The Triad of Finity (2 page)

“Or maybe we should be asking someone,” Phlox began, and she raised her head so that the listening devices would hear her loud and clear, “whether it’s appropriate for our son to be in the company of someone with that kind of background.”

Sebastian looked at her and shrugged, a gesture of powerlessness that Oliver hated to see. Mr. Crevlyn was the new head of operations at the powerful Half-Light consortium, Sebastian’s employer, and he’d personally put himself in charge of examining Oliver, to determine his “mental state.”

Oliver understood why: He was, after all, the key figure in Half-Light’s plot to open the Nexia Gate, thereby freeing all the vampires from Earth and remaking the universe, which, as a consequence, would also destroy Earth and everything in it. Half-Light had been planning this for decades, maybe even centuries, according to a prophecy which stated that a sired but demonless vampire child could open the Gate. Oliver was that child. And now that the Anointment had been completed, there was no turning back. Only, it was more complicated than that, for a number of reasons, but mainly because of …
don’t think about
—Oliver tried to warn himself, but a strong and painful memory arrived anyway:

Emalie.

Oliver felt a moment of fuzziness, like a wave had washed over his mind. He was brought back to his senses by a thudding knock on the sewer door downstairs.

“That’s him,” said Sebastian. He headed for the stairs, his lips pursed.

Oliver stuffed the troubling thoughts away. He needed to focus to make it through what was about to happen. He finished his fritters and listened as the door opened, greetings were exchanged, and footsteps returned to the kitchen.

Sebastian entered first. “Mr. Crevlyn is here.”

He strolled in wearing a bright grin, the kind that was too wide, as if it had been practiced often. He wasn’t much older than Phlox and Sebastian—Oliver would have guessed about three hundred—but was uncharacteristically wide and soft around the middle for a vampire. And that was the oddity of his face, too: its breadth, its tendency to shine too brightly around those gleaming, peach-colored irises, without care for the other sources of light in its sphere. Neither Mr. Crevlyn’s suit—a dour, mulch-colored tweed—nor his accessories—conservatively striped tie, modest watch and briefcase—gave away his true nature, but his smiling face revealed a disquieting confidence, that self-assured comfort in oneself that seemed to be most apparent in the most dangerous figures.

“Good evening, Nocturnes,” said Mr. Crevlyn smoothly.

He stepped into the kitchen and moved aside. There was a sound of shuffling metal and another figure entered. The crimson-robed form had to hunch to fit into the kitchen. Its shackled wrists and ankles jangled. Its face was hidden by a hood. A Codex, from Half-Light’s private library.

“And how are we tonight, Oliver?” Mr. Crevlyn asked. The smile widened, the cheeks contorting, creating extra folds.

Oliver looked away. “Fine.”

“Well then, shall we?” He looked to Phlox. “Coffee would be lovely,” he said, as if she’d offered. “Spiked, if you don’t mind.”

Phlox nodded slightly, her mouth a thin, tight line. “Of course.”

Oliver slumped off the stool and headed for the living room, where he dropped onto one of the leather couches. Phlox and Sebastian sat on the other, to his left. Mr. Crevlyn spread himself on the edge of a high-backed chair across from him.

The Codex lowered to the floor, sitting cross-legged on a pillow. Its black, skeletal hands produced a small mortar made of flecked stone. There was a pinch of dried brown incense in the bowl. The Codex struck a match and lit it. A thin trail of gray smoke slithered up into the room.

Mr. Crevlyn flipped open his briefcase and removed a bundle of black velvet. He placed this on the table and unwrapped it, revealing a long, pink crystal shard. “
Veritesssch
,” he whispered, and the crystal began to glow. Oliver knew it well enough: a Menteur’s Heart, similar to a human lie detector, though quite a bit more powerful and accurate, as demons and vampires were much more skilled at deception than a creature with a soul could ever be.

Oliver felt like the Heart was barely necessary in his case. He didn’t bother lying anymore. It never worked out.

“Well now,” said Mr. Crevlyn. He looked at Oliver, eyes bright. “How are we feeling these days?”

“Fine,” muttered Oliver.

“And how is school?”

“Okay.”

“Good,” said Mr. Crevlyn. “All right, then, just for the sake of clarity, let’s review: If I’m correct, this all began when you met the Orani girl. She invaded your home, and yet due to your Human Sympathizing Syndrome—an unfortunate consequence of your sired origins that we know is not your fault—you let her live and befriended her.”

