The Demon Hunter (10 page)

“It doesn't make sense,” Oliver agreed.

More sirens wailed in the night.

“Now what?” asked Dean.

“There's still time to hit that cemetery before Jenette gets too upset.” Oliver glanced to Emalie, but she had no smart quip, just more of the same vacant gaze.

“That's okay,” a mousy voice whispered from nearby, and Jenette swirled between them. “I got bored waiting and came to find you.”

“Oh, hey, sorry, we—” Oliver began.

“Don't worry. I heard what you were saying. I sensed that body up there, too. Not good.”

“Yeah, well … We should go,” said Oliver. “It's not far to the cemetery, right?”

“Yes, master,” Dean mumbled absently.

Oliver glanced at him worriedly. “What?”

“Huh?” said Dean. “Oh, nothing.”

“We don't need to go,” said Jenette. “Your parents aren't there. I checked while I was waiting. It doesn't take me long.”

“You're sure?” Emalie asked.

“Of course I'm sure,” Jenette replied. “I passed through every pile of bones in that place, and there was no connection to Oliver. If his parents were there, I would have known.”

“I still don't get how you can sense them,” said Emalie doubtfully. “They've been dead for almost fifty years. Their spirits would be long gone.”

“Well,” said Jenette, her tone getting a touch defensive, “there are more forces than just spirits. And with all that Oliver's told me about his parents, it will be pretty easy for me to feel the concentration of forces that they'd have.”

“What do you mean, all the things I've told you?” Oliver asked. “We've never talked about my parents. I … I don't remember anything about them.”

“Oh … right,” Jenette stammered quickly, “Well, I … I don't mean what you
actually
said, I mean what your emotions tell me. You really know a lot about them, Oliver, inside.”

“Great. Somebody else who's in my head,” Oliver muttered.

“What?” Emalie and Jenette both asked at once.

“Nothing! It's just that I don't feel like I know my human parents at all.”

Jenette smiled. “You do. Trust me.”

“Hey, guys.” They turned to Dean, who had taken a few steps back. His face looked strange, his eyes darting about. Behind him, a bus was approaching the underpass.

“What is it?” Emalie asked.

“I … have to go …”

“Dean, what's up?” Oliver asked nervously.

Dean frowned further. “Oh man … I think I'm being … summoned.”

Oliver understood in a cold flash. “By your master.”

Dean managed a regretful face. “See ya,” he began, and then as if someone else was pulling the strings, his mouth stretched into a thin grin. “Suckers,” he spat, and Oliver could hear Lythia in Dean's voice. Then Dean turned and vaulted into the air, landing atop the bus as it passed by him.

“We need to stop him,” Emalie said, starting toward the road.

Oliver held her back. “No. Let him go. There's nothing we can do.” He watched the bus roar away and cursed to himself. This was terrible! Dean could never be trusted if this could happen. And Lythia could do whatever she wanted. Oliver wondered sadly if he could even hang out with Dean anymore.

Please don't give up on him.

“Uh!” Oliver shouted and spun to Emalie. Here was that feeling again, of being totally out of control. One friend was a pawn of their enemy, another was saying they'd talked about things they'd never talked about, and the other was sneaking around in his head whenever she wanted!

I'm not sneaking!
Emalie thought.
I can't really help it, it's just—

“Stop doing that,” Oliver snapped. He hated the coldness of his voice, but he couldn't take it anymore. This was all just too much.

“Fine,” Emalie spat. “I won't help.”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Emalie,” Jenette said, “Oliver needs privacy in his head.”

“Oh, you're one to talk about people's heads being private!” Emalie shouted. “But it was different when you possessed me!” She stormed off toward the street.

“Hey, where are you going?” Oliver called.

Emalie fiddled in her bag, then turned around. “Whatever,” she muttered. Oliver saw her rolling something in her hand. It looked like a small felt bag. Then she flashed out of sight, using the enchantment that made her invisible to vampires.

“Emalie, come on,” Oliver groaned.

“She's just walking down the road,” Jenette reported. “I can still see her. Want me to go get her?”

