Overworld Chronicles Books 1-2: Sweet Blood of Mine & Dark Light of Mine (77 page)

"No hoodies for you?" I said.

"Girls know how to apply makeup," the first girl said, and made a pouty face. "Brad refused to let us touch him up."

"Which one of you is Lauren?" I asked.

"How do you know my name?" the second girl asked.

"I just met Brad and his buddies."

The vampires looked at each other, displeasure carving scowls on their faces.

"Idiots!" said the first girl, presumably Tammy.

"I think you two should get the hell out of this school before I report this to the Templars."

Tammy laughed. "As if they'll listen to you."

"What the Sam Hill is going on here?" came a shout from the end of the hall. I almost cried with joy at the sight of Ted Barnes and his shiny bald head. He glared at the two girls. "This is the second time I've caught you two out of class. You'd better git right now or so help me I'll send you straight to Ms. Foreman for an after-school detention you'll never forget."

Lauren's eyes practically caught fire behind the contacts she wore. "This isn't over, Case," she hissed as she and Tammy left.

"Now get your butt in gear, Case!" Barnes yelled.

I followed him the rest of the way to Principal Perkins's office, my heart pounding at an alarming rate and sweat covering my palms. I'd probably die of an anxiety attack before Brad had another shot at me. Instead of dropping dead, I found Coach Burgundy flirting with Agnes in the front office while Barnes continued to the back.

Burgundy's eyes narrowed to puffy slits on his porcine face when he saw me. "And there he is, the famous Mr. Case."

Principal Perkins emerged from his office with Barnes in tow. "Ah, our esteemed Mr. Case." He looked at the vice principal. "Keep an eye on things for me, Ted. This won't take long."

"Him again, Mr. Perkins?" Agnes said and made a tsking noise. "They really need to bring back capital punishment to teach these kids respect."

"I think you mean corporal punishment, sweet thing." Perkins gave her a yellow-toothed grin.

She batted her eyelashes and fanned herself with an index card. "You're so smart, Mr. Perkins," she said breathlessly. "That's why you're the boss."

A distant hammering sounded in my ears and it took a moment for me to realize it was my heart. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Just follow us, Mr. Case." Perkins headed out the front door.

The last thing I wanted to do was meekly go along, but I wasn't sure what else to do at this point.

Coach Burgundy held open the door and motioned me out. "Get a move-on, boy."

I stepped outside and followed Perkins down the sidewalk as it looped around the back of the building and toward the practice fields and the workout rooms. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. We entered the football locker room adjacent to the state-of-the-art weight room. Voices and laughter echoed from within and curiosity edged out some of the anxiety.

"…about as useful as tits on a boar hog," said a man with a redneck accent, much to the amusement of whoever else was in the room with him as evidenced by another round of hooting laughter.

As we rounded the center bank of lockers, my curiosity ran away and hid. Sheriff Skinner, Police Chief Amerson, and a thin strange man with bony cheeks and a gaunt face waited inside. Two tall, heavily-muscled men with buzz-cuts stood quietly in opposite corners of the room, their eyes scanning me.

"Gentlemen," Perkins said, nodding to the group. "As you can see, the errant Mr. Case has returned to us." He swung shut the heavy metal door and slid a bar across it.

At a motion from Chief Amerson, one of the burly men approached and frisked me, removing my smartphone and keys from my pockets, not bothering to take the harmless-looking spider balls. He opened the back cover of the cell phone and removed the battery, then set it on the bench next to the sheriff. Next, he looked under my shirt and patted down my legs. "He's clean," he said in a calm professional voice, and returned to his corner.

"All that and no flowers?" I said, trying to keep the tremble of anger from my voice. "What's going on here?" A part of me roared with inner fury, demanding I coat the room with their blood. It shocked me to hear a part of myself demand such slaughter, no matter how justified it might be.
I'm not a killer.

Sheriff Skinner sat on a bench and rested his elbows on his knees. "Rumor has it you left your house and ain't been back in days, boy. Now you show up out of the blue and ask
us
what's going on?" He chuckled without an ounce of humor. "We got a real simple question for you, boy, and I suggest you answer it fast and honest."

