The Vampire Stalker (9 page)

I figured we’d check the basement, then the upstairs bedrooms.
If
we could even get through. There was a mass of people blocking the basement stairs, and no one paid any attention to my “Excuse me!”s.

Then Alexander stepped in front of me. With two big sweeps of his arms, he pushed everyone out of the way. Startled partiers stumbled back, falling over one another.

Some kid said, “Hey! What was that?”

Alexander glared at him. The kid cowered.

Taking my hand again, Alexander led me down the stairs. The basement was even darker than upstairs, and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust.

I walked up to one of the couches, scanning the people, catching sight of her long blond hair. There she was, in a darkened corner. A guy was kissing her.

“Chrissy!”

She jumped. I recognized the guy from school. He was a senior named Reuben Torres, one of the jock squad, and a notorious girl-izer.

“She’s in eighth grade, Reuben,” I said, disgusted.

He shrugged. “So?”

I felt something hard shove past me. It was Alexander. He grabbed Chrissy’s hand and yanked her to her feet. “Time to go home, Christina.”

Reuben got to his feet. “Hey! What if she ain’t ready to leave?”

Alexander looked him over. Then he placed a hand on Reuben’s chest and nudged him. Reuben flew back into the couch.

Alexander waited to see if Reuben was going to come back at him, but Reuben was slumped on the couch, dazed.

I held on to Chrissy’s arm and followed Alexander up the stairs and out the front door.

“Where’s Madison?” I asked my sister. “We’ll take her home, too.”

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she left,” Chrissy replied, not meeting my gaze.

She slid into the backseat of the car. I noticed the skirt she was wearing — it was Madison’s, and insanely short.

“Drop me off at Madison’s,” she told Alexander, like he was her driver.

“I’m dropping you off at
your
home.” He power-locked the doors.

“What do you care what I do?”

“I don’t concern myself with your tomfoolery. But your mother and sister do, and I am indebted to them.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “So are you actually dating my sister?”

I almost laughed. Chrissy knew she was in deep trouble, but she still had to get an update on my love life.

Before I could answer, Alexander said, “We have mutual admiration for each other, I hope.”

I glanced at Alexander, my stomach somersaulting, then glanced ahead at the road.

“Mutual admiration?” Chrissy sneered. “What does that mean?”

“It means we have a lot in common,” I said quickly.

“Oh, I get it. He’s a big book nerd who doesn’t have a life, too? Does he know you’ve never had a boyfriend?”

Thanks, Chrissy.
He already thought I was odd for calling myself Mrs.AlexanderBanks online. He didn’t need to know that I’d never had a boyfriend.

“Your sister is brilliant and beautiful,” Alexander snapped. “Your childish behavior is an insult to her.”

Chrissy kicked his seat. “Whatever!”

Alexander didn’t respond, only put the car in gear and drove off.

It was an awkward ride home, to say the least. The only sounds in the car were Chrissy’s occasional grunts or seat punches.

Your sister is brilliant and beautiful.
I wasn’t naive enough to think he meant it. He’d obviously figured out that Chrissy saw me as anything but, and had wanted to come to my defense. Still, I couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure I felt each time I remembered his words.

When we got home, Mom was standing in the living room, waiting. She took in Chrissy’s skirt, and the relief on her face switched to anger. I knew she was going to let Chrissy have it, but first, she turned to Alexander.

“Thank you for picking up my daughter.”

He gave a nod. “Think nothing of it, madam.”

“He’s psychotic!” Chrissy shouted, running to her room and slamming the door.

“I’ll be right back,” I told my mom. “I’m going to walk Alexander out.”

“There’s no need,” he said, once we were on the other side of the door.

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me with Chrissy.” There was a strange look in his eyes, almost a question. And then he smiled. “At your service.”

CHAPTER
TEN

 

M
Y HEAD HAD BARELY
hit the pillow when my alarm went off. Since I’d prepacked a bag of snacks for the trip, I just needed to dress, brush my teeth, get water bottles from the fridge, and wait in the lobby.