Oliver shook his head. “No. Just forget it.”

“Okay,” said Jenette. “Sorry about that,” she added, though she didn't seem too bothered by the others leaving. “Hey, wanna go down to the Underground or something? Or maybe over to the Egyptian? The midnight movie is
Time Bandits
. I love that—”

“No, I … I'm just gonna head home,” said Oliver.

“Oh,” said Jenette disappointedly.

“Sorry. I'll see you at our next cemetery, okay?”

Jenette gave a big sigh. “I guess, but I'll see you before then. I always do.”

Oliver scowled at her. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, sorry. That's right, you're all paranoid now.” Jenette chuckled. “Nothing, I didn't mean anything. Just playing around. Good night, Oliver.”

Jenette slithered off into the dark. Oliver waited, leaning on a pylon, hands shoved in his sweatshirt pockets, until the next bus arrived. Between troubled thoughts about Bane, Dean, and now even Emalie, he glanced around for any sign of the apparition. He found that he really wanted to see it again, but it didn't appear.

When he returned home, he found the house strangely empty. His parents were still out, and there was no sign that Bane had returned.

Chapter 7

A Plot Revealed

AFTER ONE OF HIS
most sleepless days in months, Oliver dragged himself out of his coffin early the next evening to find the crypt empty. The kitchen was as it had been when he'd returned home: startlingly messy, dishes and goblets from many days of hurried meals piled carelessly. Oliver began organizing and counting them without thinking about it. Once they were arranged in neat, orderly stacks, he turned to leave, then imagined his parents out there somewhere, no doubt exhausted, and turned on the faucet.

As the hot water filled, he took a steel canister of coffee from the cabinet, the Eternal Dark Roast with cayenne pepper. He scooped some into the grinder, then transferred the grounds to the coffeemaker. He filled the carafe from a tiny tap on the side of the sink. The Nocturne home was secretly connected to the human water system, but any water for drinking was first run through a special filter to add a touch of bleach, which helped with whitening teeth and killing bacteria.

Oliver poured the water into the machine, spilling a bit as he did so. He grabbed a towel to wipe it up. He'd rarely been the one in the house to make the coffee. It felt kind of important to be in charge of it, but the circumstances undermined the feeling.

Once the pot was steaming and gurgling away, Oliver set to scrubbing the dishes, and his mind quickly returned to the night before, to Emalie storming off, and to Dean being summoned.

Dean. Oliver couldn't shake the memory of him speaking like Lythia and dashing off to do her bidding. Maybe he'd been doing it all along. What if he'd been reporting to her about everything Oliver did? He might not even know he was doing it. What if she could simply read Dean's thoughts whenever she pleased? And most important, what was Lythia really up to?

Thinking about it gave Oliver that overwhelmed, crowded feeling in his head. All his thoughts seemed to be fighting for space and yelling for his attention at the same time.

The coffeepot beeped. Oliver filled a stone mug, the brown one that his father often used, then slugged back the coffee while it was still nice and scalding hot. His tongue and throat exploded in flames from the cayenne.

He finished the dishes, refilled his mug, got himself a plate of leftover Sepulcrit casserole from the fridge, and ate alone at the kitchen island. He paused at every faint sound of rats upstairs or neighbors in the sewers, hoping it might be either his parents or his brother.

When he was done, he threw on his sweatshirt, made sure Bane's necklace was in his pocket, and headed downtown, determined to get some answers.

For the first time in months, he used the sewers. Traffic was light, and when he passed other vampires, Oliver just kept his gaze straight ahead. As he walked, he took some slight enjoyment from the warm air, mellow candlelight, and that faint smell of time wafting off the ancient art on the walls. It was nice to be down here again.

He emerged from a manhole behind the Seattle Public Library. Celia St. Croix greeted him at the back entrance, and he proceeded into the empty human library, where he took the number two elevator down to the lowest listed floor.

The door slid open at the concrete parking garage, and Oliver performed the counting password: “One,” he said to himself, then pressed the P button again. “One, two.” He pressed it again. “One, two, three, four,” and a third time. The elevator's chime rang three times, the doors slid closed, and the elevator lowered toward a floor unmarked and unknown to humans.

