Vampire High Sophomore Year - By Douglas Rees Page 0,28

back into my human form, let it be. If I never find that last flight, let that be. I do not seek the storm because I want to die.

I seek the storm because it is my only home.

“Oooh. A tortured soul,” Turk said.

I tried the door. It swung open without a sound.

The singing stopped.

There were a couple of old couches, a ratty carpet, a few chairs, a low table, and a few other things. On one wall was a huge poster that showed an old castle and said LANGUEDOC. Another showed a deep river valley and said RHEINFELLS.

“None of this is left over from the 1930s,” I said. “It’s too new.”

“Some homeless guy’s place, I’ll bet,” Turk said.

“That’s a very good description,” a voice behind us said.

We turned and saw Gregor glaring at us. He had come in from the next room. Behind him, I could see a music stand.

He looked embarrassed. Anyway, his pale skin was dark. On the other hand, his fangs were out. Maybe he was just blushing.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“Taking over,” said Turk.

“This is my place,” Gregor said. “You are taking nothing over here.”

“Wrong,” Turk said. “We’re the new homesteaders.”

“Whatever that means, it means nothing,” Gregor said. “These rooms are mine.”

“The hell they are,” Turk said. “We own this.”

“You lie,” Gregor said. “No one owns this.”

“They do now,” Turk said.

Gregor and Turk were glaring at each other like they were ready to start punching.

“Hold on,” I said. “Look, Gregor. Turk and I did some research on this place. It turns out that nobody owns it. And according to an old New Sodom law, anybody who does certain things can claim it. That’s what Turk’s talking about.”

“There are others of these old buildings,” Gregor said. “Take one of them and leave me in peace.”

“Sorry, Gregor, it’s ours,” I said.

“Just a couple of old Yankee homesteaders,” Turk added.

The way Turk and Gregor were looking at each other was scary. Hatred was too weak a word for it.

Gregor walked over to a window and forced it open. The wood screeched in the frame, and a breath of fresh air blew into the room. “Out there is everything,” he said. “I give it to you. Why do you want this pile of dirty bricks anyway? What good is it to anyone but me?”

“I’m going to turn it into an arts center,” Turk said. “And a studio for me. Deal with it.”

“That is such a stupid idea in so many ways that I cannot begin to scorn it,” Gregor said.

“Try,” Turk said. “I’m fascinated by stupid arguments.”

“In the first place, this building would need millions of dollars to renovate,” Gregor said. “Do you have millions of dollars? In the second, it is not intended for such a purpose and will never work well. In the third, no one in New Sodom wants such a thing. Hardly anyone. No one but you, really. So who would fill this art center, and with what? Those are the first of my stupid arguments. Now let me hear your brilliant explanation of why I am wrong.”

“The money’s a problem,” Turk said. “But the big cost is the purchase price. And there isn’t one. All we have to do is get to work. And we don’t have to do it all at once. Once we get lights and heat on in here, and get the place cleaned out, we’ll be ready for some shows. And when people see what we’ve got, and what’s going on, they’ll go home thinking about what they can do here.”

“Yes. I can understand why you would entertain this fantasy,” Gregor said. “You think you are an artist and intellectual. But you, Cody Elliot, I do not understand. You are no more interested in the arts than a duck is in baseball. So why are you doing this?”

I didn’t see any reason to mention Mercy Warrener. Even to Gregor, doing something for a woman who died in 1820 would probably seem a little weird. So I said, “Ileana.”

“Ah. Of course,” Gregor said. “What does she think of your idea?”

“She says it’ll never work,” I said. “She says the jenti won’t want anything to do with it. Because of what happened here.”

“And still you go ahead,” Gregor said. “Why?”

“Because I think she’ll love it when it’s real,” I said.

“You think it would be Illyria for her,” Gregor said.

“You know about Illyria?” I said.

“I have known Ileana Antonescu much longer than you, gadje,” Gregor said. “She has told me about Illyria.”

He