Eternal (26 page)

And Radford? He lies, twisting on the courtyard’s stone floor. His forearms cover his face like a shield. He’s wounded, weakened, but still lethal.

PHILIPPE TEARS APART
the chains and helps me down from the table. I rip off the blindfold. Spit out the gag. Both of my legs are asleep from the hips down. They buckle.

“Easy,
monsieur,
” Philippe says. “Take my arm.”

“You’re not an evil vampire?” I ask.

His tone is friendly. “We are all evil vampires,” he says. “But some of us are on your side. I would ask forgiveness for me and Sabine, but it is too late for us,
non
?”

“Not my department,” I say. “But I’ll put in a good word.”

I don’t know where Drac is, and I don’t care. Once I get enough circulation to stand, I take Miranda’s arm. “Your throat!” I exclaim. “You’re bleeding!”

Miranda grabs several light-blue napkins and presses them against the wound. “It’s not deep,” she says, “and I heal fast, much faster than a human. I’ll be fine.”

I press my lips to her dark hair. “You’re sure?”

I still don’t know if she’s redeemable, but for just a moment it matters less.

Miranda gives me a brisk kiss on the lips. “We’ll talk later.”

“Hang on,” I say, but she’s so fast. In a flash, I lose sight of her in the crowd.

Frustrated, I take in the larger scene. The party has turned into pandemonium. A fury of fiends. Tables and chairs are flying. One vamp after another stumbles or is tossed into a reflecting pool, where they’re vaporized.

Philippe’s bat-head cane shoots out an electric charge, blasting an incoming wolf-form attacker.

I’m knocked to the ground by a vamp who keeps on going. Standing, I’m smacked down again by a stray elbow.

At first I can’t tell who’s winning. I can’t even tell who’s on whose side. I’m not even sure the combatants know or if they’re just creating carnage for the fun of it. Based on the curses being thrown around, though, it looks like the majority back Miranda. Or at least Sabine.

I’m on my feet when three werebears burst into the courtyard.

Brenek has returned; he’s brought along Mama and Papa Bear, and man, are they pissed! Did I mention that Brenek is a big guy? Turns out he’s not even full grown. His parents look supersize.

Immense claws rip through undead skin. They tear off heads and limbs.

Only problem? They’re not fighting on anybody’s side. They’re lashing out at any vampire they can reach.

“Miranda!” I don’t see her anywhere. “Miranda!”

Something falls from the sky and breaks on my head. I’m drenched.

I duck a flying armless body and spot more black balloons raining down.

On the rooftop of the castle — it’s the dungeon escapees. A handful of them anyway. Maybe ten, sporting street clothes. The ones in good enough shape to fight.

To my left, Freddy is in trouble. He draws a stake from his inside jacket pocket, and a snarling female vamp bats it away. Before I can move to help him, a balloon explodes against the attacker, dousing her. She shrieks and crumbles, smoking.

Like the pool, I realize, the balloons are filled with holy water.

Freddy takes advantage of the moment to grab a nearby torch.

Another vamp wails — loud and furious — as a balloon finds its target.

“Miranda!” In the chaos, I can barely hear myself. “Miranda!”

Across the courtyard, a fiend grabs Nora and bends her neck.

In midair, I fling the punch bowl at the monster’s lower back. The force of it sends both him and Nora tumbling. I just manage to catch her. Rise with her in my arms.

I’m flying! Flying. It’s a miracle.

“Good Lord, boy!” Nora exclaims. “What are you? A werepelican?”

I guess she missed Drac’s announcement.

When I don’t reply, Nora is quiet a moment. Then she exclaims, “Oh, my God!”

“Closer,” I say, setting her down on the roof and taking flight again.

She’s not the only one who’s noticed. Vamps below catch sight of me. My wings.

I’d acted on reflex, and there they were. I don’t know if this means I’m reinstated. But it has to be a good sign, right?

Unless I just blew it again by accidentally
showing
my wings in a courtyard largely filled with denizens of hell. That would be my luck.

I don’t think so, though. It’s not just my wings that are back. Once again, I can feel the power to radiate heaven’s light. It’s singing through my body.

Like in the Dallas cemetery, it would be so easy to shine.

But no. Not here. Not now. Not with Miranda in the open like that.

Still, I scan the crowd. Do they know what my radiance could do to them? At least some of them do. A sultry brunette morphs into a bat and bails. Others cower. Two of those in wolf form change back.

The balloon attack stops.

Freddy raises his torch.

Mama Bear and Papa Bear and Brenek rear up on their hind legs and roar.

RADFORD’S SHAPE CHANGES
, blurs. The tux melts away. He lifts his head, showing a raw, hairless, wolf-form face. His skin looks like lava. Meat hangs off the bones.

Sabine knew how to hurt him.

This isn’t like the lovely
whoosh
of the holy-water pool.

“Sugar,” he growls, staggering to his feet. In his anguish, there’s no pretense. The southern accent is thick. “Traitor!”

He writhes, his face a man’s again. A fang falls from the disintegrating gums. His torso goes lupine. He bends, gasping. Tiny, useless bat wings spring from his shoulder blades. He yanks the knife from his chest but doesn’t have the fingers to hang on to it.

