“It’s cool, Tino.” She reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine to take me on a trip down her own memory lane. Before that talent of hers blocks out all sight and sound in the present, I see the King and Raven add their own hands to the pile.

  And there’s Maya standing outside the triple decker in the Stadium neighborhood of Cranston that used to belong to Tierney before it burned down when he died. Because it’s all from her perspective, I know that down in the basement, Liam is already a pile of ash. Whitby is with her, holding her by the wrist, forcing her to clasp hands with good old Detective Larry, who was a mortal in the know.

  In their combined grasp is something we never get to see. But since Maya's touching it I know the thing is living and warm, humming with magical energy. Maybe it's a person's hand but the spot they'd be standing is obscured by thick, gray smoke. The object's identity is less important than how it makes Maya feel. And I feel every emotion coursing through her heart at that past moment. We all do.

  Blinding rage. With a thick coating of guilt.

  The feeling is so familiar I almost mistake it for my own. It’s how I felt when I couldn’t stop the older mortal Pickerings from suicidally leaping in front of a pack of Deep Ones. And this vision comes with more context. We all learn that Whitby forced Maya to do more than what we’re seeing. Whatever whammy he put on the vampires in Providence to make them forget DeCampo is their rightful monarch, he managed to pull it on Larry too. With Maya’s unwilling help, Larry reported the mocked-up version of the murder back to Stephanie.

  When we all return to the present, Maya’s shaking. I don’t blame her. I’d put my arm around her if the King wasn’t sitting between us. But DeCampo surprises me by doing it himself. She leans toward him, too. Hides her face against his chest like Ma sometimes does with Dad when there’s a tear-jerker on television.

  I blink. You would, too. An honest to goodness vampire King outclasses yours truly every day of the week and twice on Sundays. Raven’s shaking their head. I can see them from the corner of my eye. I’d rather look at them right now, so I do. And Raven’s face tells me everything. The raised eyebrow and the smile fighting for dominance on the Attaché’s features holds no irony or trace of pity for my plight. Instead, they clearly find my knee-jerk assumption amusing. Which raises my thoughts to a much more optimistic level.

  Maya and DeCampo aren’t a thing. They’re related, though I’m not sure how at this point. It’s clearer now that this isn’t like Dad embracing Ma, it’s like one of them comforting me after a nightmare. Which leads me back to the facts as I’ve just seen them. Whitby forced her to provide a false version of events, contributing to the truth being overwritten by whatever that other power in the object was. And he did it to harm one of her family members, depose him, maybe even get him killed.

  Fuck Whitby.

  I grab my notebook, flip to the first blank page, and scribble all that rage and the details surrounding it down on paper in my Church Latin. I press so hard the nib of the pen threatens to break through the top sheet. But I don’t care about that. All that matters is getting this down so I never forget it. Because if I can only remember, I can gather the rest of my supernatural gang together and do something about it.

  Raven’s been watching me the whole time, their face back to inscrutable for now. But I know they’ll back me because we saw the same thing. And when DeCampo looks up, I know Hell can’t match the fury he’s carrying around now. The woman scorned has that too, but she’s not alone in this anymore. With folk rallying around her now, Maya’s all but guaranteed victory.

  I stand up, practically toppling the chair as I push away from the table. The time to act is now, dammit. Whitby’s shit has gone down too long as far as I’m concerned. But the others don’t even lift a finger, let alone stand up. I blink.

  “What gives?”

  “Excuse me?” Raven just loves answering my questions with more of the same. I’m almost used to it.

  “Aren’t we going to march into Providence and kick Whitby where it counts?”

  “No.” Maya leans back in her seat, unentangled from the King. “We still don’t have everyone and everything we need.”

  “But he’s a monster and we all know it now.”

  “We’re just as outnumbered as we were the night we came out of that tunnel. And it’s almost sunrise.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’ll also need harder evidence than a collection of incomplete memories.” King DeCampo sounds wearier than a hollow Bristlecone Pine. For all I know, he’s got a five-thousand year lifespan like one of those, too.

