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Ophelia parked in her spot next to the garage. “Mom’s at the grocery store. I knew she’d need something else.” She got out, wondering if Adrian had returned.
Kiska sniffed her hand, whined, and followed her into the house.
Once inside, Ophelia found a note from Bianca, saying she really had gone ice fishing with Jimmy. “Good, we have the house to ourselves. Come on.” She led him to the sofa, picked up the landline phone and set it on his knee as they sat down together. “Call Joseph.”
Brandon picked up the receiver, pressed it to his ear, and tapped in the phone number. It rang.
“MacGregor residence, may I help you?” Joseph’s voice was deep but calming.
“Uh, this is Brandon.”
“Brandon Kelly? I’ve been waiting for your call. Are you all right, son?”
Definitely someone who cares. Ophelia exhaled.
“Yes, sir. I found the Sweet.” Brandon looked at her.
“Is she safe?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call her ‘the Sweet,’” said Joseph.
“’Princess?’ That’s what the Elder called her.”
“So it’s true.” Joseph remained silent for a full second. “The Newbloods stumbled upon Queen Alva’s granddaughters.”
“Queen?” Ophelia’s senses lurched inside her. “My grandma wears orange polyester pants and goes to Bingo at the senior citizen’s center every Tuesday night.”
Brandon stared at her.
Joseph continued. “Ophelia is a person. Call her by her name, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How is she?” ‘Sir’ was obviously the best way to address Joseph.
“Scared. She doesn’t want to go to the Elders.” Brandon looked into her eyes.
“Of course not. She’d never breathe freedom again. Has the Queen arrived?”
“No, Sir. No one knows what’s preventing her.” Brandon fingered the metal lamp on the table in his anxiety and it snapped in half like a dry twig. His face showed alarm.
“It’s okay,” Ophelia whispered, taking it from him and setting it aside. The wires remained intact.
“Stay strong and protect Ophelia and Bianca, and their family.” Joseph’s deep voice rumbled reassuringly through the phone line. “My children and I are on our way right now with the private jet standing by. Where are you, son?”
“Alaska.”
“I know, but Alaska’s the biggest state in the union. I need you to be more specific.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” Brandon shook. “I’m stupid.”
“No. No, you’re not stupid. This is all brand new to you, that’s all. You hear me? You’re a smart kid and you’re going to be fine. Now, where in Alaska are you?”
“Togo, Sir.”
“It’ll only be a few hours. I’m proud of you for...”
Static.
Brandon pulled the receiver away. “He’s proud of me.”
“Of course, he’s proud of you, and so am I.” Ophelia took the phone and pressed the receiver to her ear. “It’s dead. Landlines are down again.” She put the phone on the end table and slumped down. “That can’t be an accident.”
“He’s taking me home with him.”
“You’ll have a family again.”
Brandon smiled like he’d seen an angel. “I won’t have to go back to the Elders. Joseph won’t let them make me.”
Ophelia took his cold hand in both of her warm ones. “This is just what you needed.”
“Joseph is wise, very wise. The Elders don’t like him at all.”
“Why?” Ophelia shifted in the sofa to face him.
“He always argues with them and never does as he’s told. They say he’s an anarchist and a disruptive influence on the newly turned.”
“Oh, like Socrates. Why don’t the Elders get rid of him somehow?”
“Joseph has too many supporters now. It would set off a civil war,” said Brandon.
“Interesting.” Ophelia’s mind raced back to something one of the bad vampires had said, that her grandmother had too few allies.
Boots sounded on the back porch and Adrian strode through the kitchen door without knocking. “The Newbloods have cut off all communication and transportation in and out of here. Our best bet now is the Langdons’ helicopter. We hop over the mountain to Whittier. Their train tunnel is still open.”
“My mom can probably talk the Langdons into that, but she won’t.” Ophelia rose to meet him with a kiss, but only got a quick peck on the cheek. “She had to yank Mr. Langdon’s pilot’s license last year after he had a stroke. FAA regulation.”
“I’m the pilot. Come on.” Adrian led her back out the door by the hand. He grabbed a large backpack off the porch and slung it over one shoulder without breaking stride.
“You’re a pilot?”
“You with us, Brandon?”
“Yes.” Brandon’s new boots crunched in the snow behind them. “You’re a pilot?”
“Follow us.” Adrian glanced back as he led her around the snow-covered garden. “Keep out of sight in case of surprise attack. As far as I can tell, the Brynners mean to attack and clear out of here day after tomorrow.”
“How do you know that?” Brandon stopped following once they passed the tool shed.
