21
Too slow. She struck nothing but air. Reiter was already behind her, one arm clamped around her chest, the fingers of his other hand gripping her skull.
“There is no debt, you stupid child,” he purred. “I’m the competition.
Harel and his nasty little compatriots want my territory. But why that rat sent you here, I cannot tell. A gift? An enticement? The question will be whether I can drink you dry without ruining my suit. It’s a little challenge I like to set for myself.”
His teeth—his fangs—sank into her neck. Alex screamed. The pain was acute, the needle prick, the abrupt agony that followed. Now she knew why there were no ghosts on the estate. This was where death lived.
Alex cried out to the Gray lurking reluctantly outside the gates. The schoolteacher rushed into her—the stale smell of a coatroom full of brownbag lunches, a dusty cloud of chalk, and her relentless will. Hands go up, mouths go shut.
The vampire hissed and broke his hold, spitting blood from his mouth.
Alex watched it spatter the couch, the carpet.
“So much for your suit.”
His eyes glittered now, bright dimes in his too-pale face, fangs extended, wet with her blood. “You taste like the grave.”
“Good.”
She launched herself at him, flush with the Gray’s strength, brass knuckles in place. She got in two good hits, heard his jaw crunch, felt his stomach crumple. Then he seemed to shake off the shock, regain his speed.
He darted away, putting distance between them, and he rose, levitating, flying, weightless before her in his bloodstained whites.
Her mind screamed at the wrongness of him. How could she have mistaken this creature for human?
“A real puzzle,” the vampire said. The two strikes with the brass knuckles would have killed an ordinary man, but he looked unfazed. “Now I understand why Eitan Harel sent an emaciated child after me. But what exactly are you, honey lamb?”
Fucking terrified. All she had was ghost strength and a scrap of magic borrowed—stolen—from Lethe. And clearly that wasn’t going to be enough.
Had Eitan sent her here to die? She could worry about that later. If she lived. Think. What rattled this particular monster? The only time she’d seen him shaken was when she’d threatened his beautiful things, his glorious stuff.
Okay, you toothy motherfucker. Let’s play.
She snatched a porcelain figurine off a side table, hurled it through the French doors, and lunged for the bar. She didn’t wait to find out if he’d taken the bait, just let herself crash into the bottles, smashing whatever she could and knocking the candles into the mess of liquor. She saw one gutter out, and she released a helpless sob. But then the fire caught and bloomed, a graceful flame, a spreading vine. It gained strength, licking up the alcohol, sliding along the bar.
The vampire howled. Alex dove behind the flames, using them for cover, feeling the heat grow and trying to cover her mouth as smoke billowed up.
She stripped off her hoodie and wound it into a makeshift torch, soaking it in liquor, fire gathering around it like a ball of cotton candy. She bolted for the French doors, and tossed the torch behind her, heard a whoosh as the curtains caught.
Alex threw herself through the window with a loud crash and felt the prickle of glass slicing her skin. Then she was running.
She had the Gray’s strength within her, and she took long strides, ignoring the branches that stung her face, the throb at her neck where Reiter had bitten into her. She didn’t bother with scaling the wall. She put her arms out in front of her and slammed through the gates. They gave way with a clang and she was sprinting down the street, fumbling for the keys to the Mercedes. But her pockets were empty. The hoodie. The keys had been in the hoodie. Dawes was going to kill her.
Alex ran, her sneakers smacking against the blacktop of the empty streets.
She saw lights on in the houses. Could she veer off, beg for help, try to find sanctuary? She seized on the ghost’s strength, felt it rush deeper into her as her legs pumped. It barely felt like she was touching the ground. She ran through the dark, through pockets of streetlight, into the town where the traffic was thicker, past the train station, until she was running the frontage road parallel to the highway. She dodged a car, heard the shriek of a horn, and then she was moving over water. A river? The sea? She could see the lights from the bridge, big houses with their own docks reflected on the surface. She was running past chain-link fences, dogs barking and yowling in her wake. She was afraid to stop.
Could he track her? Smell her blood? He hadn’t liked the taste of her, that much was clear, at least not once she’d summoned the Gray. She didn’t know where she was anymore. She wasn’t even sure if she was running toward New Haven or away from it. She didn’t feel human. She was a coyote, a fox, some feral thing that crept into yards at night. She was a ghost herself, an apparition glimpsed through windows.
But fatigue was seeping in. She could feel the Gray begging her to stop.
Ahead she saw a highway exit, and a gas station sitting in an island of light. She slowed her steps but didn’t stop until she’d entered that bright dome of fluorescence. There were cars parked at the pump, a couple of semis pulled up in the big parking lot, travelers shopping in the mini-mart. Alex stopped in front of the sliding glass doors and bent double, hands on her knees, breath coming in gasps, afraid she might vomit as the adrenaline ebbed out of her body. The minutes ticked by, and she watched the road, the sky. Could Reiter actually fly? Turn into a bat? Did he have vampire buddies to send after her?
Had he already put out the fire at his splendid mansion? She hoped not. She hoped that fire would eat everything he loved.
At last she relinquished the schoolteacher, feeling the dregs of her strength drain away. She felt nauseous and so tired. She sat down on the curb, rested her head against her knees, and wept hot, frightened tears.
“It’s all right.”
Alex jumped at the soft voice, half-expecting to see Linus Reiter next to her.
But it was the schoolteacher. Her smile was gentle. She had died in her sixties, and there were deep creases around her eyes. She was wearing slacks, and a sweater, and a pin with a smiling rainbow on it that said Very good!
Muy bien! Her hair was cut short.
There were no wounds that Alex could see, and she wondered how this woman had died. She knew she should turn away, pretend she couldn’t hear her; any bond with a Gray could be dangerous. But she couldn’t make herself do it.
“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling fresh tears slide down her cheeks.
“We don’t go to that house,” said the teacher. “He buries them in the gardens.”
“Who?” Alex asked, feeling herself begin to shake. “How many?”
“Hundreds. Maybe more. He’s been there a very long time.”
Alex pressed her palms against her eyes. “I’m going to get something to drink.”
