End of Days (18 page)

If you're a vampire, when blood enters your body, every system goes wonky. Energy courses through your limbs. Sometimes the rush is so intense you think your brain might catch fire. But when you're injured, it's a different game. The pain of your injuries gets concentrated into a few seconds of intense agony. After the burn comes the itch. I guzzled the blood Mr. Entwistle had given me, closed my eyes, and tensed every muscle. Ripped tissue mended. I hissed. Pain racked my body. Then the itch came. I started scratching at the bullet wounds on my thigh and shoulder as if I needed to take the skin off. When this faded, my mind went to heaven. I sat and enjoyed the pleasant aftershocks. When they were gone, I closed my eyes. I started thinking of Luna—how nice it would be if we could visit on the Dream Road every day. I carried this thought into a sleep that took me a few hours past sundown.

I woke up with Mr. Entwistle standing over me. His eyes were still restless, and his appearance was so haggard, if you'd told me he'd been hit by a train, then dragged along the tracks for a few hundred miles, I would have believed you.

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked.

“No, but I'll be fine.”

“Are you leaving?”

He nodded. “I'm going to see if I can find the Fleabag.”

I didn't think it was a good idea for him to go after Mr. Hyde alone, and I said so.

He looked at me for a few seconds, his teeth clenched, the muscles at the sides of his jaw twitching. “I understand your concern, but there are greater things at stake than the life of John Entwistle.”

“Where's Ophelia?” I was hoping she could talk him out of going after Hyde alone.

He handed me a note. “This was downstairs on the dining room table.”

The writing was Ophelia's.

 

Zachary,

Detective Baddon has asked for some assistance regarding the investigation of Everett's death. I thought it might help to clear your name. I see no sign of Mr. Entwistle. Should he return, please exercise caution. Don't leave the house. There is exercise equipment in the basement and a collection of books and movies. My recommendation is rest. I should be back from the police station in a few hours.

O

 

“It says here you left,” I said.

“Yes, I did. I had to see someone about a lead. Before I go after Hyde, I thought it would be a good idea to put you in touch with someone who might be able to help out in my absence. Come on. We're going to the hospital.”

“I'm not supposed to leave.”

I held up the note with one hand like a raffle ticket. I hadn't meant for him to read it, but I guess the way I was holding it suggested otherwise, because he snatched it from my fingers and glanced it over.

“ ‘Exercise caution,' huh? That's great advice. So . . . you coming?”

“But it says—”

“Look, boy, the toughest vampire on planet Earth is leaving. Are you safer with me or here by yourself?”

He had a point.

“There's the spirit of the law, and the letter of the law. Always go
with the spirit, Zack, the spirit. Always. Ophelia wants you to be safe. You're safer at the hospital. Plain and simple.” He clapped me on the shoulder and headed down the stairs. “We're going to be tight for time,” he added over his shoulder, “so hurry. I'll be in the garage.”

“What about Charlie?”

“He's waiting for us downstairs.”

I should have known. If trouble was brewing, he'd already have his nose in it.

I was dressed and downstairs in a flash. The place was dark and empty. I made my way to the garage. I walked in and found Mr. Entwistle and Charlie digging through a toolbox. The old vampire pulled out a small tommy bar and handed it to my friend, who stuffed it into a backpack. Before he closed it, I spied the head of a hatchet and a coil of white rope that was woven with red. It made me think of a candy cane.

“What's that smell?”

“Lighter fluid,” Charlie said.

“So where exactly are we going?”

Mr. Entwistle shouldered the pack. “Civic Hospital.”

He stepped past me, then quietly opened the back door of the garage. Fresh air wafted in and the smell of dusty motor oil mixed with a blast of cedar. I closed my eyes. Even without looking, I knew that it was going to be a perfect night for running. The air had the right weight. Fresh and clear. Mr. Entwistle peeked outside, scanned the neighbors' yards, then nodded for us to go ahead.

“After you,” said Charlie.

