
Red Cloud grunted, and in the background Sheridan heard Charlotte gibbering until the phone was muffled. A moment later, Red Cloud returned, having clearly changed rooms. “I will do what I can to help her,” he said with little promise. “Perhaps I can buy you some more time.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to make her tea—from tree bark.”
“Honestly, I don’t care what you do, as long as you keep her sane until I can get the horn.”
“If you need help—“
“A small army would be appreciated.”
“I could gather some bodies, but not before dawn. I’m sorry.”
Of course, Sheridan thought bitterly. “Do it anyway.” If his plan failed, if Charlotte and Jared were lost, he would want his revenge. “Just don’t leave Charlotte alone. In case I fail, the horn is in Jared’s house, with the vampire.”
“The time I can buy for Charlotte will not likely be much. If you fail, she won’t make it.”
“Then I won’t fail,” Sheridan said simply and returned the phone to his pocket as he entered the library. At the end of the hall, Mangus looked up from his desk. Still here! Sheridan thought, relieved, hoping the man’s hulking assistant remained as well. Could I be so lucky?
“There is nothing for you here,” the librarian hissed, mindful of his patrons. Perhaps it was the grim determination on Sheridan’s face that alarmed him. “I’ve already answered your questions.”
Sheridan strode to the foyer to stand before the statue of Reynald. “Yes, you have been quite helpful,” he said loudly. “In all ways but one.” There, around the figures neck, he saw the plain, broad, flat silver hoop—a ring, by anyone’s definition. Sheridan slid behind the statue—drawing a shriek from the librarian—where he found that the Ring of Destiny was looped through a pin protruding from the back of the statue’s neck. Using a small knife from one of his coat pockets, Sheridan worried the resin around the pin.
“Darryl!” Mangus screeched, abandoning all decorum, causing a muttering stir amongst the library’s patrons. “Darryl!”
Sheridan heard the patter of feet, undoubtedly Mangus lurching from behind his desk and running down the hall. With a quick series of gouging yanks, the pin came loose. Sheridan saw a wire attached, but too late. An alarm clanged like a ringing school bell and Sheridan heard the front door lock in response. Pocketing the Ring of Destiny—pin still locked in the clasp—Sheridan glanced at the great helm, the ancient breast plate. He had assumed the display was just another prop, but could it be real as well? Was this truly the Armor of Reynald? The patter of small feet grew louder, leaving him no time to ruminate.
Sheridan drew a taser as he stepped from behind the statute  into the hall to find Mangus bearing down, his face purple, bubbling with fury. The portly man saw the black weapon raised, tried to stop himself, but he was already within range. Sheridan fired coolly, the barbs striking Mangus in the chest as the man fell backwards. There was a clicking sound as Sheridan triggered a short electrical burst, enough merely to incapacitate the man for a few minutes. Mangus collapsed, squealing as every muscle in his body spasmed with pain, and wet himself.
“Just so.”
Something crashed deep inside the library. Darryl, Sheridan presumed, to his great relief. He pocketed the spent taser, then the ring, and knelt to search the librarian’s pockets. It dawned on him that Mangus might not keep the keys on his person. Sheridan threw a glance at the locked doors, wondering if he’d miscalculated, when Darryl appeared at the front desk. The massive assistant saw the pale boy lurking over his master’s moaning form and charged without uttering a sound. Sheridan barely had time to draw the other taser, rising as he fired; Darryl seized and fell with a floor-shaking thud, collapsing at Sheridan’s feet.
The shock ended, leaving Darryl twisted and moaning, even while his master recovered. When the librarian saw Sheridan over him, menacing with the taser, his face froze in fear. The spent wires were obvious, Sheridan thought, but he was grateful for the librarian’s lack of knowledge when it came to modern weaponry. He found the keys in Mangus’s vest, displayed both the keys and the Ring of Destiny for the librarian’s viewing pleasure, and smiled.
“Your days are numbered in this town,” Mangus spluttered. Beyond him, at the end of the hall, a few shocked patrons gathered, some of whom Sheridan knew as classmates, neighbors.
“You want this back, I know. Do you know the Wasson residence? No doubt he has perused your stacks. You’ll find his address in your system; Jared Wasson. Come to the house as fast as you can, with as much help as you can, or Reynald’s ring is lost.”
Sheridan pocketed the weapon and strode to the exit, but there were more keys on that small fob than made sense. He tried one, then the other, then another. And then Darryl was rising, lumbering, as if waking from a coma. When the big man locked eyes with his assailant, he snarled, his face tightening into an expression of pure malice. Sheridan was just contemplating a panic when the sixth key jammed home. The lock clicked. Just as Darryl lunged, Sheridan slipped through. He heard the vengeful giant smash into the door behind him, then heard Mangus bellow a command. Sheridan turned to see the librarian pointing to Reynald’s armor, barking orders, and saw the hulking assistant obey.
Even better, Sheridan thought.
Then he noticed the faces peering through the library windows, watching him. If Sheridan survived the night, Mangus would not report the assault, but the witnesses would tell the tale, and his infamy would grow. But would the Reynald Society now send out the force that he needed, or would one giant be enough to stop another?
***
Having passed out, Jared awoke a short while later in his bed, alone, weak, though some modicum of his strength had returned. For a moment, the terror of his predicament seemed a dream until he felt the stinging, still weeping wounds on his chest, and heard a muffled exclamation through the ceiling. Jared’s eyes flicked to his bedroom door, which was half open, then to the narrow, closed window above his bed. A quick check revealed that he remained unrestrained. No doubt, Sarah believed that Jared would never flee while his father remained captive, or perhaps she owned Jared completely. But without her presence in the room to overwhelm him, he was not so helpless.
Knowing how little time he had, Jared stood on his bed, opened the window and peered outside. The night was quiet, dark, seemingly empty. A small jump and Jared had his head and shoulders through the window, pushing down on the sill with his palms to lift himself halfway out. And then he stopped. He whistled softly, waited, but there was no reply, no sign of Sheridan. Discouraged, Jared dropped back onto his bed, then half-stumbled into the den where he found the Horn of Fear still sitting on the shelf. With the horn in hand, he returned to his room and, after giving another faint whistle, tossed the horn several feet out onto the yard.
