Blood Ties (11 page)

“Check this out.” Oliver had reached the pedestal, the many spiraling fireflies casting a greenish glow on his face. His hand flicked out and he caught one, then watched the little pill-shaped creature crawl along his white palm, its light blinking like a distress call. The bug reached the tip of his thumb and flew to rejoin the others.

Oliver reached into the swirl of little creatures and picked up the piece of paper they seemed so interested in. As his fingers touched it, all the fireflies shot into the air and began to scatter.

Emalie and Dean joined him. “What's that?” Emalie asked.

“It looks like a brochure,” said Oliver.

“It must have food on it, or something that's attracting the bugs,” Emalie mused.

Oliver turned the glossy paper over in his hand. The writing was in Italian, the cover reading:
Museo Storico di Fortuna.
There was nothing special about it.

“That's for the historical museum in town,” said Emalie.

“Nothing important, I guess.” Oliver handed it to her.

“Did you think it would be?” Dean asked.

“No,” said Oliver, except, for some reason, he kind of had. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “Okay, so now what—”

“Hold on…” said Emalie hoarsely. She was staring intently at the back side of the brochure, her hand starting to shake.

“What?” Dean leaned over to look. “Huh, that's funny. That looks like you.”

Oliver saw a picture of a tall statue. It was a woman carved in white stone, dressed in flowing robes and frozen in mid-stride.

“Not me…” Emalie whispered. “Th—that's my mom.”

Chapter 8

The Mystery of Phoebe

EMALIE DIDN'T SPEAK UNTIL
they were almost to the center of Fortuna. They were headed to the
Museo Storico,
the museum where, according to that brochure, there was an ancient statue that looked exactly like Emalie's mom. As they followed the road through the outskirts of town, passing sleeping villas and apartments, she strode ahead of them, clutching the brochure tightly.

“What do you think that's about,” Dean murmured to Oliver, “with the statue?”

“No idea,” Oliver replied.

“Do you think it has something to do with Selene?”

Oliver shrugged. It seemed important to find out either way.

As they walked, Oliver thought more about Selene. He knew he wanted to talk to her, but he still wasn't exactly sure what about. He already knew his destiny, and what it involved, so really, what else was there?
There might be details that no one's told me.
What details? He didn't know … but then a new thought made its way to the surface of his brain:
Maybe if Selene can tell me more about the prophecy, then I'll really want to fulfill it.

Yes, with a rush of anxiety, Oliver found himself facing a truth that might have been his biggest problem: Sure, he didn't like learning, as he had last winter, that he was secretly being prepared for a prophecy, or that he was being lied to, but really, what was
wrong
with having been chosen to save the vampires? Was there a vampire kid out there who would
really
be upset to find out that he was going to be a hero?

Well, yes, there was one: Oliver. Because the truth was, he didn't
want
his destiny. And worse, he knew that, despite the lies and the secrets, any normal vampire would have. That made him feel the most ashamed, and the most alone. But he couldn't help it. Being free from Earth meant leaving behind Emalie and Dean …
and my human parents, if they really are alive.…
He didn't want that. And he didn't want the pressure, or the responsibility, or any of it. So maybe talking to Selene could help somehow.

“Here we are,” said Emalie. They had reached a crowded piazza. Oliver looked up to see the marble front of the historical museum. Two staircases climbed at angles toward the front door. In the triangle of space between them was a fountain of white stone. Streams of clear water, illuminated with yellow lights, cascaded down a series of ledges to a blue pool. At the top of the fountain was a statue of Neptune, wrapped in robes and pointing his trident outward. The windows of the museum were dark.

Oliver saw many couples around the fountain, holding hands or sitting on its edges. Boys darted from one to the next, trying to sell roses. There were gaggles of tourists, some throwing coins in the fountain, some doing strange human things like videotaping the running water or taking pictures of themselves in front of it. He noticed a solitary vampire off to the side, standing before a beat-up easel, painting the scene, which seemed like a much more meaningful way to experience it.