The weapon falls with a clack onto the stone. I take a step toward it, and Radford opens his mouth, spewing a cloud of smoke that smells like hell.

“Princess!” It’s Harrison, holding up my battle-axe.

He tosses it my way, and my preternatural reflexes allow me a one-handed catch.

I charge Radford’s flailing form, swing the weapon, and end so much suffering. His head falls from his body and rolls into oblivion. The body disintegrates, too.

It’s not showy, like what happened to Geoff. The pieces simply turn to ash.

The crowd is silent. I count half a dozen motionless bodies on the ground, some dismembered. I have no idea if any of the dead were human. Sabine’s skirt is torn and her lip is cut, but she looks satisfied. Philippe is hardly ruffled.

I glance up, and there he is, Zachary, his wings —
wings
— strong in the cool wind.

I remember illustrations in the Bible in which an angel appears with light shooting from his halo. Zachary doesn’t have a halo. His body isn’t glowing.

A glimmer of light is there, though. It’s in the way he looks at me.

The way we’re looking at each other.

Some in the crowd follow my gaze and gesture to the rest. They’re staring back and forth between us, as if we’re players in an unearthly tennis match.

The Bears lower their heads.

Whoever’s on the roof, they’ve joined hands and raised them high.

A few vampires try to shield themselves. Others flee on two legs or four. Penelope crouches, hissing low. Victor rips off his baby-teeth necklace and begins to cry.

The majority inch toward me, for protection.

My audience is shaken, receptive. At least tonight, they won’t question my youth or raise challenge. I step forward, plant my dress slippers on the ash, and raise my voice. “I hereby claim the Mantle of Dracul.” I pause, awaiting a reaction.

Nobody’s arguing. Is that it? Sabine said that would do it.

Should I say something else regal to sort of seal the deal? I’m at a loss. Then Sabine curtsies, Philippe bows, and all of the assembled undead follow their example.

“Your Exalted Majesty,” Harrison calls, walking toward me, “there’s a DustBuster in the cabinet in the storage closet off the kitchen. With your permission, I’ll fetch it, clean up that” — he gestures toward what had been his master — “mess for you, and dispose of the ashes in the reflecting pool.”

Vicious fellow, but you have to love him. “Of course,” I agree. “Please do.”

When he reaches my side, I say, “Thanks” under my breath.

Harrison straightens his spine and his bow tie. “My pleasure, Your Majesty,” he says with a wink. “It’s apparently the only sort of thing I’m good for around here.”

The party resumes as if the battle never happened. As the Bears and rooftop warriors retreat, Zachary, still airborne, announces to all that they’re under his protection. Human servants, those who survived and decided to stick around, clear the bodies. Freddy administers first aid to anyone with a pulse who isn’t badly hurt. Nora coordinates hospital runs for the more seriously wounded.

By undead standards, it’s the best party in centuries.

My angel descends. He takes my hands in his. “What the hell just happened?”

“I’m the scariest vampire in the world,” I reply. “I’m the new Dracula.”

I PERSONALLY ESCORT
the Bears and the holy-balloon bombers (as they’re calling themselves) through the subdivision to a couple of parked minivans. I’m relieved to have them out of harm’s way.

Along the way, no one says much. They’re pretty starstruck, though I’ve ditched the wings. After the humans are loaded, the Bears shift back. It looks painful and smells like an evergreen forest on steroids. We all do a bang-up job of pretending that the fact that they end up naked is no big deal.

As the Bears throw on long cloaks, Brenek quickly fills me in on the prisoners’ escape — minor injuries but zero fatalities on our side. It’s the best news I’ve heard in ages. As for the sentries, Brenek tore off one of their heads himself. The flamethrowers took out two more, and he’s not sure about the rest. I wonder how Delta fared.

“If you ever need anything . . .” Brenek offers his large hand, and I shake it with both of mine. “Seriously,” he adds. “Standing offer.”

“All the kids are safe,” Papa Bear assures me. “We made sure everyone who needs medical treatment is receiving it. The rest are at the house with my brothers.”

I hand him Father Ramos’s business card. “This man should be able to help get everybody home.” I remember what Miranda said about how some of the prisoners were from worse places or had been sold by their parents or pimps. “Or someplace better.”

“Thank you,” Mama Bear says. A substantial woman at six foot five, she explains that the local Bear community had been searching nonstop for Brenek. It had been weeks. They’d begun to lose hope. Her words dissolve into sobs. She puts aside her awe to hug me.

Once the taillights fade in the distance, I try to change myself to ethereal form, planning to reappear back in the castle. It doesn’t work.

I focus more fully. Still no luck.

Flight and radiance may have been returned to me. But all is not forgiven.

I’m still stuck on the mortal plane.

I find Miranda with Philippe in her office. She’s seated behind the massive metal desk, and he’s perched in the chair across from her.

I’ll never forget tonight. Miranda — a girl who as a human cowered before standard-issue high-school divas and didn’t have the strength to climb the rope in Gym, claiming the worldwide throne of the undead.