Blood Ties (10 page)

Oliver felt Dean leaning by his other ear. “Um…”

“Really?” Lythia replied to the tooth. “Well, you
do
know best, don't you?” She stretched far out over the table and placed the tooth on 7. As she did, her shoulder brushed against Oliver's. The smell of lilacs increased. He felt something close to nauseous, if feeling nauseous could be a good thing. Why was she having this effect on him? And then Oliver recognized the
presence
that this girl had. Lythia may have looked just about his age…

But she had a demon.

“No more bets,” growled the croupier. He spun the ball around the top wheel.

Lythia stared fervently at the ball and mumbled quietly to herself: “Wielders of chaos, guide my hand…” The ball clattered against the spinning numbers, staying on the top wheel and settling on:

“Seven,” announced the croupier.

Oliver turned to Lythia. She smiled knowingly. “Now that's just about perfect, wouldn't you say?”

“I—I would,” said Oliver. “You won.”

Lythia rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, there's that, but I won on
seven.
You know, 'cause of seventh moon.”

Oliver didn't know what she was talking about, or maybe he did. If only his brain would work! “Seventh moon?” he asked.

“Of course.” Lythia reached over and gave his arm a playful tap. “Some think it's a silly Old World custom. I think the seventh moon rising really does have power. And it's the biggest night for mystical sacrifice.”

Oliver felt a flash of worry.
Sacrifice.
Little that happened these days seemed to be coincidence. After what he'd heard his parents and Tyrus say … “So, when is seventh moon?” he asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Lythia replied, her voice lowering in wonder. “And you never know what it will mean. I'm sure you've heard the rumor that something big is happening this year.” As she spoke, she calmly wrapped her hands around all the winning teeth that had just arrived in front of Oliver and slid them over as her own. “After all, it's common knowledge that more oracles are imbued with prophecy on seventh moon than on all other risings combined. Like Selene.”

Oliver started. “Did you say Selene?”

“I did.” Lythia reached out to place teeth, brushing him again.

Oliver scrambled to keep his balance—and his cool—and to understand what he was hearing. “You mean Selene is an oracle?”

“No more bets,” the croupier announced, and sent the ball spinning.

Lythia glanced at Oliver with a pitying smile. “Oliver …
an
oracle? That's a little insulting, isn't it? After all, she's the oracle who gave the prophecy of the Nexia Gate. It's only the most popular prophecy in the New World. You know the
prophecy,
don't you? Every kid does. About a boy who will—”

“Right,” Dean began when he saw that Oliver was stuck in his tracks again, “the one about a kid who could open the Nexia Gate and free the vampires from Earth.”

“See?” said Lythia, smiling coyly. “Even your minion knows.”

“I—I just forgot for a sec,” Oliver stammered. Lythia's smile grew and, with it, Oliver's flush of worry. She was looking at him almost like she
knew
the prophecy was about him.

“Seven,” the croupier reported mournfully.

Oliver turned to the table and watched as all the teeth he'd laid on other numbers were raked away, and another ring of winnings was pushed toward him and intercepted by Lythia. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Er…” Oliver began.

“He doesn't mind,” said Dean.

Lythia stood straight and sighed, satisfied, her finger flicking over the pile of teeth. “Seventh moon,” she said pleasantly. “I was lucky to meet you, Oliver…?”

“Nocturne,” Oliver added like a good student. “And you're Lythia…?”

“I am.” She kept gazing at Oliver. “Thanks for the help,” she said, returning a single tooth to him to replace the one she'd borrowed. She gathered the other two rings of teeth in her hands. “Maybe I'll see you around again?” she asked.

“I—”

“You will,” Lythia answered for him. She backed away from the table and was instantly swallowed by the crowd. Oliver looked down at his chips, at once relieved and disturbed. Her demon presence had been so intense, he could barely focus on all the new worrisome information he'd heard.

Dean patted Oliver's shoulder. “Come on, killer. I think it might be a good time to go find Emalie.”

Chapter 7

The Search for Selene

“
YOU WERE PATHETIC
,” chided Dean as they climbed the wide staircase out of Morosia.

