Stake That (17 page)

His eyes widen. “Undercover?”

“You know the Blood Coven, formerly run by Lucifent and now run by Magnus?”

“Of course,” Francis says. “Everyone knows about the coven. My blood mate has been on a waiting list to join for years. I tried to tell her that they don’t take people like us, but she never gives up hope.” Ugh. Vampire segregation? Is Magnus’s coven actually an elitist op? I so need to talk to him about that when this is all done. That’s so not cool that he leaves people out.

“Our boss, Maverick, the guy who owns the Blood Bar, is a member,” Francis adds. “In fact, from what he says, I take it he’s next in line for the throne or something.” The vampire snorts. “The guy’s such an arrogant jerk. Who knows if that’s true or not.”

“Francis, listen to me carefully,” I interject. “Magnus, Master of the Blood Coven, believes that Maverick may be staging a takeover. He wants to be in charge. And since he doesn’t have enough vamp power to start an outright war, in-stead we believe he’s created some kind of virus. The virus is injected into the high-ranking coven members’ donors and then the donors pass it along to their vampires. All of Mag-nus’s loyal subjects become sick and weak. Maybe even Mag-nus himself. Then Maverick moves in and takes over.”

Francis stares at me. “That seems a bit complicated.”

“But don’t you see? It could totally work. Is already working, actually. Your friends aren’t the only ones who are sick. Several coven bigwigs have also come down with the disease.”

“But why are my coworkers being infected? They’re not even members of the Blood Coven.”

“They’re the innocents, being used by Maverick to advance his personal gain,” I say. “He probably injects them somehow so they’ll pass the disease off to the donors.” I bite my lower lip, thinking. “But how do they infect the biters, I wonder. Has anything been different lately, Francis?” He shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

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“Think harder. Some change in routine? Some new policy or procedure?” I can see the idea lightbulb flash over his head. “The vita-min injections,” he murmers.

“What?”

“A few weeks ago some of the biters, including Dana, were told they were going to start getting weekly vitamin shots. To keep healthy. We thought it was a bit strange. After all, vampires don’t usually get sick.” Francis squeezes his large hands into fists. “That bastard!” he growls. “He infected her! Why, I should go down there and just kill him. Right here, right now.”

I shake my head. “Bad idea, Frannie. You’d just get over-powered by the others. And we don’t know who we can trust at this point. Some of the employees must be in on this, or else it couldn’t be running so smoothly.”

“Right. Of course, you’re right.” He sighs. “So what can we do? I want to help in any way I can.”

“Okay, good,” I say, relieved to have him on board. “I have a vampire working with me who’s been posing as an em-ployee. He’s already inside,” I explain. “Can you help us get down into the restricted areas of the Blood Bar? We need to find out where they’re keeping the virus so we can bring a sam-ple back to our labs for analysis. Our scientists believe if they have a vial of the stuff, they may be able to create an antidote.”

“And if your coven creates the antidote, will you share it with us?” Francis asks. “Those of us who aren’t members?”

“Of course,” I say, hoping that’s true. Well, I’ll make sure it is. No vamp discrimination in my book.

“There will be enough vaccine for anyone who needs it.”

“You’re a good person, you know that?” Francis asks. “I’m glad I let you in that first day.”

“As if you could resist me.” I grin. “Now tell me what you think we should do.”

TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 10 P.M. (CONTINUED)

The Not-So-Great Virus Heist

Francis proves to be the best hookup ever. I doubt we could have done any of this without him. First, he sends me in-side and I request Jareth as my biter. Once Jareth and I are to-gether in our room, we wait. Francis shows up a moment later, costumes in hand.

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“Maverick actually owns this whole block,” he explains. “And so there’s a huge sprawling basement under this build-ing. Most of the areas are restricted, but I always see the em-ployees who work down there dressed in these.” He holds out the clothes. White scrubs, complete with surgical masks.

“Cool. Where did you get them?” I ask.

He laughs.”I,uh, borrowed them from some employees I thought needed a little nap. So you’d better do this quick, be-fore they wake up and figure out how to get themselves un-tied and out of the linen closet.”

