Second Chance (9 page)

J
oss jerked awake on the subway train and sat up, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth. He was surprised that the sudden movement hadn’t sliced through his neck with pain, but then his bite seemed to be healing at a ridiculously fast rate. In fact, he doubted that there would be any remnants of it left by the next morning.

He hadn’t meant to doze off, and if Uncle Abraham found out that Joss had fallen asleep—even for a moment—while on duty, he might just kill him. But Joss hadn’t been sleeping well, and could see no time in the future when he’d rest well at all. A killer was still on the loose. Maybe several killers.

The nightmare he’d had this time—something to do with fire and blood—left him, but not as quickly as he hoped. One image, Cecile’s mouth so large and strange and frightening, stuck with him the longest. Running a shaking hand over the back of his neck, Joss relaxed into his seat, cursing himself for having dozed off in public when killers were still on a rampage in the city.

“Everyone has bad dreams, Joss.”

He jolted slightly at the sound of Dorian’s voice. What was he doing here, in New York, and acting like Joss shouldn’t be surprised to see him at all? Joss looked him over, not speaking for a moment, and wondered what the man who’d mysteriously brought his stake to him against the Society’s wishes could possibly want from him. He felt on the defensive, until he looked into Dorian’s eyes. Something about Dorian’s expression told Joss that this man truly understood the torment that nightmares could bring. He cleared his throat, not wanting to talk about his dreams, and said, “I guess so.”

Dorian didn’t move, but instead sat very quietly, as if waiting for Joss to speak again. Joss shifted in his seat, wondering what Dorian was doing here, and how they just happened to end up sitting next to each other on the train. Dorian took a breath, let it out slowly, and said, “Like you, Joss, I frequently have terrible nightmares.”

Every muscle in Joss’s body tensed then. He had no idea how Dorian could know about Cecile. Did he? No. Of course not. Dorian couldn’t peer into his soul, couldn’t pierce his dreams and divulge the most private of details. But he had been sitting beside Joss as he’d dreamed. Maybe Joss had moved about. Maybe he’d talked in his sleep. It made sense. It also embarrassed him terribly. His nightmares were a secret—one between him and his dead sister. But then, he suspected, Dorian’s nightmares were probably pretty secret, too, judging by his hushed tone, and the haunted look in his eyes. Joss relaxed his muscles some and leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiring whisper. “What do you dream about, Dorian?”

“I dream about a boy. He murders me every time I go to sleep.” He sat very still for a moment, and when he moved at last, it was to wipe the smallest of tears from his right eye. “It’s frightening, really. Because I don’t know what the dreams mean exactly. And I’m not used to not knowing what my dreams mean.”

The train came to a stop and the doors opened, letting an old man and a businesswoman on board. The old man shuffled by Joss and Dorian, but the woman stayed near the door, holding onto the bar above. Once the car began to move again, Joss turned back to Dorian. “Why do you think the dreams mean anything? I mean, dreams are just your subconscious going on vacation. Meaningless images flashing through your brain while you’re asleep. They’re just . . . dreams, right?”

At this, Dorian straightened, as if the subject of dreams were a passionate cause of his. “Dreams, my young friend, particularly to someone like me, and someone like you, believe it or not, mean absolutely everything.”

Before the polite filter between his brain and his mouth could activate, Joss said, “Well, that sounds strangely ominous. What do you mean, exactly?”

As the train came to a stop, Dorian stood, his lips curled in a small smile. “We’re just more alike than I think you realize, Joss.”

Joss didn’t like that. Didn’t like the strange comparison between them when Dorian didn’t really know him at all. He pursed his lips in anger. “How did you come to acquire my stake, Dorian? And why did you give it to me without the Society’s permission?”

Dorian looked him over for a moment, like he’d been expecting Joss’s anger. As he responded, he moved his eyes to the doors, answering without looking back at Joss. “I’ll explain that soon enough. But first I think you should enjoy some of the nightlife my fair city has to offer. It would be far more advantageous to you than visiting V Bar. Especially considering the outrage you’ve created there. Might I suggest Element? Or perhaps The Vault? Both can be found in one building on East Houston and Essex Street.”

