22
Heff
Heff forced down the panic that kept bubbling up and threatening to drown him. He had no idea how this thing had happened, but he was definitely not in a Tulsa he recognized.
His Tulsa had no restaurant in the depot above the tunnels that served as the main encampment of Neferet’s Red Army.
His Tulsa certainly had no humans dining in a restaurant run by red fledglings.
There were no trapdoors that opened at a touch from above so that they could drop into the safety of the depot tunnels from several places along the deserted railroad line and between the depot building and the heart of downtown. Heff knew. He and General Dominick had split up and tried every trick entrance to what should have been their army’s stronghold.
None of them worked. There was no sign that there had ever been trapdoors leading from street level to the tunnels.
There was a lot about Tulsa itself that was wrong—even though the city slept under a whiteout blizzard.
Festive garlands wrapped with lights decorated the downtown streets, swaying in the wind as if they were dancing with glee at being there—at being allowed there.
In Heff’s Tulsa, humans were no longer allowed to decorate the streets for Christmas. Neferet had declared that holiday obsolete.
And now human police officers—humans—made their presence very obvious outside the entrances to several buildings that provided tunnel sanctuaries beneath them. It was the second-oddest thing Heff had ever seen.
The first was his sister—alive and well and a fully Changed vampyre—closing the circle that had drawn them to this upside-down world. He tried to compartmentalize his confusion and his hope. Tried to use the mental tricks that had helped him stay sane during the past year, but like this world, his emotions were turned upside down.
“With me, Lieutenant,” General Dominick snapped as he brushed past Heff.
“Yes, sir.” Heff followed the general through the rubble and remains left by the homeless who had the poor luck to have chosen to pull apart one of the boarded up windows of the abandoned Sinclair Building to try to weather the storm. The general had ordered his vampyres to break into the building so that they could regroup. The homeless within? They had been what the general called “before-bedtime snacks.”
“Nothing is right.” General Dominick rubbed his hands together and braced himself against the wind and snow as they closed the plywood opening to the broken window. The two of them stayed close to the side of the building—taking refuge from the blizzard, as well as concealment from roving humans. “This is not our world. It cannot be.”
Heff said nothing. He knew better than to call too much attention to himself or to accidentally provoke the general.
“Sunrise is close. Too close.”
“Thirty minutes,” Heff said.
Dominick’s red gaze blazed at him. “I know that as well as you do!” The general turned his attention back to the snow-covered street. “I still see no one outside the Philtower, and there is no movement by the Atlas Building, either. Even with this snow covering the sun, we can’t take a chance at staying above ground.”
“But this building’s obviously been abandoned for awhile. There are public auction flyers posted that it’s selling next month. With this snow, I don’t think anyone except the homeless will be coming in here, and not even them if we barricade that loose board.”
The general didn’t answer with words. Instead he backhanded Heff. The force hurled him against the side of the building, his ears ringing as his head smacked a crumbling limestone pillar.
“It’s not your job to think. Take the fledglings and a squad of the vampyres. Go to the Philtower tunnels. I’ll take the rest of the vampyres to the Atlas Building. After sunset we meet here and decide how to find Neferet and get our orders. Now.”
“Yes, sir,” Heff repeated, rubbing the back of his head. He kept a tight rein on his emotions. He’d learned this lesson well. Draw no attention. Do as I’m told. And hold on. Always try to hold on to who I am. I am Kevin Heffer. I am surrounded by monsters, but they do not define me.
Heff did as he was told.
Their evacuation of the abandoned building was fast and efficient. No one had to tell any of them how close it was until sunrise. Like shadows within shadows, they slipped soundlessly from the Sinclair Building. Heff brought up the rear of his squad of ten adult vampyres and almost the same number of fledglings. He paused, waiting for the general to move far enough down the street with his soldiers that the blowing snow obscured his sight. Then he carefully repositioned the plywood barrier, using a broken piece of tile he’d found within to quickly pound the nails into place, securing it as if it had never been breached.
I might need this later, and that is something Dominick doesn’t need to know.
He caught up with the fledglings easily. They were already becoming sluggish and were almost sleepwalking when they came to the ornate entrance to the Philtower lobby.
