The Vampire Stalker

  “Why don’t we sit down,” he said. It was clearly not a question.

  When he took my arm, I didn’t resist. I let him walk me over to the sagging chintz couch. He sat down next to me.

  “I would like to know why you do not believe what I’m telling you.”

  I inched away from him as subtly as I could. “I don’t know what to say. I told you I just want to call the police.”

  “And I told you, the police are ineffective. Rather than patrolling the streets at night, they adhere to the curfew. They are not qualified to take on Vigo and his coven. This cannot be news to you.”

  He genuinely seemed to believe what he was saying, which only left one option: He was crazy. I didn’t see any choice but to play along. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway, if you want to get to the Byward District, it’s just, uh, a couple of miles north of here. Turn left at the stop sign half a block down, and keep walking.”

  “Thank you for the directions.”

  He stood up, and so did I. I was hoping that he would head for the door, but he didn’t move. His next words were very measured. “You keep referring to these books. Please tell me why.”

  I sighed and glanced back at the waiting elevator. “Alexander Banks is a character in the Otherworld books.” As if you didn’t know that.

  “And what role do I supposedly play in these books?”

  “You’re James’s cousin. The vampire stalker.”

  He considered that. “I am aware of my actions being reported in the Daily Sentinel, but not in any books. Whatever these volumes say, I assure you they are entirely unauthorized. I am the real Alexander Banks. I give you my word.”

  “Okay. You’re Alexander Banks.”

  His nostrils flared. “You clearly do not believe me. How can I prove who I am?”

  He probably expected me to quiz him on the books, but that wouldn’t prove anything. If he was this much of a fan, he probably knew them even better than I did.

  And then something occurred to me. I could end this, here and now.

  “You could stick out your tongue.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Alexander Banks can’t drink anything too sweet or tart because his tongue got slashed by a vampire’s blade. If you show me the scar on your tongue, I’ll believe you.”

  “Very well.” He stuck out his tongue.

  I gasped. There it was: a deep scar down the bottom half of his tongue. I was speechless.

  He wasn’t supposed to be able to prove that he was Alexander. What was I supposed to do now? Believe him?

  He didn’t stop there. “I have several other scars that may reinforce the verdict.” He pushed back his coat and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a circular white scar beneath his collarbone. I felt myself blush, despite my fear and frustration.

  “James and I were nine, fencing with tree branches. He impaled me. I almost bled to death.”

  I nodded dumbly. The story was in Otherworld. It had been a terrifying experience for both boys, but it had brought them closer, making them more like brothers than cousins.

  He began to roll up one of his sleeves. His forearm was muscular, and that made me blush, too. “I also have —”

  “It’s okay. I — I believe you.”

  The world was shifting around me. What choice did I have but to believe his wild story? It could be that he was crazy enough to mutilate himself in order to be Alexander. But the scars looked too old for him to have made them since the books came out.

  Did that really mean, then …?

  Was this guy actually …?

  I closed my eyes for a second, trying to take it all in. When I opened them, Alexander was still there, life-size and three-dimensional. Despite the wariness in his eyes, he looked slightly younger than I’d pictured him. He was, after all, only a couple of months shy of nineteen.

  “I just don’t understand,” I said. “How could you be the Alexander Banks from the books?”

  “I have absolutely no idea. Which is why I must see these books you speak of. But first, please, tell me where I am. I know this city as well as I know the lines in my own palm, but I must have chased Vigo farther than I thought.”

  Vigo.

  No. No way. Vigo could not be here. He could not have attacked me.

  But then I had a flash of memory of silver-blond hair and a low growling. I shivered violently.

  “Are you well, miss?”

  “Not if you’re saying the guy who jumped me was actually Vigo.”

  “Indeed, it was.”

  I couldn’t tell who was more confused right now, me or Alexander. “Okay. I have to show you. The books, I mean. I think you’d better come up to my apartment … Alexander.”