As the doors swished open, people poured out onto the platform. In a blink, Dorian was gone.

Joss sat up in his seat, his eyes heavy with sleep. He looked around the car, but was surprised to find he had it all to himself. Had the entire conversation he’d just had been a dream? Had Dorian really been here, or were his restless nights finally catching up with him? His memory burned with the names of the nightclubs that Dorian had mentioned, but he didn’t trust himself to recall them once he’d returned to base. So he withdrew a marker from his backpack and scribbled on his palm:
ELEMENT/THE VAULT—East Houston and Essex Street
. After a brief pause, he wrote:
Why would he suggest this?

As Joss settled back into his seat, the buzz of curiosity filled him. Dorian had an intriguing way of popping into his world and back out again, of giving him things that he needed—like a stake, like a club name—and he never seemed to ask any questions. He simply knew things. Like how Joss had been experiencing a nightmare.

Joss wasn’t an idiot. He realized that Dorian had some very vampirelike traits. But Dorian wasn’t a vampire. Joss got the feeling that Dorian was something more. Something spectacular. He wasn’t afraid of Dorian. And strangely, he almost trusted him. But he had to remind himself that vampires could do some strange, otherworldly things. Like control your thoughts, your actions, your memories, your feelings. They could create within you the desire for friendship, and only truth could rip that haze to shreds. Dorian was something other than human, certainly. But he was not Joss’s friend.

As the train came to a stop, Joss stood, slipping the strap of his backpack over his right shoulder. He stepped off the car and navigated his way to the surface, slipping a pair of sunglasses on over his eyes to shade his vision from the afternoon glare. He moved down the street with a confident step, his peripheral vision always on the lookout for danger. The sounds of the city played out in his ears and Joss thought, not for the first time since he’d been here, that he could absolutely call Manhattan home. It was a busy place, a friendly place, with lots to see and do. The buildings were tall and interesting to look at, the people wearing kind smiles. In fact, if it weren’t for the rampant vampire infestation, Joss was fairly certain he could be happy living in this city. But as they say, location is everything—and the last location a Slayer wants is living among the very vampires he’s trying to extinguish.

Dorian had said that Joss had created outrage at V Bar. What was he talking about? Had Otis caused a ruckus over him being there? And, if so, what was he supposed to do, just give up his mission because his presence had ruffled some feathers? No. That would be cowardly. And Slayers didn’t cower in fear in the face of danger. Slayers faced it head on.

It was this thought that carried him down the street and eventually, around the corner to V Bar. He hadn’t been headed there at first. In fact, he’d been planning on checking out Obscura one more time and questioning the shopkeeper there. But something inside of him said to go back to V Bar, and that maybe he’d find Em there. As he turned the corner, he was met by a large crowd standing outside its blue doors. The sight of it made his steps slow, but after a moment, he moved forward again, into the crowd.

“Please, please, my brethren! If you’ll all just calm down for a moment so that I may speak.” The man standing on the steps of V Bar was the vampire who’d been with Otis the other day. The owner of the establishment. Enrico. Joss slipped behind a tall vampire in the back so that he could hear well enough without being seen. Only Enrico didn’t speak. Not out loud, anyway.

Joss couldn’t hear the vampire’s telepathic words—not the way he’d been able to hear the bartender’s thoughts before. And he wasn’t entirely certain why he could hear one, but not the other. And he absolutely didn’t want to ask any of his team members. What if it meant that something was wrong with him? He couldn’t bear the idea of driving a wedge between himself and his Slayer family.

The crowd erupted in applause then, as if whatever it was that Enrico had thought to them had pleased them very much, and mutters raced through the group—mutters that spoke of vengeance and blood. Joss shrank inside himself. If they noticed him, he was as good as dead. “So please, ladies and gentlemen, allow your elders to handle this horrific situation. We promise to do so swiftly, and with the greatest of pleasures.”

Dorian was right. Joss shouldn’t have come here. He turned and slowly made his way back through the crowd. Just as he reached its edge, a hand fell on his arm, grasping it tightly. Joss gasped and turned his head to see Stephen, the bartender, gripping him like a madman.

