The Vampire's Photograph (13 page)

Oliver led them quickly along the platform, weaving in and out of the throng, who were eyeing the tube expectantly. Now, the floor and walls began to shake. “Ow,” Dean whispered. Oliver could feel it, too. The pressure was changing, lowering, making his ears ache.

“A charion is coming,” Oliver said.

There was a rush of air and a low humming sound, so low that it vibrated their teeth. Oliver paused and steadied his balance. A blast of air overwhelmed the tunnel, and the clear tube shook. A cylindrical train shot into the station, halting immediately, creating a wicked backdraft of air. The humming quickly cycled down to silence. Segments of the clear tube slid open. The charion was black, and smoking. Large, glowing embers, still smoldering, tumbled down its sides. Massive fans rumbled to life in the station, sucking up the dark smoke and ash that billowed from the train.

“That train goes to the Underworld?” Dean whispered.

The charion doors slid open, and the trio just caught a glimpse of the plush, low-lit interior before passengers started crowding off and on. There were deep seats and long plasma screens showing advertisements and views of the towering spires of far-off Underworld cities. Gentle string music hummed lightly. Above each seat hung a network of red tubing, with brass valves at the end. The valves were numbered and corresponded to a menu etched on the arm of each seat.

Oliver led them along the wall of the platform, blending in with the people heading off the train and up a long hallway.

“What are—”

“Tsss.” Oliver silenced Dean. There was no time for explanations right now, especially about those red dining tubes. Still, it was all Oliver could do to keep them moving. He loved the charions and loved traveling, maybe more than anything else. He didn't really care where the train was going, just that it
was
going, with the world passing by outside.
I should just get on right now
, he thought wildly. Take Emalie and Dean and just go somewhere where they wouldn't be in danger. Except it was fifteen hours to New York City, twenty hours to Shanghai. In that amount of time, his disappearance would easily be discovered.
At least, we'd have those fifteen hours
, he thought glumly. Given what had just happened in the center, his existence might be over as soon as he got home.

They walked up a curving tunnel, then entered an enormous central station. Vampires streamed in and out of tunnels to charions heading in all directions, stood in lines to purchase tickets from antique booths, and crowded around standing tables at a café in the center of the station.

“Wow,” Emalie breathed, daring to gaze up at the dizzyingly high dome ceiling. On it was a dazzling route map. Magmalight lines connected brilliant gold etchings of surface and Underworld cities around the world.

Oliver didn't pause to explain any of it. He pressed forward, across the cavernous room and straight toward a row of gold elevator doors. These went express to and from the surface. Doors slid open and closed, vampires crowding on and off as bells sounded.

Oliver hung back, waiting for the timing to provide a fairly empty elevator car, and then ushered the humans in. The elevator shot up with another earsplitting pressure change. Moments later, they were disembarking in an abandoned Seattle bus tunnel. It was cold, damp, and colorless, save for a few bare lightbulbs. Oliver led them up two nonworking escalators, then a set of crumbling stairs, and finally out through an iron gate.

They were back downtown, just like that, among the human holiday shoppers going about their evening. Oliver was relieved to be back on the surface, and yet…. He wondered if he'd just walked away from his only chance to escape.

“You should get back,” he said, taking their zombie coats.

They both seemed to come out of a trance. Dean checked his watch. “Okay, right. Yeah, we're a couple of minutes late—not bad. My parents should still be over at the Santa photos with my brother and sister,” he said, then added glumly, “guess I shouldn't spoil it for them.”

Emalie looked seriously at Oliver. “What are you going to do?”

Oliver wasn't sure. He hadn't thought that far ahead. Now that he did, he realized that what had just happened may well have already gotten back to his parents. The vampire community wasn't
that
big, and a story about a vampire child taking humans into the Underground would spread fast. Anyone who knew his parents would feel obligated to tell them. “I don't know,” he said. “I think I'm going to be in trouble.” Trouble wasn't the half of it. He had no idea how his parents and brother were going to react. Not to mention what was going to happen in school on Monday.

