The Vampire Stalker (2 page)

 

A flurry of comments came up, most of them saying that it would be a terrible ending. As if killing off Alexander would work. As if James’s personality would do a one-eighty.

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. If Alexander died, it meant the end of the fantasy, and that would be too much to bear.

Vigo Skaar looked out the window of his hiding place, a basement in an abandoned house. Scanning the streets with his pale eyes, he assured himself that he had nothing to worry about. Alexander Banks could not possibly have tracked him here. The vampire stalker was good, but not
that
good.

He was hungry, so very hungry. But hunting wasn’t easy when he, himself, was being hunted.

He stepped back from the window and went to sit down in a battered old armchair, one of the many reminders of the previous inhabitants. When people left town these days, it was usually in a hurry.
So many lovely houses allowed to rot because of us,
he thought proudly.

If Alexander thought he could outsmart him, he would be disappointed. As always, it came down to the calculation of probabilities — something he doubted Alexander understood. Probabilities of where to run, matched with measured risks.

That was one thing Vigo was excellent at: anticipating Alexander’s next move.

Sometimes he rather enjoyed their game. Other times, like now, Alexander was a damned nuisance. He wished he’d just killed the lad when he’d had the chance. But then, if he’d known that young Alexander was present when he was killing the boy’s family, he would have.

Vigo felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he bolted out of the chair, assuming a fight-ready stance. His predator was approaching. Vigo felt the blood hunger rumble in his belly. A predator who would soon become his prey….

I stared at the screen, chewing my bottom lip. The predatorprey thing was overdone these days. So was the cat and mouse thing, come to think of it. I deleted the last line and skimmed over the scene.

Reading
The Mists of Otherworld
tonight had filled me with creative juice. I just had to end the Vigo/Alexander story line once and for all — with Alexander prevailing, of course. I was excited
to post it on a fan fiction website and hoped other fans liked it, too.

It was 12:34
A.M.
, definitely time to stop for the night. I’d stayed up late writing too many times, then ended up headachy the next day. The problem was, I was a night person, and that’s when I did my best work.

I’d been writing for as long as I could remember, but once I read
Otherworld,
I’d stopped writing original stories to focus on fan fiction. It was such a rich, exciting world that I couldn’t think of writing anything else.

I knew that if I was going to be a writer, I’d have to write my own original stuff one day. It was just too bad that the character of Alexander Banks had already been created by Elizabeth Howard. I wished he was all mine.

CHAPTER
TWO

 

O
N
M
ONDAY
, as soon as the bell rang for lunch, I stopped in to visit one of my best buddies: the school librarian.

Ms. Parker was a middle-aged African-American woman with salt-and-pepper braids and stylish glasses. She favored colorful cardigans, flowing skirts, and green tea. Like my friends and me, she was a reading addict, and seemed to have a book permanently attached to her left hand.

“You finished it, didn’t you?” she asked. Ms. P. was also a fan of the Otherworld series, which made her the coolest librarian ever.

“I can’t believe it ended like that!” I cried, slumping down in the chair next to her desk. I had already discussed the ending with Katie and Luisa on the bus to school that morning. Both my friends were equally outraged by the cliff-hanger, although they weren’t as worried about Alexander’s fate as I was. Luisa speculated that Vigo wouldn’t kill Alexander, but turn him into a vampire instead. The idea made me shudder; Alexander hated vampires so much that if he became one, he might stake himself.

“I know,” Ms. P. said, closing out an e-mail and turning to
face me. “But it made you eager for the last book in the series, didn’t it? I thought Elizabeth Howard did an excellent job of keeping her audience on the edge of their seats.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. “I just don’t enjoy being on the edge of my seat for an entire year.”

At that, she laughed.

Ms. P. had started at my high school the year before I entered ninth grade, and she’d had her work cut out for her. Most of the library’s collection was more than forty years old. Ms. P. used whatever money she could get her hands on to buy books, and she displayed the newest, shiniest ones at the front of the library to draw the students in. She went to as many book fairs as possible to score free books, and even wrote to publishers asking for sample copies.

If anyone was a born librarian, it was Ms. P., which is why I’d been so surprised to learn that it hadn’t been her original career goal. She actually had a master’s degree in physics, of all things, and had been ready to start her PhD when fate — or, rather, her love of books — called her in a different direction.

“I’m scared Elizabeth Howard’s going to kill off Alexander,” I said. “Some people online are saying it. You don’t think she would do that, do you?”

“Who knows what an author is thinking? My guess is that she loves Alexander as much as we do. He adds so much excitement to the story, while James can be a little verbose — though I wouldn’t dare say that in front of Katie and Luisa,” Ms. P. added,
her eyes sparkling. “The thing is, Alexander is a very dark character. She might see him as a tragic figure. Time will tell.”

