Labyrinth (Book 5) by Kat Richardson Page B

understand what it was or what was going on. It was upsetting him even before Wygan started prodding—”
    Ben cut in, staring. “Wait a minute. Wygan? The DJ on Radio Freeform?”
    I nodded, catching each pair of eyes in turn. “Vampire. He’s the one who stuck the knot of Grey into my chest two years ago. You remember.”
    Mara and Ben nodded, recalling, I imagined, the long, uncomfortable session in their kitchen when Mara had tried to untie it from me. Quinton looked quizzical. It wasn’t a point of my history I’d discussed with him since we hadn’t been close at the time. I caught his eye and gave a minuscule shake of the head. I’d explain it to him later. He returned a quick, reassuring smile.
    Ben was scowling. “You mean, right up the hill ...?” I knew he was thinking of the proximity of the broadcast towers on the crown of Queen Anne, just about fifty feet straight up and a hundred yards over from where we sat. I caught his gaze also creeping toward his son.
    I nodded. “Yes. But he’s not the same type of vampire as Edward and his bunch. He’s the Pharaohn-ankh-astet.”
    “What?” Mara let out a startled squawk.
    Ben was appalled. “Asetem? Here? But ...”
    “What? They shouldn’t be in the New World, or something?” I asked.
    “Well, basically, yes. I mean . . . at least according to legends, they’re rare and very clannish. Why would they be here?”
    “Because I am.”

FIVE
    T hey all stared at me again and their collective expressions, ranging from confusion to disbelief, made me a little sick to my stomach. I hated this and wished I could just go to sleep and somehow dream it all away, never have to talk about it, never live through it again in speech or nightmares. Or at least be able to magically give them the skinny on the situation without having to think about it, sort and select relevant facts, shape it into coherent speech, and blurt it all out. Just the act of speaking made me weary and I wasn’t sure I was making sense.
    “I didn’t know Wygan was any different from any other vampire,” I explained. “I mean, I knew he was different, but I didn’t think it was something like this. While I was in London—”
    Mara shook her head. “London? When was that?”
    “Last week. I just got back yesterday and I went to see Edward ...” I realized I’d lost them all completely. The Danzigers didn’t know I’d been in London or why and Quinton had no idea what the asetem-ankh-astet were. I’d told him to be careful of Wygan, but I hadn’t had time to explain why. I shook my head, more to clear it of the muddle I was making than anything else. “Let me try this again.” I was making a hash of this. . . .
    The Danzigers nodded. “Yes, do,” Mara requested.
    I concentrated on her—it was easier than trying to keep my eyes on all three of my audience. “All right. My dad killed himself because he was a Greywalker—I didn’t get this until I was in London, though I feel I should have figured it out earlier. He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t have anyone like you to help him. He never did know what he was, but he did figure out that something unnatural was happening to him and that it was being done to him by someone. That someone was Wygan. It took a while for me to put it together and I didn’t get all the pieces until I was in London and in some serious trouble. I’ll get to that in a minute, but the important thing is that my dad wasn’t really going crazy; he just wasn’t handling exposure to the Grey well. When he figured out that Wygan—he called him the White Worm-man—was trying to force him to do something that was probably terrible, he killed himself so Wygan’s plan would be ruined. Unfortunately, all he did was put things off. He thought he was protecting me, but what he did was put me in his place.
    “Wygan has a long-range, overarching plan—I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s not good for anyone but Wygan.