Oliver just stared ahead but inside he rolled his eyes. This was all ridiculous.
This all began
, he thought,
when I was stolen from my human parents and sired
, but he didn’t blame Phlox and Sebastian for that. They had merely wanted a child, and hadn’t been able to have one. So they’d volunteered to raise the prophecy children. Oliver’s origins were really Half-Light’s doing. And because of those origins, he’d felt strange his entire existence. But that wasn’t why he’d befriended Emalie. It had been because she was actually interested in him, not to mention how she was interesting herself, fascinating even. …
Gone
. …

“Then,” Mr. Crevlyn continued, “there was the mix-up with the murder of the Orani girl’s cousin and whether the subsequent zombie was your minion—”

“His name is Dean,” Oliver added. He hated how Mr. Crevlyn always did this: not using names as if they somehow weren’t worthy.

Mr. Crevlyn paused for only a moment, his smile undiminished. “Of course it is. And all of that business was, in fact, orchestrated by the LeRoux girl—”

“Lythia,” Oliver added.

“Yes, she was the zombie’s true master, and she was trying to steal your prophecy. So, again, not your fault.” Mr. Crevlyn nodded like Oliver was supposed to feel good about that. “Then, let’s see, following that we had the brief period where the girl tried to slay you—”

“Which wasn’t
Emalie’s
fault,” Oliver interrupted. He felt his anger growing. Mr. Crevlyn’s smile lessened. Phlox eyed Oliver severely, but kept silent as he continued. “She was being controlled by The Brotherhood of the Fallen.
They
were the ones who wanted to slay me.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Crevlyn. “And finally, there was the continual misinformation given to you by the rogue Architect. Her deceptions led you to seek out Selene, the Orani oracle, to search for your original human parents, and to try to thwart your Anointment. Again, Désirée is a powerful being, and so one can hardly blame you for all that, can they?” Mr. Crevlyn’s smile returned.

“Sure,” said Oliver. He knew by now that this was one of the goals of Mr. Crevlyn’s visits: to make Oliver feel good about himself and his destiny. And an obvious second goal was to reform Oliver’s image, and by extension his parents’ image, in the Half-Light vampire community. There was much suspicion and mistrust as to whether the Nocturnes could handle being the family of the Nexia prophecy, but now that the Anointment had succeeded, and there was no other choice, Half-Light wanted to make sure that everyone saw the Nocturnes in a good light. It wasn’t for Oliver and his family, it was for the safety of the prophecy, just like everything had always been.

Sebastian spoke up. “And has Half-Light determined the whereabouts of Dead Désirée?”

“She remains … unaccounted for,” said Mr. Crevlyn with a sigh, his smile faltering only momentarily, “but all measures are being taken to find her.” He turned back to Oliver. “Well, I must say, Oliver, it is a testament to your strength and guile that you are still here and not a pile of dust, considering all the danger you’ve been exposed to! This alone should prove your worth as the chosen vampire, don’t you think?”

Oliver just shrugged. “Sure.”

“The closest he came to dust was when Half-Light tried to slay him,” said Phlox thinly.

“Ah yes,” said Mr. Crevlyn, “well, these things do happen. Luckily, as the new Director, I can assure you that I have a far better handle on things.”

Mr. Crevlyn reached out and ran his hand over the Menteur’s Heart. Its glow brightened, flickering on all of their faces. He was increasing its sensitivity for this final question. “Now then, we really just have our one last usual piece of business to attend to before we’re finished for the evening.” He leaned forward. “Oliver: Do you, or does anyone you know, have any idea as to the current whereabouts of the Orani girl?”

Oliver felt Phlox and Sebastian’s eyes on him. He felt a rush of nerves in his gut. The crystal’s glow made spots in his vision. At full strength, it would detect even the slightest hint of a lie. …

But, unfortunately, Oliver only had the truth to tell. “No.”

Mr. Crevlyn gazed at the crystal, and when its glow did not waver, his brow almost seemed to furrow. “And if she does try to contact you, or alert you to her whereabouts, I can only urge you, again, to let us know.”

Oliver nodded. “Sure.”

Mr. Crevlyn leaned over, blew out the crystal, and wrapped it up. The Codex’s eyes extinguished. Both stood. “Oliver, on behalf of the Half-Light Consortium, I want to thank you and your family for your continued cooperation.”

