I know, I know. My slurping down blood like it was from a collapsible juice box sounds completely nasty, but it was delicious. It didn’t taste like blood, or at least not that coppery, salty way blood used to taste to me before I was Marked. It was delicious and electrifying, like drinking rare gourmet honey mixed with wine (if you like wine) mixed with Red Bull (but better tasting). I could feel it spreading through my body, giving me a jolt of energy that chased away the lingering terror of my nightmare.
I crumpled up the empty baggie and tossed it in the big garbage can in the corner of the room. Then I grabbed a bottle of brown pop and a bag of nacho cheese Doritos. I mean, my breath already smelled gross from the blood. Might as well have Doritos for breakfast.
Then I realized: one, I didn’t know where Damien and Jack were, and two, I really needed to call Sister Mary Angela and find out how Grandma was doing.
Yeah, I know it sounds weird that I was calling a nun. It sounds even weirder that I trusted said nun with my grandma’s life. Literally. But all the weirdness stopped the moment I met Sister Mary Angela, prioress of the Benedictine nuns of Tulsa. Besides doing nun stuff (praying and whatnot), Sister Mary Angela and the nuns from the abbey run Tulsa Street Cats, which is how I met her. I’d decided that House of Night fledglings needed to get more active in the community. I mean, the House of Night had been in Tulsa for upward of five years, but it was like we were a little island of our own. Everyone with any sense knows isolation and ignorance equal prejudice—hello, I read Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter From Birmingham Jail” the beginning of my sophomore year. Anyway, what with two vampyre professors being nastily murdered, Shekinah had agreed with my idea of helping a community charity, as long as I was well protected. Which was how Darius had gotten so involved with me and my group. So, I’d chosen Street Cats, well, ’cause what with all the cats at the House of Night, it just made sense.
Sister Mary Angela and I had hit it off from the moment we met. She’s cool and spiritual, and wise and nonjudgmental. She even thinks that Nyx is just another version of the Virgin Mary (and Mary is majorly important to the Benedictine Sisters). So I guess you could say Sister Mary Angela and I became friends, and when Grandma was attacked by the Raven Mockers and ended up in St. John’s Hospital in a coma, it was Sister Mary Angela I called to sit with her and protect her from the Raven Mockers hurting her again. When all hell broke loose at the House of Night irit Zand Neferet killed Shekinah and had Stark shoot Stevie Rae, Kalona rose, and the Raven Mockers became substantial, it was Sister Mary Angela who got Grandma safely belowground.
Or at least in theory she was supposed to have gotten Grandma, and the rest of the sisters, underground. I hadn’t talked to her since last night, just before our cell service was cut off.
So, in order of importance, I needed to call Sister Mary Angela—assuming my phone was working again—and then get directions to Damien and Jack so I could relieve them. Figuring I could kill two birds at once, I retraced my path back down the tunnel, heading for the basement entrance and Darius. He’d know how to get to the boys, and I could probably get cell service in the basement—unless the aboveground world had gone all postapocalypse and cell service was out forever. Thankfully, being filled with blood made me feel slightly optimistic, and even the possibility of a disgusting (and unattractive) I Am Legend–type world didn’t seem utterly hopeless.
One thing at a time. I’d just take it one thing at a time. First, I’d find out how Grandma was. Then I’d relieve Damien and Jack. Then I’d try to think my way through that awful nightmare.
I remembered the dark angel’s voice and the way pain and pleasure had somehow melded into one when he touched me and called me his love. I jerked my mind from those kinds of thoughts. Pain couldn’t equal pleasure. What I had felt in the dream was just that, a dream, and by the definition of “dream” (or nightmare) that meant it wasn’t real. And I was definitely not Kalona’s love.
It was about then that I also realized some of the nerves skittering through my body were fearful, and that had nothing to do with Kalona. While I’d been preoccupied with thinking about him I’d been pretty much ignoring the subconscious tightening in my body. My heartbeat had sped up again. My stomach rolled. I had the distinct and terrifying feeling that I was being watched.
I spun around, expecting to see—at the very least—bats flapping nastily around. But there was nothing except the dead silence of the deserted, lantern-lit tunnel stretching behind me.
“You are utterly freaking out,” I said aloud to myself.
As if my words had caused it, the lantern closest to me went out.
Dread filled me, and I started backing down the tunnel, keeping my eyes open for anything that might be more than my imagination. And I backed into the metal ladder that had been welded to the wall and led up into the basement of the depot. Giddy with relief at finding the end of the tunnels, I balanced my can of brown pop in one hand and smooshed the big bag of my breakfast Doritos noisily in the other. I had just started to climb when a strong male arm appeared from above, scaring the bejeezus out of me.
“Here, give me the pop and chips. You’re going to fall right on your butt trying to hold on to them and the ladder.”
My gaze flew up to see Erik smiling down at me. I swallowed quickly and gave him a perky “Thanks!” Handing him the pop and chips, I made my way more easily up the rest of the ladder.
The basement was several degrees colder than it was in the tunnels, which felt good on my fear-flushed face.
“I like that I can still make you blush,” Erik told me, stroking my hot cheek.
I almost blurted that I was freaked by shadows and unseen crap down in the tunnels, but I could imagine him laughing and accusing me of jumping at bats again. And what if I was just ultrasensitive because of the dream? Did I really want to talk to Erik, or anybody, about Kalona right then?
No.
Instead I said, “It’s cold up here, and you know I hate it when I blush.”
“Yeah, the temperature’s dropped like crazy in the past few hours. It’s going to be an icy mess out there. You know, I think you’re adorable with those pink cheeks.”
“You and my grandma are the only two people in the world who think that,” I said, smiling begrudgingly at him.
“Well, that puts me in good company.” Erik chuckled, reaching for a chip while I glanced around the basement. Everything was quiet up here, too, but not scary quiet like the stupid tunnels. Erik had a chair pulled over near the entrance to below and beside it were a couple oil lanterns (brightly burning), a half-empty liter bottle of Mountain Dew (eesh!), and, surprise, surprise, Bram Stoker’s Dracula with a bookmark stuck in it at about the halfway point. I waggled my brows at him.
“What? I borrowed it from Kramisha.” He was smiling kinda guiltily, which made him look like an adorable little boy. “So, I admit it. I’ve been curious about the book ever since you told me a while ago that it’s one of your favorites. I’m only about halfway through, so do not tell me what happens.”
I grinned at him, flattered that he was reading Dracula just because of me. “Oh, please,” I teased. “You know how the book ends. Everybody knows how the book ends.” I really loved that Erik was this big, tall, hot, studly guy who reads all sorts of books and watches old Star Wars movies. My grin got wider. “Sooooo, you’re liking it?”
“Yeah, I am. Even though I didn’t really expect to.” His grin mirrored mine. “I mean, come on. It is a little old school, what with the vamps being monsters and all.”
My mind instantly went to Neferet, whom I considered a monster in a beautiful disguise, and to my unanswered questions about the red fledglings, but I pulled my thoughts away from all that, not wanting darkness to intrude on this moment with Erik. Refocusing on Dracula, I said, “Well, yeah, Dracula is supposed to be a monster and all, but I always feel sorry for him.”