Vampireville

  Alexander kindly held out his hand, like a Victorian gentleman, and with his flashlight led me down a dark two-flight staircase.

  We passed through what must have been an employee locker room. The windowless room seemed ripe for a vampire to call home. Several metal lockers remained against the wall and even a few wooden benches. It now seemed like a dumping ground for garbage, littered with pop cans, bags, and a few discarded bicycle tires. No coffins were evident.

  The basement was huge, cold, and damp. Several mammoth-size furnaces filled the center of the room. I could almost hear the deafening roar of the once-burning kindling. Now the metal doors were rusty and unhinged, and a few were lying against the cement wall.

  “Wow, with a few more spiderwebs and a couple of ghosts, this place would be perfect,” I said.

  “This could be ours,” Alexander said, holding me close.

  “We could put your easel over here,” I said, pointing to an empty corner. “There would be plenty of room for you to paint.”

  “We could make shelves for your Hello Batty collection.”

  “And bring in a huge TV to watch scary movies. I wouldn’t have to go to school and it could be dark twenty-four hours a day.”

  “No one would bother us, not even soccer snobs or vengeful vampires,” Alexander said with a smile.

  Just then we heard a barking sound.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  Alexander raised his eyebrow and listened. “We’d better go.” He offered his hand and he led me out of the basement toward the front of the building.

  In a small alcove Alexander found another staircase and lit our way back to the main floor.

  While Alexander explored an office room, I investigated a hallway filled with boxes, a piece of cardboard covering a window, and a Stone Age freight elevator.

  I removed the cardboard from the window to shed streetlight into the oversized lift.

  The heavy metal elevator door hung partially open. I couldn’t see clearly into it, so I snuck underneath the rusty door. When I stepped into the elevator, I heard a horrible screeching sound. I quickly turned around as the door slammed shut.

  I stood in total darkness. I couldn’t even see my own hands.

  “Alexander! Let me out!” I called.

  I banged my hands against the door.

  “Alexander! I’m in the elevator!”

  I felt along the side panel, vehemently trying to find a button to push. The surface was smooth. I fingered the adjacent wall and discovered what I thought might be a lever. I tried to pull it, but it didn’t budge.

  Normally I was comforted by darkness and found solace in tightly enclosed places. But now I was trapped.

  My mind began to think of the poor souls who found their fate sealed in an elevator at the Sinclair mill.

  I imagined bloody fingernails stuck to the inside door from decades of entombed young vandals.

  I felt like I was going to be trapped forever.

  I heard the cables rattling. Then heavy footsteps walked on the boards above me.

  “Alexander! Get me out! Now!”

  I wondered if the cables were still intact; if not, the elevator could plummet to the bowels of the basement at any moment.

  I even thought I heard the screams of the ghosts—until I realized the screams were coming from me.

  Suddenly the door pulled open, and I could barely see the oversized black pants and combat boots standing before me. My eyes squinted, trying to adjust to the moonlight that shined through the uncovered hallway window.

  I was standing in the middle of an oval-shaped ring of dirt, the front part messy, as if something heavy had dragged over it.

  Alexander pulled me out before the door closed again.

  I squeezed him with the little breath I still had in me.

  “You saved my life.”

  “Hardly. But I think you found something.”

  We stood at a distance and examined the elevator’s contents. Gravestone etchings covered the walls. In the corner sat an antique candelabra and a pewter goblet.

  “Jagger had the same etchings at his Coffin Club apartment!” I said excitedly. “It’s just missing the coffin.”

  “He must have left in a hurry.”

  “Why would he leave? Jagger could remain undiscovered for several eternities in this place. And this elevator could easily fit two coffins.”

  “He must have felt threatened.”

  “By the ghost story?”

  “This old elevator isn’t moving anywhere,” Alexander reassured.

  “Then what could possibly threaten Jagger?” I wondered.

  While Alexander examined the elevator, I tried to catch my breath and combed the hallway for any more clues. Next to the boxes I noticed something silver catching the moonlight.

  “What would this be doing here?” I asked, holding a garage door opener in my hand.

  Alexander came over to me and examined my discovery.

  At that moment, standing in the window right behind him, was a ghostly, attractive teen with white hair, the ends dyed bloodred. His eyes, one blue and one green, stared through me.

  “Jagger!” I whispered.

  “I know,” Alexander answered, repeatedly clicking the opener in frustration. “He was here.”

  “No. He’s here now! He’s right outside!” I said, pointing to the window again.

  Jagger flashed a wicked grin, his fangs gleaming.

  Alexander quickly turned around, but Jagger had vanished.

  “He was standing right there!” I cried, pointing to the window.

  Alexander took off and I followed him back through the factory, past the ghostly Halloween props and out the front door.

  When we reached the gravel drive, Alexander suddenly stopped next to the Mercedes.

  He pressed the keys to the car in my hand and handed me the flashlight.

  “Drive to the Mansion. I’ll meet you there in half an hour,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Please,” he said, opening the door for me.

  “Okay,” I agreed, and reluctantly got inside.

  Alexander closed the door. When I glanced back to say good-bye, he had vanished.