“Stay here until I whistle. Then, come to me quickly,” Heff told his group, leaving them huddled together in the darkness just outside the arched entrance.
He sprinted to the double doors and slipped within.
He saw little differences between this Philtower and the one that housed Neferet. But those little differences were significant. There were no red Warriors stationed at the entrance and the elevators. There were no blue Warriors marching in to relieve them. There were no Warriors present at all. The lobby was completely deserted.
It was still ornate, with Gothic arches and huge light fixtures. But this Philtower had clusters of expensively upholstered circular seating arrangements, and the fixtures bathed the Gothic carving with a soft, rose-tinted electric light.
Neferet’s Philtower had no seating arrangements. And she had replaced the electric lights with flickering gaslights.
Though the flesh on the back of his neck prickled with a sense of unease, Heff jogged to the door that opened to plain, industrial-looking stairs leading down to a basement that housed the tunnels. The thick double metal doors were the same, only they were closed and barred, though it was easy enough for Heff to open them.
He peered into the complete darkness of the tunnel. Heff left the door open as he hurried within; his glowing red eyes didn’t need the light.
The peeling green paint was the same. The arched tunnel was the same, except for the absence of cots.
And the door that should be open to the adjoining Philcade system was closed.
Heff ran his hand over the familiar rounded side of the tunnel. He held his breath until his fingers found the slight indentation he hoped was there.
It was. He could feel it ready to give under his palm. He let out a long sigh of relief. At least they wouldn’t be trapped. Then he jogged up the stairs and through the deserted lobby, opened the door and whistled sharply.
It was close enough to dawn that the fledglings were staggering badly, so he and his squad had to support them down the stairs and into the tunnel.
Heff shut the metal door behind them. Without speaking, the fledglings curled up on the floor in a tight nest and fell asleep instantly.
He ordered the adults to rest close to the entrance.
Kevin Heffer didn’t join them. Instead, he trudged to the rear of the tunnel, picking his way around already sleeping fledglings and sat, propped against the cold side of the tunnel near the rear door, and as sunrise pressed down on him, pulling him into a fitful semiconscious state, he thought about his sister.
Was she truly alive? Had he really seen her, or had that been just another trick of this strange world?
Heff thought he’d forgotten how to let himself hope, but as sunrise forced him into sleep, he surprised himself by discovering he still knew how—Kevin Heffer still knew how to hope.
If only … If only it was true, and Zoey was alive and safe and a High Priestess. Could she help him? More importantly, would she help him?
Zoey
“They split up. A group of red vampyres went inside the Atlas Building. Just minutes ago a second group—this one mostly made up of fledglings—went into the tunnels in this basement,” Marx reported to Stark, Shaunee, and me from the second-floor Philtower office that the TPD had commandeered.
“So, they’re really trapped?” I said.
Marx nodded grimly. “They are. We blocked all exits from the Atlas tunnel. They have to go out the way they came in. And we double-checked the door between the Philtower and Philcade. It’s been locked for years from the Philcade side, and it’s definitely still secure. That’s the only exit from the short Philtower tunnel system. Again, they have to go out the way they went in.”
“It’s sunrise,” Stark said, wiping a weary hand across his face and sitting in a chair as far away from the picture windows as possible.
“Close those blinds, please,” I said, squinting at the wall of windows.
“Sorry, Zoey. I wasn’t thinking.” Marx motioned for a uniformed officer to do so. “You okay, Stark?”
Stark nodded. “I’ll be fine. The cloud cover is thick enough that I can walk outside, with this over my head.” He tugged on his hoodie. “It’s just not comfortable.”
“How long are we going to wait before we move in?” I asked.
Marx spoke into the portable radio he pulled from his belt. “This is Marx. Ready to go at the Atlas?”
“Roger. Ready to go,” came the crackly response.
Marx glanced at the mixed group of TPD officers and House of Night Warriors. Several of the cops held dangerous-looking equipment that, given Shaunee’s obsessive staring, could only be flamethrowers. The rest had shotguns. Really big shotguns. The Warriors were armed with the ancient weapons we preferred—swords of different sizes and from different eras, as well as bows and long, evil looking lances.