“Wow, very nice, Frannie.” I hold up one of the outfits. “Now we’ll fit right in. Thanks so much.”

“Anything to help Dana,” he says with a sheepish shrug. But I can tell he’s pleased by the compliment.

“Let me know if I can do something else.”

“No. This is great,” Jareth says, slipping the shirt over his head. “You’d better get back to the door before anyone be-comes suspicious. Rayne and I can take it from here.”

“Okay,” he says. “The stairs to the basement are at the far end of the hallway. The employees were nice enough to leave their keycards in the pockets of those uniforms.” He grins. “Good luck.” He exits the room and we scramble to don our scrubs and masks. Once outfitted, we nod to one another. This is it.

We find the staircase easily and swipe our keycards, then head downstairs. Francis wasn’t kidding. The underground is huge, full of windy corridors and closed doors. The dim fluo-rescent lighting and low ceilings don’t make it any more com-forting either.

We try a few doors with our keycards, and at first none seem to work. But there are so many doors, I guess it’ll take a while to find the right one. Hopefully no one will catch us randomly trying locks. Might seem a bit suspicious.

But luck is with us. Jareth points at an employee dressed just like us, exiting a door at the far end of the corridor. I nod. Together, we casually walk down the hall, keeping our steps at a normal pace, until we reach the door.

This time, the keycards work and the door swings silently open.

We step into the room and my mouth drops open in shock. The place is like a regular laboratory, with Bunsen burners burning, test tubes bubbling, the works. Whatever Maverick’s got planned, it’s a full-scale operation. He’s got a couple employee vamps in the back, dressed as we are with face masks and scrubs, mixing some kind of multicolored powders to-gether. They turn and acknowledge us, then turn back to their work. Phew. The disguises work. Thank you, Francis. Jareth beckons me over to the left wall, taken up by the hugest refrigerators I’ve ever seen. He wraps his hand around the door handle and pulls one open. Puffy white freezer smoke billows out. Inside there are rows upon rows upon rows upon rows of tiny medicine bottles. Like the kind you stick syringes into. Each bottle is labeled with an “M” which I suppose is for Maverick. Or maybe Murder and Mayhem. Or heck, it could stand for Mickey Mouse for all I know. But what was I ex-pecting? A vial with a warning label?
Do not consume this product if you are a vampire or a human who lets
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vampires snack on them.

“Let’s take two of the vials,” Jareth suggests in a low voice. “We’ll bring them back to our lab for testing. To see if they match up with what the donors were infected with.” I nod and reach for one of the vials.

“Wait!” Jareth warns, but he’s too late. The room sud-denly explodes with sirens and multicolored flashing lights.

Uh, oh. Not good.

“Damn it!” Jareth cries. “You must have tripped some alarm.” He glances anxiously around the room. The two em-ployees in the back are staring at us. I can’t see their expres-sions under the masks, but I’m thinking the looks aren’t of friendly disinterest anymore.

“What do we do?” I hiss, my heart pounding like crazy in my chest. They didn’t cover this in Slayer 101. Jareth pushes me forward. “Run!” he cries. “And don’t stop until you’re free and clear of this place.” He grabs two vials and pushes them into my hand. “Bring these directly to Magnus. Do not stop, whatever you do.”

“But what about you?” I cry, realizing he’s planning on going all heroic on me and not being sure I want him to. What if he gets hurt? Captured? Killed, even?

Jareth glances over at the two employees, who are making long strides in our direction.

“I’ll distract them. Head them off. Hurry!”

“But what if they—”

“For hell’s sake, Rayne, for once in your life just do some-thing without arguing!” And so I do. I dash down the corridor, weaving through the maze of passages, trying to remember which one leads to the stairs. All around me the lights are still flashing, the sirens still wailing. I hope Jareth is okay. What will they do to him if they catch him? What if they inject him with the virus? What if he gets sick? It’ll all be my fault for setting off the alarm.

Suddenly I slam face first into a solid wall. A solid wall of flesh, to be more precise. I look up, swallowing hard as my eyes focus on the man standing in front of me. I’d recognize that face anywhere. Those hypnotic, icy eyes. That cruel stare.