He would not leave his father, but there was a chance for Charlotte—if Sheridan remained alive. And maybe, just maybe, the boy would find the window open and come to his aid.
I need a weapon, Jared thought as he made his way back to the den, setting his mind for the fight to come. Even if he found the means, would he be able to fight her? He had already failed once. However hopeless, Jared intended to make a stand. Possibly, he might distract the others long enough for his father to escape. If only he could find something he could use to keep Sarah at bay for just a few minutes, he might have a chance.
Glancing about the den, Jared surveyed the bookshelf, the pile of books at its base, then his desk, finding little of use, but then he remembered the closet where he kept most of his sports gear. He jerked the door open to find the bats missing. Swords, he remembered. They were using them as swords! But it has to be sharp, doesn’t it? After all, when had Jared seen a movie where a vampire had been bludgeoned to death? Does it have to be wood? He started to dig when a commotion erupted on the stairs.
“Leave us alone!” Jared heard his father groan. He heard Sarah answer softly, sweetly, saying something Jared couldn’t make out, and then came the sound of feet stumbling down the stairs, followed by a body crashing into a wall. Jared closed the closet just before Sarah kicked open the den room door and threw Jared’s father by the scruff of his neck onto the carpet. She smiled at Jared, a toothy, triumphant beam.
“Dad!” He ran to support his father, helping the man into the Papasan chair beside the desk. The proud man was red-faced, his cheeks showing signs of tears and snot crusted on his upper lip. There were cuts on his face and arms, streaks of blood on his shirt. They tortured him! Jared’s heart ached with guilt. I should’ve killed her when I had the chance!
John Wasson looked up. At the sight of his son his eyes lit briefly with relief and hope until he saw the blood on Jared’s chest and neck, then saw Sarah circling behind. Hope became forlorn and Jared’s gut wrenched at the sight of a broken man.
From behind, Sarah took Jared’s shoulders gently at first, but then her fingers became like steel clamps as she forced him to rise. “Look down at him,” she whispered. “It’ll make this easier.”
Jared looked to his father, whose eyes flicked anxiously between Sarah and his son.
“What’s going on?” his father demanded, indignant.
Sarah sauntered to the man’s side, then laid an arm across the back of his neck. “Just a little father-and-son chat,” she said innocently, and winked at Jared. “Your son’s growing up. I’m sure you two have some things to discuss, some air to clear.” She strode towards Jared, her grin triumphant. “There always is. I’m giving you the chance I never had.”
Sarah strode to the door, stopped. “Don’t take too long.” She blinked her long, black eye lashes slowly. “Dinner will be ready soon.” She left, leaving the door just ajar.
“Dad.” Jared had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry.”
“What happened? I was just packing up the leftovers for your lunch when these monsters came storming in. Who are they?”
There was so much to explain, and so little time for his father to understand. Sarah was just outside the door, listening, he knew. Somehow, Jared had to get his father into the bedroom and buy time for his escape.
“I love you, dad. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“You know these—people?” he asked, as if the word left a bitter taste.
Jared nodded reluctantly. “The guys go to my school. Sarah…” he was ashamed to admit it, “she was my girlfriend.” It pained him to see his father’s reaction—shock followed by disappointment—but then the man shook his hung head and said nothing.
“Sorry dad.”
“I know,” his father said heavily, without meeting Jared’s gaze.
“I guess leaving Gainesville wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
Jared heard Sarah clear her throat outside the door, letting him know that she was growing impatient. She would give them time to say goodbye, as long as it amused her. Then she would administer the second bite, the one that turned, and once the transition was completed, Jared would kill his father—if Sarah had her way.
Would he have a choice? Jared couldn’t say, but Sarah was convinced—giddy, even—that he would do her bidding. Perhaps his soul would vacate, and Jared would lose his body to something else? At least then he would have a chance for peace. At least then he wouldn’t be responsible for his father’s death. Better to fight, but Jared needed the means to hold Sarah off for a minute, maybe two, and he had none. Her strength was relentless, and despite the delicate wound on his neck, her fangs could remove his throat in a single bite if she so desired. And there was the powerful attraction of his blood that made her proximity so overwhelming.
Jared’s eyes flicked about the room, searching, crossing over the desk again and again as the only possible source of hope.
“This is all my fault,” his father said, sobbing, chin still tucked to his chest.
“What? No, dad! You did good.” Jared crossed to kneel before his father so that he could look the man in the eye. “You raised me on your own. Not a lot of fathers could pull that off.”
“I should’ve remarried.” His father finally looked up, his eyes tearing. “I should’ve changed careers, found some forty-hour-a-week job so that I could be home with you. If I had, you wouldn’t have gotten into so much trouble.”
How much can I tell him? Jared thought. He had questions of his own, about his blood, about who he really was. But did his father even know? Looking into the man’s sad, innocent-seeming eyes, he doubted it. It dawned on Jared that this was how life typically ended, with much unsaid and little answered.
Once more, his eyes settled on the desk, on his cup of pens and pencils—sharpened pencils! Duh, he thought. Not exactly a wooden stake, but… Throwing a glance towards the stairway door, Jared stood and sidled towards the desk, licking his lips. “I don’t think that would’ve mattered, dad.”
“I could’ve put an end to your friendship with Henry. I could’ve kept you busy, out of his reach. You’d be safe in Gainesville, wrestling. Your leg—“
“I really disappointed you. Sorry,” Jared said loudly, for Sarah’s entertainment, but he meant it.
His father watched him, comprehension dawning as he saw Jared palm a pair of pencils. “You never failed me,” he said, nodding approval. “You just needed special attention. Instead, I gave you Nikes and a MasterCard. I made you a latchkey kid.”
Special attention? Jared winced. “I’m not retarded, dad.” With an eye towards the door, he knelt once more before his father, laid the pencils onto the man’s knee, then covered them with his palm. His father laid a clammy hand over Jared’s.
“It’s slow, son. The proper term is slow. And I know. It’s just—you’re always getting into trouble. It’s not your fault. You’re just drawn to it.”
“It’s in my blood. I’m not slow!”
