Second Chance
The doorman at Night Hotel opened the door for Joss and smiled. Just after Joss stepped into the lobby, Dorian appeared behind him, walking with him, as if they’d arrived here together on purpose. The doorman’s smile grew. “Good to see you back, sir. I see you found your friend. Shall I send up something to drink in a few minutes? The house red, perhaps?”
Dorian smiled and shook his head. “I believe that Mountain Dew will do just fine for my young friend here, Albert.”
Albert smiled. “Of course, sir. Anything.”
Standing sentinel in the black-on-black lobby were two large, white pillars. Black leather chairs filled the space, kept company by smidges of white in the animal skin chairs and orchids adorning the shiny glass tables. The carpet was black with white, old English monograms. N for “Night.” It was a cool hotel—old and funky, but so very modern— and he hadn’t yet left the lobby.
As they passed the front desk on their way to the elevators, a woman in her early twenties flashed Dorian a smile. “Good afternoon, sir. Shall I send up some of the house re—”
“No. Thank you.” Dorian held up a hand, cutting off her words. Joss thought that maybe the house red wine was the best thing that the hotel had. It had to be. Otherwise, why would they be practically shoving it down Dorian’s throat?
He slowed his steps. House red. That was what the bartender at V Bar had offered Joss. It was a code word. For blood. Because Dorian was absolutely a vampire.
And Joss’s stake was nowhere to be found. He was unarmed, and in the company of an enemy. What was he thinking?
As they stood waiting for the elevator, Joss wondered exactly what he was doing. He didn’t know Dorian at all, and yet here he was, following this strange vampire upstairs to his hotel room. As the door opened, music by The Cure pouring out from inside, Joss hesitated. Dorian stepped inside, holding the door for him. After a moment that seemed to drag on into eternity, Dorian lowered his head, locking his eyes with Joss’s. “Joss. It’s okay. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Had Joss heard right? It had almost sounded like Dorian had placed emphasis on the words ‘you’ and ‘me.’ As if Dorian might have something to fear from Joss.
Joss debated turning around and running from the hotel, but something in his chest settled, and a calm washed over him. Before he knew he was doing it, Joss stepped inside the elevator, and they were on their way to the penthouse floor. Beside him, Dorian smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Joss. We have so much to discuss. I’m not one to interfere unnecessarily, but this is important. More important than anyone realizes. Even you.”
“Even me?” Joss furrowed his brow in confusion. It all seemed so ominous. So surreal. And he still wasn’t sure what he was doing here, or why he was going along with this little field trip, when he knew that Dorian was a monster.
The elevator door opened, revealing a small foyer. It was wallpapered in something that resembled black and white speckled fur. To the left and the right were locked doors. Dorian explained, “There are two penthouse suites. I normally stay in the one to your left, the one with rooftop access, but important guests are at the hotel tonight, so I’m calling the smaller penthouse home for now.”
Joss stared in disbelief. “You . . . own this place?”
Dorian pulled out a key card and swiped it through the reader of the door on the right, smiling all the while. When he pushed the door open, Joss almost gasped. The walls inside were papered in black and white, featuring large, ornate thistles. The carpeting was rich black, and the room contained only an oversized black leather chair, reading lamp, and a small desk with a computer on it. It was the strangest hotel room that Joss had ever seen—not that he’d seen many.
Dorian led him out onto the balcony and closed the door behind them. Moments later, room service served them with a silver ice bucket, holding a two liter of Mountain Dew, and a single long stem glass. The man poured the glass full and handed it to Joss before turning to leave. Joss took a sip, and then looked at Dorian. “Don’t you want any?”
“I never drink . . .” He took a breath, one that felt like it went on for ages. “. . . Mountain Dew.”
They sat there, in the warm breeze, and Joss emptied his glass and said, “Why did you bring me here, Dorian? What is this?”
Dorian stood and moved to the edge of the balcony, peering over it to the traffic below. “You know what I am, Joss.”