The doors opened into the quiet, plush vampire library. The Librarian, a wiry old man in a fine suit, greeted him warmly. “Good evening, Mr. Nocturne. Right this way.”

The long room, with its deep burgundy carpet and mahogany walls, was almost empty this early in the evening. The Librarian led Oliver to one of the lamp-lit tables. “Let me know if I can be of assistance,” he said politely, and departed.

Oliver twisted the silver gooseneck lamp toward him and spoke quietly into the copper microphone at its end. “Blocking a zombie's master.” There was a moment of silence, during which Oliver glanced up and found the Librarian gazing at him curiously. That always bugged him, but he was getting more used to interested stares these days.

“Forty-one,” the pleasant female voice of the Catalogue replied.

“Nagual demon,” said Oliver.

“Ninety-three,” said the Catalogue.

Oliver turned to leave the table when he had another idea. He turned back and said: “Prophecy reversal.”

The Catalogue was silent.

“Proph—” Oliver began again, but the Catalogue replied:

“That topic is not currently contained in any known Tome. Please refer to the Central Council for further information.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said, not surprised. He turned and proceeded to the end of the room and through heavy black velvet curtains. He entered the stacks, a series of floors made of grated metal, with hallways of curtained chambers, each holding an ancient vampire called a Codex.

Codex forty-one was located two floors below where Oliver was standing. He wound down a spiral staircase, then proceeded down an aisle, past black curtains with numbers engraved in plaques beside them. He stopped before the curtains for forty-one. “Enter,” instructed the Catalogue from a hidden speaker above.

Oliver ducked into the dark chamber and took his seat on the single pillow in the center of the room. Tendrils of incense smoke lingered in the air. Single candles on each wall cast spare light.

“Blocking a zombie's master,” said Oliver.

Two glowing emerald eyes lit in the dark, and a pedestal slowly rolled forward with a grinding of gears. The Codex, wrapped in hooded crimson robes, inhaled deeply. Its breath rattled with difficulty as the ancient vampire began to speak.

“The zombie is forever linked to the master. There is no way to undo the bond without destroying the zombie.”

“What about slaying the master?” Oliver asked.

“With the master slain, the zombie will return to the earth.”

Oliver sighed. So much for that idea.

“It is possible, however, for the connection between a zombie and its master to be temporarily blocked,” the Codex added.

“Explain.”

The Codex breathed in deeply. “A master's influence over a zombie may be interrupted by the placing of a
hindrian
enchantment upon the zombie. It does not break the connection, but rather makes the connection difficult to find for a time, thus blocking unwanted visitors from the mind.”

A question popped into Oliver's head. “Can a hindrian charm be used against an Orani?”

“Its documented uses do include Orani deterrence.”

“How is it done?” Oliver asked.

“There is an ancient Skrit. When correctly etched into a channeling mineral, such as magnetite, it may then be prepared and activated with the life force of a transcendent one.”

Oliver didn't quite recognize that term. “A transcendent one?”

“A being who has achieved awareness above his or her known world.”

“For example?”

“Most common is an oracle.”

Oliver started. Could that be … “Show me the Skrit.”

The Codex raised a hand, and yellow smoke wavered before him. In it, a Skrit appeared in red outline.

Oliver pulled Bane's necklace from his pocket to be sure …

The symbols were exactly the same.

“How is it prepared?” Oliver asked.

“Using coyote musk and aniseed,” the Codex replied.

Bane's cologne.

“Thank you,” said Oliver, standing and bowing. He left the Codex chamber and walked back through the stacks, his mind racing. Bane had a hindrian enchantment. When he'd had Selene's summoning charm, he could have obtained a drop of her life force. But she'd been strong. Sebastian had attacked her with a mystical stiletto and she'd still escaped.

Maybe she gave it to him willingly.
But why? Why would Selene help Bane, and not only that, why did he even need the enchantment?
Because he was worried that someone would hear his thoughts. Or that someone might try to get inside his head.
That meant Bane had been up to something that he wanted to keep secret. But from whom?