  “I’m going to go out and get that for you.” And I will. Nobody should go through what Whitby did to Maya. And I’m also investigating Milano, who I happen to know was missing when that news report aired. For all I know, the two incidents are connected in more ways than even I suspect. And it all comes back to what or whoever added the memory-altering mojo to the mix.

  “Good. But wait until tomorrow night.”

  “Will do.” I'm not going to wait. Not really. Old vampires forget about the internet. But there are tasks, preparations, knowledge to gain and I have methods.

  I reach down for my notebook and see something I entered not long ago. It’s about the Deep Ones and how they’re related to both Raven and Whitby. Who are brothers from back in the mortal days.

  Both of them have a claim on the Pickering's traditions and arrangements but while Raven made it their goal to become head of the magical family, Whitby went straight to the monsters. Even though he was the one who inherited magical ability. Raven was mundane until they got turned.

  My notes are only confirming the conclusion my gut wants me to follow. Whitby’s not resting on his laurels or his stolen throne. He’s still working against us, putting DeCampo’s image out there to limit his activity. He used footage from the Deep One’s copy of the King but that means he was prepared to lose their help eventually. Whitby must have other magical creatures on speed-dial to do his dirty work, make it harder to trace things back to him. And for now, we don't know what’s in his arsenal, only who he's trying to screw over with it.

  “Listen, Your Majesty.” I gulp out of reflex at my audacity, addressing him with what sounds like an order. I’m subordinate to him in every imaginable way and vampires can rage when insulted, so this is riskier than it sounds. “You need to stay in. No going out for anything. I know we’re short on blood but the others will just have to bring it back for you.”

  “I’ll see what we can do tomorrow.” Stephanie’s voice from the open doorway isn’t entirely unexpected.

  “It’s about time you got here.” Raven taps the watch on their left wrist. “Let’s go and do our busywork.”

  My sire and the King’s Attaché stalk through the kitchen and into the parlor which has been tweaked to let no light in. They remind me for all the world of a pair of cats. I don’t bother asking what work the two of them are doing, either. Because I’ve got more than enough to keep me busy.

  I bring my notebook and the pen with me as Maya leads me and the King down into the basement. A short hallway with four doors off it is at the bottom. I’m shown to one of these. Behind it is a small, Spartan space with stark gray walls, a threadbare recliner, and an old school desk with the chair attached. The belly of the desk holds markers, post-its, string, and tape. This place is a conspiracy mapper’s dream. A gooseneck lamp is clamped to the side, bowing its head over the smaller than average workspace.

  I’m used to tight quarters, though, so this doesn’t bother me. Not having my laptop does. But the electrical outlet has room for my phone charger so I can use that if I need to access the web. I plug it in to let it charge up, then begin looking over all my notes on the supernatural, starting with the entries from the night Stephanie turned me.

  At least Leora’s paperwork is already done. It’s going to be a busy day.

  The room I’m staying in is windowless and has no clock. The notes I make take so much of my attention that I lose all awareness of time's passage. I know it sounds impossible, but it’s not. When you remember that I’m undead it makes sense. There’s a reason the lore says vampires get distracted by details.

  My feet don’t fall asleep, I don’t need bathroom breaks, the urge to yawn doesn’t derail trains of thought. Fatigue is not an issue. I’d say I don’t get hungry, but that’s not exactly true. Nothing I do in that room, from reading Latin to writing and tacking up sticky notes to connecting them with string on the wall, requires using blood.

  There’s an infrequently mentioned part of the vampire mythos that comes to mind. The whole thing about getting absorbed in a task to the point of obsession is absolutely true. Most frequently, this supposed trait of ours involves the need to count things. Maybe categorizing the facts is close enough. Staring at the diagram I’ve made on the wall, I’m practically in a state of hypnosis. Nah, that's too clinical a term. It's more like reverie.

  That’s why the knock at the door startles me so much.