Joss’s heart picked up its pace. Again, he thought of his stake and how much he wished he had it with him now. “Of course I do. You’re a vampire.”
Dorian’s shoulders lifted and fell slowly, as if he were taking a very deep breath. When he spoke, Joss could just barely make out what he was saying. “And yet I live.”
At first, Joss raised an eyebrow. Live? Was he expecting Joss to kill him? Hoping, maybe?
Dorian turned back to him briefly. Just long enough to direct his gaze to a small table near the door. On top of it lay a wooden stake. Joss’s stake. He picked it up.
Dorian looked up at the sky for but a moment, but when he turned back to face Joss, the glass dropped from Joss’s fingers, crashing on the floor between his feet.
Fangs filled Dorian’s mouth. He bared them at Joss, growling. “Go on! Do it, Joss! For both of us! Get it over with!”
Joss shook his head, but he wasn’t sure what message he was trying to convey. He was a Slayer. Dorian was a vampire with a death wish. What part of this was he having a problem with? Dorian nodded slowly. “Please, Joss. Please. I grow so very weary of all the tasks that lay before me. End this. Now.”
Joss swallowed hard, resisting the urge to grip his stake. Not yet, anyway. “Where did you get my stake, Dorian?”
Dorian’s fangs retreated, his shoulders slumped, as if in defeat. “Initially, from your great-great-great-grandfather. He was a nice man, if not a little on the stubborn side. He tried to kill me, and as he lay dying, he reached for his stake, to hold it as a small comfort as he passed from this life into oblivion. I handed it to him, watched him die, and then packed up the kit. The moment I touched it, I saw a face in my mind.”
Dorian stepped closer, looking as if he were examining Joss’s face the way one might examine a painting. Joss couldn’t help but wonder what Dorian saw between each brushstroke. Then Dorian stepped back with an apologetic glance. “Your face. I knew that I would find you someday, and that when I did, I had to give you that kit. I had to give you that stake. And then, once I realized that it had been taken from you, I knew that I would have to return it to your hand, to arm you once again with the tool that you will eventually use to take my life.”
Joss shook his head. He reached for his stake, but slid it into place at his back without so much as pointing it in Dorian’s direction. His words were merely a whisper in the night. “But . . . why? You’re a vampire. I’m a Slayer. It makes no sense for you to help me.”
A sadness settled into the corners of Dorian’s mouth then as he looked at Joss. “Because, my young friend. You’re the boy that I’ve been dreaming about. You’re the boy who’s going to end my life. And I am an impatient fool.”
Joss’s heart sank, betraying him.
Even though he trusted Dorian’s words—and oh, how he hated the fact that he did, not knowing whether or not that trust had been put in place by himself or Dorian—he thought about where he was, and the fact that if he screamed, he wasn’t sure anyone would come running to help him. After all, Dorian owned Night Hotel. He was fairly certain that the staff would do just about anything to protect him and his interests. Swallowing hard, he looked into Dorian’s eyes and ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck before speaking. “Dorian, are . . . are you going to kill me?”
A hint of a smile touched the corners of Dorian’s lips. He didn’t seemed surprised to hear Joss’s words, merely amused. As if he’d just listened to a joke that had tickled his funny bone many years ago. When the smile finally faded, he shook his head slowly at Joss, as if his next words were the most im
portant that Joss would ever hear. “No. But I am going to warn you. Em knows who you are now, and knows that you still live. She will not touch you while I am at home in my fair city, but that won’t protect you once you leave. She will stop at nothing to make you suffer. You must be extremely careful, my friend.”
Dorian looked at him for a long, silent moment before turning away. His next words were a whisper. “Now go.”
Joss stood. He crossed the room, moved into the hall, and was all the way to the lobby before he realized that he’d done just what Dorian had told him to.
He felt hollow. He felt alone.
