Мелисса де ла Круз - Keys to the Repository

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked, when she found her voice.

“Oh, you mean the thing with the lights?”

She nodded.

“Dunno. For a long time, I couldn’t do anything. I was sleeping in your closet but you didn’t see me. Then I realized I could turn the lights on and off, on and off. But it was only when you started noticing that I began to feel more like myself.”

“Why are you here?”

The boy closed his eyes. “I’m hiding from someone.”

“Who?”

He closed his eyes harder, so that his face was a painful grimace. “Somebody bad. Somebody who wants me deadNo, worse than dead.” He shuddered.

“If you’re a vampire, aren’t you already dead?” she asked in a practical tone. She felt herself relaxing. Why should she be scared of him when it was so obvious it was he who was frightened?

“No, not really. It’s more like I’ve lived a long time. A long time,” he murmured. “This is my house. I remember the fireplace downstairs. I put the plaque up myself.” He must be talking about that dusty old plaque next to the fireplace, Hannah thought. But it was so old and dirty she had never thought to notice it before.

“Who’s chasing you?” Hannah asked.

“It’s compli—” but before the boy could finish, there was a rattle at the window. A thump, thump, thump, as if some-one—or something—were throwing itself against it with all its might.

The boy jumped and vanished for a moment. He reappeared by the doorway, breathing fast and hard.

“What is that?” Hannah asked, her voice trembling.

“It’s here. It found me,” he said sharply, as if he were about to flee. And yet he remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the vibrating glass.

“Who?”

“The bad . . . thing . . .”

Hannah stood up and peered out the window. Outside was dark and peaceful. The trees, skeletal and bare of branches, stood still in the snowy field and against the frozen water.

Moonlight cast the view in a cold, blue glow.

“I don’t see any— Oh!” She stepped back as if she’d been stabbed. She had seen something. A presence. Crimson eyes and silver pupils. Staring at her from the dark. Outside the window, it was hovering. A dark mass. She could feel its rage, its violent desire. It wanted in, to consume, to feed.

Hannah . . . Hannah . . .

It knew her name.

Let me in . . . Let me in . . .

The words had a hypnotic effect. She moved toward the window and began to lift the latch.

“STOP!”

She turned. The boy stood at the doorway, a tense, frantic look on his face.

“Don’t,” he said. “That’s what it wants you to do. Invite it inside. As long as you keep that window closed, it can’t come in. And I’m safe.”

“What is it?” Hannah asked, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She took her hand away from the window but kept her eyes on the view outside. There was nothing there anymore, but she could sense its presence. It was near.

“A vampire too. Like me, but different. It’s . . . insane,” he said. “It feeds on its own kind.”

“A vampire that hunts vampires?”

The boy nodded. “I know it sounds ridiculous . . .”

“Did it . . . do that to you?” she said, crossing to him and brushing her fingers against the scabs on his neck. They felt rough to touch. She felt sorry for him.

“Yes.”

“But you’re all right?”

“I think so.” He hung his head. “I hope so.”

“How were you able to come inside? No one invited you,” she asked.

“You’re right. But I didn’t need an invitation. The door was open. But so many doors were open on all the houses, and I couldn’t enter any of them but this one. Which made me think that I’d found it. My family’s house.”

Hannah nodded. That made sense. Of course he would be welcome in his own home.

The rattling stopped. The boy sighed. “It’s gone for now.

But it will be back.”

He looked so relieved that her heart went out to him.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked. She wasn’t scared anymore. Her mother always said Hannah had a head for emergencies. She was a stoic, dependable girl. More likely to plant a stake in the heart of a monster than scream for rescue from the railroad tracks. “How can I help?”

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her with respect. “I need to get away. I can’t stay here forever. I need to go. I need to warn the others. Tell them what happened to me. That the danger is growing.” He sagged against the wall. “What I ask you to do might hurt a bit, and I don’t want to ask unless it’s freely given.”

“Blood, isn’t it? You need blood. You’re weak,” Hannah said. “You need my blood.”

“Yes.” The shadows cast his face in sharp angles, and

Hannah could see the deep hollows in his cheeks. His sallow complexion. So perhaps some of the vampire legends were true.

“But won’t I turn into . . . ?”

“No.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. No one can make a vampire. We were born like this. Cursed. You will be fine—tired and a little sleepy, maybe, but fine.”

Hannah gulped. “Is it the only way?” She didn’t much like how that sounded. He would have to bite her. Suck her blood.

She felt nauseous just thinking about it, but strangely excited as well.

The boy nodded slowly. “I understand if you don’t want to.

It’s not something that most people would like to do.”

“Can I think about it?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.

Then he disappeared.

The next night, when he returned, he looked even sicker than he had before, as if he were fading—deteriorating right before her eyes. His cheekbones were so sharp and his skin stretched so tight, Hannah thought she could see the outline of his skull. He looks half dead, she thought, and wondered if someone who was undead could look half dead.

“You’re not half wrong.” He smiled.

“You read minds as well.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I can when I want to—but I didn’t even have to—I can tell from the way you’re looking at me. I look that bad, huh?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m so stupid,” the boy said, putting clenched fists up to his eyes as if he were trying to block out a horrible memory. “I should have known from the beginning—I’m so very stupid. . . .”

He removed his fists from his face and looked down at his dirty fingernails.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

The boy continued to rant in a furious whisper. “I should have known it was her. I did know, but I forgot. . . . I think she used me or something . . . inside her did . . . everything’s so muddled in my mind . . . I mean, I remember what happened but sometimes I can’t believe it did happen . . . and I feel like I’m the one who should be out there. Sometimes I feel like I am out there.”

He wasn’t making any sense, and Hannah was starting to feel as confused as he sounded. “Who’s she?” But he didn’t have to say it. This time, it was written all over the anguish on his face. Hannah felt a quick stab of jealousy. There was another girl involved. There always was. You didn’t get to look like him—weary and handsome, with those sad black eyes —and not have some kind of girlfriend baggage.

“She was very special to me,” he murmured. “But I think I’m going to have to get back . . . so I can. God. So I can kill her.”

Then he broke down into gasping, choking sobs. “I have to . . . but I don’t know if I’ll be able to. . . . I might just let it have me. . .

It would be easier in a way.”

Hannah got up from her bed and embraced him. She was not a touchy-feely kind of person but she wanted to do something to make him feel better. When her parents first separated, she was a zombie, an empty shell, devoid of feeling, but aching with a great and furious need for comfort. Her mother had tried to help, to reach out, but Hannah had resisted accepting succor from the person who was partly to blame for her misery. After all, maybe if her mother hadn’t been such a hard person to live with, her father would never have left her for