At the mention of blood, John Wasson’s head jerked up, his eyes searching Jared’s. “How do you know about that? You—“
“What? You—how do you know about that?”
After a moment of searching each other’s expressions, his father gave a weary, half smile. “You’re just like your mother. She always got into trouble, too.”
The news surprised Jared. At the time of his mother’s accident, he had been only five. Jared’s memories of her were obscure; mostly birthday parties, Christmases, and one or two times when she comforted him with hot chocolate and a story. And he remembered when his father told him she was gone. The rest of her he knew through his father’s stories, which painted a picture of Jared’s mother as anything but a troublemaker. He stared at his father, pleading silently for more.
“These damn vampires,” John Wasson said, glaring at the stairway door as he took one of the pencils under his palm.
“You… so you know what they are?” Jared asked, a little angry. He cocked his head. “Dad. Was mom a demon?”
His father’s eyes widened, but nowhere near as wide as Jared thought they should be. “I guess that cat’s out of the bag,” his father grumbled.
Jared gaped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
John Wasson shrugged. “You always had so much going on. I didn’t want to complicate things.” He opened his mouth to say more when something near the door distracted him. Jared watch his father’s face contort into a grimace, watched the man’s eyes narrow as they traced Sarah’s movements into the room, but Jared felt the vampire’s proximity without looking. His mind clouded, and he grew dizzy, as if he might swoon. His chest tightened with anxiety as she stopped behind him. Then a cold, soft hand slid over his right shoulder and down across his chest, causing his flesh to tingle.
“Time’s up,” Sarah whispered, her breath tickling his ear.
Jared swayed, succumbing to her will and the demands of his blood. His ability to resist either proved all but useless. He wanted to scream. “She’s going to turn me, dad,” Jared said, frightened. His fingers wrapped weakly around the pencil, refusing to tighten. “She’s going to make me one of them. She’s going to make me kill you.”
Jared stirred his anger, hoping his outrage might break her spell.
“It won’t be you, son,” John Wasson said gravely. “Not once you turn.”
“I won’t do it.”
“You’ll do it,” Sarah whispered into Jared’s ear, the smell of stale blood on her breath causing him to flinch. “Or I will, and I don’t think you like how I play. You’ll get used to it, though. Give it a few decades.”
Sarah gripped Jared’s shoulders firmly and drew him to his feet as she stepped between father and son to stare into Jared’s eyes. The vampire didn’t bother to glamour, but still Jared could not break from her gaze. His body tingled. His muscles vibrated from weakness, so much so that he wanted to collapse. Come on, Jared, he thought, fighting off web-like tendrils of her will. Come on! It was Sarah or his father, he knew, and he could never harm the man who loved him, who raised him. Slowly, Jared’s will asserted itself. His body began to respond and his grip on the pencil tightened. Jared’s mind began to clear, just enough for him to act.
But by then, Michael had snuck in behind him. The boy’s arms cinched around Jared’s chest, pinned his arms to his sides. Sarah reacted, surprised, and when she saw the would-be instrument of her demise in his grip, her lips twisted into a malevolent sneer.
To everyone’s surprise, Jared’s father roused himself from the Papasan with pencil raised like a dagger, bellowing an impassioned, guttural howl, and charged. It seemed to Jared that his father couldn’t fail to kill their tormentor, but, at the last instant, Sarah turned with frightening speed to deliver a backhanded stroke that sent John Wasson crashing back into the Papasan, stunned. 
Jared roared his fury as Sarah circled the Papasan to stand behind his father. He bucked and lurched in Michael’s grasp, while the young vampire cackled like a hyena. 
“I love it when my food fights,” Sarah said. Her jaw clicked and she showed a mouthful of fangs.
“No!” Jared bellowed, battling. “You—you said he was mine! You were going to bite me, remember? Turn me!” He strained, twisting in Michael’s embrace. Jared watched as Sarah ran the fingers of one hand through his father’s hair, as if enjoying the texture, then pulled John Wasson’s head back to expose his neck.
“The Maker always gets the choice bite,” Sarah said. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave something for you.”
“No!” Jared screamed as he watched Sarah sink her fore-fangs into his father’s neck. The sight of his father’s blood dripping from her maw as she sucked sent Jared into a blind fury. He bucked like a wild beast, and when that failed to break Michael’s grip, he dropped his weight and swept the vampire’s leg, but Michael pulled Jared down on top of him. His arm freed, Jared turned with his weapon raised and saw with satisfaction as Michael’s eyes widened with fear.
But then something caught his eye, and stopped Jared in mid-strike. Michael saw it as well—a spinning jar of fire that swept past the den door and smashed into the bathroom with a burst of gooey flame. Taking advantage of the distraction, Michael bucked Jared from his chest and leapt to his feet, but the flames had him in a panic.
“Upstairs!” Sarah barked at him, her lips smeared with blood. “Now! Before they trap us in here. Get the others!” Michael obeyed, skirted the flames that crept from the bathroom, and darted up the stairs, where Jared heard him bellow orders, but there were other voices upstairs as well—new, angry voices.
Sarah left Jared’s father to slump into the Papasan, clutching at his bleeding wound. She glared at Jared, then shrugged. “I hope you make it,” she said wistfully before slipping out to join the battle upstairs.
“Dad!” Jared rushed to his father’s side as the man lumbered out of the Papasan, still clutching his wound with one hand. John Wasson waived off any assistance, though he looked ghostly pale, and blood still ran down his neck. His eyes were glazed, as if he might go into shock.
“The saliva clots the wound eventually,” his father said. “I’ll be fine. We have to get out of here.”
“Window.” Jared led his father into the bedroom.
“You first.” John Wasson gestured.
“No. You’re wounded. You go first. I’ll help.”
Jared’s father grimaced, but relented. Using the bed as a spring, he jumped into the window frame and pushed himself out with his son’s help. Jared followed, jumping halfway through the frame where he found a helping hand waiting for him. The hand belonged to Sheridan.
“Well done,” the pale boy said stiffly, though he appeared relieved. “I was worried. The Magi have launched their assault. I couldn’t stop them.” Sheridan held the Horn of Fear in one hand. He had found it, and had stayed to help Jared, but at what cost, Jared wondered, or had Charlotte passed the point of no return?
