“Oh, no.” Midnight sounded giddy. “We left careful back home, along with uptight and normal.”
Tana got out of the car, taking a deep breath of air, leaving the twins to bicker. It was odd to be in such a desolate place and be able to hear the distant hum of music amplified by speakers and smell cooking on the other side of the gates. Not just cooking, either. The scent of wood smoke and burnt plastic drifted to her nose from the city beyond, along with another smell, a sweet foulness that took her a moment to recognize as rotten flesh. It made her think of sitting on the rug in the living room of the farmhouse with her friends’ bodies around her.
“Winter,” she said. “Come on.”
For a long moment, he stayed where he was, staring at his sister, having an argument entirely consisting of things unsaid. Midnight played with one of her lip rings, turning it nervously. After a moment, Winter sighed and slid out of the car, slamming the door behind him.
“The faster we get back, the less can happen,” Tana said, hoping that would reassure him. She was nervous, too.
“You’re really going to Coldtown with us?” he asked, falling into step beside her as she crossed the empty black road.
“Yeah, I guess.” She took a deep breath; it was unfair not to warn them of the situation they were putting themselves in by traveling with her. “I’m infected—I think. I mean, probably. I’ve got a few hours before I’ll be sure.”
Winter looked over at her in surprise. “Probably?”
“It’s not a good thing,” she said. “Don’t act like it’s a good thing.”
He took out another black cigarette from his silver case, fitted it into his cigarette holder, and lit it. The air smelled like lemongrass and incense. “You want one?” he asked, his expression growing calculated. “They’re herbal.”
Tana shook her head. She didn’t want anyone to see the nervous tremble of her hands.
The guards watched them walk closer. One was smoking, leaning against a flamethrower about the size and shape of a rifle. The other pointed his weapon directly at Tana. Both looked bored.
“Everything okay?” the guard asked.
“Um,” Tana said. “Yeah. We want to know how to turn in a vampire for the bounty. The guy at the checkpoint called ahead…?”
The guard flicked his cigarette onto the concrete and stomped on the butt. “You kids have a vampire?” He and his partner shared a significant glance.
“Maybe,” Winter said, taking a long drag on one end of the lacquered holder.
The guard dropped down the barrel of his weapon and then leaned on it, mirroring his partner. He cocked his head to one side, evaluating them. “Okay. So if I were to go across the street—”
“Just tell us how it works,” Tana said. “We’re going through the gates—all of us—and we want a marker.”
“Oh yeah?” the other guard asked. “A bunch of kids want to go into the quarantined area with all the freaks and ticks? You get dropped on your head too many times? Your mommies not understand you?”
“You say the company in there is bad.” Winter tapped on his cigarette holder, causing a line of ash to fall to the dirt, and gave the guards his most sneering, contemptuous stare. “Seems like the company out here is even worse.”
The guards chuckled.
“The office is that way,” one of them said, pointing toward the administrative buildings to one side of the gates, built of stone, with a single window and a cheap, flimsy door. “You want to kill yourselves, go right ahead. Just fill out the forms first. And if you’ve got a vampire, well, congratulations. Just be sure he’s not some kid with red contact lenses.” They laughed again at that, clearly filing Tana and Winter into the slot of no threat at all.
“Thanks, wow, you sure are helpful,” Tana called back with clipped sarcasm, turning and walking in the direction they’d indicated.
On the other side of the wall, she heard a high-pitched wail that sounded more animal than human. She shuddered. Winter looked back at the car and took a deep, shaky breath.
After a few moments, it died away. Winter slowed his stride. “Why does he do what you say? The vampire.”
“Gavriel?” Tana shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“There must be some reason.” Winter ground the stub of his cigarette against the wall.
“He was chained up when I found him. The vampires—Aidan heard them say that the Thorn of something or another was hunting for him. It’s a Russian city—my brain’s fried and I’m blanking on it. You know the guy, though—the one who killed that journalist in Paris. Gavriel is in some kind of trouble with him.”
Little mouse.
“An enemy of the Thorn of Istra,” Winter said, an odd expression on his face. “That’s what he told you?”