“Ready to go?” he asked them.
As a group they nodded.
“Okay, briefly, we coordinate our attack with our people at the Atlas. We go to the tunnels at the same time. Give them an opportunity to surrender. If they don’t take it—we take them out,” Marx said. “Whatever happens, if you are human, do not let any of those creatures bite you.”
“You said the fledglings are all here in the Philtower tunnel?” I asked.
“Yeah, we’re pretty sure only full vampyres entered the Atlas. The fledglings were pretty easy to tell from the vampyres. They were staggering by the time they got inside.”
“That’s because they can’t stay conscious after sunrise,” I said.
“Stark and Darius already briefed us. We understand.” Marx eyed his men. “There will be a bunch of fledglings passed out inside the tunnel. They can’t wake while the sun’s out. They’re harmless. Ignore them while we deal with the vampyres. Then we can secure the fledglings.” He glanced at me. “You want them taken to the House of Night, correct?”
“I do.”
“All right. I talked to the chief. He’s fine with the House of Night locking up the fledglings, but they are part of that vampyre group that killed eighty-four humans. He’s going to need to know how they’re punished.”
“I understand,” I said with confidence I didn’t feel. How the hell were we going to punish fledglings that everyday were losing more and more of what is left of their humanity? I decided now was not the time to worry about that. Now was the time to get dangerous fledglings and vampyres off Tulsa’s streets. “And I’m ready.”
“All right, let’s do this.”
With military precision, the men moved out. We didn’t use the elevator. We made our way quietly down the two stories to the door that opened to the lobby. Then we moved across the gorgeous space to another side door that opened to a drastically different-looking Philtower, morphing from Gothic and ornate to industrial and rather boring in the space of just a few feet.
“Okay, this is where you wait,” Stark told me.
“Brownston, stay with the High Priestess,” Marx ordered one of the men holding a flamethrower. “Be sure nothing gets to her.”
“Will do, detective,” Brownston said.
“And you back him up,” Stark told Shaunee.
“No problemo. Z will be fine,” Shaunee said.
“Leave that door open,” I said. “I want to hear what’s going on down there.”
Stark nodded. The men moved silently down the first set of stairs. I heard Marx speaking quietly into his radio.
“On my mark counting down. Going at one. Starting—now. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two—engage!”
I paced while Shaunee and Brownston took positions near the open door.
Except for muffled footfalls, there were no sounds at first. Then there was what seemed like a forever pause, followed by the groaning of old hinges swinging open.
And then it was chaos.
“Red vampyres inside the tunnel! This is the Tulsa Police Department and the Sons of Erebus Warriors from the Tulsa House of Night. You have trespassed on a world not your own. You are trapped. We have flamethrowers and rifles trained on you. Adult vampyres—come out slowly with your hands open and raised. If you surrender, you will not be harmed. This is your only opportunity to save yourselves.”
Marx’s voice echoed up from the basement.
“Engage! Engage! Engage!” a voice shouted—one that seemed weirdly familiar to me, and I wondered briefly if some other vampyre who doesn’t exist here anymore might have slipped from their world into ours.
Then I didn’t have time to wonder about anything. Deafening shots echoed against the carved walls, filling my ears with ringing that almost, but not quite, covered the screams and curses of the men below us.
“No flamethrowers!” I distinctly heard Stark’s shout. “You’ll fry the fledglings!”
That had me running for the open door. Shaunee caught me as Brownston blocked the way to the basement with his body.
There were more shots—and more screams.
Then Stark again. “What the hell?” A pause. “They’re getting away!”
And shoes pounded against tile as Stark surged through the open door.
“What’s happening?” I shouted.
“They opened the door! They’re in the Philcade! Brownston, come with me! Shaunee, stay here with Z!” The men sprinted to the door.
Shaunee looked at me.
“No, we will damn well not stay here,” I said.
“Yaasss!” Shaunee said with a grin that was really just bared teeth.
We ran after the two men.
Moments ahead of us, Stark shoved open the doors to explode out onto a deserted, whitewashed street. He ducked his head and pulled his hoodie down over his face as he raced across the street to the Philcade with Brownston beside him.