“We have to go!” Jared’s father said from halfway across the yard, where he waved anxiously for them to follow.
The house filled dangerously with the sounds of combat that threatened to spill into the yard: blood-curdling screams of pain and rage, the clash and thump of steel and wood. Jared had just started to join his father, when a high-pitched screech rose from his bedroom. He turned to see Sarah through the open window, her fangs bared, her face smeared with blood.
Jared tensed to fight, to buy time for his father and Sheridan, when the bathroom window above him exploded in a hail of glass. Andrew’s body flopped clumsily to the ground, separating Jared from his companions. A spear followed—thrown by a man Jared recognized from the convenience store earlier—that skewered Andrew as he started to rise, pinning the young vampire to the ground. When Jared looked back, the man in the window had disappeared.
Flames could be seen in other parts of the house now.
Before Jared could react, Sarah was amongst them, knocking him and Sheridan to the ground. Jared rolled quickly onto his back, feet ready to defend himself, to find Sarah standing triumphantly with the Horn of Fear in her clawed grip. She raised the horn to her lips.
“The Magi have wards!” Sheridan shouted, rising to his feet with an arm extended towards her. Sarah hesitated. “If they don’t know that you’ve escaped the house, they will follow the blast,” he said in a hurry. His calm, orderly demeanor melted into an increasingly wild desperation.
Sarah glared at him, then at Jared, baring pure hate.
Sheridan made a show of slipping a hand into his coat, drew out a plain silver necklace that looked more like a broken Frisbee and dangled it for her to see.
The Ring of Destiny? Jared wondered, but what else could it be? He rose to his feet, unsure of what to do. He eyed Sheridan, trying to discern the boy’s intentions. Surely, a trap was being set? Perhaps Sheridan was attempting to draw Sarah close enough to tase her?
Sarah sniffed at the silver, lowering the horn slightly. She started towards Sheridan, who took a cautious hop backwards, threatening to hurl the necklace back into the house via the shattered bathroom window. “You’ve got what I want,” Sheridan said. Sarah circled him, ignoring Jared and his father, her eyes intent upon the jewelry. “A simple trade,” he encouraged her.
“No,” Jared said, his voice less than certain. Kill the cheerleader, save the world, Charlotte had said. Jared wanted to save her, but he no longer held any doubt that Sarah was a killer. If she had the ring, whatever power it gave, she would use it to kill. And she would do it for fun.
“I am quite sincere,” Sheridan promised her.
Sarah’s fangs retracted, though she looked anything but human with blood on her chin, cheeks and chest—not all from Jared’s father. “It’s a fake,” she said, uncertain. The two slowly circled each other. Sheridan shook his head, dangling the jewelry for her to see while keeping it just out of reach.
“Sheridan, she’ll keep killing,” Jared said.
“I don’t care. I want Charlotte back. Take it!” he shouted, pushing the ring towards her while extending his other hand, palm open.
“She’s out of the house!” A man’s voice screamed from the basement window.
Jared turned to see a large man with a shaggy black beard and a short sword—another man from the convenience store—through his bedroom window. The man started as if to climb out, but he was too massive. His face was tight and menacing as he eyed Sarah, then Sheridan, then the ring. Another voice in the house answered him, and the face disappeared.
“We’re out of time,” Sheridan snapped, giving the ring an anxious shake. The two took a pair of cautious steps towards each other.
You can’t do it! Jared wanted to shout, but froze. If he moved, Sarah would surely kill Sheridan. She would probably kill them all anyway, once she had the ring. For a moment, he had no idea what to do, and part of him still believed that Sheridan would never give such power to such evil, but then, at the same moment, Sheridan snatched the horn and Sarah snatched the Ring of Destiny. She clutched it to her chest like a precious heirloom.
“Better you than them,” Sheridan said, visibly relieved. Then both took a few steps apart; Sheridan to confirm the horn in his possession and Sarah to gloat over Reynald’s most powerful artifact—the one she would use to conquer the world, or to destroy it. 
Sarah turned to flee when a crossbow bolt took her in the shoulder, sending her sprawling onto the grass. The large bearded man and his partner—who threw down his crossbow to draw a flat-bladed sword with a wooden tip—rushed into the yard from both sides of the house. Sarah rose to defend herself, but Jared’s father vaulted onto her back, bellowing like a crazed animal.
“Dad!”
The pair spun and twisted across the yard, with Sarah screeching and Jared’s father howling.
The bearded man slashed a blade towards the vampire. “Kill her! Kill them both, if necessary! We must have the ring!”
“No!” Jared lunged at the big man, who swatted him aside.
“Enough, boy!” The man jabbed his sword within inches of Jared’s face. “You’ll only make this worse,” he said, not without sympathy.
“Here!” Jared heard a voice shout from the east side of the house. Then the ground rumbled, as if heralding an approaching stampede, and a man who rivaled the Magi leader’s size trotted into view, feet pounding heavily, an ancient-seeming war hammer held at the ready in both hands. He was adorned with a rune-covered metal breast plate, his face obscured by a square metal helm, but Jared recognized the Mangus’s assistant by size alone. The knight skidded to a stop before the black-bearded giant, who turned his sword to meet the new threat.
No one but Jared saw Sarah fling his father to the ground, then disappear into the dark beyond the backyard. Jared rushed to his father.
“Enough!” a new voice roared and Mangus strode around the side of the burning house to stand behind his knight. And behind him, Albina appeared with two other boys that Jared recognized from school, but couldn’t name. One of the boys held a thick, leather-bound tome while Albina and the other boy carried thin, black steel batons, held at the ready. The librarian jabbed a stubby finger towards Sheridan. “Bring me the ring. Now, boy!”
“The Ring of Destiny is our concern,” the shaggy warrior said. His partner grimaced, realizing that the vampire had escaped, then moved to support his master.
“They have the ring now.” Sheridan gestured towards the warriors.
“The boy lies,” the shaggy warrior said.
Mangus’s face tightened. “We have no use for Magi here. Reynald’s artifacts are no business of yours.”
“The destruction of evil is our business. The Society swore that Reynald’s artifacts were destroyed, yet here we find his most notorious relic—in the hands of children.”
