Arc 2 Read online

  Letizia set the ringing phone down on the shards of glass and fixed it with a deadly glare, which she then covered with her usual dark sunglasses. Smoke barely had time to rise before the entire thing caught fire.

  “Did that break the spell?” Eva asked, holding her nose against the stink of melting plastic.

  “No,” Letizia said, flames reflected in her shades. “But it makes me feel better. One last thing!” She held out one hand and swept it before her, like she was wiping a window clear, or spreading something over all of them. “Now you’ll be able to find the stone circle. Do not bring anyone not in this room, or speak of it to anyone else. Now go. I have too much to do, and not enough time to do it in.”

  “I’d say that was weird, but it’s really not for us anymore, is it?” Jude said as the apartment door closed behind him and Pixie.

  Jasper and Eva, bless both of them, had said good night without asking either of them any uncomfortable questions, although they both had a definite air of sympathy. They hadn’t missed Pixie’s odd state either, and they got the same look whenever Jude talked about his dream. He never knew what to do with that look, and was always glad when the moment passed and they could go back to pretending it hadn’t happened. Now, however, there was no way to pretend he hadn’t seen Pixie’s reaction, or that it didn’t worry him.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Pixie said in noncommittal reply. With his ears, Jude could be sure Pixie had technically heard him, but whether he’d understood the words was another question.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “And I don’t think you do either.”

  “I—what?” Pixie said then, giving his head a little shake and turning to face Jude, looking sheepish. It seemed as if he hadn’t absorbed a thing Jude had said. Maybe he hadn’t truly heard a thing Letizia or anyone else had said either, after whatever had affected him so much a few minutes ago. “Oh. No, I… really don’t.”

  “Pixie, what happened in there? What’s wrong?” Jude asked, unable to keep the concern out of his words

  Pixie hesitated, and that was all the confirmation Jude needed. He hadn’t been imagining things; Pixie hadn’t said one word almost the entire time they’d been in Letizia’s apartment, obviously shaken, and now he seemed to crumple further. His eyes were wide and frightened, and Jude shifted a bit closer. He didn’t reach out for Pixie’s hand, however, having the uncomfortable and too-familiar feeling that even the gentlest touch would do nothing but startle him right now.

  “Talk to me. Please?” Jude asked, not at all liking the look on Pixie’s face or the shake in his voice.

  “Wicked Gold is… my sire,” Pixie said, and now more than his voice was shaking. Now Jude did reach out to put a hand on his arm, and Pixie didn’t turn, but leaned into the touch. “He’s the one who turned me. He’s bad—very, very bad. And he’s involved in this? We’re going to fight him?”

  “No,” Jude said immediately. “You don’t have to. I won’t let him hurt you—I won’t let him get near you at all.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Pixie said, looking haunted. “And nobody can keep that one. I… I can’t do this. I can’t be near him. I can’t see him. I—I see him too much already.”

  “In nightmares?”

  “Yeah.” Pixie said. He opened his mouth, then shut it, as if he’d been about to say something and then thought better of it.

  “Not just in nightmares?” Jude pressed, voice dropping.

  “I… I saw him do it,” Pixie said, his own voice falling until it was close to a whisper. “Kill Cruce. I saw it happen. It wasn’t a dream, it can’t have been a dream, because it came true. I mean, a lot of my nightmares have come true, but this—this was different. He’s close, I know he’s close, and that means he’ll come after me. And if he gets whatever power’s in that stone circle, he’ll be even more dangerous than he already is. He’s already ruined enough lives! And not even just him, this place eats everything up, even without magic. It makes people disappear. With nothing left behind, especially not answers!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jude asked as gently as possible. “If this Wicked Gold bastard is still in your head, he’s still hurting you. That’s not okay. You can’t keep on like this—we can’t keep on like this.”

  “I know!” Pixie groaned. “But I was hoping I was wrong. I was hoping he’d just stay gone, and we’d never have to worry about him again, and I didn’t want you involved in this if he did come back. It’d just be dangerous and... full of stuff you probably don’t want in your head.”