“I wasn't—”

“
Pathetic.
It was hilarious.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Who cares? We need to find this Selene.” Oliver's thoughts whirled. Lythia had said that Selene was the oracle who had predicted his destiny.
That's why Désirée mentioned her.
Oliver remembered asking Désirée if she knew anything about the Nexia Gate.
I do,
she'd said,
but questions about your destiny must be directed to an oracle
. Maybe Selene could explain what the prophecy really meant for him. Because it seemed, especially after dinner the night before, that there was a lot about it that he didn't know.

They returned to the river Acheron and boarded the ferry, not needing a coin to depart. Back in the Charion station, they followed another arched passageway, along with a few other vampires. It ended at a wide staircase that spiraled upward out of sight.

They wound up and up, feeling the air slowly warm. Here and there, passageways led off into darkness, and the staircase became narrower. Finally the stairs ended at a wall with a stone door. Oliver pushed it open and they entered a cramped hallway. Flickering candles hung on the walls between hollowed-out niches that held collapsed piles of bones.

“Hey, catacombs,” said Dean. “Nice.”

There was a pattering of unseen rats' feet, and a smell of old bones and moist earth. Oliver led the way, following the trail of candles through the maze of narrow tunnels. Every now and then, a small set of stairs brought them a few feet closer to the surface. Soon the floor became tiled with flat stones, and the recesses in the walls were replaced by polished marble plaques bearing ancient symbols and names in Latin. Oliver took a final turn, ascended a steep staircase, and reached a tight room with crypts on either side. Pushing through a squealing iron door, the two emerged into the warm summer night.

They stood in an ancient graveyard of mausoleums, tombstones, and shrines. A gentle hill sloped down to a small stone church. Its stained-glass windows flickered with warm light. Beyond that was a little road, bounding through farmland. A town glowed in the distance.

“That's Fortuna,” said Oliver. He reached into his pocket and produced the tiny toy television. “All right…” He twisted the yellow dial forward four times, then twice back, then said, “Emalie.”

The TV didn't change, or emit a light, or anything.

“Did it work?” Dean asked.

Oliver shrugged. “Maybe Emalie's still working the kinks out.”

Excuse me?

“Whu?” Oliver looked around wildly.

“What?” asked Dean.

“Did you hear—”

I'm in here.
It was Emalie.
Duh, in your head.

“Oh,” Oliver said aloud. “Hi.” He turned to Dean and tapped a finger to his temple. “She's in here.”

Dean frowned. “How come I can't hear her?” he whined.

Tell him I'm sorry. The charm only works on the one who activates it. It invites me in.

“She says it's 'cause I'm special,” said Oliver.

Dean looked shocked. “Did you just make a joke?”

Oliver felt a rush of embarrassment and shook his head dismissively. “All right, now what, Emalie?”

“Hey, Emalie,” Dean went on, “if you can hear me, I think your charm messed up Oliver's head. He just tried to be funny.”

“Tsss,”
Oliver hissed.

What's he talking about?
Emalie asked.

Um,
thought Oliver, desperate to change the subject from Emalie's charm.
Where are you?

Not far from you. Follow the road toward town.

Oliver and Dean weaved through the graves to the road, then walked toward the light of town. Behind them, the moon hung low on the horizon, still tinted amber. The road was quiet. Only an occasional tiny car zipped by, its tires slapping on the old cobblestones. They walked on the dirt shoulder, beside an ancient stone wall that was waist high and overgrown with vines and shrubs. Rolling fields stretched away on either side of the road. Here and there in the fields stood solitary ruins: a tower, a lone archway, the crumbling remains of a building, all relics of the Romans. An occasional villa was nestled within a cluster of trees, its windows aglow.

As they walked, Oliver began to notice an odd flickering out of the corner of his eye. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then he stopped and peered into the tangles of vegetation on the wall and saw tiny flashes of pale light, a green-tinted yellow. Each light would move for a moment, then wink out, appearing a moment later.

“What?” asked Dean.