Sheridan backed towards Jared and his father. “I thought I’d lost them,” he whispered, then gestured that they should retreat towards the trees at the back of the yard. Jared helped his father to his feet.
“The ring is in our care.” Mangus said.
“It was,” the shaggy warrior said. “I cannot help but wonder what other evil you are… guarding. Shall we just leave them with you, then? For any demon to take as they desire?”
The smaller warrior glared at the helmeted knight, who swayed and shifted his hammer in anticipation of violence. At a signal from Mangus, the boy with the tome opened the pages and began reciting in a low chant in a language Jared had never heard. The boy’s eyes flicked nervously towards the Magi, and Albina and the other boy closed together in front of him, batons raised.
“Leave this town. Leave it to the Society,” Mangus said.
The bearded warrior raised his sword and squared off with the knight in the ancient armor. Jared felt his father pulling him away, out of the yard, to follow Sheridan. As he was drawn into the copse of trees he saw the shaggy warrior issued what Jared assumed was an ultimatum, and Mangus responded with what Jared assumed was a counter-ultimatum, but still he could not believe the tense scene could descend into a melee—not with swords and armor and batons and someone murmuring over a book. The thought made as little sense as crossbows and spears. But he had seen those. He had seen Andrew die. As Jared, his father, and Sheridan pushed through the trees, they lost sight of the yard, but they heard the rising, guttural screams of people charging into battle.
Jared slowed, strained to hear and see, but was pulled along by Sheridan and his father. “We must get to Charlotte,” his friend hissed with dire urgency, “and your father needs a hospital.”
Jared saw the blood-drained weakness in his father’s face and agreed. Everything changes now, he thought and wrapped a supporting arm around his father as they followed Sheridan to somewhere unknown. The pale boy explained something, then made a cell phone call for help as they entered another neighborhood, the sounds of combat receding behind them. The wail of a police siren arose, but distant. People died tonight. Jared remembered the blood that had been dripping from Sarah’s mouth. Hadn’t he seen three of the strangers at the convenience store? Andrew had died—killed by a spear! And what of Michael, and the other boys? Probably dead as well. Jared wondered if there had been even more casualties in the last battle between Mangus and the Magi. Judging by the sounds that carried through the trees, it was very likely.
But Sarah was alive. Of that much, Jared was certain, and she had the Ring of Destiny. The Magi had been convinced that the ring would somehow make her invincible, and Mangus had come prepared for battle to prevent Sarah from taking it. Most likely, Sarah’s claims regarding the ring’s true power were lies, designed to trick Jared and the others into helping her. Whatever power the ring gave her, Jared suspected it would not be long before she used it, but that was no longer his concern. Soon the world would know about vampires. With the fire and the bodies, how could they not? The world was about to change. And Jared had just watched everything he owned burn in a fire fueled by napalm that he had helped manufacture, which sucked.
Chapter Eighteen
They had walked no more than two blocks when Red Cloud appeared in his Prius. His expression marred by concern, he eased John Wasson into the front, then pulled several wads of tissue from a box between the seats and pressed them against the man’s wound. “Keep pressure,” he said and hurried round to the driver’s seat. Jared and Sheridan were already in the back.
The car lurched forward with a quite hum.
“She got away,” Jared murmured.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sheridan said. His hands turned over the simple horn, as if it should be somehow more complex. His jaw was set, his eyes nervous as he turned to stare out the window, and set the horn in his lap.
Jared said nothing as they arrived at Red Cloud’s cabin. His father was weak and showed signs of shock, despite the blood flow having been reduced to a seeping. “We have to go to the hospital!” Jared cried, after Sheridan darted from the car to the cabin.
Red Cloud left the key in the ignition. “Take the Prius. Hurry. Don’t wreck it.”
“But—“ Jared said as he changed seats.
“We will save Charlotte. Take care of your father.”
“Red Cloud!” Sheridan cried urgently from inside the cabin.
“Go!” The Native American waived and Jared drove. He looked to his father to gauge how fast he should drive, then pressed hard on the fuel pedal.
***
The sight of Charlotte tied down onto the bed, froth bubbling from her mouth, made Sheridan sick with fear, an emotion he had so rarely felt before. He knew excitement, the thrill of danger, but he had never known the gut wrenching fear of losing someone he loved. Because Charles Sheridan Helms had only ever loved once.
“Red Cloud!” he screamed, brandishing the Horn of Fear with no idea what to do with it.
The big man appeared a moment later, rushing into the room with a burlap sack from which he began removing strange objects. “The shed in the back. Use the grinding machine to grind the horn. An ounce of dust, only! Combine with two tablespoon of water and then bring the mixture and the horn to me. Go!”
Sheridan ran. He had never used the machine, though he had seen Red Cloud grinding stones and needed only a moment to understand its operation. Sheridan assumed they would use the powder to make some sort of antidote, an assumption confirmed when Sheridan returned to Red Cloud with the resultant paste and the damaged horn. The man took only the paste.
“Take the horn to the back. To the chopping block. Understand? Take the axe. When I yell for it, you must destroy the horn in one stroke.”
“Just give her the antidote! What are you waiting for?”
Red Cloud showed little of his usual patience. “Do you want to know how this works, or do you want to save this girl’s life?”
“But—what are you going to do?”
“Go! There is no time!” Red Cloud bellowed and Sheridan ran, his mind racing with fear and anger. Magic, he cursed. Sheridan despised the thought, but only Red Cloud knew how to save Charlotte, whatever his methods. Sheridan knew that the man could be trusted. Charlotte trusted him.
Sheridan slammed the horn onto the chopping block in the backyard. A quick glance and he found a heavy axe leaning against the wall of the cabin, under the shelter of an eave. He hefted the heavy tool and carried it back to the block where he waited, sweating, his eyes locked onto the wall of the cabin, through which he could hear Red Cloud chanting. Sheridan despised the ritual, resented waiting, and wondered if he were given some useless task to merely get him out of the way. What good could smashing the horn possibly accomplish? But then, how had it cursed Charlotte in the first place? What hidden technology did it hide? Sheridan picked up the horn to study it. It appeared in all ways to be a typical device carved from the carcass of some long dead animal.
