“Yes,” said the Warrior.
Flanked by my Warriors, I went to the front door, trying to see through the darkness and the large, lazy snowflakes that didn’t seem to ever want to end. I could make out three figures. They were moving slowly but deliberately, trudging their way through knee-deep snow, following the currently invisible drive that led directly to us in the rear of the building.
“They know where they’re going,” Stark said.
“They have to be from the other world. None of our Warriors are on foot,” Darius said.
“Well, let’s see what they want.” Stark unslung the bow from his back and put his hand on the door.
Grandma’s voice stopped him. “Just a moment, tsi-ta-ga-a-s-ha-ya. I do not believe you will have need for that bow.”
“What do you know, Grandma?” I asked, still staring out at the approaching vampyres.
“I have a feeling, Zoeybird. And my feelings are rarely wrong.”
I could hear more Warriors filing in behind us, but I didn’t take my gaze from the vampyres. Silently, I cursed the snow, wishing for a bright, shining full moon—or at least a pair of binoculars. I was just opening my mouth to ask a Warrior to go find me some, when the leader of the group—the kid who was walking in the middle of the other two and kept helping them when they stumbled—did something that was so simple and so familiar that I knew beyond any doubt who he was.
Kevin cracked his knuckles. It was a thing he’s done since he was a little kid. I remember Mom used to tell him to stop and that he’d make his knuckles big, but he always laughed and made a joke. And back then—back before our mom married John Heffer, the step-loser, and completely lost herself in being his perfect wife—Kevin could make her laugh at the silliest little kid jokes in the world. Barbie and I used to make fun of him—call him “mommy’s boy” and force him to steal chocolate chips and ice cream from the kitchen because it was true. He was definitely Mom’s favorite. If he was caught, he’d just make Mom laugh and we’d all eat chocolate chips and ice cream.
Now all I could see was that little boy—the one whose bangs had been cut too short by Mom’s money-saving home haircut. I rushed out the door. Stark grabbed my arm, but I shook him off. “That’s my brother. I know it is.”
“Then wait here. Let him come to you where you’ll be safe,” Stark said.
“No, I—” Then I looked at my Warrior. His gaze was filled with love and worry.
“I don’t want to keep you from your brother. I just want to keep you safe, Zoey.”
I nodded and stepped back inside. And waited.
It seemed to take forever, but the three vampyres were finally close enough that I could make out their faces. I’d been right. Other Kevin was the one in the middle. He had his arm around the waist of the vampyre on his right, and his hand under the elbow of the one on his left. Both looked older than him, and both looked in worse shape than my brother.
As they approached the door, I saw Other Kevin’s eyes scanning the crowd, and knew the moment he saw me.
He stopped. He said something to the men with him, and then he walked on while they stood where they were, heads tucked down against the cold and the snow, arms wrapped around themselves.
Other Kevin got to the door and I opened it.
We stared at each other. I felt happy and sad and I didn’t know what to do. My little brother spoke first.
“Zo! You’re alive!”
His face broke into a huge smile and he started toward me. I moved to him. We met just in front of the open door, and I hugged him so hard I heard the breath whump out of him. But Kevin didn’t let me go. He didn’t move back. He just stood there, hugging me, saying, “You’re alive … you’re alive … you’re alive …” over and over.
Then Grandma was there, too, and Other Kevin exclaimed in happiness, pulling her into his arms with me. He pressed his cheek against the top of Grandma’s head and burst into big, snotting man-tears.
Zoey
We took care of Kev’s men first. He introduced them as Marc and Dave, soldiers in Neferet’s Red Army. Darius took them to the basement rooms where Other Jack and Damien brought them a change of clothes and food. They spoke very little and moved slowly, startling at small sounds and shadows.
I knew they’d been part of the group that had killed humans and our fledglings. But as I watched them, I felt nothing but pity. They hadn’t asked to have their humanity taken away. I was seeing them as they truly were, or rather had been before they’d been Marked red and Changed. It was clear that they were traumatized and barely holding on to what was left of their sanity. They were living a hell—and that was more punishment than the TPD or I could ever give them.
Kevin was different. He seemed less in shock and more in control. Grandma, Stark, and I waited outside the basement room we’d assigned to him. When he finally emerged, hair wet and sticking up crazily, face freshly scrubbed, wearing a pair of Stark’s old jeans and a T-shirt that said oklahoma is ok in bold letters across it, I could hardly breathe. I could still see the cute, kinda annoying little brother I used to torment, but he was so grown up.
“You look better,” Grandma said, reaching up to pat his cheek.
He grinned at her. “You didn’t bring any of your lavender and chocolate chip cookies, did you?”
I spoke without thinking, my big-sister-ness taking over automatically. “Jeesh, you’re such a garbage can.”
“So you’ve always said, Zo.”
My heart hurt when he called me that. In my world, Heath Luck, my grade school and high school sweetheart, had been the only person to ever call me Zo. Heath was dead and no one had called me that for almost a year.
“Of course I brought cookies. There might even be some left. I’ll get them.”
“We’ll be in the dining hall. I imagine you’d like to eat more than just cookies, right?” said Stark.
“Right you are,” Other Kevin said.
“I shall meet you there. With my cookies.” And like he did it every day, Other Kevin bent down so Grandma could kiss his cheek before she hurried away, humming happily to herself.
“You got really tall,” I managed to say with a smile.
“Thanks. Our tattoos look a lot alike.”
“Right? It’s weird,” I said.
“And you have a bunch more of them than I do. Did an artist do that, or did Nyx?”
“Nyx did it,” I said as Stark and I led Other Kevin from the basement up through our House of Night. “There was a time when a new tattoo from Nyx was the only way I knew I wasn’t totally messing everything up.”
“I can understand that. Wish she’d give me some tattoos when I did something right.”