The Sunlight Slayings (12 page)

“Good evening, Ms. Nocturne,” Désirée interrupted smoothly. “Can I help you with anything?”

Phlox was momentarily caught off guard, and Oliver saw embarrassment flash on her face. Phlox did not like to lose her composure in public. “Désirée,” she said as calmly as she could manage. Then she adopted a social tone. “I've just come to collect these wayward boys.”

Oliver took this moment to push the pink bag against Dean, who luckily understood. He took it and tucked it inside his jacket.

“Ah, yes. Let me just say, though, in their defense, that they've been a pleasure to talk to.”

“Well.” Phlox glanced back at Oliver, then talked right over his head again. “That's nice. And what did they come in here to bother you about?”

Oliver couldn't help rolling his eyes. He hated when adults did things like this: acting like he wasn't even there and looking to the other adults to rat them out. Of course, he understood why Phlox wasn't asking him: He'd been planning a lie for exactly this question.

“Oh, these industrious young ones were just looking for something with which to battle the Scourge,” said Désirée. As he listened to Désirée lying to his mom, Oliver realized that a line was being drawn: Désirée was on his side more than his parents', if she was on any side at all. Oliver hadn't thought of himself and his parents as being on different sides exactly, but when it came to his destiny, and Emalie, and even Dean, well, it seemed that they were.

Phlox heard this, and her face lost its edge of anger. When she glanced back to Oliver, he was ready with a sheepish look, saying, “We just thought we could help. I mean, Bane gets to.”

“Oliver …” The light was fading from Phlox's eyes. “It's nice that you want to help, but you know it's too dangerous.” She turned back to Désirée, and Oliver noticed that even Phlox sounded a bit uncertain talking to her. “You didn't … give them anything for that, did you?”

“Oh, of course not.” Désirée smiled. “I was just telling them the same thing you did. Besides, I'm sold out.”

“All right, well …” Phlox nodded and seemed to look away from Désirée as quickly as she could. “Thank you, Désirée. We'll be going.”

“Please do come again,” Désirée offered, then slipped into the shelves behind the counter.

“Let's go,” Phlox muttered with a wave of her arm. She let Oliver and Dean walk ahead, then fell in step right behind them. “You should have told me where you were going.”

“Sorry,” Oliver said, resisting the urge to point out that maybe it was a little ridiculous for Phlox to think that Oliver had to tell her everything when she and other adults didn't do the same for him—but this was not the time.

They returned home and Phlox whipped up lunch for Oliver and Dean. She seemed to relax as she scooped a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream and filled a goblet from one of the fresh panda blood bags for Oliver.

“Now, Dean,” she said, “I have some leftover goat livers. I already de-blooded them for a sorbet, but the meat is still there. Oh, and we have some Gila monster heads you might like.”

“Sounds fine,” Dean said innocently.

As they ate, Sebastian swept in. He looked exhausted. “Hey,” he said grimly, adding, “Hi there, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean said, trying to crack open a Gila skull as quietly as possible.

Sebastian pulled a roll of papers from his jacket. He laid them beside Oliver. “For you. I'm sure this makes your day.”

Oliver frowned at it. “Schoolwork? But there's no school.”

“We are not going to let this disruption hinder our children's education,” said Phlox. “All teachers have arranged homework until school can reopen.”

“Great.” Oliver sighed.

“Any luck?” Phlox asked Sebastian hopefully.

“Not enough. There was another attack,” Sebastian said grimly, “over on Queen Anne.”

Whatever calm Phlox had been momentarily feeling drained from her face. “When?”

“Only an hour ago. Leah's getting better at finding force signatures, and we actually traced the perpetrator to this part of town … but then the trail went cold again.”

“How is that possible?” Phlox asked coldly.

“We put in a request for trackers from the Underworld. They'll be here in a few days.”

“Well,” Phlox continued as brightly as she could, “at least this one didn't happen within a few feet of Ollie.”

Sebastian rubbed Oliver's head. “Well …”

“What?” Phlox asked.

“There was an injury … to Randall.”