Joss’s heart beat harder, faster. All it would take was a word from Stephen and the crowd would devour him. Quite literally.

Stephen nodded slowly, and released him. “Did you keep your word, boy? Did he suffer?”

Joss dropped his gaze for a moment to the concrete beneath his feet. The concern and regret in the bartender’s eyes was oddly touching, and Joss hated being moved by the mixture of emotions. Vampires weren’t supposed to have emotions. They were monsters. Cruel, heartless, uncaring monsters. Weren’t they? “I was as quick as I could be.”

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, willing tears away, and then looked back at Joss. “Be quicker now. Get away from here. Don’t return. They’re out for your blood.”

Joss nodded and moved away from the crowd. He didn’t turn back to look at Boris’s friend, but thought two words, hoping that Stephen would hear it.
“Thank you.”

By the time Joss reached the brownstone, his stomach was rumbling from a long day without much to eat. He’d made absolutely certain that he hadn’t been followed back, but just in case he’d missed something, Joss passed their base of operations and paused at the corner, turning back casually to see if anyone unusual had paused as well. But no one on the street seemed even vaguely aware of him, or even mildly interested in where he might be headed. Satisfied, Joss hurried up the steps of the brownstone and stepped inside. Paty was standing guard in the foyer, looking bored as ever to be stuck with that detail. He flashed her a warm smile, but was met with a sad grimace. He liked Paty. She was like a tough older sister to him. “Hey, Paty. Slow day?”

Groaning, she sagged her shoulders a bit. “The slowest. But Morgan has door detail tomorrow, so at least I can get out of the house then. Turn anything up worth wondering about today, kid?”

Joss shrugged. “It’s probably nothing, but I think I need to talk to my uncle about it. Where is he, anyway?”

“Out for the evening. Anything I can help with?”

Joss bit the inside of his cheek. He liked Paty, but she wasn’t too keen on the idea of him taking risks. He needed someone who was. “Maybe. Where’s Morgan, anyway?”

“In the library, looking at some old maps or something.” Folding her arms in front of her chest, she tilted her head while looking at Joss, her tone lifting slightly in concern. “Everything okay, kiddo? You have big dark circles under your eyes, like you haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“I haven’t. But I’m fine.” He moved past her into the main hall then and made an immediate right, where he pushed open the double doors to the library.

Morgan was standing over the desk at the center of the room, poring over the large, haphazard pile of papers. He leaned on the desk with one palm, but his other hand was scratching furiously at his forehead. Joss cleared his throat and Morgan looked up at him, surprised. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t hear you come in. What’s up?”

Joss managed a shrug. “Long day.”

Morgan sighed, his eyes scanning the papers on the table once again. “Tell me about it.”

Joss nodded toward the papers. “What’s all this about? More intel?”

Morgan sighed. “Kind of. Your uncle asked me to find more information on the vampires we’re searching for. He says there has to be more to go on in our files, as everyone seems to be having trouble locating them. So of course I must have missed something. I had a friend in the Society archives fax several things over, and I’ve been linking that information all day with various articles and whatnot that I found online and printed out and . . . now I have a big, messy pile to contend with. Not to mention your uncle’s complaints.”

It was strangely nice to know that Joss wasn’t the only one who felt pressure from Abraham. Still, Morgan’s pursed lips and that deep crease in his forehead had Joss mildly concerned about what that stress might do to his health.

“I might have something.” Joss felt the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. He had no idea how to tell Morgan that his latest lead had come from Dorian—and that Dorian might just be some kind of otherworldly creature. He wondered if Morgan would think him completely crazy if he told Morgan where his “something” was coming from. A dream? A vision? Something else altogether? He still had no idea. Maybe he was going crazy.

Morgan looked mildly hopeful. Or maybe he was just happy to have something other than a pile of papers to occupy his time. “What’s that, little brother?”

Joss bit the inside of his cheek in hesitation before speaking. The little voice inside his brain begged him not to, but before it could start to make any more sense than it already did, Joss blurted out, “A lead. Maybe. I don’t know, exactly. Do you know anything about Element, or a club called The Vault?”