Emalie seemed to read his thoughts. “We should try to develop the photo tonight. Before—”

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed. If they didn't do it now, he might never have the chance.

Emalie turned purposefully to Dean. Oliver was impressed that her decisive self had returned so quickly. “Dean, we'll ask your parents if you can sleep over.”

“Right,” Dean said with a sigh, like he didn't have the energy to protest.

“Come over after midnight,” Emalie said to Oliver.

Oliver nodded. “See you there.”

“Emalie, let's go,” urged Dean, and pulled her into the crowd.

Oliver stepped back into the shadows on the side of the building, spectralized, then climbed up the wall into darkness. He moved to the edge of the building and watched as Emalie and Dean bobbed away through the crowd, safe in the world of cheery holiday light. He almost wished he could go with them. Because going home was not an option. Whatever might be waiting for him there, he at least wanted to finish this business with the photograph before he took his punishment.

Emalie and Dean disappeared into the blur of people. Oliver retreated into the shadows, to kill time alone, until later in the night.

Chapter 11

A Memory Revealed

OLIVER MADE HIS WAY
across town, staying out of the sewers and avoiding popular vampire spots like the stone troll, the roller coaster at Seattle Center, or any of the parks and ball fields. He hadn't told his parents where he would be all evening. Since it was a Saturday, he didn't need to, but Phlox probably expected him home for lunch around midnight. And missing that wouldn't really be a big deal, unless of course his parents knew about the incident at the Underground. If they did, then they might even be out looking for him now. He kept under the trees, wary of bats or owls that might be occupied. And if his parents somehow didn't know, then he'd still need to be home by dinner, but not before.

As he walked along, Oliver took a moment to gaze at the amulet around his neck. So far, it had not seemed to provide any protection. Of course, Désirée hadn't mentioned what kind of protection it offered. And who exactly did he need protection from?
I need protection from myself
, thought Oliver darkly. After all, he was the one who'd gotten his photo taken in the first place, who brought humans into the Underground.

Just after midnight, he headed for Emalie's house. The upstairs was silent, the basement dark. Oliver circled around to the basement door and silently let himself inside. He weaved through the boxes, but paused just before he reached Emalie's darkroom space.

“I'm here,” Oliver murmured.

“Wha!” There was a thud as Dean's head hit a shelf.

“Shhhh!” Emalie hissed.

The red light flicked on. Emalie was getting up from a sleeping bag that had been laid out on the floor. Dean was rubbing his head. “Man, you're quiet,” he muttered, still eyeing Oliver with a bit of mistrust.

“Come on,” Emalie said seriously. “Before my dad wakes up. Not that he will.”

“I think he's down for the count,” Dean offered. He sounded like he was trying to be sympathetic. Oliver watched Emalie for a reaction, but she didn't have one.

Oliver stepped beside her at the counter by the sink. Dean peered over their shoulders. Oliver produced the slim black bottle. The cap had a dropper, which Oliver squeezed as he lifted it off. Emalie held the negative between her fingers.

“You see the spot?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah.” Oliver squeezed a tiny drop of the shimmering silver liquid onto the blurry form in the right side of the negative. There was a slight hiss of steam as the liquid seemed to evaporate. In a moment, it was gone. The negative looked the same.

“That's it?” Dean asked.

“I think so.” Oliver shrugged.

“Let's see if it worked,” Emalie said, and slid the negative into the top of the enlarger. A metal arm held the negative beneath a lightbulb, suspended over a white surface, where Emalie placed a blank sheet of photo paper. She flicked a switch, sending a beam of normal light through the negative and onto the paper. After a moment, she turned it off, then moved the paper into the sink, dropping it into the first tray of liquid.

The three bent over the sink. Outlines of the abandoned room began to appear. The fine diamond shapes of the chandelier seemed to sketch themselves into existence…and now in the area where Oliver should have been, the outline of a figure began to emerge. Oliver could see the vaguest impression of a face. Inside, he started to sag. After all this, he was about to simply see a photo of himself.

