Vampire High Sophomore Year - By Douglas Rees Page 0,48

in perhaps an hour?”

“The New Sodom Federation for the Arts?” I said. “Who are you, exactly?” I was sure they hadn’t been in Ms. Shadwell’s binder.

“We include about forty arts and performance groups in the area,” the voice said. “Not all of them are in New Sodom, in spite of the name. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Uh—no,” I said. “Certainly not. Where would you like to meet?”

The voice gave me an address in Squibnocket.

“I’ll be there,” I said, and snapped the phone shut.

“I’ve got to get to Squibnocket,” I said. “Can you take me?”

“You want another driving lesson?” Turk said.

I told her what the voice had said.

“Whoa,” she said. “Who are these guys? And how do they just show up out of the blue? I don’t like it, Cuz. I do not like it.”

“Well then, you’d better come along to the meeting,” I said. “Make sure I’m all right.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t give away the farm,” Turk said. “If these guys are talking about paying for space, there’d better be somebody there who knows what space is worth. And that’s me. No offense, Cuz, but you’re too much of a kid for a guy like this to take seriously.”

“You’re a kid,” I said.

“I’m a pro,” Turk said. “And this is the kind of work I do. Come on.”

After we reached Squibnocket, we ended up at the edge of the business district. The address was in a neighborhood that was mostly warehouses and small industrial businesses in long one-story buildings that faced away from the street. It was quiet now, because everything was closed for the night.

“This can’t be right,” I said.

“Sure it can,” Turk said. “This is just the kind of place to get a cheap rent.” And she drove down the alley that ran between two of the long lines of low buildings.

We stopped in front of the last door.

It was an ordinary glass door next to an ordinary shop window. There was a sign over the door that said COMPREHENSIVE INSURANCE. But the space inside the shop was empty.

“What is this?” I said. “I must have got the address wrong.”

Then the door swung open and a dapper little gray-haired man beckoned to me. I was pretty sure he was jenti.

“Mr. Elliot? Please come in,” he said.

It was the voice I’d heard on the phone.

Turk and I got out of the car.

“Oh, I’d assumed you’d come by yourself,” he said.

“We’re partners,” Turk said. “Co-owners. I’m Turk Stone, the artist.”

“Oh. Well, please come in,” the little man said. He didn’t sound happy.

He held the door open and we passed by him and into the shop. Then the door slammed behind us, and a gloved fist smashed the side of my head.

“Wait, no! He’s marked,” the little man said. “And leave the girl—”

“Arthur, shut up,” another voice said.

I saw figures wearing black hoods blocking the door, grabbing Turk, grabbing me.

And then the blows came, and kept coming until I couldn’t feel them anymore.

21

I woke up the next morning, but I didn’t want to.

My eyes fluttered open, then closed, then open again. I raised my head, looked around, but nothing made sense. I didn’t know where I was.

Turk cursed. Her voice was rough, as if she’d been screaming. A lot.

Mom came over and took my hand.

“Cody,” she said, and started to cry.

“Where are we?” I asked.

It really hurt to talk.

“Oh, thank God,” Dad said.

“Hospital, Cuz,” Turk said. “They let us go when they were done with you.”

“Turk drove you here,” Mom said.

“I called the cops as soon as I was away from that place,” Turk said. “But they haven’t found anybody, of course.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“There were six of them, not counting that little bastard who let us in,” Turk said. “One of them picked me up like I was nothing. Put some kind of a sack over my head and held me while they did you. I screamed, for all the good that did. Then they threw you out, shoved me in the car, and drove off. I called your dad and asked where to take you.”

Turk’s face was like a map of the world, all different colors. They’d knocked her around, too. I couldn’t guess how I must look.

I hurt everywhere, and I was afraid to try to move.

“How bad am I?” I asked.

“The doctor says they were very careful with you,” Dad said. “Nothing broken. Nothing permanent.”

Then he sobbed, and stopped himself.

Mom cursed. An amazing curse. A jenti couldn’t have done it better.

“Cody,” Dad said, trying to