“Come on, you have some connections with the publishing people, right? Can’t you draw up a petition with your librarian friends asking Elizabeth Howard to hurry up with Book Three and keep Alexander alive?”

She smiled. “That’s a thought. In the meantime, I have another book for you, hot off the press.”

There was nothing like being the first to read a new book without having to pay for it. If I liked it enough, I’d go buy it myself. But I’d had to hold off on all book buying lately (except for
The Mists,
of course) because the coffee shop I’d worked at for a year had gone out of business back in August. I’d done several résumé blitzes since then, but had come up with nothing.

Ms. P. whipped the book out from under the counter with a flourish. It was the new Sheila Katz book. Her light, funny chick-lit novels appealed to my whimsical side. “I thought it would be a nice change of pace from Otherworld,” she explained.

“Thanks, Ms. P. I’ll take good care of it.” After she scanned the bar code and my library card, I put the book in my bag.

“So, Amy. Other than your worries about Alexander Banks, is everything going okay?” Ms. P. had a motherly way of asking you questions, another thing I loved about her. If you wanted to talk, you talked. And if you didn’t, she didn’t push you. She always let you know the door was open.

There were lots of things I could tell her. Like how Chrissy
was driving me crazy these days. Like how my dad hardly ever called, and I’d stopped caring if he did. But there wasn’t any point, or anything she could do.

“Yeah, things are okay.”

Ms. P. gave me a knowing look, but didn’t pry. “Are you looking forward to the dance this Friday?”

“A little,” I said with a shrug. I knew that Katie and Luisa were probably discussing the dance right now at our table in the cafeteria. Luisa would want to figure out our outfits, and Katie would want to dissect who was going with whom. None of us had dates.

Unlike my friends, I’d never had a boyfriend. I’d had a crush here and there, but it never came to anything. Luisa had had several boyfriends, and Katie, who was übershy with guys, dated a guy at camp two summers ago. All I had was a
blah
sort of kiss from one of Luisa’s many cousins at her birthday party last year. He never called, and I never cared.

Although I’d never admit it to anyone, reading
The Mists
had left me with an intense longing.
What would it be like,
I wondered,
to date someone like the smoldering Alexander Banks?

As the week went on, Katie and Luisa’s excitement about the dance began to feel contagious. The weather was cold and gray every day, so I would come straight home from school, do homework, and write fan fiction. By Friday night, I was more than
ready to go out. My secret, romantic self hoped that some cute guy from another school would show up at the dance and spot me in the crowd. It never happened, of course, but I made sure I looked good just in case. This meant putting some product in my damp hair (Chrissy would have been thrilled), applying some makeup (ditto), and wearing a wispy, girly shirt Luisa had gotten me for my birthday. Katie, Luisa, and I got ready together at Katie’s house, and rode the bus to school.

The gym was already packed when we arrived. Beyoncé’s new single was playing, so we headed straight for the dance floor. When it ended, another equally awesome song came on. It felt good to get lost in the music and I spun around, my hair fanning out around me.

“Hi, girls!” Ms. P. infiltrated our triangle, waving her arms above her head to the beat of the music.

A few people laughed and pointed at us. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t cool to be seen dancing with the school librarian. But I didn’t care. Some people were cool no matter what age they were. Ms. P. was one of those people.

She danced with us until the end of the song, then headed back to her post at the gym doors. She still grooved, though, clapping her hands and swaying her hips, her full skirt sweeping the floor. I had to laugh. She didn’t seem to care that our uptight principal, Mr. Matthews, was standing ramrod straight beside her.

By the time a slow song came on, I was thirsty, and Luisa said her feet were killing her. We headed toward the vending machines at the back of the gym. Luisa kept tripping in her sky-high wedges, so we were walking very slowly.

We bought sodas, and Luisa leaned back against the wall, taking the weight off her feet. “I hope Jake gets here soon — there’s only an hour left to the dance,” she said irritably, opening her can of Coke and taking a sip.

“He’s not coming,” Katie told her. “There’s a track meet this weekend.”

Luisa had been obsessing over Jake Levine for years. Katie always bugged her to ask him out already — as much for our sanity as for hers — but Luisa had never made a move. I secretly thought that was for the best. Jake was good-looking, sure, but I didn’t like him
or
his friends, AKA the jock squad, which included Brian Kowalski, Reuben Torres, and Tommy Baird. Those guys acted like they ruled the hallways (which, I guess, they did) and were God’s gift to girls (which they definitely
weren’t).

“Jake is not the only cute guy at this school,” I pointed out.

“Um, yes, he is,” Luisa replied, rolling her eyes. “Okay, Amy. If you think there are so many cute guys around, I dare you to ask one to dance.”

“No, thanks.” As my gaze skimmed over the dance floor, I realized that no one here inspired any excitement in me. How sad
that I felt more of a connection to a fictional character than to a guy in real life.