Cafés lined the sides of the piazza, their tables packed with human diners sitting beneath umbrellas. The leaning buildings above them had their shutters thrown open to the hot night, with curtains billowing out around fans on porches. There was a din of conversation and clinking cutlery, along with the strong scent of wine and food, which helped to temper the less pleasant smell of sweaty humans.

“So, in?” said Dean, starting toward the staircase beside the fountain. He stopped when neither Emalie nor Oliver moved. “What's up?”

“Just … a little freaked out,” said Emalie. “What's with you, Oliver?”

Oliver motioned to the fountain. “Just a sec … nine hundred seventy-three—four—five—six … have to count the coins…”

Dean rolled his eyes at Emalie. “Right. Oliver's got this going on, too. I love how vampires think humans and zombies are the ones with the issues.”

Oliver's shoulders heaved. “Okay. Four thousand three hundred and twelve,” he announced.

They started around the fountain beside the café tables. Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed Oliver's shirt. “Well, if it isn't little cousin Oliver!” Oliver turned to find Misère and Gustav sitting at a café table, a wineglass in front of each and a carafe of blood between them. A quick glance around told Oliver that this was one of the cafés that had a vampire menu, if you knew which waiter to ask.

Misère's long hair was pushed all across to one side of her face, falling down over a white silk dress. Her face was pristinely powdered, her eyes ringed in black eyeliner, her lips painted purple. Gustav was huddled in an olive-green military jacket and a black beret that he'd reportedly gotten during a civil war in Chad.

Misère looked over at Emalie and Dean and smiled. “Bane told us you were disturbed,” she said, turning to Gustav. “What should we make of this, Gus? It's so repulsive I almost find it interesting.”

Gustav shrugged. “Fascinating,” he said, smiling at Emalie. “Dinner on one side, servant on the other. So efficient.”

“These are my cousins,” Oliver muttered to Emalie.

“He's no more peculiar than his brother,” Misère noted, scowling.

Oliver looked around. “Where is Bane?”

Gustav nodded his chin toward the museum. “He's still in there. Who knows what's keeping him? We've been sitting out here waiting to cause some mayhem for half an hour now.”

“Why even go in there in the first place?” Misère pouted. “To feed on the one security guard? We took care of him in moments, but then your brother goes and takes off after some curator lady. You Nocturnes are disturbed, and not in the pleasing way.”

“It almost makes me want to say that Dad is right about these New World headcases,” added Gustav. “So, Oliver, where are you and your
things
off to?”

“Into the museum,” Oliver replied flatly.

“Ha! That's hilarious!” Gustav chuckled.

“Yeah,” said Oliver, “hilarious.”

“Well, if you see your brother in there,” said Misère, “tell him your cousins are about to leave, as they are bored beyond belief.” She took a sip of her blood, slouched back in her chair, and cast a disinterested stare across the piazza.

The three moved on, climbing the steps. Oliver glanced back at the fountain with every sound of a splashing coin, getting an updated count. Ahead, one of the tall metal doors stood slightly ajar. Oliver sniffed the air and caught a pungent odor. “Careful,” he whispered, then pushed open the door.

The entry hall was dark. Ahead, a body was sprawled across the marble floor. “He's dead,” Oliver reported immediately. As they neared, they could see the uniform of the security guard and the bloodstained collar. Oliver could tell by the scent that Misère had done the killing. He and Dean continued down the hall before realizing that Emalie wasn't with them. They turned back to see her standing over the man, looking down, hands shoved in her jeans pockets.

“He had four kids,” she said quietly, eyes closed. “He—he was saving money. Hoping to take them to the beach later this summer.” Emalie's voice cracked. “Hoping to get along with them better…” She sniffled. “It's too soon … so much he still wants to say…” Emalie grabbed her ears. “He's shouting for them … so loudly … but they won't hear him.…”

“Come on, Emalie,” Dean called. “Nothing we can do.” He leaned into Oliver's ear. “Actually, I'm starving,” he confided. Oliver guessed that Dean was imagining a spare moment to procure a true zombie dinner, since the security guard wouldn't mind at this point.

