Voice of the Undead (13 page)

Chapter 19

Alex slapped the purloined Scholomance device down on the conference table, right in the center of the
u
in
Talia Sunt.
He had come to HQ immediately after dropping off Minhi, calling Sangster along the way.

“What have you got there?” Armstrong said, picking it up.

The door opened and Sangster came in, wearing a sport coat and chinos and looking like he was called into meetings in the middle of the night all the time. He tossed his jacket over a chair and sat next to Alex, gazing at the small white device in Armstrong's hands from across the table.

“It's an iPod,” Alex said. “Basically, I think.”

Armstrong turned it over and pitched it to Sangster. It was about the size of a deck of cards, with no video screen but ports for speakers and USB. Unlike the Apple device it resembled, it had only one button.

“Elle left it behind when I disrupted her sacrifice, or whatever it was. Her directed killing.”

“That was unwise of her.” Sangster looked at Armstrong. “Let's have Monty look at this.”

They headed out the door and down the carpeted halls until they came to an area Alex had never seen, a large bay of computers and screens and what looked like a studio mixing board.

A man with scant amounts of yellow hair and one arm looked up at them as they entered his area. He was wearing earphones and watching a screen where Alex could see various lines representing sound. The lines were pulsing, and Alex realized he was listening to music.

“Monty!” Armstrong called, and the balding man nodded distantly.

“What is it, I'm listening to—”

Armstrong tugged the earphone jack out of the mixing board and the room filled with techno. “I have actual work for you.”

The guy looked at Sangster, Armstrong, and Alex, and rolled his eyes. “This
is
work. Look at this.” He pointed at the screen, indicating a low, fluid line that ran below the others. “See that little line down there? It's a conversation. I'm listening to some recordings we got last week in Geneva. Got some stuff on your Ultravox. Not much, though. Vampires, man, they go into town and talk. Don't believe the hype; they do drink wine.” He slid a lever and the volume receded. He turned to Alex. “Hey, you're the Van Helsing kid.”

Alex nodded. Sangster said, “This is Monty Crief, he's a communications intelligence specialist with—another agency, but we've got him for Ultravox.”

So that was what they were calling the operation, Ultravox, a whole rolling chain of events captured under one name. “What is that?” Monty said, suddenly interested. Sangster tossed the device again and Monty snatched it out of the air with his one arm.
“Cool.”

Alex said, “About an hour ago a vampire from the Scholomance played whatever is on that thing for a bunch of girls in the woods. It told them to kill a man, and they almost did it.”

Monty was plugging in the device. He tapped the button and the voice of Ultravox began to play. “
Freedom through sacrifice, freedom through sacrifice.
”

“Gotta admit, that is one mellifluous voice,” Monty said. He started bringing up other windows.

Armstrong picked up a file off the desk area of Monty's station and flipped it open, showing Alex a pencil sketch based on the person he had seen on the train. “This is the person you saw. This is Ultravox.”

“Have you matched him with anyone?” Alex asked.

“Not yet. So far this is just a guy in a peasant shirt.”

Sangster looked at the picture. “If I didn't know better I'd think we were fighting Ernest Hemingway.”

Alex thought of the Icemaker adventure. “Do you think we might be?”

Sangster said, “It's tempting, but no, Hemingway was not a vampire. Did some work for us, once, but that's a whole other thing.”

“I'm running this through the database,” said Monty. “Should just be a moment.”

Alex was surprised. “You have a database of all the vampires' voices?”

“No,” Monty said, “but there are a lot of elements out there that work their mojo through sound. There's a Malaysian vampire that sings, a whole clan of Benedictine monk/sorcerers in Germany that use chants, and on and on. As in life, there are people who deal in sound.”

Alex turned back to Sangster and Armstrong. “Here's what I don't get. The voice told them to kill the guy, okay? And Elle brought a box of knives and laid them out for them. But
why were the girls even there
?”

Armstrong folded her arms. Her freckles showed in the dim light. “Could it have been back-masked or something, into a public announcement?”

“They don't do PAs that way at LaLaurie,” Sangster said, shaking his head. “But I see where you're going.”