  Jude was painfully aware that Pixie had largely left the pain he’d suffered at Cruce’s—and Wicked Gold’s—hands up to imagination, and he didn’t like anything he imagined at all. “You don’t have to tell me anything he did to you, not until you’re ready, if you ever are. Just promise me you won’t wait the next time you feel him near. I don’t care if it’s ‘just’ a nightmare, if he’s here and scaring you, I want to know.”

  Pixie didn’t answer for a while. When he did, it was just above a mumble, eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Jude asked, completely lost. “You haven’t done anything to apologize for.”

  “Just all of this,” Pixie said with a listless shrug. “I come with a lot of baggage. I just hope that it’s not more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “Hey,” Jude said, putting himself directly in front of Pixie. He didn’t make Pixie look up, but he was happy when he did anyway. The words he said next were unexpectedly easy, automatic in a way that surprised himself, and entirely truthful. “You’re worth it. You’re worth all of this. More.”

  “Thanks,” Pixie said, and now he really was whispering. “I mean it.”

  “So do I,” Jude assured him. “You probably figured out that I’m pretty serious about most things.”

  “Naw,” Pixie said, and now he smiled a little. Good. “Serious? You?”

  “That means I’m serious about you. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure.”

  “Really? You mean that?” Pixie’s eyes were bright and hopeful again.

  “I do,” Jude said without hesitation or a shadow of doubt. “I want you here more than anything.”

  Pixie smiled, and though he didn’t answer, he did seem to be watching Jude in an expectant, happily anticipatory kind of way, leaning just a little bit closer and turning his face up. Waiting.

  For once, Jude knew exactly what he was expecting. Everything about Pixie—from his excited eyes and sweet, chubby cheeks to the tips of the toenails Jude knew to be painted pink to match his hair—seemed made for affection, or at least begging for it. Like he knew exactly how cute and irresistible he was, and was just waiting for Jude to catch up.

  But Jude couldn’t bring himself to make that move, kiss that boy, or do anything but stand there paralyzed by indecision and fear of making everything worse.

  “So do you have any idea what you’re going to find for the spell?” he asked, after both moments—first charged, then slightly awkward—had passed, mind drifting back to the other problem at hand. It probably wasn’t a good sign when a mysterious magic ritual seemed less insurmountable than overcoming potential romantic disaster.

  “…I have an idea. But I’m hoping to think of another one.” Now Pixie looked pained as well as a little disappointed, and Jude didn’t ask any follow-up questions. He’d dragged enough painful admissions out of Pixie for one night. Instead, he headed for the fridge to grab the bottle of blood-infused sauce he could tell Pixie needed but, like the rest of what was bothering him, wasn’t mentioning.

  He couldn’t kiss Pixie when he was sad, because that might make things worse. He couldn’t kiss Pixie when he was happy, because it might be the wrong thing, and then Pixie might be sad. He couldn’t even kiss Pixie when it was obvious—or would be to anyone else—that this was exactly what Pixie wanted. Was there anything useful Jude could do at all?

  He could supply blood sauce. An
d he could find dirt. Maybe eventually he’d stop feeling like it, too.

  “Are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?” Jude asked, turning in a full circle and looking up at the bare, stark branches above them. “I feel like we’ve passed that tree before.”

  “Not completely sure, no,” Eva said as the two of them made their way down the isolated foot path that cut through the park. Even in the middle of the day, and with most of the leaves down, it was overcast enough to make it oddly dark. “But Letizia said we should be able to find the place now. It’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

  “It’s almost noon,” Jude grumbled, anxiety increasing. “What if we don’t find it in time today? Do we have to come back tomorrow? Does it absolutely have to be noon dirt?”

  “Listen, I know what you know, and that’s not very f—freaking much.” Eva caught herself just in time. She’d been trying to cut down on the swearing, she’d told him, which had gotten a lot more frequent thanks to recent undead events, and she wanted to avoid slipping where there might be consequences. Now she had her corporate-patience voice on, the one she used to deal with disgruntled mall patrons, or Jude when he was dancing on her last nerve. Jude had just resolved to keep his mouth shut when her face brightened and she batted at his arm.