After chatting for a few more minutes, we headed back to the dance floor. The sodas had given us a new kick of energy. Luisa took off her wedges and danced barefoot, swinging her shoes around, but yelped when someone stepped on her foot.

By the time another set of slow songs came on, we decided to get going. The dance would be ending soon, anyway, so we figured we’d beat the coat-check rush. Unfortunately, a bunch of other people had the same idea.

“See you Monday, Ms. P.,” I said, catching her in the midst of a yawn as we filed out of the gym.

“Do any of you girls need a ride home?” she asked.

“Nah, we’re good,” I said for all of us. The bus ride was part of the fun — that’s where we’d rehash the night’s events. Not that anything exciting had happened, but we’d find something to talk about.

We picked up some snacks at the deli across the street before boarding the bus with a crowd of people from our school. The freshmen gathered at the back, shouting, tossing food wrappers, and sloshing drinks at one another. The bus driver told them to settle down. I realized that come next year, Chrissy would be among them.

I was the first of my friends to get off the bus. A few other kids got off at the same time, which was good because the area
wasn’t the most welcoming late at night. It was only a five-minute walk to my building, but the heavy post-rain fog made it seem farther away.

I walked quickly, eager to get past the park. Pleasant Park was the city’s attempt to green up the area by planting some trees and bushes. A couple of dilapidated buildings had been torn down, and a basketball court, play structure, and swing set had been put in. It was deserted at this time of night, and the sight of it wrapped in fog was creepy.

Suddenly something slammed into my windpipe, cutting off my air. My body reeled with the force of impact. I caught a glimpse of blond hair inches from my face, heard a vicious snarl.
I’m being attacked,
I realized, frozen with horror. An arm snaked around me and then I was moving so fast it felt like I was flying through the air.

A dark figure leaped from the shadows and grabbed my attacker, who was forced to drop me to the ground. I scrambled to my feet and started to run. I could hear blows, grunts, and a sick, almost inhuman growl. A high-pitched screaming filled my ears; it was coming from me.

“Are you all right, madam?” Someone had run up beside me, a long coat flapping in the wind. “Are you injured?”

I stopped running. A nearby streetlight illuminated the fog, giving me a glimpse of the guy’s face. He looked very familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“Where’d he go?” I gasped, shaking. I scanned the bushes, terrified my attacker would jump out at any second.

“Ran off. I could not catch him.”

Catch him? This guy had to be crazy to think about running after my attacker.

I glanced at him, and felt like the air had been sucked out of me.

His profile was straight and chiseled. Dark brown hair curled slightly over the collar of his long, cape-like coat. A line from
Otherworld
came to mind:
He would have been classically handsome were it not for the forbidding expression on his face.

I gave my head a shake. Jeez. After all I’d just been through, I was still thinking of Alexander. I did a double take, but his face and figure were now shrouded in darkness and mist. It must have been a mirage — my mind’s way of bringing me comfort after the terror.

With trembling hands, I pushed the wild strands of hair out of my face. I didn’t know who, or what, had just attacked me, and I had no idea who my savior was. All I knew was, I had to get home.

“I will show you to your door, miss,” the guy said. “Is this the way?”

I looked around, confusion muddling my brain. I was at the other end of the park, where the sandboxes and swing sets were located. How did I get all the way over here? I couldn’t have run this far.

It took me a few moments to orient myself. “It’s on the other side of the apartment complex.”

I practically had to run to keep up with him, while at the same time scanning the darkness for signs of another attack.

“I’m lucky you were there,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

“It was not luck,” he said tightly. “I was tracking him. And about to pounce on him before he grabbed you, I might add. I cannot imagine what possessed you to break curfew and leave yourself so exposed. There is no excuse for such recklessness.”

I was dumbstruck. He was blaming
me
for getting attacked? “I wasn’t breaking my curfew. I don’t even have a curfew.” Mom had never needed to impose one on me. Chrissy, of course, was a different story.

He shot me a glare. “Indeed? I wonder if the town council would confirm that.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, or why he was speaking in such a weird, formal way, but I didn’t care to ask. I had bigger problems. We’d reached my building, and I practically dove for the heavy glass door. “I’m going to call the police.” I fished in my pocket for the key. “I hope you can give them a better description than I can.” My fingers closed around the key, but my hand was shaking so hard that it took several attempts to fit it in the lock.

“Call the police? Are you mad? They are of no use against him. They are too afraid themselves.”

I turned to look at him. The area was well lit, and for the first time, I could see him clearly.

And it hit me — again — how much he resembled Alexander Banks, right down to the stony expression he wore on the cover of
The Mists.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t know why you were following that guy, but you shouldn’t put yourself in danger. He could really hurt you.” I was finally able to unlock the door, and I quickly stepped into the lobby.