Emalie shivered, then stepped around the body and caught up with them.

“How do you know those things about him?” asked Oliver.

“I … it's hard to describe. I could just feel it around him.”

“But he's dead,” said Dean.

“I know,” said Emalie. “That's new. With living people, I can read their energy like that—you know, their hopes and fears.”

“And tell the future from it,” added Oliver, leading them up a flight of stairs to another hall. He had picked up Bane's scent ahead. “That's an Orani's most valuable skill.”

“I can't really do that yet.” Emalie frowned. “And it doesn't feel valuable. More like sad.”

“But so what about just now?” asked Dean. “A dead guy doesn't have a future.”

“No, but he did until a few minutes ago. It's like the essence of his living self was still around him. I think it takes some time to leave. With a living person, I have to use a charm to get in their heads, and it's like I'm looking out their eyes … but this time it happened outside his body. I could hear him, in agony … and there was something … white.”

“White?” asked Dean.

“Yeah. Not sure what I mean by that, maybe it was his spirit, or—”

“
Shh.
” Oliver had been listening intently to the conversation—these abilities that Emalie had were much bigger than she knew, bigger even than Oliver totally understood—but now he heard voices.

The hallway they were following had opened on one side. Archways overlooked a long room, three stories tall. Oliver, Emalie, and Dean were on the middle floor. Paintings covered the walls in a patchwork display, and white statues stood on the marble floor below. High above was an arched glass ceiling. The moon hung in the center of one of the large panes.

A voice hissed from below: “Let me make this a little more clear…” It was Bane. There was a sickly sound of cracking bone and a shrill, wincing cry.

Peering into the dark, Oliver spied Bane down on the floor, holding a middle-aged woman up in the air by the throat. His other hand had just elicited that crack of bone from one of her fingers. The woman was gasping for breath, oval glasses askew in front of wide, terrified eyes.

“You're going to tell me where she is,” Bane went on, “or we're going to follow this little address on your business card home, and me and my cousins—who are very, very hungry—are going to find out if you have any lovely
bambini
sleeping peacefully in their beds.…”

“
No, prego, no!
” the woman cried.

“Where is
Selene
?” Bane hissed.

“Wait,” Dean whispered, “your brother is looking for Selene, too?”

Oliver was stunned, or was he? There had been that time in the library, back in February, when Oliver had caught Bane talking to the Codex that knew about the Nexia Gate.… Later in the spring, Oliver had gone back to that same Codex to ask his own questions about the Nexia Gate, only to find that the Codex had been
removed
for maintenance. It had not returned as of June.
What did Bane find out that day in the library? And why would he want to find the oracle who told my prophecy?

But Oliver wondered now if maybe there was actually an easy explanation for what Bane was up to.

Maybe he was jealous.

It made sense, didn't it? Maybe Bane had been learning about Oliver's prophecy because
he
wished that he was the chosen vampire. That would explain why he was always so mean to Oliver. Maybe he made fun of Oliver being different because he wished he was. Maybe it made him crazy that their parents had chosen Oliver, the weak one, instead of Bane, the stronger, more dangerous one.…

And so maybe Bane had been a step ahead of Oliver all along. Maybe he'd found out about Selene from the Codex in the library and knew that she was near Morosia. Maybe he'd been using his time out with the cousins to track her down, and that had led him to the curator.

“Tell me!” Bane shouted.

“Oliver,” Emalie whispered. “We have to stop him.”

Dean grabbed the edge of the railing. “Let's get down there.”

Oliver threw an arm in front of him. “Hold on.” His first instinct was just like Dean's: to leap off this balcony and tackle Bane, then maybe grab a nearby statue and hit him with it.… The problem was, after the moment of surprise, Oliver and Dean would be no match for Bane. And as soon as Bane saw them, he might assume they were looking for Selene, too. Knowing Bane, he would do something like kill the curator just to keep them from getting any information. If only there was a way to find out what they needed to know without Bane even realizing…