  Saying his name was so strange. I’d said it so many times before, thought it more times than I could count. But I’d never expected I would say it to his face. In my dazed mind, it struck me that my greatest dream had come true: Alexander Banks was here. In my Chicago.

  But so had my worst nightmare: Vigo was, too.

  “Mom, this is my friend, Alexander. Alexander, Mom.” I’d never imagined that Alexander Banks would be the first boy I brought home, but here he was in my living room.

  Mom looked at me, then at Alexander, then at me. It didn’t take a psychic to read her mind. Who is he and why are you bringing him over at eleven thirty at night?

  “Nice to meet you, Alexander.” She managed a smile, and self-consciously touched her hair, which was pulled back in an untidy ponytail. I could tell she was embarrassed to be meeting a guest in her Friday night sweats.

  “Likewise.” He didn’t bow; I’d told him not to on the elevator ride up. I’d also told him to let me do all the talking.

  “I’m going to get us something to eat, okay, Mom?”

  “There’s leftover shepherd’s pie in the fridge. It’s at the back. Here, I’ll show you.”

  “Have a seat,” I told Alexander. He sat down on the couch, riveted by the TV, which was playing a sitcom. He glanced at me with an astonished expression, but I shook my head. The last thing I needed was for my mom to hear him ask what a TV was.

  In the kitchen, Mom looked at me expectantly.

  “He’s Luisa’s brother’s friend,” I said, turning on the faucet and pouring two glasses of water. I hated lying to my mom, and preferred not to look her in the eye while I was doing it. “He needs a place to stay. I haven’t asked him yet, but I was wondering if he could stay here for a couple of days.”

  “How come I haven’t heard about him?”

  I shrugged. “There was nothing to say. We weren’t that close or anything. Where’s the shepherd’s pie?”

  “Right here.” She bent into the fridge and removed a glass dish covered in tinfoil. “Are you dating him?”

  “No, it’s not like that,” I said quickly. “We’re just friends.”

  A knowing look flickered in Mom’s eyes. She could tell already that I had a crush on him. I waited for her to ask me flat out, but instead she said, “What about his parents?”

  “They passed away a few years ago. He was living with his aunt, but they weren’t getting along.”

  I was relieved to be able to tell the truth about that, at least. Alexander had lived with James’s parents since he was orphaned. His aunt Helen had been troubled by Alexander’s quest for vengeance, and when she persisted in trying to get him to abandon it, he cut her out of his life. She had passed away in The Mists, heartbroken that she couldn’t turn him around.

  “Why’s he dressed like that?”

  “He’s an Otherworld fan, too. Some people at the dance were dressing up.”

  She smiled. “A boy who’s an Otherworld fan? I’m sure you have a lot in common.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’ll trust your judgment on this, Amy. He can stay for a couple of days.”

  “Thanks.” I hugged her.

  Mom always trusted my judgment; I’d never given her any reason not to. Unlike Chrissy, I was always
responsible, reliable, and honest — until tonight, anyway. But I couldn’t possibly tell her the truth about Alexander. If I did, she’d send both of us for mental evaluations.

  I warmed the shepherd’s pie in the microwave and brought it to Alexander along with a glass of water. He downed them fast. Mom said good night and headed off down the hall, then poked her head in a minute later to remind me to get clean sheets and towels for our guest.

  Once she left again, Alexander looked at me. “Shall I take that for an offer of hospitality?”

  “My mom said you could stay for a couple of days. I didn’t tell her who you really are.”

  “I’d have thought my reputation would recommend me. If she reads the Daily Sentinel, she might well have heard of me.”

  “There is no Daily Sentinel here.”

  His brows furrowed. “Are we not in Chicago?”

  “We’re in Chicago, just not your Chicago. I don’t know how, but you’re not in Otherworld anymore.”

  “What is Otherworld?”

  I hesitated. “It’s the place in the books. What I’m saying is, you’re not in your world anymore.”

