Page 109

I scan the street frantically, hoping against hope to see Callahan emerging from another exit. But the only figures moving in the darkness belong to our own group and the disoriented humans we’ve rescued before they burned to death.

“Get in,” Abe orders, holding open the door of a black Packard. I obey mechanically, still searching the shadows as we pull away from the burning building, the other cars following in a somber procession.

The drive passes in a blur, my mind replaying the fight in endless loops, searching for the moment I lost track of Callahan, for any clue to where they might have taken him. Each scenario I imagine is worse than the last—Callahan tortured, drained, killed for interfering with the Ivanovs’ plans.

Or worse—used somehow in their ritual. Another sacrifice to open their precious gateway.

“The Ivanovs won’t harm him immediately,” Abe says. “They’ll want to know what he knows, who he’s told. They’re hand over fist with Cohen, they’ll be looking to protect those interests.”

“They’ll torture him,” I say, the words tasting bitter.

Abe’s silence is confirmation enough.

The drive along the coast, shrouded in the marine layer and the thick darkness, feels like it takes forever. My relief is palpable when the Malibu colony rises into view. The other cars pull in behind us—Ezra and Adonis in one, Valtu in another. The rescued humans were dropped off at the hospital, Abe explains as we exit the vehicle.

“I need to go after him,” I say as soon as the door closes behind us. “I can track him. I can?—”

“You can get yourself killed,” Valtu interrupts, his voice sharp. “Or worse, captured. Which is exactly what they want.”

I round on him, fury replacing despair. “What do you mean,exactly what they want? Why would they care about me specifically?”

The vampires exchange glances, a silent communication passing between them. Finally, Abe steps forward, his expression grave.

“Your blood type,” he says simply. “It’s AB negative.”

I stare at him, the implications sinking in. “How long have you known?”

“Since a couple of hours ago,” he admits. “I called your parents.”

My eyes bug out. “My parents?”

He nods. “Yes. Of course, they knew your blood type. Didn’t want them to worry about it though, so I didn’t mention the murders. Luckily the AB negative information about the cases hasn’t yet hit the papers yet. But the moment I learned that, I knew you’d need backup after all, signal or not.”

“So I’m next,” I say, blinking at the truth.

“You won’t be next,” Valtu says, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Then Callahan will be,” I say. “Don’t tell me that’s his blood type too?”

“No,” Abe says. “He’s O positive.”

“Then why take him? Please, I don’t understand.”

“We have an idea.”

I sink onto the couch, the fight temporarily draining out of me. “Then tell me the idea. Tell me everything. No more secrets. What are the Ivanovs planning? What is this gateway? What new world are they talking about?”

The four vampires exchange glances again, some unspoken agreement passing between them. Abe sits beside me, while the others arrange themselves around the room—Ezra perched on the arm of a chair, Adonis standing like a sentinel by the door, Valtu prowling restlessly near the windows.

“Skarde,” Abe begins, the word heavy with history, “as you know, is the king of the vampires, sire of us all. He lives in what some call the Red Realm. Not a physical location exactly, but a dimension adjacent to our own, accessible only through certain doorways or through specific rituals under specificconditions The Ivanovs were among the last to leave Skarde,” Abe continues. “They were expelled, to be precise. For practices considered abhorrent even by vampire standards.”

“Blood rituals,” I guess. “Like the ones they’re performing now.”

Abe nods. “That, and worse. They’ve spent centuries trying to find a way back. Every few decades, they attempt the ritual, always failing. Always leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.”

“But this time is different,” Ezra adds. “They believe they’ve found the key. A specific sequence of sacrifices, each with particular attributes, culminating in a final offering that will tear open the veil between worlds.”

“Me,” I say flatly. “Because of my blood type.”