The Sunlight Slayings (16 page)

They leaped over the high fence around the towers. Oliver was happy to find that his side hurt much less without the amulet in it.

“I know,” Phlox said, ruffling Oliver's hair as they made their way across the moonlit grass. “It's—well, you're old enough to know that parents don't always know exactly what to do. Sometimes we take a guess. And you're so different, Oliver, with what you've been through recently, with all your power.… Well, anyway, I'm just glad you're okay.”

Oliver didn't reply. It would have felt good to hear his mom say these things if they weren't based on such a tangle of half-truths and lies.

They dropped into the sewers and made their way home. Oliver noticed guards still lurking in the shadows.

“So,” Phlox said as they entered the house, “Oliver, you really need to rest, but I've thought hard about this, and decided that your father and I will keep our plans for tonight.”

“Plans?” Oliver said as nonchalantly as he could.

“We have a standing invitation,” Phlox began, slipping off her coat, “to a Valentine's Day feeding over in Bellevue.”

Oliver had completely forgotten about Valentine's Day. He remembered distantly that he'd been invited to a party. But then again, his date had been burned to dust, so maybe that was a problem. He couldn't even imagine wanting to go to Suzyn's party now, never mind actually going.

Phlox was opening the hall closet. “It's a Half-Light event, a feeding at a nightclub.” She spoke quickly, almost as if she was nervous. She traded in the long black coat she was wearing for one of thick tan fur, then walked into the crypt. “Normally we'd be invited to the event at the Space Needle, but …” she trailed off, like this bothered her. “Anyway, all of tonight's events were going to be canceled, but there's been an outcry in the community. We can't let the Scourge keep us from going about our existence. I thought about just staying home with you, but … I'm going to try to do better at that.” She emerged, pinning tiny golden skull earrings in place. “Just promise me you'll stay home, safe, and rest. You need to heal.”

“I will.” Oliver nodded emphatically. “Promise. Where's Bane?”

“Oh.” Phlox waved her hand. “Him. See if I could get him to come visit you at the doctor's … but you know your brother. I think he and his friends were going to hang out at Randall's and harass kids online for a while, then they had a vampire party of some kind. Anyway, I'm sure we won't see him until dawn.” Phlox headed back toward the door, then turned one final time. “There's plenty of food upstairs, snacks and stuff. I picked up some of those gorged Malaysian mosquitoes that you like so much.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Oliver said.

“Okay, then, your father's meeting me on the way, so I should go.…” She gazed at Oliver with serious eyes, her hands fidgeting with her handbag. “Oliver, I mean it. Stay here and rest.”

“Got it.”

“Okay.” Phlox nodded, giving Oliver an earnest, tender look. “See you in the morning.” She turned and left.

Oliver just stood there as the door slammed. He waited until Phlox's scent faded, then he turned quickly to Dean. “So, Emalie's?”

Dean nodded. “Let's go.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Oliver said as they emerged from the sewers. “You totally made it work with my mom. That was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a half-smile. “That was pretty good. Man, it's funny, 'cause I used to be terrible at that kind of stuff when I was alive.”

“Yeah, lying is definitely easier when you're dead,” Oliver agreed, thinking that he was probably the only vampire or zombie out there who actually had trouble with it.

“She really bought it, though,” Dean said proudly.

“Yeah, that was … different.” Oliver almost didn't trust what had just happened, now that he thought about it. But Phlox did love Valentine's Day, and wasn't she right that she'd been too protective of Oliver?
Not if she knew the whole truth
, he thought. But she didn't.

“So,” Dean said, “what exactly are we going to do at Emalie's?”

“Not sure,” Oliver said. “I think the first thing we should do is figure out how to get rid of that wraith. It can't hurt us as long as we're aboveground and Emalie doesn't leave her body. Then we have to figure out a way to put the blame for the Scourge on somebody else.”

“Frame somebody?” Dean asked. “Cool.”

They found Emalie's house completely dark. Dean peered in the porch windows while Oliver checked the basement window.