The car pulled up five minutes later with Ms. P. in the driver’s seat and Alexander beside her. He got out to open the car door for me, and I caught my breath. He was wearing his clothes from Otherworld — the long coat, white shirt, trousers, and high leather boots. He was magnificent.

Instead of saying, “Wow,” I managed to say “Thanks,” and get into the backseat.

“Morning, Amy,” Ms. P. said, turning onto the road. “Alexander told me about your adventure last night. Guess you didn’t get much sleep.”

“I got enough.”
Last night
was just four hours ago. Although I was tired, I was also pumped to get to the signing.

Alexander looked out the window. “I was just commenting on all of the people about at this time of night. I am used to
vampires owning the night. Only the vampire hunters dare to circulate before sunrise. Here, everyone seems so carefree. We just witnessed a group of adolescents singing in the streets, if you’ll credit it.”

“It’s the weekend,” I said. “I guess everyone wants to party.”

“Have they no sense? They must know of the murders, yet they show no concern.”

“Most people are desensitized to that stuff these days,” I told him. “If it weren’t for the vampire connection, the case wouldn’t have gotten much attention. Just another murder in the city.”

“That’s astonishing,” he remarked. “Perhaps it is due to the size of the population that such desensitization can occur.”

“Here, we hardly know our next-door neighbors,” Ms. P. said. “It’s a shame.”

“So tell me,” Alexander said in a lighter tone, “did your mother give Christina a proper dressing-down?”

“She’s been grounded for two weeks. I’m not sure Chrissy heard Mom say it, though, because she tried to drown her out with her music.”

Alexander shook his head. “Such gall in one so young. To be ‘grounded’ means that she will stay in the apartment?”

“Yes. It means she’ll have to stay home when she isn’t at school.”

“Why not deprive her of school as well?”

Ms. P. chuckled. “You can’t just take a student out of school for two weeks, especially if they’re under sixteen.”

“Attending school is a privilege. It would be the perfect thing to take away from her.”

“Chrissy doesn’t see it as a privilege, trust me,” I said. “She’d love to stay home for two weeks.”

Alexander grunted. “In my world, that type of insolence is not tolerated. Then again, the consequences of staying out past curfew are very different. Someone who breaks curfew may never be seen again.”

Hopefully it would never come to that here.

“At any rate, we can hope that your sister will mature. Thankfully, we won’t have to worry about her being on the streets at night for a little while.”

For some reason, I felt my eyes mist up. Alexander had said “we” wouldn’t have to worry. He had no reason to care about my sister, especially after the way she’d treated him, but I was glad that he did.

From there, Ms. P. started asking Alexander questions about his world. He was happy to answer them, and launched into stories — ones that were not in the books. I gazed out the window, watching dark fields flying by. Alexander had a rich, velvety voice, given to storytelling. I found myself conjuring up images of Otherworld, vivid images, and I wondered if this was what Elizabeth Howard saw. As I felt myself drift off, I heard Alexander whisper to Ms. P., “I think she’s sleeping. I’d better be quiet.”

“Keep talking,” I said sleepily.

I thought I heard him chuckle as he launched into a tale of a
boyhood fishing outing with James. It was a cheerful story, and one that I knew wouldn’t involve vampires.

“Good God,” Alexander exclaimed, taking stock of the mass of people in front of the bookstore. We couldn’t distinguish a line of any kind, just a huge crowd. This was very different from the scene outside the Book Nook when I’d gotten my copy of
The Mists.
This was chaos.

“We’ll find a way,” I said, my voice firm. I wondered if Alexander’s determination was contagious.

Ms. P. dropped us off on the corner of Broadway and 82nd Street, then went to find parking. She was going to call my cell phone when she was back near the bookstore so that we could find each other.

We stood at the edge of the crowd, which had to number in the thousands. Alexander’s gaze swept the area several times. Then he turned to me. “I’ll have to leave you here. Ms. P. should be joining you soon. I must inspect this whole area to see what we are dealing with. I will be in touch by phone within the hour.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

He hadn’t moved five feet away when a girl spotted him and screamed. The group of girls she was with erupted in a chorus of screams.