“Randall?” Phlox gasped. “What about—”

“Bane's fine. Randall will be fine, too. He lost half an arm, but Dr. Vincent is optimistic about a replacement.”

“What were they doing there?”

“Actually, Bane says they had tracked the human to that location.”

“How is it,” Phlox snarled, “that our son is succeeding where your team is failing?”

“He hasn't told me yet. He was in a bit of a rage about Randall's injury and wouldn't say. You know how he is when he's angry, there's no talking to him—”

There was a loud pop, and Oliver felt warm liquid spray his face. He looked up to see Phlox holding the remnants of a blood bag. She had squeezed it so tightly that it had burst. Her clothes and face, as well as the nearby walls, were covered in blood. “Well then,
force
him to!” she screamed, and her eyes burned past turquoise to midnight blue. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Phlox,” Sebastian said, “we're doing everything we can—”

“Then DO MORE!” She hurled the empty bag across the room, where it slapped against the wall. “How close does this have to get before you wake up?!”

Sebastian's eyes glowed amber. Oliver watched carefully, not daring to move. Dean was frozen in place as well. After a moment, Sebastian's eyes cooled, and he nodded. “I have to go back out.” He looked at Phlox, his face showing nothing. “We'll talk later.”

Phlox only nodded, her lips tight. Sebastian left. After a moment, she picked up a towel and began wiping the blood from the counter.

There was a loud crack and Phlox froze in place, raising her eyes to the ceiling. Oliver looked over to see Dean glancing up sheepishly from the Gila head.

“Let's go downstairs,” Oliver said quietly. “You can bring that with you.”

Dean nodded. Oliver led the way down the spiral staircase to the crypt. They walked over to the side of his coffin. Oliver held his hand out to Dean. “Let me have the bag from Désirée's. I'll hide the stuff until we have a chance to use it.”

“When do you think that's going to be?”

Oliver looked at Dean. “No idea.” He reached into the bag and removed the bottle Désirée had given him for his wound. He popped off the top and took a swig.

Dean glanced over Oliver's shoulder. “What's with that?” he asked, pointing with his chin.

Oliver turned to find his coffin opening slowly. “Weird,” he said, stepping over and putting both hands on the lid to close it.

But the lid pushed forcefully open—

And a figure sat up from inside.

“Dah!” Dean shouted.

Oliver jumped back. His eyes went wide. “What—”

Emalie looked at him coldly. “We need to talk.”

Chapter 10

Getting the Stories Straight

OLIVER JUST STARED. EMALIE'S
clothes and face were grimy with coffin soil. Loose strands of hair sprang from beneath her black hat. She returned his gaze with her wide, clear eyes, but they were frigid, her jaw set. Oliver thought he might explode. Was she here to try to kill him again? He didn't even care. He thought he'd feel mad, but was surprised to find that he wasn't. He just wanted to start talking to her, to say he was sorry again about Dean, to find out how she'd been.

She leaned forward and started to swing a leg over the coffin's edge. Dirt scattered on the floor. Oliver reached to hold up the lid.

“Stay back,” Emalie warned icily.

Oliver stepped away. He looked at Dean, who was staring at her in shock.

Emalie got down and brushed briefly at her jeans and vest. When she looked up again, she glared at Oliver. Her mouth quivered like she was about to say something.

She didn't.

Oliver ran through one thing after another. What to say first? He had nothing.

“Hey, Emalie,” Dean said softly.

Emalie's eyes seemed rooted on Oliver. She seemed to be staring right through him.

“I, um …” Dean stammered.

Emalie still didn't look at him.

“It's all right,” Dean continued.

Finally, Emalie broke her gaze with Oliver, and he understood why she'd been holding it. The moment she looked at Dean, her eyes welled with tears.

“Ah, don't do that. It's—” Dean shifted from foot to foot. He put his hands in his pockets, took them out, put them back in. “I'm fine.”

Emalie exhaled, almost like a laugh, then blinked back her tears and wiped hard at her eyes. “Hi, Dean,” she said, sniffling.

“Hey. So …” Dean continued.

