Page 95 of Road Trip with a Vampire

“Wait,” Peter said. He stood so close I could feel his cool breath against the top of my head. “What is that on the table?”

“Blood,” I said, getting queasier by the second. “Human, most likely, based on context clues.”

“No, not that,” he said impatiently. “What isthis?”

I looked again and saw that beside the blood lay an old-fashioned red plaid pocket square. Half of it was soaking in the bloody pool, as if its owner had attempted to clean up the mess before abandoning the project as a lost cause.

Peter crept forward, approaching the table the way one might approach a wild and dangerous animal. He gingerly picked up the clean edge of the pocket square between two fingers, then held it up to the light I still held in my hand.

“What is it?” I asked, confused.

He didn’t reply or otherwise acknowledge he’d heard me. He simply stared at the pocket square as if it held the answers to all the secrets in the universe. My light cast him in long shadows, and I watched him as he examined the fabric, scrutinizing his face for some hint as to what was going on.

And then…

I gasped. “Peter.”

Because I could see it, clear as day, the instant his lost memories returned. One moment, his dark, luminous eyes were as they had always been. The next, there was a clarity in them so acute I hadn’t even realized it had been missing.

Twenty-Two

Blossomtown, Indiana

Present day

As he stood at Zelda’sside, that small slip of fabric between his fingers, the pieces of the puzzle that had eluded Peter for weeks took shape, crystallized, and finally slotted perfectly into place.

No.

No, no,no.

It all come rushing back like a river in flood.

He rememberedeverything.

The red plaid pocket squarefluttered from Peter’s fingertips, landing on top of one of the dead humans.

“No,” Peter said, sounding horrified.Terrified.What little color he normally had in his face had entirely drained away. “Oh gods.No.”

“Your memories,” I said, staring up at him. “They’ve come back. Haven’t they?”

“We should leave,” he said instead of answering me. It didn’t matter; his urgent tone, the look of panic in his eyes, were answer enough. Seeing him unravel did more to unnerve me than anything else that had happened so far. “We should leavenow.”

“I’m not leaving,” I insisted. Whatever was happening, I wasn’t going anywhere. “We’ve come all this way.”

He clutched my shoulders, fingers digging in almost hard enough to hurt. “I remember everything. Okay? Being in this space, that fuckingpocket square—it’s brought it all back. Please believe me when I say we have to go.”

A throat cleared behind me. Ice flooded my veins.

“But you’ve only just arrived at our headquarters, Mr.Elliott,” said a deep male voice.

I whipped around so I could see who it was. Before I could get a good look at his face, the warehouse floodlights came to life, illuminating everything. Blinding me.

“And you brought Ms.Watson, too,” the voice continued. Its owner stood in front of me now, less than a foot away. He let out a low, dark chuckle. “Your quarry. How marvelous.”

Peter’squarry?

It took another moment for the spots dancing in front of my eyes to resolve enough for me to see clearly again. When I did, Peter was standing stock-still beside me, as white as a sheet, glaring at the man I had to assume had been sending him those notes.