A second later the door was closed and we were approaching the sound barrier. I was much faster this time. Instead of struggling after, I let Charlie set the pace and tried not to run him over. We made good time and didn't let up until we were in the parking lot of the new Civic Hospital.

“Hold up.” Mr. Entwistle took off the backpack. “I need to ditch this.” He stowed it in the shadows against the wall, then smiled at me. “You looked better tonight. That blood did you wonders.”

“I'd say so. And thanks.”

“Don't mention it. But you might want to consider getting some body armor.” He slapped the plate over his chest.

“How much would it cost me?”

He took off his top hat and mulled it over. “More than you're likely to make selling your life story, that's for sure. Now come on, I've got a lot to do tonight.”

“How are we getting in?” Charlie asked.

“I'm using the front door. Did you have another strategy in mind?”

Charlie shrugged and we entered the lobby. A hand-wash station was set up just inside the door. It must have looked ridiculous to the people in the waiting room when Mr. Entwistle cleaned his hands. He would have needed to swim in a vat of sanitizer to get all the germs off. He looked like a dried-up mud puddle. When he was finished, a nurse at the reception desk asked us if we needed help.

“I just got a call to pick up my son,” Mr. Entwistle said. “He's in detox again. Can you believe it?”

The woman took one look at him. He could have been the poster boy for a life gone wrong. “Down the hall and to the left,” she said.

“Thanks.”

Mr. Entwistle headed for the elevators.

“We aren't really going to detox, are we?”

“Now would a guy like me need directions to detox? No, we're going to radiology. Fourth floor. Actually, you're going. I'm meeting another contact to see what I can learn about where Hyde holes up. He has to have a den or lair somewhere.” Mr. Entwistle pressed the button that would bring us an elevator, then handed me a slip of paper. It had a number scribbled in blue ink: 412.

“So we're staying here by ourselves?”

“Not counting a few hundred patients and hospital staff, Charlie, and Agent X, yes, you're all alone.”

“Who's Agent X?” I asked.

“The man in room 412.”

“But what about the spirit of the law—and being safer with you?”

“Didn't you spend eight years in a hospital ward? What could possibly happen here?” The elevator doors opened. He put his hand inside to keep them from closing. “Just make certain when you boys leave, that you take the stairs. Got it?”

I couldn't imagine why this was important, but I wasn't about to argue with a man who could see the future. “Got it.”

He pressed the button for the fourth floor, then stepped back as the doors closed. The elevator started to rattle its way up.

“Man, that guy's a piece of work. Can you believe it,
my son's in detox again
?”

I nodded. Mr. Entwistle was a disaster. But he was also our best hope for staying alive. I wished he weren't leaving.

“Do you think he really was a butcher—like Ophelia says?”

I looked at Charlie. He knew my answer was yes. I didn't have to speak.

“Well, I'd hate to be in your shoes when we get home.”

I imagined Ophelia coming back from the police station and finding the house empty. I should have left a note. “She's going to kill me, isn't she?”

“You have to die somehow.”

I could have called her on my cell, but I couldn't stand the thought of hearing the disappointment in her voice. Or worse, that she might be scared. Or angry.

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. It opened, and I followed the signs to room 412. The door was closed.

Charlie peeked in through the window. “Looks empty.”

The lights were off.

I reached past him and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I hadn't been told what to expect, so I opened the door quietly. “Hello,” I whispered. The room was dark except for a small red light that came from a machine of some kind. It was set beside an empty bed. I could tell by the wrinkled sheets that someone had recently been sleeping there. I listened. A tap was running in the
bathroom. I could smell the chlorine in the water, clean sheets, men's aftershave, and disinfectant. I quietly entered and knocked on the bathroom door.

I heard a click and a whoosh, followed by a surprised “Ow!” I looked over at Charlie. His hand was on his neck. He looked at me, then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

I heard a swish of fabric at my back. Then the light flicked on and I turned my head. A man in a white hospital robe was standing behind me. He was holding a semiautomatic pistol in one hand. He took his other hand off the light switch, used it to steady the gun, then cocked the hammer and backed away, all in one fluid motion. He was just far enough from me that I couldn't lunge and disarm him quickly. He knew exactly what he was doing.