  He appeared to mull this over. “Then where am I?”

  “I don’t know. Here.” I wished I could make him understand it, but I didn’t understand it myself. “A place without vampires.”

  “You must be mistaken. You were clearly attacked by —”

  “I know. But I don’t know how he got here, or how you got here. Hold on a second. Let me get the books for you.”

  I went to my bedroom, scooped them off my bedside table, and brought them back.

  He took both hardcovers into his hands, staring at the pictures on the book jackets. “Good heavens, that’s me! And James! And her.” Alexander had always been dead set against James’s relationship with Hannah. He didn’t believe humans and vampires should mix, much less fall in love.

  He opened Otherworld, flipping through the pages. I sat down beside him, making sure we weren’t sitting too close together. Then I showed him a section midway through the book that took place from his point of view.

  “Astounding,” he muttered.

  He studied the books for a while, occasionally making a shocked exclamation. And I studied him in a daze, trying to make sense of the fact that Alexander Banks was here beside me. In my living room. On my couch. I thought about touching him to make sure he was real, but I wouldn’t dare. Just the thought made my face flame.

  Could this be a trick of some kind, an elaborate hoax set up to dupe an Otherworld fan for a reality TV show? I could see Luisa and Katie nominating me for something like that. Maybe there were hidden cameras outside, and even here in the apartment. I glanced around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

  Besides, the attack had been too violent to have been staged. Any producers would know that I could’ve gotten seriously hurt and sued the pants off them. And my mom would never have played along with a stunt like that.

  My gut said that Alexander was the real thing. I would just have to trust my instincts — until I had evidence to prove otherwise.

  Eventually, Alexander put the books aside and sank back into the couch, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “I don’t, either. Maybe you chased Vigo through a portal of some kind.”

  “A portal? In my world, portals are the stuff of fiction.”

  “Here, too. But there must be some reason that you started off chasing Vigo in Otherworld Chicago, and you ended up chasing him here in the real Chicago.”

  The moment I saw his face twitch, I wished I could take back the words.

  “You believe that my world is the fantasy world, do you?” Alexander asked. “I assure you, it is not. This world, which you claim has no vampires and has oddities such as” — he glanced at the TV — “miniature film projectors, seems fantastical to me.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. In a way, he was right — his world was completely real to him. Alexander Banks was not, and never had been, a fictional character.

  My first thought was that I had to call Katie and Luisa, tell them everything. But I knew how crazy the whole scenario would sound. I’d have to wait.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I didn’t mean that. Your world is as real as mine.”

  “Thank you.” He seemed deep in thought. “There must be some passageway between my Chicago and yours. Otherwise, this author could not have known what is happening there.” He paused. “If a portal exists, I believe it is located in the vicinity of the Michigan Avenue Bridge. Earlier this evening, I tracked down Vigo and chased him across the bridge. Soon after, I became aware that I did not recognize where we were. I didn’t understand it because the bridge ends off in the Elgin District, and we clearly weren’t there. Come to think of it, that’s when I noticed that many people were out past curfew.”

  “And then you ended up at my building complex.”

  “Yes. I’d lost Vigo’s trail briefly. I imagine that he was as disoriented as I was. That must be why he stopped to feed — he didn’t appear to realize that I was still after him.”

  Stopped to feed. I felt queasy. If Alexander hadn’t shown up, Vigo would have … I shook my head. There was no time for post-traumatic stress disorder. We had to figure out what was happening.

  “Maybe if you go back to the bridge,” I suggested, “there’s a chance you’ll find your way home.” I wasn’t sure if that would work; after all, I’d crossed that bridge many times myself and never ended up in Otherworld. But it might be worth a shot.

  “Getting home is not my primary concern.” He gave me a hard glance, and I knew what was he was thinking. Any Alexander fan would know.

  “You want to find Vigo.”

