Vampire High Sophomore Year - By Douglas Rees Page 0,61

outside the windows were empty. In another year, there would have been people in costumes—witches, ghosts, aliens, everything but vampires. Not this year.

When I walked up to the bridge, there were two Burgundians guarding it. Guys I knew slightly from Vlad. They were wearing armbands and swords. Each one had a massive crossbow on his shoulder.

Where had they gotten that stuff from? Were there secret arsenals around New Sodom? And why such ancient weapons? And what weapons would the Mercians use?

“I’m here on business,” I said.

“Pass, gadje,” one of the guards said. “Duke Gregor told us to permit it.”

Around the mill there were six more guards, and four on the roof. But the yellow police tape was uncut.

Vladimir was there.

“It begins,” he said, and handed me a knife. “This is Duke Gregor’s blade. He asks that you use it for this work.”

“Here goes,” I said, and cut the tape. It fluttered to the ground and danced there in the wind.

I unlocked the door of the mill and went in.

Cold, stale air blew in my face. The frame of the wigwam looked exactly like the skeleton of some weird beast in the fading light. Except for it, and for Turk’s stuff hanging on the walls, the place was barren. It felt lonely and lost. For a second I wished Turk was back, complaining and giving orders no one listened to.

I set The Scream inside the wigwam. Then I went downstairs and turned on the turbines, then the master switches. Lights came on overhead. The building was coming to life.

I went back upstairs and met a crew of jenti with brooms and mops. Ilie was in charge of them.

“Duke Gregor has sent us,” he said. “You wish us to begin now?”

They whipped through the place while I went around turning on the rest of the lights. As soon as they were done with the first floor, a big truck pulled up out front and a couple of gadje got out.

“Where do you want us to put the piano, kid?” one of them asked.

There was even a candelabrum to put on top of it.

When Mrs. Warrener showed up, she ran her fingers over the keys, nodded, and started to play. Something sad and full of moonlight.

Ilie and his guys put down their brooms and came over to listen. We were still listening when Gregor showed up.

He was wearing combat fatigues and carrying a sword.

Mrs. Warrener beckoned him over. Quietly, he unbuckled his sword belt and joined us.

Mrs. Warrener started playing one of those mysterious songs in high jenti, and Gregor sang. Ilie lit the candles and turned off the lights in the room. Then the other jenti joined in, singing the chorus and making the walls shake. It was beautiful and sad, and when Gregor hit a high note that was just south of a wail, I shivered.

Gregor bowed, his guys bowed to him, and they left as quietly as they’d come.

“We indulge ourselves,” Gregor said. “Tonight, with everyone here and electric lights, it will not be the same.”

“It will be great,” I said.

Mrs. Warrener smiled.

“Oh, Cody,” she said. “I so hope nothing bad happens tonight.”

“In any case, we shall finish a few songs at least before—before whatever must happen happens,” Gregor said.

Mrs. Warrener blew out the candles.

The three of us stood in the near dark, not talking or moving. It was like we were waiting for something to end and something to begin, and it wouldn’t be right to rush it.

“Un ange passe,” Mrs. Warrener said.

“What?” I said.

“An angel passes,” Mrs. Warrener explained. “It’s what the French say about a moment like that.”

“We could use a few angels tonight,” I said.

“In any case,” Gregor said, “it is time to see who we do get.”

When we turned the lights back on, I saw how much Ilie’s cleaning crew had done. The redbrick walls shone and the windows glittered. Even the old dark wood of the floors glowed. Turk’s art seemed to leap off the walls. The old building was ready to party. And what would happen tonight was about to start.

There was a timid knock on the open door.

Justin stood there with a package under his arm.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Cody,” he said.

“’S’up?” I said.

“Who let you past, Mercian?” Gregor said.

“I’m not a Mercian,” Justin said. “I told ’em, whatever they were planning, I wasn’t part of it anymore.”

“Oh, thank God,” Mrs. Warrener said.

“Cody, I’m sorry,” Justin said. “I know that’s pretty inadequate, but I am. If you don’t want me here, just say