Alex Van Helsing Voice of the Undead - By Jason Henderson Page 0,40
rare,” Dad said.
“And now you’re all professorly about the witch-to-vampire ratio, Dad! When were you going to let me in on this?”
The three of them looked at one another. His mother’s arms were crossed, and she looked a bit defensive, his father with his fingers laced together, gazing down. He couldn’t hide that he seemed to think this was funny. Finally his father said, “We discussed it on the plane and honestly, we came to the conclusion that you probably knew most of it by now.”
“That’s not—that doesn’t even come close to—that’s just about whether you were going to talk about it, when were you going to tell me?”
“You know how when you’re little and you believe in Santa Claus? We need some fresh air,” his mother interrupted herself. She whispered something in a language he didn’t recognize, and one of the windows slid open. She looked back at him, flipping her hair out of the way. “Anyway, it’s always nicer if the kids find out first by themselves.”
“Yeah!” Dad agreed. “They see you taking down the presents, and then they help.”
“This isn’t Santa Claus,” Alex spat. “Santa Claus turns out not to be real. The vampires went the other way.” He sighed, shaking his head, and breathed slowly. “When I got kicked out of Frayling, the boy I fought with was—”
“A werewolf,” Dad said. “And we talked about telling you then, but we thought we could give you a few more years of, you know, innocence might be the word.”
“Did you know that the Polidorium was here at Lake Geneva?”
“Well, I know they’re everywhere, but no, I did not know that they had a large base here. And I also didn’t expect that you would wind up working with them.”
“They gave him a motorcycle,” his mom said, clucking in disapproval.
“I didn’t expect that either.”
“I don’t understand,” Alex said, “I mean, any of it, but right now I don’t understand what you know. How much—what do you—?”
“What do we know about your activities here?” Mom asked.
“Right, that’s a start. We’ll trade information.”
“I would advise you not to do that unless we ask,” his father said rapidly. Ever the company man.
“It started with a vision,” Mom said, “during a meditation session. It was a vision of a powerful witch, angry with you, but weak, unable to stop you.”
“I haven’t met any witches,” Alex said again. “Do you mean someone at the Scholomance?”
Mom shrugged.
Alex asked, “What else did you see?”
“That vision was not mine,” said Mom. “It was—someone I was meditating with.”
“Uh, okay,” Alex said. Briefly he wondered who the other witches in his mother’s life were. She belonged to roughly a dozen charitable boards—was there a coven among them?
“And then I looked for you, spiritually looked for you—that’s hard to explain. But I didn’t see any danger.” She looked at Dad. “But that wasn’t good enough for me; I had your father do some checking up.”
“After that it was easy. The Polidorium can be leaky sometimes,” said Dad. “I got into some minor databases and saw some of the equipment that had been issued to you. I talked to some people I know.”
“Do you know Sangster?”
“Your teacher?” Dad asked.
“Right.”
“What did I tell you about only if we ask?”
“Okay,” said Alex helplessly.
“So it seems like you’ve gotten involved,” said Dad, “a little earlier than we’d hoped, but honestly this conversation was gonna happen sometime.”
“He’s fourteen years old, Charles,” said Mom.
“Oh, come on, Amanda, it’s Alex, he’s a survivalist—we had soldiers in the Revolutionary War who were fourteen.”
“You said,” Alex broke in, “that we need to make a decision. So, who makes it? Would that be me, or would that be you?” He almost wanted the release of them taking charge. When he first started working with Sangster he had felt nothing but the rush of adrenaline every time he saw the Polidorium emblem, but now, with Vienna, and the Merrills, things had gotten . . . complicated.
“Is that what you want?” Mom asked, leaning forward. “Do you want us to decide for you?”
“Well . . . ,” Alex said.
“Because I know what I would choose,” she said intensely. “I would choose that you come home. It’s not safe. It’s too early to give up your life.”
“There’s no reason to think he’s gonna give up his life.” Dad scowled. “They have all the equipment, and a lot more backup than he would in Wyoming.”
“And they wouldn’t come looking for him if he hadn’t gotten involved in your little fraternity.”