After the funeral, Dad didn’t invite any family members to come over. People understood he wanted to be alone.
I found him in his bedroom, the bedroom he shared with Mom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head down and his hands clasped in his lap.
I stopped at the doorway. I could see he was lost in thought. I didn’t know if I should interrupt him or not.
It was like everything was awkward. Everything had changed. And I knew nothing would ever be the same.
There I was, standing in the doorway, unsure if I should speak to my own father. He suddenly looked so small, perched on the edge of the big queen-sized bed.
He raised his head and saw me. “Liam, hi. I was just . . .” His voice trailed off. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were red and watery.
“I didn’t know . . . ,” I started. “I didn’t know if you wanted to . . . uh . . . hang out . . . or if you’d rather . . .”
“I just need to collect myself,” he said. “There’s a lot to be done now.” He sighed. “Liam, maybe you should go work on your drone for a while. You know. Keep your hands busy. Maybe if you do something, it’ll help take your mind off . . . off Mom.”
I could feel myself choking up. “It . . . it’s going to take a long time, Dad,” I said. I spun away before I started to cry.
I made my way to the garage. It was a sunny afternoon. The air was still and dry. It felt more like summer than spring. I left the garage door open.
I could see Mom’s petunia bed across the driveway. She had a thing about petunias, and kept that small flower garden in perfect shape. Dad always joked that her petunia obsession was one of the weirdest things about her.
I lowered the drone onto my worktable. I was still figuring out how to attach the video camera mount. It looked so clear and simple on the instruction sheet.
I wish Winks were here.
The thought flashed through my mind and made my chest tighten.
Winks would help cheer me up. He could always get anyone to laugh. Winks would help me get through this incredible sadness.
My best friend is dead. And my mother is dead.
I gripped the edge of the worktable. That was the first time it had occurred to me. The murders were of the people closest to me. They were the two people I cared about most.
What did this mean?
Was someone out to get me, to ruin my life? Were the murders actually about me?
Were the rest of my friends in danger? My father, too?
Was someone planning to murder me?
I gripped the table, these insane thoughts buzzing through my mind.
My best friend . . . My mother . . .
Imhoff, the vampire-hunter dude—the guy I put in the hospital . . . He said we have a vampire problem. I don’t think anyone believed him. I know I didn’t. If there was a vampire, it was him. I mean, what was he doing in the kitchen? And why did he try to run when he saw me step in?
After the funeral, someone told me Imhoff was in the hospital. They thought maybe I cracked his skull when I swung the big skillet at him. Or maybe he just had a very bad concussion.
I didn’t want to think about him now. I hoped Batiste and the other cops would get the truth out of him.
I heard a noise from the driveway. I turned and saw Morgan walking up to the garage. Her red hair tossed behind her in the afternoon breeze. She didn’t smile. I saw a square, white box in her hands.
“Hi, Liam.” She stepped into the garage. “I brought you this. I . . . uh . . . well . . . I didn’t know if you wanted visitors or not.”
I took the box from her. “Sure. I guess,” I said. “I . . . don’t know what I want. I feel kind of numb, you know?”
She nodded. Her bright green eyes locked on mine. “So sorry.”
I set the box on the worktable and started to lift the top.
“Some cupcakes,” Morgan said. She shrugged. “I didn’t know what to bring. I mean . . . what can you bring when someone’s mother died?”
My throat tightened. I didn’t want to cry in front of her. Even though she’d seen me cry and sob at the funeral.
“Are you working on your drone?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not really.”
Her eyes appeared to glow. I couldn’t stop gazing back at them. She didn’t blink. I imagined an electrical current shooting from her eyes to mine.
The whole garage shimmered out of focus. I could see only her beautiful face and the glowing, electric eyes.
Was she hypnotizing me? Putting me in some kind of trance?
Crazy idea.
I picked up the long screwdriver I was using to attach the video camera mount. Was she saying something to me? I saw her lips move, but her voice seemed to come from far away.
I heard a billowing sound in my ears, like strong wind rustling inside my head. And still the eyes . . . those green eyes burned into my brain.
“Hey—!” The screwdriver slipped from my hand. I cried out as the sharp tip scraped my wrist. The screwdriver bounced soundlessly to the concrete floor.
All I could hear was the roar in my head.
I glanced down. I saw a trickle of red blood seep from a line in my wrist. It spread quickly over my skin.
Morgan grabbed my hand. She raised it close to her face. “Oh, Liam. You cut yourself.” Her voice broke through the roaring wind in my ears.
“It’s okay,” I murmured.
I watched her lower her face to my wrist. And I felt her tongue on my skin as she licked at the trickle of blood.
Her hair fell over her head, hiding her face from me. She licked again. “Tastes like your mother.”
That’s what I thought she said.
But that was impossible.
“What did you say?” I pulled my arm away, trying to break the spell, trying to stop the whirlwind in my head. “I didn’t hear right, Morgan. What did you just say?”
“I said we need to get you a Band-Aid.”
“Oh. Yeah. I see.” The garage came back into focus. Her eyes caught the light from the lowering sun outside the garage and appeared to twinkle.
She wiped the blood off my wrist with one finger. Then she dipped the finger into her mouth.
I narrowed my eyes at her. Is she crazy? Why did she do that?