  “Honestly, Tino.” Stephanie’s voice drowns out the minuscule squeak from the door’s hinge that follows my little scream. “There’s no need to shriek like a bat.”

  "Sorry." I shrug, closing the notebook at my side. When I turn I see Stephanie's holding another one. Of course. She always hands me some reading material though it’s usually just once in any given fiasco. Didn’t she already give me homework? Oh yeah. The Waste Land. But I reach out for the tome she’s carrying, anyway.

  "No, this book is not for you." Stephanie tucks the volume under her arm, then crosses the room and sits on the edge of the cot.

  "Thank God."

  "Well if that's how you feel about it, I won't make any more reading recommendations in the future." She sniffs, then gives me a sideways glance.

  "That's not what I'm saying. It's just that every time you recommend something for me to read I get in trouble."

  "Correlation does not equal causation." Stephanie sniffs again. If she were human, I’d think she was allergic to something in here. But she’s not. Actions she takes that are normal for the mortal set are usually deliberately left hints when it comes to her. Subtext. Unspoken messages, probably ways around communicating something she’s bound by some vow not to say with words.

  Unfortunately for Steph, I’m too dense to get most of them. So I do the only reasonable thing. Make a pop culture reference.

  "Have you been watching Star Trek?"

  "Not recently, no." She raises an eyebrow, then smirks in an all-too-familiar fashion. "Mr. Spock is one of my favorite characters, however."

  "Geez Stephanie, just when I think I've got you pegged–"

  "Pegging notwithstanding,” She clears her throat. Yeah, that subtext is brighter than a neon sign. “I hear your application is done. Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” I extend my finger as though I’m the parental figure and about to scold her.

  “I came here for a reason." Did her smirk just get perkier? I'll take things I never wanted to know about my vampire mom for five-hundred, Alex.

  "Okay then.” I let the dig or whatever it is slide. I can figure out the whole implication that I smell funny go for now, too. “Lay it on me."

  "We've got a little mission to do this evening."

  "Oh?" I blink. Not because I'm surprised she's got work for me but that the day passed so quickly.

  "Yes. It's important. King's business."

  "I'm sort of kind of working on that high-paying case right now." I jerk my chin at one cluster of notes. "And some of my own King's business. Can it wait?"

  "No. This is far more time-sensitive than your project." Stephanie sighs. "I can assure you, however, that it will take very little out of your evening from a temporal standpoint."

  Leave it to Stephanie to overstate what could be said with extreme brevity. Shitballs. I’m doing it now, too. But this is my story so you’ll have to deal with it.

  "Well then,” I stand up. "Let's go and get the thing over with. Whatever it is."

  Stephanie only nods, then leads the way out of the room, down the hall, and up the basement stairs. I wonder sometimes why she needs to phrase practically everything with five-hundred SAT words. But of course when she learned them, there was no such thing as standardized testing. Sometimes I feel like us newer vampires got the short end of the stick. Modern conveniences are convenient mostly for living people, not the undead. Especially when it comes to education.

  "See you later Tino!" It's Frankie, sitting at the kitchen table with his sister Sarah and his brother Levi. They're having what looks like mutton stew for dinner, and it smells heavenly. One of the things I miss most about being really alive is food. Sometimes I wish I had Maya's telepathic talent, simply because I'd be able to experience food again just by touching somebody who's eating. But even without that ability, I give Frankie’s shoulder a friendly pat on the way out of the kitchen and through the back door. I don't want things to get awkward between us, no matter what happens. He's a good guy, just trying to do the right thing by his family. We've got a lot in common that way.

  Once we're outside, Stephanie lets me walk down the steps. She closes the door behind us, locks it, then stands and waits. I wonder what for until I remember that Stephanie doesn't have a car, doesn't even drive. This is probably why she needs me with her this evening. As a chauffeur. Although she's always managed to get herself to vampire gatherings without me in the past, I don't have any idea how. I'm sure it's not Lyft or Uber, though.

