The Vampire's Photograph (24 page)

“No, that's all right.” Phlox glanced distractedly around the kitchen. “Listen, I have to go out for a bit. That was Francyne on the phone. I'll be back maybe around midnight.”

“Okay.” Oliver noted the worry in Phlox's voice. “What's going on?”

“Nothing, it's—it's nothing to worry about, just a quick meeting of Central Council.” She hurried about, filling her shoulder bag.

“Sounds serious,” said Oliver.

“Yeah, well, gotta run.” Phlox rushed toward the stairs. “Your father's at work all night, so …” She looked back at him, her brow furrowing with concern. “You don't have any plans to leave, do you?”

“Nah,” Oliver lied.

“Okay, that's good.” Surprisingly, she left it at that and disappeared down the stairs.

Oliver drained his goblet. He was glad that whatever was worrying Phlox wasn't him for once. Still, his mom wasn't the biggest fan of Central Council, the main body of vampire government in the city. She often said that she couldn't wait to end her term as eighth district liaison. So it was definitely strange to see her rushing out on a Saturday.

But it made Oliver's life easier, as he immediately left for Emalie's before Bane woke up.

He headed across town through a light rain. The city was dreary and dark. The holiday lights were long gone, and it had rained at least a little for something like thirty straight days. That kind of thing was always hard on the humans. They started acting strange, desperate, some even jumping off bridges. Oliver could hear them carousing now, an extra-crazed edge to their voices, as he passed a row of bars. Neon signs lit the raindrops and leafless trees.

As he walked, his thoughts returned to that strange dream. What kept bothering Oliver was the way that Emalie seemed to be controlling the action. If dreams were supposed to be your subconscious telling you something, then what did that mean? It didn't make sense.

He emerged from his thoughts as he reached Emalie's house. Nervousness surged through him. It had been very hard not to come here before now. The last five weeks, Oliver had thought about it every night, but had kept reminding himself:
She doesn't want to see me. She thinks I'm a monster
. Yet here he was.

A quiet, scraping sound broke the silence. Oliver turned to find Dean stepping out of the shadows. He was holding a chicken bone and grinding it down with his teeth. Bones, especially the marrow, were a normal part of a zombie's diet. Oliver remembered walking by an entire pod grinding like that in the Underground, and the sound had been deafening.

“Hey,” said Oliver.

Dean nodded. He glanced warily up at the little house. “Maybe she's already asleep.” He sounded almost hopeful.

Oliver led the way up the brick steps of the walkway through the overgrown yard. The front porch was dark. A light shone weakly from the living room. Oliver wondered how Emalie's dad was doing. The few times Oliver had ever seen him, he hadn't looked well. And he'd been talking to Margie, Emalie's mother, as if she were in the house.

The single upstairs window was also dark. Emalie's room. He could still picture himself lying on her floor, the night before Dean had died, when he had been on the run. There was so much that Oliver had found out in those days before Longest Night, yet it had almost seemed like a dream in the weeks since, when there had been nothing else to do except get back to existence as usual. But now, being here, he remembered the feeling: knowing that his parents, his vampire parents, had been lying to him about his whole life (
Aren't they still?
he reminded himself). He'd felt safe in Emalie's room that night. Normal. He'd actually slept well on her floor.

“Let's check the basement.” Dean was stepping past Oliver with surprising decisiveness.

Oliver followed him around the house to the small ground-level window. Red light spilled from it. They peered in carefully, but found Emalie's darkroom area empty. There were no photo supplies out, no trays of chemicals in the sink, nor photos hanging up. Oliver remembered now that Emalie's camera had gotten damaged in the Underground. There was only a stack of books on the floor. They looked old, their bindings frayed. A beat-up spiral notebook was lying open on top of the pile.

“Maybe she's in the kitchen,” Dean whispered, starting toward the back of the house.

Oliver lingered, looking in at the darkroom space, its walls still made of unpacked boxes. Almost as if on cue, his side ached. It had been on that concrete floor that the amulet had shattered and showed him his true parents. He remembered the portal vision now with a rush of sadness—remembered Emalie in it with him, sensed her scent there—

Wait, no, her scent wasn't in the vision. It was here now.

“Dean!” Dean was just reaching the corner of the house when Oliver grabbed him by the shoulders and lunged forward. They flew up over a van parked in the back alley. As they landed, Oliver pushed Dean to the ground.

“Ow! What the—”

“
Tssss
,” Oliver hissed quietly.

Just then, the basement door of Emalie's house squealed. Watching through the narrow space beneath the van, they saw Emalie emerge. She was wearing a black wool sweater and a black knit hat, and had a backpack slung over her shoulder. She crept away from the house and stole off down the alley.

“What's she doing?” Dean asked as they watched her go.

“Come on,” Oliver said and started off after her.

Buy
The Sunlight Slayings
Now!

About the Author

Kevin Emerson once competed in a beauty pageant and lost (probably because he was wearing a suit of armor). He is the author of twelve novels for teen and middle grade readers, including the Atlanteans series, the Exile series, and
The Fellowship for Alien Detection
. He is also a guitarist and drummer in two bands: Northern Allies and the Board of Education. Emerson once appeared in a Swedish television commercial, knows that bow ties are cool, and also knows that Pinkie Pie is the best MLP. He lives with his wife and two young children in Seattle, where the damp, gloomy nights inspired Oliver's story.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2008 by Kevin Emerson

Cover design and illustration by Connie Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-4976-0200-7

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

OLIVER NOCTURNE EBOOKS

FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA

Available wherever ebooks are sold