“Oh my God, it’s Alexander Banks!”

“Your costume is so perfect!”

“So gorgeous!”

“Can we get a picture? Please, please, please!”

Alexander turned to me, a rueful look on his face, and pushed past them into the crowd. I had to smile. If he didn’t realize how crazed Otherworld fans could be, he’d realize it today.

Ms. P. called a few minutes later, and joined me on the street. She wore a square name tag identifying her as Lorraine Parker from the Chicago school district libraries. She thought it would lend her credibility when we got close to Elizabeth Howard.

As we stood there, the crowd kept getting bigger. No one nearby had a prayer of getting in. The only ones who did wore fluorescent green wristbands that actually had bar codes on them. I stopped a couple of people with wristbands to ask how they got them. One girl told me that her mom was a bookstore manager. Another pair, a teen and her mom, said they’d won them over the radio. Only two hundred people were going to get in, apparently. Even if we’d arrived last night and camped out, we wouldn’t have had a chance. My confidence was starting to waver; with security so tight, how would we get in?

Soon after, Alexander called and told us to meet him five blocks down at a diner. When we got there, he was at a booth with a cup of tea, staring at a menu. He looked worn out. “Thank you for joining me here. I had to get as far away as possible from those hooligans.”

His normally windswept hair was downright messy now, and there appeared to be a smudge of lipstick on his shirt. Ms. P. and I laughed.

“I
told
you your character was popular,” I said.

“Yes, well, you were not exaggerating.”

“Do you have a plan for how we’ll speak to Elizabeth Howard?” Ms. P. asked him.

“I do,” he replied absently, reaching into his pocket and placing three fluorescent wristbands on the table. “We just need to wear these and they will let us in.”

Ms. P. and I exchanged a glance.

“I merely picked a pocket.” He shrugged, like it was nothing. “I overheard a girl speaking on her phone, saying she was in possession of the wristbands.”

“Poor girl, she’ll be so disappointed,” Ms. P. said, but she didn’t hesitate to put on the wristband, and hand me one. “It’s for the greater good, though.”

“Do not have compassion for her. I don’t.” Alexander’s mouth made a grim line. “She wore a shirt with Vigo’s likeness on it, and on the back it said ‘Vigo’s Girl.’ It’s a complete outrage.”

I was giddy. I didn’t know if it was the excitement of being in New York City for the first time, or Alexander’s presence. Probably both.

Because we had wristbands, we only had to go back an hour before the signing. The three of us spent the next couple of hours exploring. Alexander was awed by the skyscrapers, the traffic madness, and the streets crowded with harried New Yorkers and awking tourists. He had been to Otherworld New York, but
it was nowhere near as impressive as modern-day Manhattan. He wanted to stop and look at billboard, every taxicab, every food cart.

As we made our way through the busy streets, Alexander took my hand several times. I knew he was trying not to lose me in the crowd, and that I shouldn’t read more into it.

But I wanted to.

Eventually, we had to go back to the bookstore. With our wristbands, we were immediately let inside and pointed up the escalator to the second floor. It was a huge, multistory Barnes & Noble, a real palace of books.

Even though we had come with a serious purpose, I could tell that Ms. P. was enjoying the atmosphere as much as I was. Alexander, however, took no amusement in all of the fans dressed up as James, Hannah, Vigo, and himself. As we jostled for a place in line, he muttered comments about how foolish they looked. It didn’t help that several fans nagged him for pictures. He barked at them to leave him alone, but that only egged them on more, making them declare him the perfect Alexander Banks. Eventually, he gave up and scowled for a few pictures.

We happened to be standing near the Teen section. There was a display stacked with Otherworld books under a sign reading,
u?
And there was a picture of James and Alexander standing back to back. Hannah was in the foreground, blond curls flowing around her, fangs bared.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “‘To love or kill a vampire’? What
the devil does that mean? There is only one way to deal with a vampire.”

I shrugged. “It’s supposed to be catchy.”