Goosebumps crept up my arms as a chill settled onto my skin. I tried to speak but my voice suddenly felt very dry. Did they know about the hellhounds? About what I really was? "What's the question?" I said, finally able to get words out.

"My man has seen a lot of people in suits around your house. He also told me your front door was kicked in." The sheriff sat upright and stared me in the eye. "You been talking to the FBI, boy?"

Relief thawed my frozen joints and I had to suppress a grin. They didn't know anything. They must have seen the hellhounds in their black suits and mistaken them for the feds. "No, I haven't."

Sheriff Skinner glanced at the Chief Amerson who shook his head.

"In law enforcement we deal with liars like you all the time, Case." He stood and planted himself inches from my nose. "Spit out the truth or things are gonna get ugly real fast."

"I'm not lying. Besides, you guys might have the local law in your back pocket, but we're right next to metro Atlanta. It's not like we're some isolated redneck town in the middle of nowhere you can run like your own little kingdom. You do anything to me or my friends and I promise you I
will
take things to the FBI."

Skinner smiled. "See, that's where you're wrong, boy. You might try taking things to the FBI. You might even get them to believe you. But if things go bad for us, it'll go doubly worse for you and your friends. We know where you live. We know who your friends are and who you care about. We know how to hit you where it hurts."

"You people are insane," I said as doubt gnawed at my confidence. "This can't possibly be just about winning football games or betting on them."

He chuckled. "The money ain't bad, boy, but we discovered something else that made us a whole hell of a lot more interested in you. We know you've been juicing. In fact, when the results from your blood test came back, they were clean. All except for a few strange things the doc here noticed." He motioned at the gaunt-faced stranger.

A chill crept up my back. When I'd given the school nurse a blood sample, I hadn't known what I was. In fact, I'd been unfamiliar with my new abilities and it had only occurred to me the next day giving them blood was a bad thing. But by then it had been too late to stop it.

"I only discovered how unusual your blood is by accident," the doctor said, his eyes darting nervously between me and Skinner. "When I spilled an acid solution and contaminated your blood sample, your blood literally soaked up the acid like nothing had happened. I tried applying heat to your blood and yet the cells adapted and regenerated. I've never seen anything like it."

"Maybe I just have a great immune system," I said, knowing full well he wouldn't believe me.

The doctor shook his head. "No, that's not it." He placed a finger under his chin, his earlier nervousness seemingly drowned out by the thrill of scientific discovery. "There are minute traces of chemicals in your blood I can't quite identify, but they bear striking similarities to steroids."

Probably demon hormones
, I thought. But I couldn't tell them that. "I think you got my blood sample mixed up with someone else's, or else the acid mutated the cells."

"I've seen you in action, boy," the sheriff said. "I can tell you're holding back when you play. We want to know what you're taking and where we can get it."

"You want me for my steroids?" I almost laughed. "Planning to juice up the other football players?"

He chuckled. "Why would we do that when we could sell the stuff for millions to the right organizations?"

"The compound you're using is virtually untraceable," said the doctor. "I could win the Nobel Prize for such a discovery."

I groaned. "Bad news, fellas. I'm not injecting myself with anything. I'm clean."

A flash of black caught my eye and I saw Nightliss slinking across the tops of the lockers against the far wall. She had something in her mouth. Something black and shiny. She vanished behind a wall strut, deep in shadow.

"I think we're using too much stick and not enough carrot," said Principal Perkins. "Mr. Case, how about if we included you in the proceeds? We'd be willing to make you an equal partner."

"Hold on now," said Amerson. "We didn't agree on nothing like that."

Skinner pursed his lips. "Perkins may be right. What do you think, Case?"

"I told you. I'm not taking steroids. I'm not taking drugs. I'm clean. The doctor made a mistake."

Amerson pounded a locker with the bottom of his fist. "I say we make an example of one of his friends." He gripped me by the shirt, his cigarette-stained breath nauseating to my supernatural sense of smell. "You don't appreciate the things we could do to make your life miserable, boy. One word from me and one of your friends vanishes into another unsolved mystery."