  I locked the door and put the key in the ignition. As the crickets chirped and Alexander continued his search alone, I grew anxious. What if something happened to him? I couldn’t hear his calls if I was miles away atop Benson Hill. I checked my container of garlic sealed safely inside my purse. I got out of the car and stuck the keys into my back pocket. I raced toward the east side of the factory with the flashlight in my hand.

  The mill grounds had an eerie quietness to them. I felt as if someone were watching me. I looked up at the sky. I saw what appeared to be a bat hanging from the power lines above me. When I shined my light on the wire, it was gone.

  I turned the corner of the factory to find Alexander pacing outside the hallway window.

  “He was standing right here,” I said.

  “I should have known—,” Alexander murmured.

  “That I wouldn’t stay in the car?”

  Alexander shook his head and pointed toward the smokestack. Not twenty feet from where we were standing I could see plain as daylight what had threatened Jagger—a giant wrecking ball.

  5

  The Key

  That night I sat in my computer chair, holding the garage door opener in my hand. I felt I held the key to cracking the Case of the Missing Twin Teen Vampires.

  In fact, an empty garage was an awesome hiding place for a vampire. If a family were on vacation, they would have to drive the hour and a half to the nearest airport, therefore giving vacancy to a waiting coffin. With no one in the residence, Jagger and Luna could go undetected long enough to seduce Trevor into their vampirey lair.

  If Alexander and I walked from garage door to garage door, it could take decades to discover which one Jagger and Luna were calling their latest batcave. By then Trevor would be “fluless” and return to pra
ctice in enough time for Luna to have sunk her fangs into him and the entire Dullsville High soccer team.

  I hardly spoke to anyone in this town, much less knew the travel plans of the other Dullsvillians. I had to figure out a way to find out who was traveling, their destinations, and the durations of their stays. How could I get access to that information? Just then an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning. Of course I couldn’t get the information—but I knew someone who could.

  The next day, after school, Becky drove me to the Armstrong Travel Agency.

  I missed the old girl. Since she’d begun dating Matt Wells and I’d met Alexander, we didn’t have the endless free time to hang out, talk on the phone, or climb the Mansion’s gates. So when we did have girl time, we made the most of it.

  “I’ve heard rumors about that white-haired girl from Romania,” she said when I got into her truck.

  “What did you hear?” I asked, perking up after a long, mind-numbing school day.

  “Well, that dude that was lurking at the drive-in when we saw Kissing Coffins was her brother.”

  “Yes…,” I began, hinting for more info.

  “Matt says they’ve been asking around for Trevor. I think the dude wants to play on the soccer team, but he doesn’t even go to our school.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, disappointed. “I wouldn’t worry about it. No one will take Matt’s position away. Not even a vampire,” I mumbled.

  “What did you say?” she asked as she pulled the pickup in front of Armstrong Travel.

  I stepped out of the truck.

  “Are you sure you and Alexander aren’t going to elope in Romania?” Becky teased.

  “No, but if we do, I’ll get four tickets.”

  I was happy to walk into Armstrong Travel in full goth garb—Herman Munster-size black boots, purple tights, and a black torn T-shirt dress—instead of their Corporate Cathy dress code of tailored skirts and blouses.

  I smiled at Ruby, who was seated at her desk, handing pamphlets to two customers. Ruby’s friendly expression strained as I stood like an ill-mannered eyesore in the very conservative business.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Ruby said, hinting at an out-of-the-way chair behind a rack of luggage tags.

  “I’m just browsing,” I said, and began glancing at a map of Hawaii.

  Finally the young couple with Mexico brochures in their hands rose. They looked at me oddly, then cowered past, as if at any moment my bat body tattoo was going to jump off my arm and bite their heads off.

  “I’ll call you to confirm,” Ruby said with a wave as the couple scurried out the door.

  “Raven, it’s great to see you,” she greeted sincerely. “What brings you by?”

  “Is Janice in?” I asked, secretly hoping she wasn’t.

  “No, she’s at the post office. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Well…has anyone in town booked a vacation in the last few days?”

  “People book vacations every day. This is a travel agency, you know,” she said with a smile.

  “I mean—”

  “Why would you want to know?”

  Well, there are these two teen vampires who are hiding out in town, waiting for the right moment to bite Trevor Mitchell. I believe they are living in a vacant garage, probably belonging to a vacationer, I wanted to say. I imagined Ruby’s pleasant face turning to shock, then horror, then her plugging away at her keyboard for a list of addresses. “You go, Raven Madison. Save Dullsville. Save the world.”

  “Uh…for a school report,” I said instead. “I’m doing statistics on spring vacations.”

  “I’m sorry, hon, but I can’t give out that information. You ought to know that; you worked here.”

  “But that’s precisely the reason I thought you’d tell me.”

  “I’d love to help, but I just can’t give out names, addresses, and itineraries,” she said with a laugh. “In the wrong hands that information could be used for home invasions.”

  “Or at least garages,” I said.

  Ruby appeared confused just as the phone rang.

  “Armstrong Travel, Ruby speaking. Can I help you make a reservation?” she said in an ultra-perky voice.