“I don't,” said Alex. “Clue me in.”

“There could have been a posthypnotic suggestion sent to these girls,” Sangster explained. “A message telling them to get up in the middle of the night and meet in the woods.”

Alex was looking at the file in the folder. The voice of Ultravox still haunted him, and in his mind he could hear it turned on him as opposed to the message on the iPod, which was meant for the pajama horde.
It will never get better than this,
Ultravox had said.

“Only girls were there,” Alex said, trying to focus on the task at hand, despite his distaste for the sound of the vampire's voice. “There are boys at LaLaurie now, but only girls went into the woods. Why would it be just girls?”

Sangster shrugged. “I don't think we have an answer for that yet.”

“Would this message have to be explicit?” Alex continued his questions. “I mean, as explicit as ‘get up at one and go a mile into the woods?'”

“Maybe. Could be a virus,” said Monty, who had put on a pair of headphones but could still hear them. He was sorting through several long lists of files, each bearing incomprehensible names.

Sangster had never heard of this. “A virus?”

Monty looked back, tapping a button to pause whatever he was listening to. He rubbed his forehead, clearly trying to dumb down his explanation as much as he could. “Like a computer virus. A whole set of instructions enclosed in a string of words, a magic spell, if you will. It could be in any language; if someone good—and we gotta assume Ultravox is good—he could create a posthypnotic virus that would include the instructions. All that would be left would be to inject it into the targets.”

“It could be a teacher,” Alex said. “A plant at LaLaurie. Or Glenarvon.”

Monty held up a finger, shushing them, and unplugged his headphones.

They heard a voice on an old, crackling recording. “You are going to do something now, not for me, but because you want to.”

“That's him,” Alex said.

Monty played the two recordings simultaneously, and the two droning recordings swirled over each other on the screen. “This recording was made in 1937 in Washington, D.C. It is the only known recording of Jonathan Frene.”

“Frene,” Sangster whispered, staring at the name that Monty brought up on the screen. A dossier followed, but there was no picture. Alex saw time lines running back hundreds of years. “Frene was a voice man?”

“You've heard of him?” Alex asked.

Sangster held up two fingers. “Two ways. One, Jonathan Frene is a name that pops up in vampire events a lot in the past couple hundred years. Assassinations, mainly. And second, he was seeded into a story by Algernon Blackwood, a writer and one of our agents in the first half of the twentieth century. He suggested a psychic vampire; that's someone who can suck out your will. Blackwood may have mislabeled him.”

Armstrong was looking over the dossier on the screen. “Sometimes Frene went by Cracknell.”

“That's familiar,” Alex said, puzzled, then whispered rapidly, “Cracknell, Cracknell.” Something recent. White embossed words on leather.

It's a theory book,
he heard Sid say.

Alex racked his brain. “Did Frene write any books himself?”

“Not that I'm familiar with,” said Sangster.

Armstrong peered at the screen. “There's a long letter he wrote to one of the clans in 1901 listed here. Says it got passed around a lot. It was called The Skein.”

“The Skein,” Alex repeated. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Sid found a book at the bookstore in Secheron on writing when we were looking for materials for the Pumpkin Show. It was a writing book, you know, for making stories. It was called
The Skein
, with some kind of subtitle.”

Sangster looked visibly saddened. “
The Skein
was never really published. Sid has been using this book?”

“Yes, and when he reads his stories the audience practically swoons. He's competing regularly now. I think he has a shot to win.”

Armstrong snorted. “There's your virus,” she said. “So what do you know about this Sid?”

“This Sid?” Alex repeated indignantly.

“Is he a vampire fan, maybe could be turned?”

“No, no,” Alex said. “No, he—he's a fan, but he thinks it's all fiction. Or he did. But no, it can't be that.”

“I agree,” Sangster said. “I've known him for two years. He's a solid young man.”

