And so I do. I dash down the corridor, weaving through the maze of passages, trying to remember which one leads to the stairs. All around me the lights are still flashing, the sirens still wailing. I hope Jareth is okay. What will they do to him if they catch him? What if they inject him with the virus? What if he gets sick? It’ll all be my fault for setting off the alarm.
Suddenly I slam face first into a solid wall. A solid wall of flesh, to be more precise. I look up, swallowing hard as my eyes focus on the man standing in front of me. I’d recognize that face anywhere. Those hypnotic, icy eyes. That cruel stare.
Maverick.
“Uh, I’m, well, I work, uh, lost . . .” Panic has effectively robbed me of coherent sentence-forming abilities. Not that for one moment I think even if I could suddenly speak as eloquently as Bono I’d have any better chance of escaping with my life.
Because I’m caught. By the big baddie himself.
But wait! I’m the Vampire Slayer. I can kill him, right? I reach behind me and whip out my stake. The normally dull piece of wood suddenly erupts in a fiery light as I wave it into the air, just like what happened in the gym at school. w00t!
“Don’t come any closer,” I say in my most menacing tone, wielding the stake like a sword, ready to swing and stab.
Yeah, baby! Who’s scary now!?
28
TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 10:30 P.M.
Maverick Is a Meanie
Sadly, my victory dance is short-lived. Mainly because Maverick refuses to look all scared and worried at the sight of the glowy stake. Even more so when he starts laughing instead of shaking in his boots. Damn it, what does a slayer chick have to do to get a little respect around here?
“Um, you know, I’ll kill you,” I add, in case he doesn’t get the message. Maybe he doesn’t understand. When I show up, he should run. “I’m Raynie the Vampire Slayer.”
This time, to my utter annoyance, his laughter goes from a small chuckle to a big rolling belly laugh. He raises his arm and suddenly the stake goes flying out of my hand and right into his. He catches it with ease and it stops doing the glowy thing and becomes just another piece of half-carved wood. He tosses it over his shoulder and it clatters to the ground behind him.
Great. Well, so much for that idea. Now what?
They say when you’re in this kind of situation, your body gears up for one of two things: fight or flight. Well, without my magical stick, I figure I’ll be a pretty pathetic fighter, so I choose option B and turn tail.
Unfortunately, Maverick must have summoned some additional Vin Diesel-looking guards while I was waving my useless stake around and so when I turn, I turn right into them. They grab me and drag me, kicking and screaming, down the hallway and into a small, windowless room, complete with cobwebs and shackles. It screams medieval dungeon and you goths would love it. Heck, I would have loved it, if I was not pretty convinced that the room was to be my death chamber.
I wonder if Jareth got out. Maybe he did. Maybe he can get help from the coven.
Maverick watches as his men push me into a wooden chair and then chain me to the wall. They’re not gentle and the shackles pinch my wrists. Not that I’m much worried about bruising at this point. As long as my heart’s still beating, I’m ahead of the game.
“You’ll never get away with this,” I shout, mainly because that’s what you always hear people shouting in the movies when they’re in an impossible situation like this. In the back of my mind, of course, I realize that more than likely he is going to get away with this. With all of this. In real life the bad guys do live happily ever after. If you don’t believe me, take a look at my dad.
“And what, pray tell, do you think I will not get away with?” Maverick asks, folding his thin arms across his chest. He’s wearing black leather pants, a vinyl fetish vest, and a velvet cape. A total Glamour “don’t,” let me tell you.
“Poisoning Magnus’s people with your stupid blood-borne virus,” I say. “We’re totally on to you and know what you’re doing. And we’re going to stop you. Maybe not me specifically, but I am one of many.”
“I see,” Maverick says, stroking his goatee with his index finger and thumb. “Do you, by chance, know Rachel and Charity?”
At first I have no idea who he’s talking about, then something reminds me. “Magnus’s donors?” Fear grips my heart as I wait for what he’s going to say next.
Maverick smiles a stereotypical evil villain smile. “Yes. Magnus’s donors. Charming girls. We had them as our guests tonight at the Blood Bar.”
“Why would they come to the Blood Bar?” I ask, trying to puzzle out the last piece. How come all these donors, who already get bitten on a daily basis, are coming to the bar of their own free will? Why would they need to get sucked?
“Easy. Because they’re stupid vampire wannabes, the lot of them,” Magnus explains. “We forged some blood mate invitations from the coven. They think they’re coming here to finally achieve their lifelong dream. To become vampires.”
Ah. Pretty clever, though, of course, maniacally evil.
“And you poison them instead. And then send them back to poison their own vampires. You evil bastard.”
“You shouldn’t keep dishing out these delectable compliments, my dear,” Maverick says with a grin. “But, yes, the donors, including Rachel and Charity tonight, have all been poisoned. And as soon as Magnus indulges in his nightly meal, he will be poisoned, too. In a few days he will lose all his powers and thus be unable to run the coven.”