“Maybe they went out for dinner or something,” Dean said hopefully. “I mean, that would be a big step for her dad.”

They let themselves into the basement. Dean hopped up on the washing machine. Oliver leaned against the sink. The house was still. Oliver heard a few rats in the nearby wall. It worried him that Emalie wasn't home. She shouldn't have left the house. Then again, if she was with her dad, she would be fairly safe, as long as they were in public places.

“Did you hear something?” Dean asked, his head cocked quizzically.

“Huh?” Oliver listened. He only heard the rats—

And now a slight, wet sound. It was very quiet, well beyond the reach of human ears.

“Is that crying?” Dean whispered.

Oliver listened: There it was again, a slight hitch, and sniffles—it did sound like crying.

Something moved in the darkness. It was hard to make out—

“Um,” Dean said, “why is there a vacuum bag floating across the room?”

“Something's here,” Oliver said, tensing up.

The bag floated smoothly through space, at waist level, barely visible in the faint light from the narrow window. It stopped abruptly in the corner, by an old bike. Then it flipped over and shook. Dust poured downward, floating gently but not evenly. Some of it stopped in midair, and a form took shape in the cloud.

“Is that a g—”

“
Tsss
,” Oliver hissed.

A figure had appeared, drawn in dust, small, kneeling on the floor. A hood and shawl had been pushed back, revealing long, matted hair and a delicate face. The dust had blackened where it had landed on wet tear streaks. As the dust settled on long, rumpled robes, the empty bag fell to the floor.

Oliver wondered for a moment if this was a trap, but he felt fairly sure that it wasn't. The dust figure sniffed. “Hey,” Oliver said quietly.

“Hey,” she replied. Her voice was mouselike, and scratchy with sadness.

“Are you the wraith?” Oliver asked.

The figure nodded. “Not much of one,” she muttered.

“I think you were,” Oliver said carefully, remembering that wraiths could be violently unstable. “I mean, you almost turned me to dust—”

She rolled her eyes. “Almost,” she sighed, and slapped at her legs. Dust dislodged, leaving invisible handprints in her thighs. “I was supposed to slay you.”

Oliver looked over at Dean. Dean just shrugged. Oliver turned back to the wraith. “Well, the Scourge should have worked, it's just that …” He stopped. It was probably a good idea to keep his guard up. “I mean, it wasn't your fault.…”

“Tell that to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was fired,” the wraith replied heavily. “Three strikes and you're out. Back to Spira for me. He'll probably send me back to the Shoals.”

Oliver had heard of the Shoals. They were spirit borderlands, empty edges: worlds between worlds, full of nothing. “Who's Spira?”

“He's a Merchynt. A big one. He was my broker. He sold me—said I could do the job: possess the girl, and use her to slay you.

“But you slayed other vampire children, too,” said Oliver.

“That was to confuse Half-Light, so they wouldn't know you were our real target. And they told me that if I did well, they'd give me passage, but … look at me, I failed.”

Oliver figured she meant passage from the Shoals into the higher dimensions, where her spirit would be free. So, the wraith had been hired.… “What's your name?” he asked.

The wraith finally looked up. While the dust outlined her delicate face and eyelids in gray, her eyes were invisible, empty spaces. “Jenette,” she said. She seemed younger than Oliver and Dean, but it may have just been her slight build and her light voice.

“Hi, Jenette, I'm—”

“I know you,” she interrupted. “Oliver and Dean. Emalie adores you both.”

“Um,” Oliver began, feeling a flush of nerves.

“Where is she?” Dean asked, doing better than Oliver at getting down to business.

Jenette sighed. “Oh. They took her.”

“Who?” Oliver asked.

“The same ones who hired and fired me. They never told me their names. And my contract said ‘no questions.'” Jenette looked up sheepishly. “I'm really sorry about trying to slay you. It was nothing personal.”

“Sure.” Oliver nodded, his mind racing. Whoever was behind this must have known that there was a rift between Oliver and Emalie, which also meant that they had been watching them.

“So where is she now?” Dean asked.