Monty was nodding excitedly. “With a book—with a book, it's easier. Here's how this would work, in a nutshell: Your friend gets the book. He reads from the book. The spell gets into his head. He writes things down that are influenced by the book—maybe subtly, maybe just a few words, maybe just syllables. He reads them aloud and they get heard by the girls who were the targets. And, mind you, they would be
targets.
It would be aimed at them. The girls then do whatever simple task the virus told them to do—in this case, to go wait for further instructions.”

Monty opened his hands and smiled, pleased by the cleverness of this thing that Alex didn't find all that pleasing. “With a book, it's easier,” he said again.

There was a buzz in Sangster's pocket and he fished his cell phone out, glancing down. “The victim just came in.”

“Came in?” Alex asked.

“Yeah,” Sangster said. “I'll deal with that.”

“So you tell us,” Armstrong continued. “How is it that of all the gin joints in the world, Sid walks into Ultravox's?” Alex looked puzzled, and she clarified. “Why did your friend pick
that
book?”

Alex replayed the moment in his head. They had been at the bookstore, and Sid and Alex had joined the others upstairs. Everyone was looking at
Master Plots
and Sid wanted something else. And suddenly, there had been a book thrust into his hands.

“He didn't,” Alex realized. He threw his backpack over his shoulder. “Someone picked it for him. And you know what else?
Vienna
didn't go in the woods, either.”

Chapter 20

Vienna's scarf—that had to be the key. Chances are she was marked, already a—a thrall, was what Sid had called it, a live servant of the Scholomance who went about her day surreptitiously taking orders, waiting for the moment she would become a vampire. Sid had laid it out for him, without even knowing he was being used. She'd probably been bitten, poisoned. And set loose among them. And he'd sent Minhi up to sleep in a room with her!

In the morning Alex hurried to breakfast and the coming battle, prepared for anything. He even brought his go package just in case, tucked inside his school backpack.

When he entered the dining hall, his eyes swept the room, looking for the faces of the girls he had seen the night before. Here and there he recognized them, chatting and talking as though everything was normal. None returned his gaze with anything approaching recognition or guilt.

He spotted the table along the wall where Minhi was sitting with Sid, Paul, and Vienna. As Alex approached, two girls came up to Sid.

“Oh, hey,” Sid said, shrinking a little. The two girls giggled and one of them asked him to sign a program from the last Pumpkin Show. He smiled, his ginger hair flopping about, and obliged, shrugging and laughing as if embarrassed. When they scampered away Minhi reached over and punched him in the shoulder, giggling.

“Minhi,” Alex said, taking a chair at the corner. They all greeted him, but Alex didn't hear, distracted. He was searching Minhi's eyes for a signal, some remembrance of the nightmare they had shared.

“You look awful,” Paul said. “You should eat something before you blow away.”

“I didn't get much sleep,” Alex said.

“You're telling me,” Paul responded. For a moment Alex wondered if he was aware, if somehow Minhi had already told him. Paul continued, “Those sheets are driving me insane. I feel like we're in some kind of hospital.”

Alex shrugged, looked back at Minhi. “How about you?”

“Me?” Minhi stopped, mid-chew. She gestured with her toast. “I swear you can hear the snoring coming all the way from Boys Town, but that might just be Vienna.”

Alex blinked. Vienna frowned with worry. “Alex, what's wrong?”

“It's, uh . . .”—he looked at Minhi again—“do you have a sec? I wanted to ask you about something.” He felt himself making a face that was obvious and huge, and she put down her toast.

“I'm gonna get some more juice,” she said slowly.

Paul watched them go with interest but then went back to talking to Sid.

Alex walked with her. “So?” he said. They reached the serving table where an orange juice dispenser sat next to a neat stack of glasses.

“So?” she repeated.

“So, what are we gonna say? How are we gonna do this?”

Minhi thrust her glass under the dispenser, her narrow face showing confusion and a hint of irritation. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you already tell Paul? Listen, Vienna might be compromised. I mean, you know, she might be in on it.”

“You're acting really weird, Alex,” she said, and she poured him some orange juice.

Alex took the glass, staring at her. It was impossible to imagine that she didn't remember a thing. “You walked back with me. You were
awake
.”