Maverick.

“Uh, I’m, well, I work, uh, lost…” Panic has effectively robbed me of coherent sentence-forming abilities. Not that for one moment I think even if I could suddenly speak as eloquently as Bono I’d have any better chance of escaping with my life.

Because I’m caught. By the big baddie himself.

But wait! I’m the Vampire Slayer. I can kill him, right? I reach behind me and whip out my stake. The
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normally dull piece of wood suddenly erupts in a fiery light as I wave it into the air, just like what happened in the gym at school. w00t!

“Don’t come any closer,” I say in my most menacing tone, wielding the stake like a sword, ready to swing and stab.

Yeah, baby! Who’s scary now!?

TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 10:30 P.M.

Maverick Is a Meanie

Sadly, my victory dance is short-lived. Mainly because Maverick refuses to look all scared and worried at the sight of the glowy stake. Even more so when he starts laugh-ing instead of shaking in his boots. Damn it, what does a slayer chick have to do to get a little respect around here?

“Urn, you know, I’ll kill you,” I add, in case he doesn’t get the message. Maybe he doesn’t understand. When I show up, he should run. “I’m Raynie the Vampire Slayer.” This time, to my utter annoyance, his laughter goes from a small chuckle to a big rolling belly laugh. He raises his arm and suddenly the stake goes flying out of my hand and right into his. He catches it with ease and it stops doing the glowy thing and becomes just another piece of half-carved wood. He tosses it over his shoulder and it clatters to the ground be-hind him.

Great. Well, so much for that idea. Now what?

They say when you’re in this kind of situation, your body gears up for one of two things: fight, or flight. Well, without my magical stick, I figure I’ll be a pretty pathetic fighter, so I choose option B and turn tail. Unfortunately, Maverick must have summoned some ad-ditional Vin Diesel-looking guards while I was waving my useless stake around and so when I turn, I turn right into them. They grab me and drag me, kicking and screaming, down the hallway and into a small, windowless room, com-plete with cobwebs and shackles. It screams medieval dun-geon and you goths would love it. Heck, I would have loved it, if I was not pretty convinced that the room was to be my death chamber. I wonder if Jareth got out. Maybe he did. Maybe he can get help from the coven. Maverick watches as his men push me into a wooden chair and then chain me to the wall. They’re not gentle and the shackles pinch my wrists. Not that I’m much worried about bruising at this point. As long as my heart’s still beat-ing, I’m ahead of the game.

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“You’ll never get away with this,” I shout, mainly because that’s what you always hear people shouting in the movies when they’re in an impossible situation like this. In the back ofmy mind, of course, I realize that more than likely he
is
go-ingto get away with this. With all of this. In real life the bad guysdo live happily ever after. If you don’t believe me, take a look at my dad.

“And what, pray tell, do you think I will not get away with?” Maverick asks, folding his thin arms across his chest. He’s wearing black leather pants, a vinyl fetish vest, and a velvetcape. A total
Glamour
“don’t,” let me tell you.

“Poisoning Magnus’s people with your stupid blood-borne virus,” I say. “We’re totally on to you and know what you’re doing. And we’re going to stop you. Maybe not me specifically, but I am one of many.”

“I see,” Maverick says, stroking his goatee with his index finger and thumb. “Do you, by chance, know Rachel and Charity?”

At first I have no idea who he’s talking about, then some-thing reminds me. “Magnus’s donors?” Fear grips my heart as I wait for what he’s going to say next.

Maverick smiles a stereotypical evil villain smile. “Yes. Magnus’s donors. Charming girls. We had them as our guests tonight at the Blood Bar.”

“Why would they come to the Blood Bar?” I ask, trying to puzzle out the last piece. How come all these donors, who al-ready get bitten on a daily basis, are coming to the bar of their own free will? Why would they need to get sucked?

“Easy. Because they’re stupid vampire wannabes, the lot of them,” Magnus explains. “We forged some blood mate in-vitations from the coven. They think they’re coming here to finally achieve their lifelong dream. To become vampires.”