“I don't even know,” Jenette muttered. “They just cast me out and left me here. Now I can't help you, either. I'll roam forever,” she said sadly.

Oliver shared a look with Dean. “Now what?” Dean asked. Oliver was about to answer, when something caught his eye from the small window. Feet, walking by silently.

“Someone's out there,” Oliver whispered.

The back door creaked open. A white flashlight beam swept through the basement. “Is anyone in there?” a gruff voice called.

Oliver nodded at Dean, who slid off the washing machine and started squeezing himself between it and a stack of boxes. Jenette shook herself violently, disappearing as the dust scattered. Oliver moved to the wall by the sink and spectralized just as a uniformed police officer crept into the space. His large flashlight arced about. He reached up to the radio by his shoulder and keyed it to life. “Basement looks empty, sir.”

“Copy that,” a voice replied. “Join the detail upstairs.”

The officer slowly left, his flashlight sweeping through Oliver, then into the dark corners of the room. Moments later, his boots ascended the stairs to the first floor.

“That was close—” Dean began.

“Tsss!”
Oliver just caught the faintest scent, then the lightest footfall —

There was someone else down here. Oliver smelled a human man, but barely, almost as if this person knew how to conceal a scent.

The man appeared in the darkroom. He had short brown hair and wore a dress shirt and pants beneath a long gray raincoat, his badge on his belt. He didn't have a flashlight or a gun. Instead, he held a stake.

A radio crackled. He pulled it from his jacket pocket. “Bedrooms are clean, Detective Pederson,” an officer reported.

“Check for a crawl space, attic, anything,” Detective Pederson instructed. He dropped the radio back into his pocket. “All right,” he said softly to the seemingly empty room. “They're all upstairs, Oliver. Now come out.”

Oliver didn't move, instead fading back farther into the concrete wall.

“Look,” Pederson continued quietly, “there's an alert out for Emalie Watkins. Police are searching all over town. Her father is at the station. I'm just about to report that she hasn't returned to her house, and then I'm sending this detail on to a park where she's been seen hanging out lately. All the officers are going to leave, but then I'm going to stay behind, and if you want to know where she
really
is, then you'll come out and meet me at my car.”

Oliver remained still.

“I hope you make the right choice,” Detective Pederson finished. He slowly backed out of the room. Footsteps echoed loudly upstairs as police gave up their stealth. They tromped out, and the house became quiet again.

Chapter 13

Staesys

OLIVER REAPPEARED. DEAN SLID
out from behind the boxes. “Well?”

“Why would a cop be offering help to a vampire?” Oliver wondered aloud.

“He's working with the people who hired me,” Jenette said softly from somewhere nearby.

“So it's a trap,” said Dean.

“Yeah.” Oliver nodded and started toward the door. “Let's go.”

“Wait, what?” Dean grabbed his shoulder. “Does the word
trap
mean something different in vampire?”

Oliver wanted to slap Dean's hand off, and maybe throw him against the washing machine for good measure. Here was fearful Dean again, and now was not the time. “It means: That's where Emalie is. They're after me. If getting me makes her safe, then fine.” Oliver was hoping that it wouldn't go that way exactly, but if it was dust for him so that Emalie would be all right …

“Well—but can't we get help?” Dean wondered.

“From who?”

“I don't know, I just …” Dean looked into the darkness. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think it's dangerous,” Jenette said quietly, “but they are just humans. I could help you.”

“How?”

A shadow of Jenette swirled close to them. “They'll try to use the Scourge on you again.”

“And this time it will work,” said Oliver, thinking of the amulet shard that was no longer in his side.

“Another reason why this is a bad idea,” Dean moaned.

“Not if you let them,” Jenette continued.

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Oliver.

“If you spectralize right when they hit you,” Jenette explained, “I can pull you out, and we can get rid of the Scourge.”

“Pull me out, you mean out of this world? That's impossible.”

“Well, I can't pull you out forever, but I can pull you into the Shoals for long enough that you can get rid of the Scourge. We can send it off into another world.”