25
HOMEWARD BOUND
That afternoon, Joss sat in a hard blue chair that was bolted to a row of other hard, blue chairs in LaGuardia Airport, waiting for the ominous voice from above to tell him it was time to board his plane, and travel to a place where he ceased to be Joss McMillan, Vampire Slayer, and became Joss McMillan, Invisible Boy. The drastic shift that he was about to experience, not to mention the conversation he’d just had with Dorian, left him sinking down in his seat, unwilling to be the pleasant actor that had flown here just two and a half months before. He didn’t smile, didn’t make eye contact with passersby. He merely sat, his heart breaking over two very different things, and waited for the voice to tell him it was time to go.
He could understand being upset over his parents and their treatment of him—even though he really didn’t get why they’d changed so drastically after the loss of Cecile. But he couldn’t quite understand why Dorian’s admission had bothered him so much. So Dorian had dreams about him in which Joss staked him. So what? Why did that bother Joss? He was a Slayer. And frankly, if Joss ended up staking him sometime in the future, then it probably meant that Dorian deserved it, right? Right.
So why did it trouble Joss so deeply?
Because, the tiny voice in the back of his mind prodded, deep down, whether or not Joss wanted to admit it, he liked Dorian. Despite the fact that Dorian was a monster.
The idea that Joss really liked a vampire, one who’d given him absolutely no reason at all to despise him, sickened Joss. He would have given just about anything at that moment for Dorian to be something else, something other than the bloodsucking monster that he was.
That Vlad was. That Sirus had been.
And Joss was going to kill him. He was destined to kill Dorian, and the truly twisted thing was, he wasn’t at all certain that he wanted to. Maybe that was because he didn’t like the idea of having his actions decided for him. He wasn’t sure. But it certainly didn’t sit well on his mind.
He couldn’t tell anyone, of course. He couldn’t tell his uncle or the other Slayers about any of this—except for maybe Morgan. In fact, Morgan might understand his situation better than anyone, what with having a vampire for a brother. Straightening in his seat just a little, Joss made a mental note to speak to Morgan about it the next time they saw each other and picked up his carry-on bag. The ominous voice from above bellowed out his flight number and his group number for boarding, so Joss stood up and shuffled into line with the other passengers.
He’d just slid his small carry-on under the seat in front of him and buckled up for the ride when his cell phone buzzed inside his pocket, as if reminding him that it was just about time to turn off and put away all electronic devices. Joss withdrew it, and wasn’t at all surprised to see a text from Kat.
I LEARNED A LOT ABOUT YOU THIS SUMMER, JOSS. AFTER I GET BACK FROM SIBERIA, YOU AND I ARE GOING TO FACE OFF. I HOPE YOU’RE READY.—K
Joss took a deep breath and typed in a return message before hitting SEND.
READY. NOT WILLING. BUT READY. IF YOU INSIST, KAT.
Before he could put his phone away, it rang. Raising an eyebrow at the number on the screen, he flipped it open, pressing it to his ear. “Uncle Abraham. Did I forget something?”
A strange tightness settled into his chest. He liked his uncle, but was still slightly afraid of him. He never knew what to expect when Abraham opened his mouth. And Abraham never called him. Ever. In fact, if Paty hadn’t added his number to Joss’s contact list last summer, Joss wouldn’t have recognized the number at all. He slid down in his seat a little and waited for the tightness in his chest to subside.
“No, Joss, but I’m afraid that I did.” Abraham’s voice sounded warmer in tone than it had all summer. The flight attendant waved a hand at Joss and pointed to the phone as if to tell him that it was time to put his phone away, but Joss held up a finger in response. He needed two seconds for this phone call. Besides, the guy across the aisle was still using his laptop. Couldn’t she go bug him? “I didn’t get a chance to thank you, nephew.”
Joss didn’t mention it, but there were many chances to say something while they were at the brownstone. They’d shared two dinners after fighting off the vampires in the park. Why couldn’t he say anything then? But then, Joss was feeling a bit shocked that his uncle had called at all, let alone to thank him for something, so his mind was all over the place.
Abraham said, “You were given a task that, to date, none in the Society had been able to complete. And you pulled it off. I’m proud of you. I just wanted to say that.”