Heat pulsed into my face and fury roared through my veins. I clenched my fists tight to keep myself from slamming this bozo against the lockers until his body turned to mush. The reasonable nerd in my head grabbed my demonic fury by the arm and told me killing this man wouldn't guarantee the safety of my friends. It would only make me a murderer. More than anything, I needed Elyssa's brain to sort this out.

"Leave my friends out of this," I said, my voice tight with anger. "Take my blood, do whatever you need to do to find this steroid you're talking about but leave my friends alone."

Amerson slammed me against the lockers. "Son, you've got about ten seconds before I have my men teach you a few new things about pain."

Principal Perkins pulled the police chief off me. "All right, Jim. You've made your point. But I'm starting to believe Mr. Case here might be telling the truth. Why else would he offer up his blood?"

"Because he's protecting someone," Amerson snarled. "Or else he's got plans of his own."

Skinner tilted his head to the side and regarded me for a moment. "I'm inclined to agree with Lee on this. I think the boy would give up a drug before offering his own blood for testing." He looked at the gaunt-faced doctor. "What do you think, Doc?"

"It will take some time—perhaps a great deal of time—but I could probably isolate the chemicals and formulate something. But I'll need a properly equipped lab."

"Jim, didn't your lab boys just get a big upgrade from the state recently?"

Amerson's lip curled into a snarl as he stared me down, but he nodded at the question. "Yeah. State of the art."

Perkins clapped his hands. "Well, there we go. Problem solved."

Sheriff Skinner pursed his lips and regarded me for a moment. "Just to make sure Mr. Case understands how serious we are, I think we should enact our insurance policy." He pulled out a radio that appeared to be separate from the one he wore clipped to his lapel and clicked down the receiver. "Status?"

"Gold," a voice whispered back.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

"Don't worry, son, we're not going to harm any of your friends—not directly at least. Consider this a test."

"A test of what? I told you'll I'll participate. What's going on?"

"Your girlfriend, Elyssa Borathen, I believe? She's about to lose a parent to a tragic run-and-gun robbery. I'm sure you'll be there to comfort her, though, won't you?"

My heart almost stopped. Could they kill Leia by shooting her? She was a dhampyr but for all I knew a headshot would be just as deadly to her as anyone else. I didn't want to find out. "Don't. Please don't do this. I told you I'll do everything you want."

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," Perkins said. "No sense in antagonizing the boy further."

"I say we show the little punk we don't screw around," Amerson said, his voice a low growl. "It'll save us time in the future."

"Mr. Case, I truly regret having to put you through this, but believe me, it'll help us all sleep better at night knowing you're fully on board." Skinner's lips curled into a self-satisfied smile.

"Stop!" I screamed.

The burly men pulled out guns and trained them on me. I didn't care. I couldn't let them do this.

"Status?" Sheriff Skinner said again.

"Subject exiting building. On approach. Green in ten seconds on your go."

The sheriff nodded.

My muscles coiled as rage coalesced into murderous intent. I would stop him. Remembering the spider balls in my pocket, I reached for them. Gripped them, and prepared to launch them. I'd probably take a bullet for this, but it was my only chance.

Sheriff Skinner pressed down the radio button to reply.

A frenzied, almost inhuman voice roared from outside, "Open up, Case! The big bad wolf is home!"

Chapter 34

Skinner released the radio button and stared at the metal door. "Who the hell is that?"

A sick feeling wormed its way up my throat, dispersing my rage. Despite the animalistic anger in the voice, I recognized the owner. Brad Nichols.

Something slammed against the door. The metal hinges groaned and two fist-sized dents formed. Mr. Perkins leapt back with a shout of dismay, his kettle belly jiggling. The two heavies in the room trained their guns on the door instead of me.

"I can smell your blood," Brad said, his voice groaning with sick anticipation. "Let! Me! In!" He slammed the door with each word. Concrete flecks sprang from the wall where it held the metal hinges. The bar across the door bent a little with each impact.

"Get over here and help me," Brad screamed at someone—probably Mortimer and Mick.

Another impact shook the wall and the cinderblocks crumbled around the edges. With a loud twang, the lock bar sprang out of the grooves holding it, whistled through the air, and embedded itself in a nearby locker.