Sheridan threw the horn down with a disgusted huff and watched it bounce off the dirt. He dropped the axe—first blade, then handle—and took two steps towards the open screen door. I should be in there with her! But he stopped all the same. The thick musky smell of sage became apparent as smoke filled the house. And Red Cloud’s voice rose in a steady chant that sounded less and less human.
You have to trust him, Charlotte would’ve told Sheridan. And despite the absurdity of his methods, Red Cloud had never failed them.
“Damn!” Sheridan cursed, cheeks hot with fury, and snatched up the axe and then the horn, which he slammed back onto the block. He raised the axe to his chest, turned his eyes to the wall of the cabin and waited. I still don’t believe in magic, he told Charlotte.
As Red Cloud’s chants grew louder and stranger, Sheridan felt a thickness in the atmosphere, as if the air around him were being pulled into a vacuum, into the room where Charlotte lay. Then she screamed a horrifying wail. Sheridan raised the axe over his head, his cheeks puffing in anticipation.
“NOW!” Red Cloud roared.
Sheridan slammed the blade with all the force he could muster onto and through the horn, shattering the ancient artifact into pieces.
Chapter Nineteen
The attending physician at Reynald General Hospital asked Jared a number of questions, and gave questioning looks at the answers, so that Jared was relieved when asked to leave the room so that the doctors and nurses could continue to treat his father. Jared barely had time to breathe before Sheriff Gerald Flowers found him and he had to repeat the entire, hopeless story, to the same affect.
When he was finally dismissed, Jared was grateful to find Sheridan just down the hall, apparently searching for him. Together, they found an unused room where they could speak privately.
After hearing the news that Charlotte had been admitted and was recovering, Jared expressed his concern. “I don’t think they believe me.”
“You gave them the story as we rehearsed?”
“Mostly, but I could barely keep a straight face. Vampire bats?”
Both boys glanced through the doorway into the busy hall, where doctors, nurses and visitors passed in a steady stream.
“Reynald has seen its share of vampire bat epidemics,” Sheridan said, but he saw the doubt on Jared’s face. “Your story doesn’t have to be precise, or more than remotely plausible. Hold to the narrative and Reynald’s mystery artifact will do the rest.”
Jared’s doubts remained. “What about Charlotte?”
“She fell while hiking in the woods, struck her head and passed out. They’re treating her for dehydration and a possible concussion.”
Jared brushed a hand through his hair and breathed a sigh of relief. “This is crazy, isn’t it? What happens now? This town is going to freak.”
Sheridan answered him with a quizzical expression.
“We can’t lie about everything.” Jared gestured surprise with both hands, then leaned forward to whisper, “They’re going to find the bodies: Michael, Andrew—“
“Mangus will dispose of them. He wants even less attention than I do.”
“But they’ll be missing. Their families will notice.”
“I overheard two deputies in the lobby. Michael’s family was killed,” Sheridan said callously. “They believe it was the work of a mysterious biker gang that has been seen about town—three men wearing flannel and coveralls.”
“What about Andrew? And Parsons?”
“Kidnapped by said gang.”
“But… that’s preposterous. Did those guys even have bikes?”
Sheridan offered a wan smile. “Just so. Welcome to Reynald. How is your father?”
“They’re giving him a transfusion. Vaccinating him for rabies and whatever other diseases vampire bats carry. I had a chance to talk to him, in the house. He knows about my mother, about the demon blood.”
Sheridan’s eyebrows arched.
“I can’t wait to get him out of here so I can talk to him.” Then Jared remembered that their home had burnt, that he owned nothing. “Where are we going to stay?”
“The insurance company will put you in a hotel. Jared,” Sheridan started, his face twisting into some semblance of sympathy. “Try to speak to your father tonight.”
Jared shook his head. “They told me he needs to rest.”
“Yes, but by morning—“
“That bitch!” a familiar voice shouted in the hall.
Jared and Sheridan hurried from the room to find Albina—her face bruised and blood seeping through a thick bandage that wrapped around her ribs—being wheeled on a gurney by two medics, her grim father  close behind.
Mangus stopped to face Sheridan with furrowed brows. The man’s hands twitched, as if he might strangle the boy. “You let that creature get away with one of the most powerful magical talismans ever created,” he hissed.
Sheridan smiled wryly. “Better on her neck than yours.”
The librarian was shocked by the boy’s audacity. “You don’t know what you’ve done!”
“Apparently I know better than you.” Sheridan slipped his hands into his coat pockets, as if to emphasize how little he thought of the librarian’s threatening manner.
Mangus ground his teeth. “There is blood now, between the Society and the Magi. Between the Society and you. We’ve tolerated your antics in this town, but that’s over.” Mangus turned his glare on Jared. “You and your friends mind your own business from now on. And stay out of my library.”
“So just a warning, then? No revenge? No curse?”
Mangus’s lips crept into a cruel, vengeful smile. He gave a curt nod, then pushed between the boys, brushing them aside on his way to join his wounded, complaining daughter.
Sheridan grinned at the man’s passing. “This town just got much more interesting,” he said, to Jared’s horror.
***
Mark Scott, the insurance agent, was quick to express his sympathy to Jared over the phone. A hotel room was arranged within the hour of that first call, but Jared remained at his father’s side at the hospital, catching short bursts of sleep in an uncomfortable chair while his father slowly regained strength. John Wasson’s condition improved slowly, but steadily, and the doctors wanted him under observation for one more night, just to be cautious. Jared expected to take his father to their temporary home in the morning.
Through his catnaps, Jared was haunted by images of his mother; he had dreamed of her many times since her death, but in light of what he now knew, the nature of her appearances was conflicted and strange. In one dream Jared saw her with fangs, then in another she had horns and red skin, and in another she was trying to roast him with her fiery dragon breath as a sacrifice to an ancient demon. Each time the nightmares woke him. Eventually, he drifted back to sleep, sometimes to find the angelic mother he remembered waiting to soothe his worries. Questions were building in Jared’s mind, rambling through his unconsciousness; several times he wanted to wake his father for answers, but each time Jared left the man to his rest.