Joss sat back in his seat, his jaw dropping into his lap. Compliments and gratitude were two things that just didn’t seem to fit with his uncle’s personality. Being on the receiving end of both combined was enough to send Joss into a state of utter shock. His fingers loosened, sending the phone falling. Luckily, it landed in his lap and was easily retrieved. As he pressed the receiver to his ear again, he said, “Thank you, Uncle. Seriously. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Abraham paused, as if he wanted to say more, and Joss wondered briefly what that more might have been. Criticism? Further admiration? Did he dare question? “Keep up the good work, Joss. I’m headed to London in the next few weeks. I’ll be sure to pass on details of your triumph to the Society elders. Have a good flight. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Thanks.” The word escaped Joss in a near-whisper. He snapped the phone closed and, much to the flight attendant’s relief, powered it down. A fog of wonder curled in around his mind. He’d left home at the beginning of the summer a divided person: Joss the boy, Joss the Slayer. But he was going home knowing who he was and where he belonged.
He was a member of the Slayer Society. And everything he did, and had done, was for the good of mankind.
And, of course, for Cecile.
25
HOMEWARD BOUND
That afternoon, Joss sat in a hard blue chair that was bolted to a row of other hard, blue chairs in LaGuardia Airport, waiting for the ominous voice from above to tell him it was time to board his plane, and travel to a place where he ceased to be Joss McMillan, Vampire Slayer, and became Joss McMillan, Invisible Boy. The drastic shift that he was about to experience, not to mention the conversation he’d just had with Dorian, left him sinking down in his seat, unwilling to be the pleasant actor that had flown here just two and a half months before. He didn’t smile, didn’t make eye contact with passersby. He merely sat, his heart breaking over two very different things, and waited for the voice to tell him it was time to go.
He could understand being upset over his parents and their treatment of him—even though he really didn’t get why they’d changed so drastically after the loss of Cecile. But he couldn’t quite understand why Dorian’s admission had bothered him so much. So Dorian had dreams about him in which Joss staked him. So what? Why did that bother Joss? He was a Slayer. And frankly, if Joss ended up staking him sometime in the future, then it probably meant that Dorian deserved it, right? Right.
So why did it trouble Joss so deeply?
Because, the tiny voice in the back of his mind prodded, deep down, whether or not Joss wanted to admit it, he liked Dorian. Despite the fact that Dorian was a monster.
The idea that Joss really liked a vampire, one who’d given him absolutely no reason at all to despise him, sickened Joss. He would
have given just about anything at that moment for Dorian to be something else, something other than the bloodsucking monster that he was.
That Vlad was. That Sirus had been.
And Joss was going to kill him. He was destined to kill Dorian, and the truly twisted thing was, he wasn’t at all certain that he wanted to. Maybe that was because he didn’t like the idea of having his actions decided for him. He wasn’t sure. But it certainly didn’t sit well on his mind.
He couldn’t tell anyone, of course. He couldn’t tell his uncle or the other Slayers about any of this—except for maybe Morgan. In fact, Morgan might understand his situation better than anyone, what with having a vampire for a brother. Straightening in his seat just a little, Joss made a mental note to speak to Morgan about it the next time they saw each other and picked up his carry-on bag. The ominous voice from above bellowed out his flight number and his group number for boarding, so Joss stood up and shuffled into line with the other passengers.
He’d just slid his small carry-on under the seat in front of him and buckled up for the ride when his cell phone buzzed inside his pocket, as if reminding him that it was just about time to turn off and put away all electronic devices. Joss withdrew it, and wasn’t at all surprised to see a text from Kat.
I LEARNED A LOT ABOUT YOU THIS SUMMER, JOSS. AFTER I GET BACK FROM SIBERIA, YOU AND I ARE GOING TO FACE OFF. I HOPE YOU’RE READY.—K
Joss took a deep breath and typed in a return message before hitting SEND.
READY. NOT WILLING. BUT READY. IF YOU INSIST, KAT.