“As if we had a choice,” growled Sebastian.

Mr. Crevlyn shrugged his eyebrows and continued. “We’ll see you next time. And in the meantime, rest assured: We will be watching out for your best interests. Now, we don’t want you to be late for school.”

Oliver just glared at him.

“You can let yourself out,” said Sebastian.

“Certainly,” Mr. Crevlyn replied, his grin unfaltering.

Oliver still hadn’t moved as the sewer door clicked shut. Phlox leaned over and stroked his arm. “You did great. We endure these things, and we move on.”

Oliver didn’t reply. He felt blank.

“You should get to school,” said Sebastian. “I’ll walk there with you, if you—”

“Nah.” Oliver got to his feet. “It’s fine. I’m … fine.” He wasn’t, not at all, but he still had that thing to do before school and now he felt like he needed to more than ever.

Oliver headed into the kitchen, grabbed his bag and hurried out.

Chapter 2

Empty Spaces

Oliver emerged from the sewers and trudged through the falling evening to school. He was early; the last humans were still loitering out front, hunched against the drizzle, waiting for rides. Oliver walked right by, continuing up the street and across a damp park.

He knew that right now, in some Half-Light office downtown, his ankle sensor was announcing that he’d left his prescribed route to school, and an occupied vampire sentry was no doubt being dispatched to follow his movements, likely in the form of a bat or owl. But if he hurried, he should have enough time. …

He leapt easily onto the roof of a city bus, then sat, sweatshirt hood over his head, remembering a time when it had been hard for him to perform what now seemed like the most basic work controlling the forces. The first time he’d leapt onto this bus, he’d almost fallen off the side, and barely avoided being noticed.

Ten blocks later, he stood and vaulted off, over the streetlights, landing cat-like atop a house. He continued roof-to-roof. Some of the yards below had already been strung with holiday lights, splashes of warmth among bare, dripping branches. Their cheery glow only made the crowding sense of memory thicker in Oliver’s mind.

He hopped one last time, landing on a triangular peak, and looked down. This yard was dark, consumed by wild tangles of blackberry vines. A white “For Sale” sign was barely visible in the snarls.

“’Sup.”

Oliver turned to a figure seated on the rooftop behind him. Despite the chilly rain, he wore only a steel-gray t-shirt, dark jeans, and muddy Converse. His arms were crossed atop his knees. Oliver made sure not to react to the sour odor flooding his nostrils.

“Hey,” Oliver said to Dean.

“How was the interrogation?” Dean asked.

Oliver huffed. “The usual. You coming?”

“Do I ever?” asked Dean. “Somebody needs to keep watch, anyway.”

Oliver nodded. “See you in a minute.”

He stepped over the side of the house, flipping under the eave so that he hung inverted like a bat. More memories … of watching from here as a door opened, as hands opened the first gift he’d given her, a new camera …

Oliver dropped to the ground. The basement door was locked, dead-bolted from the inside. To the right, a window was covered with plywood. It appeared to be thoroughly nailed shut, but only the four corner nails were actually sunk into the wall. The rest were just show. Oliver peeled the plywood carefully away so as not to bend the nails, leaned it against the base of the wall, and wormed through the narrow space. There were still a few glass shards sticking up here and there, but Oliver had learned how to avoid them.
Without oven mitts
, he thought to himself, considering not for the first time that now he was the intruder sneaking into the abandoned house, as she had once been.

The cobwebs seemed to double every time he visited. He brushed the gray curtains aside, moving through the pitch-black basement, between walls of cardboard boxes, until he reached the open space, bordered on two sides by boxes, on the third by a rusty washer and dryer, and on the fourth by a double sink. Water dripped from the leaky faucet. Oliver inspected the room but saw disappointedly that things were just as he’d left them. The pile of darkroom supplies on the shelf beside the sink, the strings that crisscrossed the ceiling strung with black-and-white photos …

Emalie’s space. Her presence was everywhere.

After she and her parents and Great Aunt Kathleen had left for the old-west town of Arcana and the year 1868, a realtor friend of Aunt Kathleen’s had come by and put that “For Sale” sign out front. It was just for show, though. The house was being held until they came back.

When Oliver first returned here, he’d found Emalie’s piles of photographs beneath the sink. There were hundreds in all, and Oliver had strung some across the ceiling, taped more to the box sides around him and all over the washer and dryer. He’d tiled the floor with others.