Shortly after dawn, Jared began noticing a change in the attitudes of the attending physicians and nurses. Though these were not the same people who had heard Jared’s lies at the time his father was admitted, the story had spread; at first it had seemed that everyone in the hospital had been eyeing Jared suspiciously, but as the night wore on, those distrusting looks had softened. By sunrise, it seemed the entire staff had changed their opinions of him, or had forgotten that he was a liar.
“I don’t know what it is about this town and bats,” the latest attending joked as he studied the chart on his father’s bed.
“What?” Jared straightened himself in the chair and shook the sleep from his mind.
The attending chuckled. “The strangest things happen in this town. Sometimes I think Reynald lives in its own little universe.” He turned to Jared, who saw no hint of sarcasm or any sign that the man knew the truth. “Looks good.” He smiled and left.
John Wasson moaned.
“Dad?” Jared rushed to his father’s side, relieved to see his eyes flutter and then open.
His father swiveled his head on the pillow, taking in the unexpected surroundings with a dazed expression. “What happened?”
“Dad, they’re going to ask you questions,” Jared whispered hurriedly. “I told them you were attacked by a flock of vampire bats.”
“Bats?”
“You ran out of the house when you noticed the electrical fire—“
“Fire?”
“And that’s when you were attacked by the bats.”
Jared’s father stared at his son, incredulous.
“I know,” Jared said. “It sounds nuts, but they’re buying it. I’ll get the—“
“Is that really what happened?” John Wasson reached a hand up to probe gingerly at the bandage on his neck, then checked his fingers for blood, of which there was none. “Bats?” his father asked again.
Jared sat silently for a moment, taking shape of the emotional gulf that unexpectedly opened between them. Sheridan had tried to warn him, and Jared felt a fool for not listening. “Yeah,” he whispered, uncertain why he had expected his father to be immune to the town’s habitual amnesia.
“I don’t understand.”
“The doctors said you might forget—due to the trauma.” Jared sighed heavily, hating what came next. He recited the story by rote. “A fire started in the family room, probably electrical. I shouted at you and jumped out my window. Knowing that I was safe, you ran out into the front yard where you stumbled into a freak migration of vampire bats that attacked you.”
“Huh.” John Wasson remained perplexed. “Imagine that. You’re okay?”
Jared nodded, swallowing a lump of guilt. “Crazy, isn’t it?”
His father gave a faint nod, then let his head sink back into the pillow. His eyes flicked about the room while his mind processed the story. But he remembered nothing of his torture, and nothing of their conversion about Jared’s mother. Jared realized that his questions would go unanswered, unless he chose to tell his father the truth, but the man had been so riddled with guilt, and so disappointed in Jared, that he couldn’t bear to relive that. For whatever reason, John Wasson had chosen to keep the truth about Jared’s mother—and whatever else he knew about the supernatural world—a secret. Perhaps, for now, Jared would let that secret be.
***
Sunday was a blur. By the time Jared checked his father out of the hospital, both of them were in desperate need of sleep. The hotel room was small and cheap, but at least it had two beds. The insurance agent was unclear how long they would be there, but Jared suspected it would be a few weeks until the claim was settled, and then they would have to find a new home. Since they had nothing but the clothes on their backs, Jared let his father rest while he shopped for the essentials, using money given to him by the adjuster. Even though the house had not been entirely destroyed, everything that survived reeked of smoke. They had effectively lost everything.
After the shopping, father and son napped, ate, napped again, and watched television. Occasionally Jared’s father would murmur, “Bats?” and look to his son, who would nod dutifully.
The local news reported the murderous rampage of a mysterious motorcycle gang that had fled town. Andrew’s parents were in mourning, but the rest of Reynald barely seemed to notice. But Sarah was still out there. The ramifications of Sheridan’s trade—the Ring of Destiny for Charlotte—remained to be seen, but Jared expected them to be horrible.
When his alarm rang on Monday morning, Jared followed his usual routine, mindlessly deliberate in his preparations for school. His father insisted, so Jared went, anticipating the loneliness of being ignored, the shallow, self-serving friendship of Dave and the guys; he assumed that Charlotte still hated him—if she were well enough—and Sheridan would have little use for Jared, now that the ring was lost. At least he had a great excuse for not doing his homework, since the aftermath of the fire had made the morning news.
Sheridan and Charlotte met him unexpectedly on Main Street, in front of the Starbucks where they were sitting outside with an extra latte and a muffin, waiting for him. Charlotte appeared somewhat shaken, but her smile was infectiously cheerful, and her eyes sparkled at the sight of Jared. She jumped from her seat to hug him, which left Jared speechless.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear, then pulled back and pinched his cheek before she released him.
Sheridan grinned and offered Jared the latte and the muffin. “Breakfast.”
Jared accepted the gifts. “So.” He met their eyes in turn. “We just go to school?”
Sheridan nodded.
“Of course,” Charlotte said. She gave Sheridan her drink to hold—he now had two—then wrapped one arm around Jared’s elbow, then the other around Sheridan’s, and led them in a march towards Reynald High. “You got a rough introduction to Reynald, Jared. It’s not all bad, you know.”
“You’re saying nothing like this will ever happen again?”
Charlotte chortled, gently mocking him. “Hopefully, this was the worst we’ll see in a long time.”
“Just so,” Sheridan said.
“We don’t need to worry about Sarah?”
“No,” Sheridan said. “She’ll put as much distance between herself and Reynald as possible. And the Magi will be pursuing her, though they may need to lick their wounds somewhere first.”
“Are they still in Reynald?” Jared asked.
“No. The Reynald Society made sure the Magi know they are not welcome.”
Jared found it hard to believe that life could return to normal so easily. “So we just go to school, do our homework—“
“With one exception,” Charlotte told him. Jared raised an eyebrow, expecting something awful. “You have two friends now. Real friends,” she emphasized.
Jared grinned back at her. “Okay. That sounds great.”
***
Jared was changing books at his locker, lost in thought, when Tina Flowers approached him with an anxious, determined look. “Hi,” she said, her notepads clutched to her chest.
“Hi.” Jared recognized an act of bravery when he saw it, and did his best to be polite. Now that he knew why he had avoided Tina, that his blood drew him away from goodness as much as it pushed him towards evil, Jared made a point to be kind.