  I thought I had it figured out at some point, but I can't for the life of me remember anything I discovered about my sire off the top of my head. It's all in the notebook, and I left that downstairs. Because of course I did. Considering where we’re going, that’s probably for the best, though. The last thing I want is Whitby or his people getting my notes.

  I take a look at the damaged trunk and bumper. There’s a set of bungee cords wrapped around the detached end, anchoring it to the caved-in trunk. I definitely didn’t put them there so it must have been one of the daywalking Pickerings. Probably Frankie but maybe Levi. I can’t imagine Sarah doing MacGyver style auto repair though I’ve seen stranger things.

  After I get to the driver’s side door and open it, I'm about to sit down when I notice Stephanie standing next to the passenger side, examining her fingernails. I shake my head and walk around the car, open the door for her, and wave vaguely at the empty seat inside. She's way too formal about stuff like this but maybe she's got her reasons. Judging them is beyond me.

  "I invite you into my vehicle, Stephanie." I waggle my eyebrows like I'm in a Groucho Marx short. Because that's how I feel. Like a total clown. I know we don't need invitations, there’s no compulsion for that like there is for us to drink blood. But older vampires tend to stick to some of those legendary rules folks assume are absolute truths in existences like mine.

  "I'd tell you not to be a fool, Tino, but that’s a useless admonition." Stephanie buckles her seatbelt. After I close the door on her, she peers at me through the window, grinning. Maybe this is her attempt at a sort of dry humor. She’s definitely not as clueless as the angel in the trenchcoat on that show with the monster-hunting brothers. If only my car was as cool as theirs.

  Once I'm in the driver seat and belted in, I back out of the driveway and on to Ocean Avenue. I can practically drive with my eyes closed to the building in Providence I like to think of as the vampire club. I've only been undead for most of one summer, but there are some things that just stick with you immediately. Knowing where I have to go in order to follow the basic vampire laws is a good thing, and I'm thankful it’s not just another victim of my crappy recall. Too bad I can't use whatever that is to make everything else stick in my memory.

  I find us parking on Weybosset Street, which isn't surprising given that Thursday is still a weeknight. Downtown Providence is kind of a ghost town after dark unless it's Friday or Saturday night. I hope it's not a literal ghost town, because the idea of poltergeists actually scares me. Imagining invisible people watching every single embarrassing thing that happens to us is truly creepy. But that's another story. Stephanie gets out of the car all by herself, closes the door, too. I practically want to give her one of those stickers that says I adulted today. As we crossed the street, I chuckle at the stray thought.

  "You'll need to tone it back, Valentino."

  "You really think King Whitby is going to be that pissed off if I bust out laughing?"

  "He'll never let you know it until he decides one of your actions is an offense punishable by death."

  "Well, you know the guy better than I do." I shrug. "Is he really much worse than I thought DeCampo was?"

  "Indubitably."

  "Awesome." I nod. "Thanks for telling me."

  "Just follow my lead, Tino. We are here to request a small monthly blood supply from the court's reserves. If we give Whitby any reason to deny a request that reasonable, there'll be no salvaging this endeavor."

  I shut my trap and make a motion like I'm locking it up with the key. I wish it was real, sort of. The last thing I want is a padlock hanging from my lower lip, but it's the thought that counts. I need to keep my mouth closed so my foot doesn't end up in it. If Stephanie thinks we can't get enough blood to feed five vamps on our own, she's probably right. We need this court's help, and it's clear Steph thinks we're unlikely to get it just by asking our sworn enemy politely.

  Stephanie makes with the secret knock, the taps of her knuckles echoing against the weathered wood of the door. It opens on a familiar face, Peligro Cabeza. I don't smile at the goofy precognitive vampire even though I used to like the guy. Probably still do, but if he's hanging around with Whitby, he might be an enemy no matter how amusing his antics seem. Then again, he might be in the same predicament as Maya used to be. I decide to be civil unless Peligro gives me a reason to act otherwise.

 

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