LITTON AVENUE was clear of trick-or-treaters, but the night offered the scents and sights of Halloween through the open car windows—the smell of gutted pumpkins heated from the inside by small candles that flickered through triangular eyes. Stitched mouths with sinister toothy grins were carved into the flesh of jack-o-lanterns, and the aroma of pumpkin pies and roasted pumpkin seeds carried on the crisp night air.
About two thirds of the way down the street, Lauren’s headlights reflected off something in an alley. A half-destroyed sign: Basker Street. Could it be the same Basker Street scribbled in the book Paloma gave me? I’d never noticed the sign before, but that wasn’t the first time I’d had that experience. Many times I would swear I’d never seen something, only to start seeing it everywhere I went.
Coming back tomorrow was always an option, but we were already here, and the voices had only been growing in intensity. As the Cruor blood faded from my system, a permanent solution became more and more important—and the truth surrounding my ancestor’s death was the only stone I’d left unturned.
“Stop the car!”
Lauren jerked her 1978 orange Ford Pinto to a halt. I jumped out and popped my head back inside the passenger window. “I want to check an address. Be right back.”
“Wait!” Lauren scrambled after. “I want to come, too.”
“Hey!” Ivory stepped out and yelled after us. “Where are you going?”
“Come with us,” I called, halfway to the alley. I waited for Ivory to catch up while Lauren plowed ahead.
We caught up with Lauren. I expected consuming darkness, but light slanted in from streetlamps to reveal shoe-printed gum and stains of oil on the concrete. Doors with padlocks on the outside and broken windows repaired with plastic bags and duct tape lined the alley.
Toward the end, dirty bricks framed a plain wooden door. The numbers seven and nine hung above the knocker. I could see the outline of another number; there were dirty spots around the edges, and the rest of the door was sun bleached, leaving the shade of a number three.
793 Basker Street.
“This is it.” I traced my fingers over the numbers. “This is the address from my book.”
Ivory stepped closer. “What book?”
I put my finger to my lips, trying to hear the muffled voices behind the closed door and boarded windows, but the whispers clattering in my mind prevented me from focusing on what the people inside were saying.
I frowned. Now what? Knock on the door? When I turned back to offer my friends some kind of explanation for why we’d come here, a shadow shifted behind Lauren. I screamed. She screamed in response, and Ivory laughed.
“Damn it, Charles! Don’t sneak up on me.”
He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice dark, maybe even a little angry. “You said you were going to the cemetery.”
“I saw this address in a book.” I tilted my head. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking you and your friends to dinner.” His offer didn’t sound friendly.
“How did you find us?” Did he see the car parked on the side of the road? Why was he on Litton Avenue?
“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”
I grasped Lauren’s hand and started to follow Charles. Ivory stayed a few steps behind, and Lauren kept flashing narrow glances my way.
“What’s his problem?” she asked.
“I have no—”
Several strangers jumped from somewhere above, landing almost silently to block our exit. To my left, several more stood on a fire exit, all dressed in familiar brown cloaks. They peeled back their hoods, some male and some female. Each had the same unnatural pallor, the same glistening fangs.
And they weren’t dressed for Halloween.
They must have been Cruor. Judging by Charles’ earlier reaction, he knew this too—and had known since before they showed up. So much for the idea I’d be safe traveling in a group.
There were at least a dozen Cruor. Most stood as if frozen by pain, hands balled in tight fists, teeth pressed firmly together. A few leaned toward us, some inched closer. None looked like the type I wanted to invite over for tea.
I backed away, heart speeding. Charles turned to me, jaw clenched. Lauren moved aside, pressing her back against the building’s brick wall—even she sensed something was off. Ivory took a protective stance in front of her, but I was too stressed to be surprised.
I glanced over my shoulder. More Cruor crowded the other end of the alley. There must have been three dozen or more in total. I stepped closer to Charles, and he wrapped his arm around me.
A petite, dark-haired woman stepped out of the gathering. She circled us, seemingly more at ease than her companions, then stopped by Charles and rose on her toes to put her lips close to his ear.
“Hello, Charlie.” She drew out each word and emphasized his name with a giddy lilt. She ran her fingernails slowly down the back of his neck. “Who are your friends? We’ve never met them before.”
Charles recoiled from her touch.
A tall Cruor-man with cropped blond hair glided over. Ivory pulled Lauren farther behind her.
“They don’t know anything,” Ivory said.
He tilted his head, and his lips pulled back. The expression was too unnatural to call a smile. “I could enlighten them.”
He peeked around Ivory and waved at Lauren.