The Darkening Dream by Andy Gavin Page B

little book. “To stop them.”
    Finally she met his gaze, her earnest face framed by dark ringlets. Hell, he was surprised she even believed him. And Sam was grinning.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Whatever made Charles is still out there. Should we go to the police?”
    “My grandfather’s been down that road,” Alex said. “What proof do we have? A headless skeleton in a grave? They’ll think we’re insane.”
    “Or involved,” Sarah said.
    “As nasty as last night was,” Sam said, “we did pretty well. Let’s track the other one down and kill it.”
    “Sam, I don’t believe this,” Anne said. “Sarah’s always on a mission, even if it’s schoolwork. But you?”
    Sam turned away from her. “Who wants to do it ourselves?”
    Alex watched Sarah, Sam, and Emily raise their hands. Others knew. They believed. He raised his hand, too.
    Anne looked like she’d just smelt sour milk. “Crazy. You’re all certifiable—”
    “Majority has it,” Sarah said. “First order of business is to find this vampire, the one that made Charles. Since we’re swapping secrets, I’ve got one myself. I was warned about Charles’ death.”
    “What do you mean?” Anne said, glaring at Sarah.
    “Remember that day on the pond? I was telling you about my dream. I never finished because we found the body, but when I met the living Charles I had a… vision, and I dreamt about it the night he died.”
    That certainly sounded peculiar, but Grandfather had told him about a witch in Athens who could dream the precise moment of someone’s death.
    “What did the vampire look like?” he asked.
    “I didn’t see him, or at least I don’t remember,” she said. “I saw a tree soaked in blood. I think Charles died on it, perhaps upside-down. I didn’t understand it at the time, but there are connections between my dream and his death that just can’t be coincidence.”
    He was about to ask her for details when Anne abruptly stood up.
    “I can’t take this anymore.” She gathered her things and stormed off toward the cafeteria exit.
    Sarah rose to follow, but Sam grabbed her wrist.
    “Let her go. You said it yourself, she needs time to come around.”
    He was still holding Sarah’s arm. All Alex could think about was how soft her skin must feel.
    “I’ll shoulder the load for the Williams girls,” Emily said.
    “Quiet, Em,” Sam said. “Alex, Sarah. What’s our strategy?”
    Despite his concerns, he felt excitement kindle inside him. They were together in this. He thought back to the times he’d watched Grandfather and Dmitri track the creatures.
    “Back home we’d get death records from priests to look for a pattern.”
    “Here, those are found in Town Hall,” Sam said, “and newspapers have obituaries.”
    “Good idea,” Sarah said. “I’ll also go through my father’s books for anything relevant. Who wants to help with the death records?”
    “I will,” Alex said. If they came to the banks of the Styx, he was ready to wade right in.

Thirteen:
    Indecent Proposal
    Salem, Massachusetts, Saturday night, October 25, 1913
    P ASTOR P ARRIS FOUND THE short man seated in the corner of the tavern. His invitation, delivered yesterday by a gargantuan colored fellow, had been quite specific. The Latin missive, scrawled on parchment with reddish brown ink Parris strongly suspected wasn’t actually ink, said, “My dear Pastor John Parris, kindly allow me the pleasure of buying you a drink tomorrow night, exactly one hour after sunset, Salem Tavern. Eternally yours, Nasir.”
    Parris didn’t know a Nasir, but he had no doubt as to the author.
    The man was dressed as at the church, in black with intricate black embroidery. His skin looked old yet young, smooth yet fragile. He had a little pointed beard and thin brown mustache that reminded Parris of portraits of his own pilgrim ancestors. His fingernails were yellow, as were the whites of his eyes when he looked up. He neither rose nor offered his hand.
    “Sit with