vampires—considered inferior by the rest of the vampire legion—couldn’t go out in the sun. Others—like Jimmy, me, his daddy—were day walkers. We could go out whenever the hell we wanted to.
“There’s no rhyme or reason to this stuff,” Jimmy said. “You know that.”
For the rest of the trip, Jimmy kept the radio turned up so high there could be no possibility of a conversation, and I let him. Whenever we talked lately someone got hurt. Usually me.
Brownport appeared on the horizon. The highway bled into Main Street, lined by the usual businesses necessary for a small college town.
The school, bordered by fields, stood at the far end of Brownport. We pulled into the only parking lot, and I pointed to the administration building, which housed all the faculty offices.
Stalks of corn swayed in the heated afternoon breeze. Jimmy followed me to the door. It was locked. A note said the campus was closed until the fall semester, still a few weeks away. The last time I’d been here, summer school had been in session. Not a lot of kids, but some. The place hadn’t felt so—
“Dead,” Jimmy murmured.
I frowned. I was getting a really bad feeling. I used my cell to call Xander, but he didn’t answer.
“Open it,” I ordered.
Jimmy punched his fist through the glass. By the time he’d reached in and flipped the lock, the cuts had already healed.
Inside, the building hadn’t changed a bit. The walls needed painting. There were water stains and cracks. I still didn’t know where they kept the elevator, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have bothered. I ran up the three flights of stairs with Jimmy right behind me.
Whitelaw’s door stood open; light spilled into the hallway. “Xander!” I shouted as I skidded on the ancient yellowed tile.
He didn’t answer, but he liked to listen to his iPod while working. Guns N’ Roses. Despite his button-down shirts and khaki trousers, or maybe because of them, Whitelaw badly wanted to be a rebel.
I slipped as I neared the office, thought for an instant the roof was leaking again, though from the crackly state of the grass outside there’d been no rain for several weeks.
I glanced down. A trickle of crimson spread over the threshold like a tiny creek running south. I palmed my knife and went in.
The walls were decorated with blood, as was the floor, the desk, the books, the papers and what was left of Xander Whitelaw.
Jimmy, coming up fast to the rear, bumped into me. I threw an elbow. Couldn’t help myself. When someone came at me from behind, I reacted.
Blame it on the foster-care system. I did.
“Oof,” Jimmy said, his breath stirring my hair. “That him?”
“Yeah.”
Jimmy stepped around me, checked for a pulse,even though the slice across Xander’s throat told the tale before Jimmy shook his head. “They trashed everything.” He flicked his finger, stained with Whitelaw’s blood, at the books and papers. “Even if there was info for us, we wouldn’t find it now.”
“I doubt he wrote anything down.”
“Whoever—whatever—got here before us did their best to torture something out of him.”
Jimmy turned the professor’s arm over to reveal burn marks on the skin. Bruises made his face nearly unrecognizable. I thought I might be sick.
“Do you think they got it?” Jimmy asked.
Xander wasn’t a DK. He was just a guy. He might look like a blond Indiana Jones, but he wasn’t Indy. No one was.
“Yes,” I whispered. “They got it.”
“We need to go through his stuff anyway; then we’ll burn the place.”
I nodded. I knew the drill. Leave behind nothing to arouse suspicion, and this—
I traced my fingertips over Whitelaw’s shoulder. This was suspicious as hell.
“You take that side.” Jimmy jerked his head to the right. “I’ll take this one.”
We found nothing. I wasn’t surprised. If there’d been any information—written or otherwise—the Nephilim had it now.
We checked every room in the place; then we
“There’s no rhyme or reason to this stuff,” Jimmy said. “You know that.”
For the rest of the trip, Jimmy kept the radio turned up so high there could be no possibility of a conversation, and I let him. Whenever we talked lately someone got hurt. Usually me.
Brownport appeared on the horizon. The highway bled into Main Street, lined by the usual businesses necessary for a small college town.
The school, bordered by fields, stood at the far end of Brownport. We pulled into the only parking lot, and I pointed to the administration building, which housed all the faculty offices.
Stalks of corn swayed in the heated afternoon breeze. Jimmy followed me to the door. It was locked. A note said the campus was closed until the fall semester, still a few weeks away. The last time I’d been here, summer school had been in session. Not a lot of kids, but some. The place hadn’t felt so—
“Dead,” Jimmy murmured.
I frowned. I was getting a really bad feeling. I used my cell to call Xander, but he didn’t answer.
“Open it,” I ordered.
Jimmy punched his fist through the glass. By the time he’d reached in and flipped the lock, the cuts had already healed.
Inside, the building hadn’t changed a bit. The walls needed painting. There were water stains and cracks. I still didn’t know where they kept the elevator, but even if I had, I wouldn’t have bothered. I ran up the three flights of stairs with Jimmy right behind me.
Whitelaw’s door stood open; light spilled into the hallway. “Xander!” I shouted as I skidded on the ancient yellowed tile.
He didn’t answer, but he liked to listen to his iPod while working. Guns N’ Roses. Despite his button-down shirts and khaki trousers, or maybe because of them, Whitelaw badly wanted to be a rebel.
I slipped as I neared the office, thought for an instant the roof was leaking again, though from the crackly state of the grass outside there’d been no rain for several weeks.
I glanced down. A trickle of crimson spread over the threshold like a tiny creek running south. I palmed my knife and went in.
The walls were decorated with blood, as was the floor, the desk, the books, the papers and what was left of Xander Whitelaw.
Jimmy, coming up fast to the rear, bumped into me. I threw an elbow. Couldn’t help myself. When someone came at me from behind, I reacted.
Blame it on the foster-care system. I did.
“Oof,” Jimmy said, his breath stirring my hair. “That him?”
“Yeah.”
Jimmy stepped around me, checked for a pulse,even though the slice across Xander’s throat told the tale before Jimmy shook his head. “They trashed everything.” He flicked his finger, stained with Whitelaw’s blood, at the books and papers. “Even if there was info for us, we wouldn’t find it now.”
“I doubt he wrote anything down.”
“Whoever—whatever—got here before us did their best to torture something out of him.”
Jimmy turned the professor’s arm over to reveal burn marks on the skin. Bruises made his face nearly unrecognizable. I thought I might be sick.
“Do you think they got it?” Jimmy asked.
Xander wasn’t a DK. He was just a guy. He might look like a blond Indiana Jones, but he wasn’t Indy. No one was.
“Yes,” I whispered. “They got it.”
“We need to go through his stuff anyway; then we’ll burn the place.”
I nodded. I knew the drill. Leave behind nothing to arouse suspicion, and this—
I traced my fingertips over Whitelaw’s shoulder. This was suspicious as hell.
“You take that side.” Jimmy jerked his head to the right. “I’ll take this one.”
We found nothing. I wasn’t surprised. If there’d been any information—written or otherwise—the Nephilim had it now.
We checked every room in the place; then we
Similar Books