  “Wait,” she said. “Look.”

  As they rounded a bend in the path that looked just like so many others, the object of their search came into view all at once, like the circle had just sprung into life from thin air. Suddenly he felt very small.

  Jude leaned his head back to look up at the sky and the sharp obsidian spires like black dragon’s teeth that bordered his vision. He shivered again. He’d been here before. This circle was burned into his brain, tangible as if he could touch it—and now, tentatively, he did reach out to touch the nearest black crystal spike. It was strangely warm, despite the overcast day, and he could swear it was softly vibrating.

  He sucked in a breath, overwhelmed with the place, the recognition almost like a physical impact hitting him dead in the chest. He’d been plunged into the presence of it all, memory enveloping him like the surface of water closing over his head.

  There was a definite charge in the air, like the moment before a storm—or a fire. He’d grown accustomed to the feeling in his old life, his old job—calling, more like. Once their lives’ mission had been to drive directly toward fires and run inside when anyone sensible would be fleeing the opposite direction. Before every job, there was a charge like this between them, rising adrenaline, shared anticipation, fear and excitement and resolve all at once. Had something like that happened here? Was there a night like the one five years ago that would be forever seared into someone’s mind, caught and preserved here at the stones like a fly in amber, or clinging to the area like a ghost?

  Shaking the morbid thoughts away, Jude made himself focus on the here and now, focus on physical details to ground himself. Count the spires—one, two, three, four…

  Someone had stuck some pieces of paper to the stones, duct taped to the smooth surfaces that would probably repel thumbtacks or even nails. Posters, torn and faded by the weather and time. Some of them looked like they might be for missing people, but Jude couldn’t make out more than the vague shapes of photos and letters too worn to read.

  Strange—hadn’t Letizia said this place couldn’t just be stumbled upon by random non-magical people? You had to know where it was, and presumably, what it was. Apparently they weren’t the only ones, not by far.

  “Looks like there was one hell of a party here,” Eva said, nodding to the middle of the stones.

  There stood a small tower of wood, still smoldering from what had undoubtedly been a bonfire. Beside it, a pile of three-quarters burnt clothes lay on the ground, corroded with a foul black liquid that looked like it had somehow frozen until it was almost as hard as the stones around them. The mess was half-sunk into the ground, melted and re-formed, as if the whole thing had been doused in acid.

  “All that’s left of Cruce, I guess,” Jude said. “Good riddance.”

  “I don’t like this,” Eva muttered back. “Bad sh—stuff’s gone down here, and is probably gonna go down again. Let’s just grab the dirt and get out of—”

  “Hey!” a voice shouted from the other side of the circle, and then someone was barreling toward them. Someone they had both seen before, quite recently, but not pleasantly.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Jude said as the young man with the torn clothes and filthy red hair approached. Apparently they were just letting anyone find secret circles these days. “Run out of mall-goers to harass?”

  “I wasn’t harassing anyone,” the scruffy punk retorted. Sighing inwardly, Jude reminded himself of what Milo had said—that this guy was loud but not dangerous, and actually in more danger than the rest of them, somehow. Still, that didn’t make dealing with him any more pleasant. “Or stalking, or whatever else anybody’s been saying about me.”

  “I don’t know what they’ve been saying about you,” Jude said, as calmly as possible. “Because I don’t know who you are. What are you doing here?”

  “None of your business!” he shot back, and Jude barely suppressed an eyeroll. All of this was starting to feel like an almost impressively huge waste of time.

  But while the noisy stranger was focused on Jude with remarkable single-mindedness, Eva had slipped to one side with the trowel and glass jar, hiding behind the nearest stone spire. Good, Jude thought. He’d distract the ‘guardian’ of the circle, and she’d get what they came for. They’d always been good at staying on the same page.

  “A better question is, what the hell are you doing here?” said guardian demanded.