“Those lights,” Oliver whispered. “It's like a kind of energy or enchantment—”

Dean chuckled. “You're a comedian tonight. Those are just fireflies.”

“Fireflies? Are they mystical?”

“No, they're just insects that glow. They use the light to attract mates. I guess you don't really see them in Seattle.”

“Or underground,” added Oliver.

“True.”

They continued walking, and Oliver slowly got used to the tiny blinking insect lights. He noticed more of them among the grassy fields and in the shadows of the trees beyond.

The farms began to give way to groups of houses. Ahead, the outskirts of town became visible. There were clusters of buildings with a few lights on, the blue glow and babble of a television from a window here and there, and the murmur and clinking of people eating and drinking outside.

Over here,
said Emalie moments later.

A small driveway led away from the road. It was lined with old trees. They followed it to a gate displaying a gold sign that read:
Luogo Storico: Fortuna Antica.
Oliver and Dean vaulted over the gate. They passed a gift shop, closed for the evening, and found themselves on an ancient road of large, uneven cobblestones. On either side were crumbled walls of the ancient Roman ruins of Fortuna. The walls created a checkerboard of square rooms, their floors given over to grass. An occasional marble column reached up toward the original heights of what had once been tall villas, only to end jaggedly, its top long since collapsed.

One structure still stood tall: a wide, curved amphitheater with arches around its perimeter.

“Kind of looks like that Colosseum you see in pictures of Rome,” Dean observed.

In here,
said Emalie.

Oliver and Dean ducked under an archway. A short tunnel led them out to the floor. A half-moon of stone seats arced around them. They stood in the space that was once a stage.

“Hey, boys.” Emalie was sitting halfway up the steps in a T-shirt and jeans. She stood and hopped down, slinging her shoulder bag. “So how's things?”

“All right,” Oliver replied, trying to think of something more interesting to say.

“Oliver's family is crraa-zy,” Dean reported with a smile. He went on to recap their arrival in Morosia and the awkward dinner.

“Sounds rough.” Emalie eyed Oliver with concern.

“Eh.” Oliver shrugged. “Whatever. Just the usual, I guess.” As he spoke, a firefly floated by his face, distracting him with its blinking.

“Also,” Dean added casually, “Oliver thinks his parents might sacrifice him tomorrow night.”

“What?” Emalie exclaimed.

“Yeah, about that.…” Oliver recounted the conversation he'd overheard back in his house.

“And then,” said Dean, “this girl Lythia told us that tomorrow night is seventh moon. That was the night that Selene got her prophecy. Oh, and Selene is Oliver's oracle.”

“Who's Lythia?” Emalie asked immediately.

“She's just some vampire girl,” said Oliver.

“Like our age but with a demon,” Dean added, “and she won all this money at roulette.”

Emalie's brow puckered. “Well, she sounds special. This Lythia didn't happen to tell you where to
find
Selene, did she?”

Oliver shrugged. “No.”

“We haven't been able to find out, either,” said Emalie. “My aunt and I have researched the town records, asked around, and nobody knows anything about a Selene. We don't even know if she's in town, and we still don't know why my mom wanted to see her.” Emalie frowned. “It's turning into a dead end. The only thing I found was references to Selene in Greek myths. That was the name of a moon goddess.”

“That makes sense with what Désirée said, right?” mused Dean. “The whole
‘light that burns cold'
thing?”

“Mmm…” Oliver paused, suddenly distracted. He turned and was surprised to see a number of fireflies blinking together around a marble pillar base nearby. The pillar itself had fallen over and lay cracked into segments on the ground. As Oliver watched, more fireflies slowly gravitated toward this tablelike structure. They spiraled above it, forming a lazy tornado of pale light. And many were landing on the surface, crawling over one another in a tight mass. They seemed to be very interested in something lying there. Oliver started walking toward them.

“And what is an oracle, anyway?” Dean was asking. “A vampire, zombie shaman, wraith, or, like, a god or something?”

“I don't think we're looking for a god,” Emalie said. “We—Oliver?”