  “Until I know for certain that Vigo has returned to my world, I’m not going anywhere.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  LAST NIGHT. The attack. Alexander.

  Had I dreamed it all? Or was Alexander, right now, sleeping on the lumpy pullout couch in the den?

  I shifted to look at the clock, wincing at the soreness all over my body. Pushing the covers back, I saw bruises on my arms where Vigo had grabbed me. It was all the assurance I needed that last night had really happened.

  7:39 A.M. My second Saturday waking up way too early. But there was no chance of falling back to sleep. I was surprised I’d slept at all, since I’d lain awake for hours, my mind spinning.

  I opted for jeans and a knit top, slowly pulling the clothes over my sore body. After brushing my teeth, I went back to my room to put on lip gloss and brush my hair. I glanced around. As always, my room was messy, spilling over with books. A sign hung on my door: Creative minds are seldom tidy. Still, I threw the scattered socks and T-shirts into my hamper.

  What was I doing? A guy from Otherworld would never enter a girl’s bedroom. It would ruin their reputations.

  My face got hot.

  The apartment was quiet. Mom and Chrissy were still asleep — they both liked to sleep in on Saturdays. I peeked in the den, and saw that the sheets and pillow were still stacked on the couch. I heard some noise in the kitchen, so I headed that way.

  And there was Alexander, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, engrossed in Otherworld.

  He raised his eyes. “Good morning, Amy.”

  Hearing my name spoken in his soft, deep voice was startling.

  “Did you sleep well?” I asked, trying to compose myself.

  “I have not slept yet. I went out hoping to regain his trail. Then, at dawn, I returned and started reading. I hope you do not mind that I used your keys.”

  “It’s okay.” I spotted the keys on the table by the front door, where I’d left them. I should have known that Alexander would be keeping vampire time. It made sense, if you were a vampire hunter. I hadn’t heard him leave or come back, but stealth had always been one of his strong points.

  “I sleep in the afternoons,” Alexander explained. “But th
en, I suppose you know that. I suppose you know a lot about me.” His mouth tightened. “It seems there is no detail of my life too minute for Elizabeth Howard to share with the world.”

  I managed a smile. “That’s what makes Otherworld so fascinating. The details.”

  “I am sure she would be glad of your approval.”

  “Where did you go last night?”

  “All over this city of yours. It is a funny thing. Some streets go by the same names as in my Chicago, others are different. Some areas I recognize, others have changed irrevocably. I will have to study maps before going out again tonight.” With that, he turned his attention back to the book.

  I saw a plate with bread crumbs and the butter dish in front of him. Last night, I’d told him to help himself to food in the morning, but I wasn’t sure bread and butter would do the trick. “I’ll make us some eggs.”

  “Do not trouble yourself. I have had my sustenance.”

  “I’ll make them, anyway.” I felt like I needed a more substantial than usual breakfast myself.

  Deciding scrambled eggs with salsa and cheese was the way to go, I put a pan on the stove and got the ingredients from the fridge. I was no gourmet chef, but I’d done a lot of cooking. With Mom having so many irregular shifts while I was growing up, she often wasn’t home at dinnertime, and Dad could’ve happily had us live on hot dogs and baked beans.

  I darted a glance over my shoulder.

  Alexander Banks is in my kitchen.

  It was going to take some getting used to.

  The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, and his long legs were stretched out in front of him, hugged by old-fashioned brown trousers. He was beautiful, more so than I had ever imagined. I tried to put the thought out of my head. Fantasizing about a fictional guy was one thing: fantasizing about him when he was sitting a few feet away was another. He’d quickly figure me out if I kept staring at him this way.

  When the eggs were done, I divided them onto two plates, placing one in front of him.

  “Thank you. It is very kind of you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I knew he’d probably feel obligated to ask me to join him, but I didn’t want to stop him from reading, so I said, “I’m going to eat in the other room so you can read.” Before he could argue, I went into the living room.