The building was locked. Stark grabbed the flamethrower and hurled the butt end of it against the glass-fronted doors. They shattered and he reached in to yank open the door before disappearing into the T-shaped lobby.
“Go back!” Stark glared at me as Shaunee and I caught up with them.
“No!”
“This way!” Marx blew past me, rifle in his hand, pointing to his left. The five of us sprinted over the sleek marble floors, running past beautifully veined columns that held up the gold-leaf domed ceiling.
The men were ahead of me as I rounded the corner that fed into the decorative entrance to the tunnel system.
“Halt! If you do not stop, we will shoot!” Marx shouted.
I saw him lift his rifle and aim at the same instant Brownston flipped the safety off the flamethrower, and Stark, who was suddenly at my side, notched an arrow in his bow.
A long, evil hiss pulled my gaze to the end of the hall as the group of red vampyres, fangs bared, hands lifted like claws, and eyes glowing the red of old blood, converged on us.
“Steady. Fire as soon as they’re in range,” Marx told Stark and Brownston.
From the corner of my eye I saw Shaunee drawing deep breaths to center herself, and I knew she was evoking her element.
My gaze flickered to the group of red-eyed demons closing on us—and all the breath left my body.
Leading the group—eyes glowing red, fangs bared, full adult tattoo blazing scarlet against his skin—was my little brother.
“Ready, fi—”
“No!” I screamed, plowing my shoulder against Stark so hard that he fell against Marx. Stark lost his grip on his bow and almost dropped it. Marx’s rifle wavered. “Don’t shoot!” I yelled at him.
“Detective?” Brownston said, backing away with his finger on the trigger of the flamethrower.
At the same instant, Marx and I shouted together:
“Fire!”
“That’s my brother!”
I heard Shaunee’s shocked intake of breath, and then she moved with blurring speed to stand between the flamethrower and Kevin. The flamethrower engaged with a nauseating clicking sound. Shaunee lifted her hands, palms out. The tongue of flame simply licked against them harmlessly. She twisted her wrists, aiming her palms up, and the flame ricocheted off them to blast the ceiling.
There were glowing eyes everywhere.
Stark grabbed me, trying to pull me behind him. I turned as the horde raced past us.
“Kevin!” I shouted.
The lead vampyre stumbled. He whirled around to face me.
“Zoey!” His voice was rough—like he had a pack-a-day smoking habit—but it was his voice.
“Don’t run! It’s okay! Come with me back to the House of Night! I won’t let anything happen to you!”
I saw him waver. I saw a flash of desire in his eyes so keen that I swear they stopped glowing for a moment.
And then, with a feral cry, he spun back around and raced after the other vampyres.
“Go!” I screamed at Stark. “Don’t let them kill him!”
Stark sprinted after Kevin, with Marx and Brownston right behind him. I tried to make my legs work. They wouldn’t.
Then Shaunee grabbed my hand and pulled. Hard. “Come on!”
I unfroze and ran, retracing our path to the lobby. I got there to find Marx and Brownston standing in the middle of the street, staring impotently around them. Stark had run halfway down the block, but he’d stopped. The blowing snow made him barely visible, but I could see him turning in a slow circle, breathing hard.
Nothing. Kevin was nowhere, and neither were any of the other red vamps that had been with him.
“Where is he? Where’d he go?”
Marx shook his head. “Gone. Disappeared into the snow. Gotta call the Atlas.” He keyed his radio. “Atlas, report!”
“All done here. Got ’em,” came the reply.
“Did they surrender?” Marx asked.
“No, sir. They attacked. We defended. There are no survivors.”
My gut felt hollow and my legs gave way. I was suddenly sitting on the cold marble floor.
“What’s our casualty count?”
“Zero.”
“Roger. Get the bus here to collect the fledglings. A group of adults escaped. Last seen headed east on Fifth Street. They’re on foot.”
“Roger! Be right there.”
Marx rounded on me. “What the hell was that about? You could’ve gotten yourself killed and us worse.”
I looked up at him. “That was my little brother. That was Kevin. That red vampyre in the lead. Kevin. My little brother. I—I couldn’t let you kill him.” And then I started to sob.