I was shocked. I'd been betrayed once before, and the feeling wasn't pleasant. My stomach felt as if it were falling out. The same question that had popped into my head the last time made a sudden reappearance:
How did I get here?

“Hello, Zachary. I've been expecting you.”

The man looked different than I remembered. Skin hung more loosely over his large muscles now, and his head was completely bald. But his eyes were just as intense as ever.

“Hello,” I replied. The word barely made it out.

Then my uncle Maximilian, the vampire hunter, stared down the barrel of his gun, stiffened slightly, and pulled the trigger.

In the movies, when a hero gets shot, he usually has time for some last words. The villains, if they don't drop dead like a stone, usually stay alive long enough to look dazed and confused—as if they're stunned that good could ever triumph over evil, as if it never happened in Hollywood before that one, shocking moment. I think I went out like a villain—stunned. I wasn't instantly dead! What a surprise! I reached up to my neck expecting to find a gushing wound. I didn't. Wonder of wonders! Something about the size of a cigarette butt was sticking out of my throat. What could this be? I pulled it out. A sting followed. Then I dropped, no wiser than before. Dazed and confused.

My uncle caught me. Pain was radiating up and down my neck. It turned from a burn into a warm rush. This passed after a few seconds and a feeling of pleasant euphoria took over. Lightness filled my limbs. I'd felt something like this before. A runner's high, it was called. When you run long enough, your body starts to produce natural painkillers. They act a bit like morphine. But I would've had to run to Pluto to feel this good.

“Forgive me,” he said. “But all hell's broken loose. Good people are dying out there. I can't take any chances right now.”

Forgive him? For what? This was heaven. My body was turning into air. The only thing that stayed heavy was my head, which was starting to feel like a medicine ball. If I didn't lie down, it was going to roll right off my neck.

“Just ride it out.”

I managed to whisper the word “What?”

“Nothing fancy. Mostly sodium thiopental and a mild opiate.”

I smiled. Why hadn't I tried this before?

Maximilian led me to a chair, then sat me down. I melted into it.

“Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

I could hear him, which I assumed was good, so I kept smiling. Questions formed. “Are you going to kill us?” The words came out in slow motion.

He shook his head. He was starting to look fuzzy around the edges. “Of course not. Charlie's going to have a little sleep, and we're going to talk.”

“Thaaaat's goooood.”

He sat on the edge of his bed and slipped something under his pillow. Then he started talking about Vlad, and how dangerous he was, and that he wasn't supposed to hurt anyone
that night.
I had trouble listening. I was staring at my hand. It looked interesting. So did my other hand. I waved them in front of my face. They were like two blobs of ice cream with peach-colored birthday candles sticking out the top. A birthday ice-cream cone . . . Why hadn't anyone thought of this?

My uncle gently brushed my hands away. Then he rolled up my sleeve and drew out a syringe. “Can you hear me?”

I had forgotten how to speak, so I just hummed—like R2-D2.

“The Coven doesn't want people to know about vampires. Only the Underground is exempt, and they are selected with great care. When Charlie and Luna found out about you, the only thing Vlad was willing to do was absorb them as agents, or make them vampires. I would never have guessed he was planning an execution.”

“Two executions.” My voice was coming back, at half normal speed. I held up two fingers in case he didn't understand me, but it might have been four.

“I'm going to set things right.” He snorted. “Ironic. In the end, you all wound up vampires anyway. And Vlad is finished.”

I shook my head.

“What do you mean?”

“His body went missing,” I said slowly. “It disappeared.” I spread my hands for emphasis. It felt as if I were rising out of my chair, so I flapped my hands slowly a few more times to see if I could really fly, but the weight of my head made it impossible. It tipped forward. My uncle seemed to take up my entire view. “You look terrible.”