have all of these opportunities around you, but you’ll bungle them. The young ladies around you, you can’t seem to decide what to do about them. And I’ll tell you,” the man with the scratchy face and liquid voice continued, “that’s really just as well. You can believe that you would have found happiness, but most people don’t. You won’t; at this rate you’ll be a slave to what you really want to be doing, running around playing cops and robbers. It’s not going to get any better, and it will only get worse. But that’s all right. Tomorrow you can think about it some more.”
Ultravox came around and patted him firmly on the shoulder. “What you want to do now is get some rest.”
It was true. Ultravox was working for the Scholomance but you had to hand it to the guy, what he said always made sense. Alex had allowed Steven to be hurt, had allowed both Merrills to become vampires. He hadn’t prevented his school from burning up. He had disappointed his friends tonight, and for what? There wasn’t any stopping beings that were always going to be stronger and smarter and . . .
Ultravox stepped ahead of him and reached into the bunk. A block of shiny metal sat on the bed, and then as Ultravox spoke Alex realized he had been wrong. “Someone left some bedding here,” said Ultravox. The block of metal shimmered and Alex blinked, and it was just a pile of blankets and pillows. “Let me get it out of the way.”
Ultravox picked up the bedding and set it aside—Alex saw it shimmer, flashing with metal and then smoothing over again—and the vampire put his hands in his cotton pockets.
“It’s a universal feeling, you know. We all ruin our lives in our own ways. I myself had the greatest voice ever known, and I squandered it quietly, living in the shadows. Letting people like Icemaker take all the glory, letting people like your various relatives—few of whom were nearly as resourceful as you, by the way—disrupt any little plan I had going. Your family has certainly been . . . a constant joy, to me and to the Scholomance.
“Six months ago I was offered the ball project. Big targets, and a noble cause. The Scholomance didn’t want the treaty and they knew I’d be the best choice for finding a way to eliminate the key players. And this will come to pass. But a month ago, the richest target of all came along: another Van Helsing. An active one.” The vampire came closer and spoke in his ear. “I can do with my voice what Icemaker couldn’t do with an army of thousands: eliminate you. The Scholomance will have no choice but to finally give me the recognition and authority I deserve.”
Ultravox patted Alex on the shoulder. “Bury all that now. Rest,” he said. “Your limbs are heavy and none of it matters anyway.”
The mellifluous voice dripped through Alex’s body, moving him, of course. He stepped forward, grabbed the inside of the bunk, and hauled himself up, lying down. He wanted to sleep. Otherwise he would just keep thinking about how it wasn’t going to get any better.
“I had heard that you might be the exception,” Ultravox was saying. “The only one of your family in generations who had that extra something that your ancestor and his mad son had. But no, you’re just another adventurer, like your father. Not unimpressive—but hardly my problem.” He sighed. “If you think about your life, you will see a fog crossing, enveloping you. It’s better in the fog, where you can rest, and all of this goes away. It should be just a moment.”
Alex barely heard Ultravox say, as he was walking away, “Good night, Van Helsing.”
Chapter 31
In the ballroom Paul returned from the punch bowl to find a blank space where Minhi had been standing.
He kept his chin up—not one to go about slouching was Paul—but he had to admit this date was going poorly.
“Is that champagne?” Vienna spoke, and Paul looked up to see her standing with her father, who was the ministro de something or other.
Paul held out one of the glasses. “It’s, ah, sparkling . . . fruity something or other.”
She took the glass. “And to think the crystal is Lalique,” she said. “This just seems wrong.”
Vienna’s father was round at the middle and mustachioed, and he could have passed either for an aged matinee idol or a mustache-twirling cartoon villain. Paul