“What?” Minhi looked back at their table and for a moment he felt sure she was going to drop the facade; surely this was a ruse because she had already figured out that certain people couldn't be trusted. “I don't know what you're trying to say or do, but I don't like it.”

Alex's heart sank with realization. He had to try once more. “You don't remember any of it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Minhi said, and her eyes looked a little sad. “And it's really kind of getting upsetting.”

“Okay,” he said. “It's just . . .” What was there to say? She had erased the whole thing. The same vocal virus that had woken up the girls had also erased the entire event once they went back to sleep. He was certain of it; she wasn't faking.

They got back to the table and Alex sat down with his orange juice.

“Look at this,” Paul said, gesturing at him. “A breakfast consisting entirely of liquid. I think maybe
you're
a vampire.”

Alex dutifully smiled, but he caught Vienna's eye. She looked concerned, as though she had been watching them the whole time. “I was just asking Minhi if maybe we can do something to celebrate Sid's newfound celebrity,” Alex said as another girl tapped Sid on the shoulder and gave him the thumbs-up.

“There's another reading this weekend,” Paul said brightly. “You got a new one, then?”

“There's something new,” Sid said. “This one is about music.”

“Oooh, sounds cool,” Paul said, clearly proud of his friend's accomplishments. “If it's already written, maybe we can all hang out tonight. The ball's not till tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” said Alex. Perfect, except that Sid was passing along a spell. He was Typhoid Sid.

“These stories you do are
like
music,” Vienna said, smiling. “But as a Spaniard I'm waiting for one about the tango.”

Everyone in the room started to jostle and rise, and Minhi looked at her watch. It was time for class. Alex realized on top of everything else, he was hungry after all. But it had to wait.

They began carrying their trays to the front of the dining hall, and Alex came up next to Vienna. “Vienna.”

“Alex,” she replied, almost officiously, responding to the tone he'd taken.

“Can we talk?” he said.

Vienna stopped and put down her tray, turning to him brightly. “Absolutely.”

Alex nodded good-bye to the others, and he and Vienna walked out of the dining hall in silence. He saw Paul throw him the thumbs-up and Alex rolled his eyes. They got out into the hall and he stopped by a tall window near a door. “I need you to do something.”

“I have already given up a sleeve,” Vienna said, laughing.

“I need you to take off your scarf.”

Vienna maintained her cheerful grin. “Never, it's my air of mystery.”

“Vienna,” Alex said seriously. “Please.” He knew exactly what he was going to see. He wasn't sure if the marks—fang marks, delivering the poison—would be new or old, but he knew they would be there.

The smile drained from her face. “Alex, please, I can't. Don't ask me.”

“Please don't say that,” Alex said. Opening the door, he led her outside where he was able to raise his voice. “Look, I don't know what's going on, but I think you're not a . . . a bad person, but I need you to do this.”

She started walking away. “Leave me alone.”

“Vienna, if you're in some kind of trouble, I can help. I can help you.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Take off your scarf!”

“You don't know what you're asking
.
”

Vienna was running now, and Alex chased after her. She ran across the lawn and picked up speed, and he followed. She ran until she had stopped in the woods, her back turned to him. He saw her head wobbling, as if she was crying.

Alex stopped behind her, panting for breath. “I just need to know if you're one of them.”

“I can't. It's not time, maybe someday it will be time, but it's not time.”

He came around in front of her. “Just this once.”

“Alex!” She seemed so vulnerable, and he kept his hands down.

He wasn't about to take the scarf from her by force. “Look, I can't make you,” Alex said. “I won't make you. But I need you to show me. I need you to take off the scarf.”

“It's not time.”

“I saved your life!” he said. “I thought Elle was going to kill you.”

“And what?” she said. “I owe you?”

This caught him like a slap in the face and he felt instantly ashamed. “They're good people,” Alex said, looking down. “Sid and Paul and Minhi. I'm worried and I think this is the answer. Please.”

Vienna put her hands to her eyes. After a long moment, she sighed and reached down. In one deft flick she pulled the scarf loose. It flowed like a streamer to the earth, green and shimmering.

And then her head fell off.