“I know,” Emalie said. “You're a zombie. I know.”

“How?” Oliver asked.

Emalie's eyes stabbed back at him. “Did
you
do it?”

“I—no! We haven't figured out who raised him yet. We're going to, though, we—” Oliver paused. The shock of seeing Emalie was fading, and now some very important questions were busting into his brain. “Wait. Are you here to kill me?”

Emalie narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You—” Oliver felt a twinge of his recent frustration toward her. “You know what I mean.” He glanced around the room, but didn't see the wraith in the shadows.

“No.” Emalie shook her head. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Well, why are you here?” Dean asked.

Emalie frowned. “I think I need your help.”

Oliver felt his frustration growing. “Help? Come on, I'm not gonna fall for that.”

“Fall for what?” Emalie turned to Dean. “What is he talking about?”

“He just means,” Dean began, like he was tiptoeing on eggshells, “with the way you've been trying to kill him lately. You know, with that Scourge thing.”

Emalie's brow furrowed. She eyed Oliver, then Dean again, then Oliver. “I haven't been trying to kill you.”

There was a loud banging from upstairs: the refrigerator slamming open. Emalie glanced at the ceiling. “Can we go somewhere safer?”

“Safer for who?” Oliver countered. “How do I know this isn't a trap?”

“And you'd know about those, wouldn't you?” Emalie snapped.

Oliver glared at her.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, the slightest note of suspicion in his voice.

Emalie seemed to be thinking hard. “Nothing. Can we just go? I'll explain when we're at my house.”

“How did you even get in here?” Oliver said, crossing his arms. “Oh, wait.” He looked around the corners of the crypt again. “Where's your friend?”

“Guh! What are you talking about?” Emalie huffed. “I just walked in through the sewers. Took me a little while to find the right door,” she added.

“Oh, yeah, right, you just walked in.” Oliver sniffed the air dramatically. Emalie had no scent. “I know it's mostly invisible aboveground, but it's right here, isn't it? Your little guardian wraith …” Oliver couldn't help himself. He hadn't expected to feel this way, but he couldn't hold back his frustration. “We're not going to go with you. If you want to slay me, just get it over with right here.”

“I'm not trying to slay you!” Emalie spat. “And I don't know what you're talking about and I don't know what a wraith is. God! Maybe I
should
be trying to slay you.” She glanced quickly at Dean.

“Okay!” Dean suddenly threw up his arms. “That, right there.” He pointed at Emalie. “What's
that
look for?”

Emalie looked at Oliver. He looked back. Fine. It was time to get this all out, before Emalie made it sound all wrong. “Listen, Dean,” Oliver began slowly, “I don't believe this is true, but
some
people think that—”

“What?” Dean frowned at Oliver. “Is this the part where you finally admit that maybe you killed me?” His face was like stone.

“No! I mean, I didn't kill you.…” He was waiting for Emalie to say something sarcastic, but surprisingly, she kept quiet. “I—”

“Come on, Oliver,” Dean muttered, “I may be some lowly zombie, but I'm not an idiot. Your parents thinking you're my master? The way you get all quiet about the night I died?”

“But—”

“Whatever. Zombies can go to libraries, too, you know.… Well, I actually just went online. I don't … I don't really think you're my master, but you still should have told me.”

“I know,” Oliver admitted. “But I didn't know how. I wanted to find proof first that I didn't kill you, or—”

“Or you were just a wimp,” Dean said dejectedly. “Besides, you're a vampire, you might have killed me. But who cares? It doesn't change the fact that I'm dead. And it doesn't change the fact that we're friends.… Well, maybe a little …”

“Dean, I swear, I didn't kill you—”

“No, he didn't.” They both turned to find Emalie's eyes red and overflowing. “I—I killed you.”

Oliver and Dean just stared at her. She choked back a sob.

“Now what are you talking about?” asked Oliver.

“I'm the one,” she muttered, “who found him.” She waved her hand at Oliver. “I'm the one who talked you into going to his house, Dean, into going into the Underground, even when you didn't want to. I dragged you into all of this. It's my fault that you died.”

No one spoke.