Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

His tests had determined that Wyatt’s saliva didn’t carry enough of the Lupa virus to infect another human through a bite. His blood, however, could potentially infect someone if enough came into contact with an open wound. It made fieldwork more dangerous, but it was a risk I could live with.

A faint commotion caught my attention, and our lips parted reluctantly. I strained to hear, unsure what was happening or where.

“Come on,” Wyatt said.

He grabbed my hand and we jogged through the maze of quarters, toward the exit. At least a dozen people had gathered just outside, in the main corridor. Wyatt and I eased through to the front, and I gaped at what was happening.

Two large white trucks, similar to what movers use for furniture, were parked in the middle of the corridor, angled slightly so their back ends faced the entrance to the vampires’ quarters. Vampire pairs dressed in familiar black warrior gear, their white hair pulled back or braided up, took turns carrying unconscious vampires up the ramps and into the trucks. After I watched the third vampire being taken up, arms dangling, head lolling, I realized that it wasn’t just the sick ones who were being carted off.

Standing nearby in a small cluster were Astrid, Baylor, Kismet, and two vampires who exuded royalty. They wore deep purple robes, so dark they were almost black, and had purple jewels embedded in their foreheads. One was male, the other female. Tall, thin, and pale, they watched the proceedings with an intense quiet.

Kismet spotted us. Instead of waving us over, she jogged to our side of the hall.

“What’s going on?” Wyatt asked.

“The royal Father of Isleen’s family has persuaded the other Fathers to remove the vampires we’ve quarantined here. Sick or healthy, they’re all going.”

“Where?”

“They won’t tell us. He says it’s a vampire illness and his people will deal with it. Without our help—he was sure to reiterate that several times.”

I watched them drag an unconscious Quince out of the quarters and up the ramp. Kismet put a hand on my shoulder, and it kept me from bolting over there. “Shit,” I said. “Will they all be killed?”

“I don’t know, Evy,” she said. “They have their own doctors, and we copied them on the information we took off Thackery’s laptop. If there’s a cure to be found—”

“This is a mistake.”

“Astrid already tried arguing that. A lot of us did, but the Fathers are insisting on containing it themselves.”

Vampire after vampire was loaded onto the trucks, all of them allies, some of them friends. Eleri was one of the last to be taken, her skin blotchy and cracked and oozing blood.

Someone nearby inhaled hard; it was a loud, angry sound that earned my attention. I spotted Paul standing near the wall with Crow—Eleri had been their squad leader. Paul was glaring at the vampires with a kind of disgust I didn’t recognize at first. Then I understood. He clearly didn’t agree with Eleri’s removal or her treatment. His support for his nonhuman squad mates shattered the last of the dislike I’d always felt toward him, and it allowed a hint of something brand new—respect.

Even Isleen, daughter of a royal Father, was carted out the same way—like a fresh carcass. She was barely recognizable beneath the ravages of the unknown disease that I felt certain would kill her before the sun rose.

Even if it didn’t, she and her fellow infected vampires would never be the same again.

The truck doors were slammed shut, then they backed out slowly the way they’d come. Astrid and Baylor escorted the vampire royalty on foot, until they turned the corner and were gone. One-third of the Watchtower forces were depleted in minutes.

“Did the vampires pull their support completely?” I asked. “Of the Watchtower and what we’re doing here?”

“They pulled out temporarily,” Kismet said, making air quotes around the last word.

“What about the Sanctuary?”

“One of the Fathers set a magical lock of some sort. He said if anyone tries to enter, we’ll get blasted.”

I’d felt magic blasts before; they sucked.

“Our greater concern is the Fey,” she said. “We have no way to anticipate their next move, no way to prepare for or prevent it.”

“We also have the possibility of more intelligent Halfies out there,” Wyatt said. “Plus at least three Lupa teenagers.”

“Not to mention the everyday crazy street-thug Halfies and a whole horde of goblins who haven’t been seen or heard from in long enough to make me really nervous.”

Goblins. They hadn’t been a real threat since Olsmill. But that battle was three months ago, more than enough time for them to regroup and come up with a new plan. The only enemies I underestimated anymore were the dead ones—and even then, it could be iffy.

I didn’t want to think about it right at that moment, though. “You know what we’re going to do?” I said.

“What?” Wyatt asked.

“We’re going to get something to eat. Then I’m going back to bed.”

He stared. Kismet looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

“I think this has been the longest damned day of my life,” I said. “If the world doesn’t end before I wake up tomorrow morning, we’ll work out a plan. Until then, all I can really deal with is food and sleep.”

Wyatt slipped an arm across my shoulders, and I leaned into him. “Food and sleep sound fantastic,” he said.

“Says the man who spent half of yesterday in an induced coma.”

“Hey, only a few hours of it.”

“Whatever,” Kismet said, throwing her hands up. “You two find me when you wake up and we’ll see what’s what, okay?”

Wyatt and I mumbled our agreement.

The corridor was clearing out, leaving only a handful of loiterers. Leaning against the nearby wall, Paul was still staring at the now-empty vampire quarters. I used to look at him and feel a surge of anger, seeing only the boy who’d shot and killed Wyatt. Now I saw a young man, hardened by the worst job he’d ever had, sharpened by anger and loss. I saw someone so much like my former self that my heart ached.

“Paul?” I said.

He jumped, casting about for the source of the voice. “Yeah?”

“You hungry?”

Wyatt gave me a curious look that was perfectly matched by Paul. “I could eat,” Paul said.

“We’re heading to the cafeteria. Why don’t you come with us?”

Paul’s curiosity shifted from me to Wyatt, then back again. He smiled. “Okay,” he said, and the three of us set off in search of food.

On Monday afternoon, a memorial service for Michael Jenner was held in the city’s high school gymnasium. Someone called in a favor and, with school still out for the summer, the request was granted. Hundreds (if not close to a thousand) Therians filled the bleachers—more than I’d ever seen gathered in one place at any given time. The majority were Equi, but every Clan was represented—either in the audience or by their Elder.

At one time, fourteen Elders sat on the Assembly; now the Stri were extinct and only four Coni remained. Thanks to an early-morning tutoring session with Kyle, I knew the names of the remaining twelve Clans represented by the Elders seated together on a dais. Six I knew on sight because they had members in the Watch. The sorting of the remaining six remained a temporary mystery, and it was difficult to imagine that one of them could shift into a Komodo dragon.

The only person missing from the group of Elders was Phineas, who’d chosen to sit down among the other Watchtower representatives—everyone except for a skeleton crew had come. A dozen people separated us, including Tybalt, Sharpe, Milo, Marcus, Astrid, Leah, and Jackson. Even Autumn showed up, her throat impressively wrapped in white bandages, upright if a little stoned from painkillers.