But then that area of the photo began to glow instead of darken. Silver light burst from the page.

“Um,” Emalie began. Oliver glanced at her, but she wasn't looking at the photo; she had turned toward him.

Now Oliver sensed it, too. Crimson light. He looked down. A deep glow was brightening inside his sweatshirt. Oliver reached inside and produced the amulet of Ephyra. The crystal was burning from within, the light growing brighter and brighter.

“Guys, the photo,” Dean said hoarsely.

Silver light was rising from the paper where Oliver should have been, creating a swirling beam shooting straight up out of the liquid. The entire room was being lit in silver now, but also in crimson, as the amulet grew brighter as well.

“What's happening?” Dean asked, his voice shaking.

There was a sound of rushing wind. The silver and crimson lights became so bright that details of the room began to wash away. Oliver looked back at the photo, and, as he did so, there was a blinding flash. He lost track of sight, sound—of the entire world around him.

The next thing he saw was darkness, spotted with lights. Oliver tried to move, wondering how long he'd been knocked out, but he couldn't seem to control his arms or legs. Now he could see that the lights were those of a Christmas tree, an enormous one. There were the sides of buildings and the night sky. He was looking up and moving. The Christmas tree was passing by. Then it stopped
.

And she appeared. The teacher from that old chorus photo. Young, alive—human. Only she was dressed differently, wearing a wool coat with the collar upturned and a round fur hat. But it was her smile, above all else, that Oliver felt sure he recognized. She looked down at him tenderly. Her smile made him feel warm, safe. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, and yet it seemed so familiar
.

Now another face appeared, a man, gazing down at Oliver from behind the woman. He smiled slightly, then glanced around and checked his watch. His mouth moved like he was saying something to the woman, but there was still no sound. Now the woman spoke to Oliver. He couldn't hear what she said, though. Then she leaned in and kissed him
.

Mother, he thought with a warm certainty, but that didn't make any sense
.

The woman disappeared, and the world began to move again. The Christmas tree slid out of view. Raindrops began to hit his face. Oliver could feel them. Cold, biting sensations. His view stopped again, and the woman appeared beside him. She was fiddling with an umbrella, but then she stopped. She was looking over her shoulder. Now Oliver saw the man rush by his view, looking confused. There was a commotion—

Then the world spun. The buildings and the Christmas tree turned sideways. Oliver was falling over. Bricks appeared beneath him, but then he was caught by hands. And lifted. His mother's face appeared again—

No, this was Phlox's face. Wait, yes, that made sense. She was his mother. Here she was smiling at him with her same look of love—only Oliver felt different. He felt terrified. And there was Sebastian's face as well, but what was on his lips? It was…

Phlox's smile widened, and now she leaned toward Oliver, as if to kiss him. Except then he felt a bright, searing pain
.

Oliver's world spun once more. There was a flash of pure white, and then Oliver found himself looking down on the scene he'd just been in: an overturned baby carriage; a woman, Phlox, crouched over a baby in her arms; Sebastian standing beside her, hand on her shoulder; and the baby was screaming, but then not
.

Its face became still. Its eyes slipped closed. For a moment, a faint veil of mist seemed to circle around it, then vanish
.

Phlox stood, holding the unmoving baby, wrapped in a yellow blanket, only now with two red marks on its tiny neck. She handed the baby to Sebastian, who tucked it carefully into his long coat. They shared an embrace, looking down at the tiny child with tender smiles, and then stole off into the night
.

Oliver rose higher. The carriage was not far from the Christmas tree, and beneath its wide branches were two figures, the man and woman who'd brought him here, now lying on the pavement, unmoving
.

“Oh…” Oliver heard a voice say breathlessly
.

He found Emalie floating beside him, also staring down at the scene. She was crying. Oliver looked back, but now he was rising faster, the Christmas tree shrinking, the buildings sliding past. The night started to fade into fog, its color draining as crimson light overwhelmed his vision…

Oliver opened his eyes and saw the cobwebbed rafters of Emalie's basement ceiling.