  “I… I was…”

  Jude stopped whatever unconvincing thing he’d been about to say. Now he realized what was bothering him, besides the obvious. It was what Eva had told him just before the night his life had changed forever. That weird evening had started as a weird morning—some punk fitting this description had thrown a balled-up burger wrapper at Eva’s face, apparently out of nowhere, and set off a chain of events that led to somebody else—somebody cute and fangy—crashing through his window. The rest was history.

  He folded his arms and glared, nonspecific annoyance narrowing to a focused point. “You threw garbage at my friend.”

  “Your friend was probably garbage. Now get out of my circle.” The young man glared, but still didn’t manage to look threatening. He just looked like hell, filthy and starving. But, although his eyes were glassy and sunken, they were steady and clear.

  “Your circle?” Jude repeated incredulously.

  “That’s what I said.” He didn’t look nearly as convinced as he was clearly attempting to sound. “These rocks are mine, and you’re trespassing!”

  “What’s your name?” Jude blurted as Eva crept into the middle of the stone circle, and their opponent seemed about to turn just enough to catch her in the corner of his eye. The question made him turn back to Jude, who let out a furtive sigh of relief.

  “Sangui—fuck you. My name’s fuck you, and get away from me. And my rocks.” He eyed Jude suspiciously, but still made no effort to move away.

  “Sang-wi…” Jude rolled the syllables over his tongue.

  The sounds were unusual for English, but still familiar in the same way his own name was, but from even further back. Latin was a relic from a time that sometimes seemed like someone else’s life, but one that he’d still never forget. He knew this name, the way he’d known every terrifying thing the name ‘Cruce’ implied. Words like these were as automatic as his hand tracing the sign of the cross, ingrained, forever written on his brain the way the accompanying images forever marked the insides of his eyelids.

  “Sanguine?”

  It was an educated guess, and by the way the young man’s eyes—bright blue with whites standing out all around—flicked up to his face and locked on his own, Jude was sure he’d guessed right. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t run away either
.

  “That’s an interesting name.” Jude said, taking in the knotted mess of red hair, filthy jeans, and grimy shirt with torn sleeves that wouldn’t be nearly enough as the temperature dropped after sundown. “You don’t hear Latin much anymore.”

  Sanguine didn’t answer, and he didn’t move. It was like he’d been frozen in place, as completely as if Jude had pulled a gun on him. Like he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. The name certainly conjured up images of holiness and unholy creatures. The vampires they’d encountered so far did seem to like that aesthetic.

  “Did you pick that name for yourself?” Jude asked, realizing there could be another explanation, just as familiar but far less ominous. “I, uh… I kind of know something about that. I’m Jude.”

  “I know,” Sanguine said. Behind him, Eva had crouched down, carefully unscrewed the top of the jar, and now drove her trowel into the dirt as silently as possible.

  “Really?” Jude blinked. He’d started out as just trying to distract Sanguine while Eva absconded with their treasure, but now he was genuinely curious. “How?”

  “I—I like the mall, okay? And you’re at the mall. So why is that weird, why shouldn’t I know your—what?!” Sanguine yelped, jerking back out of arm’s reach as Jude raised a hand. It looked very much like he expected to be struck.

  “You’re bleeding,” Jude said quietly, pointing but not touching; Sanguine shrank back anyway, slapping one hand to his neck where a thin trickle of blood ran down from below his jutting jaw. If alarm bells hadn’t been going off in Jude’s head before—which they had, always—they especially were now, loud and clear and extremely urgent.

  “This? This is nothing, this is fine—and once again, fuck you.” Sanguine’s tone was still caustic and biting, but his eyes were scared. Jude realized they’d really never been anything but.

  As Sanguine reached up to his bloody neck, his filthy sleeve had slipped enough to expose his wrist and underside of his forearm, which was peppered with puncture wound scars, and some much too recent to have scarred over yet at all. Letting out a faint, strangled noise, he pulled his hand away from his neck—his fingers now slick with red—and yanked his sleeve back down, hiding the injuries from view.