“It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is. Who would love a vampire except my foolhardy cousin?”

“You can probably tell that a lot of people like Hannah,” I said, gesturing to the crowd, many of whom were wearing curly blond wigs.

“They would change their minds if they met her. Elizabeth Howard describes her as an angelically beautiful vampire, which is a contradiction in terms. Did she not notice her fangs? Or the skin that’s as pale and thin as rice paper? But Howard never describes that, does she?”

It was true that most of the vampires I knew from books and movies were good-looking. It was all part of the fantasy. On the other hand, Elizabeth Howard wouldn’t have called Hannah beautiful if she wasn’t. And James must have seen something special in her. It was clear to all readers that Alexander had never given Hannah a chance.

A ripple of awe went through the crowd as Elizabeth Howard emerged from a back entrance with an entourage of six people, two of them security. Even from our vantage point, she gave the impression of elegance and poise.

Alexander stiffened when he saw her, a barely perceptible shift in his posture from straight to ramrod straight. For most
people, she was a rock star author; for Alexander, she was the woman who had written about his life without his permission, and gained fame and fortune from it. I could tell that Alexander was smarting at the injustice.

The line moved steadily. A bookstore employee gave us copies of
The Mists of Otherworld,
and then a pretty, well-dressed young woman came up to us with a packet of Post-its, asking who we’d like the book addressed to. She had a name tag identifying her as Leslie Watson, from Elizabeth Howard’s publisher.

Alexander frowned. “I plan on telling that to Ms. Howard alone.”

Ms. P. put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. They do it to speed things along, so that people don’t have to spell out their names for her.”

“If she can write such expansive prose, I imagine she can spell,” he muttered, then turned to Leslie. “Very well. Have her address it to Alexander Banks. A-L-E …”

“I got that,” she interrupted him with a flirtatious grin. “Great costume, by the way.”

As we drew closer to the front of the line, I felt a rush of fangirl excitement. Elizabeth Howard was only a few feet away. Under other circumstances, I’d be dying for her to sign my book, to pose for a photo with me that I could post on Facebook. But today wasn’t the time for that.

Employees were ushering people past her quickly, which meant we’d have only seconds to make an impression. The plan
was for Ms. P. to talk to her first, and give her a detailed note explaining our case. Then Alexander would introduce himself, and then me.

Suddenly Leslie walked up to us and pulled Alexander out of the line. “You next,
Alexander.
We’d like to take a few press photos with Ms. Howard signing for you, if you don’t mind.”

I gave him a
don’t blow this
look, and he inclined his head. “That would be lovely, thank you, Leslie.”

Ms. P. and I held our breaths as Leslie ushered him up to the table.

“Hello, Elizabeth Howard,” he said.

I wished I could have photographed her reaction. Her eyes widened, and she did a double take. Then she pulled herself together and managed a smile. “Hello.”

A photographer approached and snapped some pictures.

“You recognize me, don’t you?” I could hear the eagerness in his voice.

Elizabeth Howard smiled distractedly. “Alexander Banks, of course.” She signed his book and slid it back to him, then looked over his shoulder, anticipating the next person, who happened to be Ms. P.

“You don’t understand,” Alexander said, looming before her. “I
am
Alexander Banks, the real one. Do not say you don’t recognize me, because I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

Uh-oh. Alexander obviously felt he’d been snubbed by Elizabeth Howard, and that was
not
a good thing. I wished I could
tell him to move along and let Ms. P. make our case, but he didn’t appear to have any intention of budging.

Elizabeth Howard’s eyes darted around, possibly for help. “Thanks very much,
Alexander Banks,”
she said awkwardly. “You’ve done a nice job with the outfit. Who’s next?”

“Wait,” he said, holding his ground. “You, of all people, know me to never mince words. I came through a portal while I was chasing Vigo over the bridge. We must talk after the signing. All I ask is a few minutes of your time.”

Elizabeth Howard gave him the kind of look that an orderly gives a mental patient who is about to crack. And then security descended on either side of Alexander. “Keep moving, son,” said a burly security guard, taking his arm.