  I fiddled with the white pens on her desk.

  “Of course, let me see,” she said, and began plugging away at her computer keyboard.

  The phone rang again, this time lighting up line two of Ruby’s white phone.

  “Can I put you on hold?” Ruby asked. “Oh…you are calling from where?”

  As the red light flashed and the phone continued to ring, I spun Ruby’s lucite organizer and wondered how I could hack into their computer without the FBI finding out.

  Ruby covered the receiver with her hand. “Do you mind answering that?” she asked, pointing to Janice’s phone.

  Who did she think I was? I didn’t work here anymore, and I most certainly wasn’t on the clock.

  I went to Janice’s desk, pressed line two, and picked up the phone. “Armstrong Travel, where Spain is hot and the men are hotter. Can I book you a trip there?”

  “Do you have any specials on cruises?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Janice?” I said. “Janice, is that you?”

  Ruby glanced over at me.

  “No, my name isn’t Janice,” the caller answered. “It’s Liz. I’m interested in a vacation cruise to Alaska.”

  “Keys?” I asked loud enough for Ruby to hear. “You need car keys?”

  “No,” Liz corrected. “I said ‘cruise.’”

  Ruby looked over.

  “You’re at the post office? Your cell is breaking up. You need Ruby to pick you up?”

  “I thought you said this was Armstrong Travel,” Liz said.

  “Let me talk,” Ruby said to me. “Excuse me,” she said politely to her caller, “I need to put you on hold.”

  “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number,” the inquiring Liz said, and hung up.

  Ruby switched lines just as line two’s red light went dead. “Janice? Janice?”

  “Her cell kept dropping, then went dead. Maybe it wasn’t her—”

  “No, she’s been frazzled all day.”

  Ruby hurried over to her business partner’s desk and found a spare set of keys in her top drawer.

  “Do you mind riding these over to the post office for me?”

  This plan wasn’t for me to leave. Ruby was making this difficult.

  “I don’t have my bike.”

  “Do you have your driver’s license?”

  “I have my temps.”

  Ruby glanced at me, then outside at her white Mercedes parked in front of the agency. I could see her mind race as she imagined me screeching down the street, blasting Marilyn Manson, and returning her car with newly painted black widow spiders running alongside the exterior.

  “I’ll have to close the agency,” she said.

  “Well…,” I began, twisting a lock of hair. “I could watch the office, if that would help you.”

  “You really aren’t dressed appropriately,” she said, eyeing my morose-looking outfit. “But I guess I don’t have a choice. You wouldn’t mind staying here for just a few minutes? I hate to close the agency.”

  “Well—”

  “I won’t be long, really,” she said, gathering her purse and keys. “It would be a big help.”

  “Will I be paid the same rate as before?”

  “Paid?” she asked with her hand on her hip. “I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”

  “How about throwing in a few plane tickets, too?”

  Flustered, Ruby paused. “I’ll give you ten dollars and a coupon for a free movie.”

  “Deal.”

  “You drive a hard bargain. That’s what I’ve always liked about you,” she said as she raced out the door.

  I sat at Ruby’s desk. I flipped through a Condé Nast magazine until I saw her get in her white Mercedes and drive off.

  Now that I was employed again, even
if only for twenty minutes, it was part of my job to be informed. I logged on to her computer using the same password I had when I was in her employ. Within moments I was surfing through the itineraries of vacationing Dullsvillians.

  6

  The Hiding Place

  After my brief re-employment at Armstrong Travel, I arrived home, and geared up for my continuing mission. Wearing my Olivia Outcast backpack, I hopped on my mountain bike and headed for Loveland.

  On the good side of the tracks sat Loveland, a quiet, middle-class community filled with vintage and modern homes.

  I stopped at the corner of Shenandoah Avenue. I put on my sunglasses and Emily the Strange hoodie, so I wouldn’t be recognized, though no one else in town dressed like I did. I pulled out my list of three Dullsvillian vacationers. For seven days and six nights, three Matten families—all related—were traveling to Los Angeles.

  I felt like a gothic Goldilocks as I crept up the first driveway. The senior Matten Victorian-style house was gigantic. Their three-car garage could easily fit a few cars and a few sleeping vampires. I pressed the silver button and waited for the white door to open. It remained still.

  A few houses down, the Mattens’ eldest son’s home appeared to be way too small. The one-car detached garage could barely fit a car, much less a coffin. I pressed the door opener anyway, but the door didn’t budge.

  Determined to find my nocturnal bounty, I made my way across the street, to the third Matten house. The Tudor-style home had a backyard garage hidden by a few trees. Their two-car garage seemed just right. Only it wasn’t. The door didn’t move.

  Frustrated, I checked my list again.

  By the time I headed for Oakley Village, I felt like I needed a few blood-filled amulets to recharge my pounding heart.

  Oakley Village was a prosperous community of ultra-upscale homes. A who’s who of successful Dullsvillians. I discovered on Ruby’s computer that the Witherspoons, a retired couple who had just sold Witherspoon Lumber, were booked on a trip to Europe. They had departed three days ago and were scheduled to return in thirty days.