“I was wondering if you were going to the Harvest Dance.”
“Uh, no,” Jared said. Tina looked crestfallen, and he rushed to clarify. “I didn’t know there was one, actually. People dance for harvest?”
Her smile brightened. She nodded. “Not around a May Pole, or anything. It’s just a dance.”
“Oh.” Jared resisted the urge to walk away, to put distance between them as quickly as possible, and returned her smile.
Tina shrugged, clutching her books closer. She tipped her chin sheepishly and said, “It’s traditional that the girls ask the guys.”
Jared nearly collapsed in shock when he saw a haggard looking Sarah emerge from the crowded hall to stand haughtily behind Tina. For a moment he felt frozen, torn between fight and flight while Sarah glared at the back of Tina’s head as if she could explode it with her thoughts. Around her neck, the silver Ring of Destiny hung as if glued to her flesh. She waved off Jared’s concern dismissively, tipped her head towards Tina and rolled her eyes.
The smaller girl turned. When she saw Sarah glaring down at her, her entire demeanor collapsed. “I… I should get to class.” Unable to meet Jared’s eyes, she slipped away. He watched her go, relieved to see her removed from danger.
Sarah stepped into the space vacated by Tina and gave Jared an exhausted smile. “You move on quickly.”
Jared had no idea what to do. The halls were crowded, full of potential victims, and he could hardly cry out ‘She’s a vampire.’ Then it dawned on him that he had not felt her presence. Sarah was inches from him, and his mind remained unclouded. Somehow, she was powerless.
Sarah read his reaction, dismissed it with a simple gesture. “I’m over it.”
“What are you doing here?” Jared hissed. His eyes darted about the hall, looking for Sheridan, Charlotte, or a pointed wooden weapon.
 “Duh. We have a mid-term on Friday. Geology? I have to keep my grades up to stay on the squad.”
“I mean—“
“I know,” Sarah said tiredly. “The past is the past. I’m human now. See? No fangs.” She gave him a grotesque smile, withdrawing her lips so that Jared could have an unobstructed view. When he failed to respond, she gave him a look that suggested he was dense. Sarah flicked the edges of the necklace ring to demonstrate that it was indeed attached to her flesh. “It doesn’t come off.”
“But—“
Sarah dismissed him with a look. “Ask the paste-eater. Honestly, I’m too tired. Are you going to eat that?” She pointed to the muffin Jared had set on the shelf inside his locker. When he didn’t answer, Sarah snatched it greedily. “Are you going to let me cheat off your Geometry test, or not?”
Jared gave a bewildered shake of his head. “No.”
“Whatever.” Sarah rolled her eyes, then disappeared into the crowded hall.
Jared stared after her for a moment, then slammed his locker and hurried to find Sheridan lurking around the coffee bar.
“What’s the matter?” Sheridan asked.
“She’s back,” Jared whispered.
“She? Who? Sarah?” 
Jared nodded.
“Why on Earth would she do that?” Sheridan asked himself.
“Apparently, she’s going to take the Geometry exam.”
“Was she wearing the ring?”
Jared nodded.
“Did her presence affect you, as it had before?” Jared shook his head, and his friend visibly relaxed. He scooped a drink from the counter and walked. Jared followed. “Then I was right.”
“What’s going on?”
Sheridan arched his brows, as if the answer were obvious. “She got her destiny.”
“I thought she wanted to rule the world.”
“Is that what she told you?”
“Well, no, but—I didn’t believe her.”
“Conquering the world is a big destiny, Jared. Is that your destiny? Mine? She was meant to be mortal and it was taken from her. Now she is mortal again.”
“You knew?”
“I surmised.” Then, to Jared’s questioning look, he explained further. “The Ring of Destiny was Jeremiah Reynald’s greatest artifact, or so the legends tell us. All of the legends suggest that he intended to use the ring’s power to do exactly what you expected of Sarah. Yet, the ring was Reynald’s last discovery. He wore it for the first time at the Battle of Overlook Ridge. Where he was soundly beaten.”
Jared considered for a moment before answering. “The legends were wrong.”
Sheridan nodded. “Perhaps Reynald had once been human as well, and the Ring of Destiny robbed him of his power, as it has apparently robbed Sarah. Perhaps it is the destiny of all evil to fail, eventually. Or perhaps Reynald overreached himself, and his true destiny was to be a blacksmith.” He waited for Jared to laugh. “That was a joke.”
Jared felt a touch of anger “You knew the ring would make her mortal. Why didn’t—“
“Either the ring would make her mortal, or it would not work at all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, tell Charlotte?”
Sheridan grimaced. “I had to be sure. And, as I said, I wanted the ring for myself.”
“But you’re already mortal.”
Sheridan sighed. “Not all destinies are the same. I know my destiny, Jared, and I cannot wait to achieve it.”
Jared stopped the boy and faced him. “I thought you only believed what you could prove?”
“Just so. But proof is not always possible, and belief is not always required. You can’t duck your head in the sand, Jared.” He smirked. “The goblins will get you.” Sheridan sipped his drink and reacted bitterly to the unexpected taste. “I despise soy.”
“What about the Magi?” Jared said.
“They’ll be off licking their wounds, I imagine. They’ll probably be back, but they won’t bother with Sarah. I doubt they can even track her now that she’s human.” Sheridan started down the hall.
“Where are you going?”
“Off to find Charlotte. I’d better tell her that Sarah is human before she stakes the wretch.” Sheridan left with a wave over his shoulder while Jared stood confused in the middle of the hall, wondering if his life in Reynald would ever be simple.
# # #
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Other books by Eric Quinn Knowles
Reynald Tales
Ring of Destiny
Maloch
look for a new Reynald Tale in January, 2013
Boltman
Part One
Part Two
# # #
About the author:
An author, journeyman techno-mage, business owner (hail to the King, baby), and former driver of your neighborhood ice cream truck, Eric hails from the Pacific Northwest where he continues to enjoy life in a quiet community near Seattle. When not writing, Eric enjoys reading a variety of genres from superheroes to detective fiction, playing Magic The Gathering with his nephew, Dungeons and Dragons with the older crowd, and watching Real Housewives of New Jersey with his girlfriend (because he has to).
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