Alex Van Helsing Voice of the Undead - By Jason Henderson Page 0,25

debutante has an escort.”

“Technically, junior debutantes,” Minhi said. “We don’t make a formal debut; we’re introduced, but the focus will be on the true debs, the older girls.”

True debs. This was a strange new taxonomy. Wow. Minhi and Paul at the ball, that was . . . “Why didn’t you mention this?”

Minhi looked sheepish. “Tonight is the first rehearsal. And we didn’t . . . there wasn’t really an opportunity.”

At once flush with the same tinge of jealousy he had felt before, Alex looked at Minhi. He got it. Slightly serious step, sort of romantic, heck, very romantic. He got it. They hadn’t mentioned it because they were afraid he’d be jealous. Or, let’s face it, because they simply had plans and not everything revolved around Alex Van Helsing.

Alex looked at Vienna. “What about you? Who’s your escort, the prince of Spain?”

Vienna glanced down, saddened. “My escort is in the hospital.”

Ah. Steven Merrill. Alex thought again of Steven, the one casualty of the fire, and determined that he needed to go see how he was doing. He felt responsible. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head honestly. “Jeez, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said.

“We’ll need to find her an escort, Alex,” Minhi said meaningfully.

See how this works? She’s giving you a shot. Go ahead, make up for putting your foot in your mouth at every opportunity.

Alex’s cell phone started buzzing in his pocket. He took it out and read a text that displayed on the screen:

You’re needed. Back gate. 8 P.M.

Alex blinked at the message and he felt an electric flood pulse through his body. He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, you guys have—I hope it goes great. I have to study, I’ve completely lost my way in Sangster’s class.” He looked at Paul and Sid.

Minhi understood, but she looked a little saddened. “Remember you don’t have to give us that stuff.”

“Yeah, okay,” Alex said. “It’s Sangster.”

“All right,” Minhi said finally. “We’re rehearsing. Sid? You want to come?”

Sid looked as though he’d been jumped. “Me?”

Alex was rising. He had to head back to the Kingdom of Cots and get his go package and his Bluetooth. “I think Vienna needs an escort.”

“Excuse me, I do have a say in this,” Vienna said, amused. “Sid, would you be my escort for the evening?”

“I have no idea what that—”

“Just come with us and we’ll tell you what to do.”

Alex smiled, but to do so he had to force the ends of his mouth up. He wanted to learn how to walk down a flight of stairs. “Go crazy, Prince.” Alex slapped Sid on the back. “I gotta hustle.”

Vienna looked at Alex. “Oh, Alex—Ah. My grandmother.”

He turned. “Your what?”

“My name is unusual. It’s Austrian. My grandmother was named Vienna,” she said.

Alex felt himself blush despite himself. “Thank you.”

Chapter 8

Alex was standing alone at the gate for only about thirty seconds when he heard the sound of a van approaching. In the darkness it was invisible at first, coming around the bend, and then he saw the shape of a black Polidorium van bearing down on him. It pulled between him and the gate—he had to step out of the way to give it a few feet of room, though he suspected the driver had measured his space with expert accuracy—and the van slowed to a stop.

A side door rolled open and Sangster was inside with a headset on, motioning quickly. “Come on, come on.”

The slam of a door and they were zipping into the darkness again, no lights, the road illuminated by night vision on the windshield.

“What’s all this?” Alex asked.

Armstrong swiveled around in the passenger seat up front and addressed them both. “Alex, we haven’t yet had an appropriate time to actually ask you to do something for us, but there’s an opportunity coming up that calls for your special—skills.”

“I know you’re not talking about my awesome karaoke skills,” Alex said.

“Ultravox is on a train,” Armstrong said. She was surveying a wide printout—a schematic of some kind—and folded it, setting it on her lap. “After days of chatter, Polidorium agents spotted several vampires, security types, the types that guard an important figure, getting off the English Channel ferry and disappearing into a train station in Calais, France. That’s where we lost them. But the Scholomance is expecting the crew—they’ve prepared a meal to greet him; we picked up a call for human gang leaders to turn over members they’d like to get rid of, calls to kidnap, etc. By our estimation Ultravox and his