“Darn good guess based on experience.”
“And exactly how’d you get to be a pilot?” Ophelia brought him back to the question. The time for vague details had passed.
Brandon shrank into Raven and flew up into the trees.
Adrian pointed at his Royal Navy badge. “It’s in the blood.”
She followed him up a berm and onto a plowed but not graveled back alley. “You’re only seventeen. That’s barely old enough for a private pilot’s license. How can you be experienced enough for choppers?”
“I’m eighteen, and I started on choppers. You don’t have to start on airplanes.”
“You’re eighteen?”
“Brace yourself, Buttercup. I faked my identity to get close to you because I knew the Newbloods wouldn’t be far away.” Adrian quickened his pace, glancing over his shoulder a couple of times. “Adrian’s my middle name, after my father. Grayer was my mother’s maiden name, and Perdy’s last name too. Griffin’s my real name, Griffin Adrian Blair.”
“Griffin?” Ophelia held up his left hand, the pinky finger of which bore his signet ring. She also remembered exclaiming that name when she first realized he was her secret admirer. Griffin.
“That’s right, but I like it when you call me ‘Adrian.’ That cute little inflection, you know.” He winked at her.
“Have you been hiding anything else about yourself?”
“Well, I didn’t actually get into Star Trek until I realized you liked it so much.”
She shrugged. “That’s okay. My dad didn’t either until my mom dragged him to his first convention. He slicked back his hair and passed as a Vulcan.”
“My sister’s diabetic and really beautiful, a Sweet, like you,” said Adrian. “She was kidnapped by a Newblood. I was fourteen years old. My mom died right after and the case went cold, conveniently for the Newbloods. I’ve been searching for Perdy by myself ever since.”
“Kidnapped?”
Adrian climbed the berm and slid down into a small ditch. “We’re here.” He reached back for her. “It’s the Newbloods who started calling diabetics ‘the diabes,’ by the way, and the Oldbloods picked it up.”
“Where are we?” Ophelia climbed the berm and went into his arms.
Adrian swung her down to her feet. “I’ll show you.” He pulled back some bushes, careful not to knock the snow off, and squeezed in behind a leg-sized tree trunk.
“I get the ‘diabecracker’ thing,” she said. “You crack diabes out of captivity, but what does ‘geezerpop’ mean?”
“That’s what the Newbloods call the Oldbloods. Old and cold, ‘geezer’ and ‘pop’ for popsicle, get it? The Newbloods have a talent for insults. They ridicule what they don’t understand, instead of investigating. This is why the Oldbloods still have the tactical advantage, even though they’re fewer in number and physically less powerful.” He crouched down and pulled away some branches.
She followed him into the thicket, going down on her hands and knees through rotting leaves and moss for a few feet under the branches.
He came to a thick clump of dead wild rose bushes. “Newbloods fight and kill each other for Sweets. Only the most powerful possess the Sweets.”
“Possess...Sweets?” Ophelia froze like a fawn with a bear in the vicinity.
“Sweet with a capital s. You don’t get to keep your name. You’re only your beautiful body and your sweet blood to them, their ‘pathway to Heaven.’ You’d be used until you’re all used up and then you die.” Adrian pulled away layers of branches. “At least the constant in-fighting keeps their numbers stable.”
“Otherwise the Oldbloods would’ve been over-run by now,” said Ophelia. “The Newbloods reproduce more quickly.”
“Exactly.” His face reddened with each word he spoke. “Newbloods are not selective with their recruits either. Once turned, a Newblood is irresistibly drawn to diabetic blood. One taste and he’s addicted. Like all drug addicts, he becomes a slave to it. As more are created, the demand for diabetics goes up. They’re not waiting for the Sweets to grow up anymore.”
Ophelia didn’t reply for fear she’d throw up. They’re taking little kids?
“I don’t know where the Newbloods picked up religion. The Oldbloods are atheists as far as I can tell.” Adrian crawled through a hole in the brush just wide enough for him.
She crawled in too, imagining his pain over losing his sister to such a horrible fate. “The Sweets’ blood is a drug to the Newbloods. Drugs have been used as part of religious ritual for thousands of years, often quite benignly.”
“Well, these creeps are not at all benign. Sometimes when we arrive to crack out a diabe, they sit there in the cage. It might be their first chance at freedom in years, but they’re too afraid to move.”
“Your sister’s been gone four years.” Ophelia studied his face as he sat down next to a tan truck’s back wheel.
Digging away the branches, Adrian was finally able to stand up and open the door. “It’s a Toyota Forerunner, kinda old, but still runs great.”
“Why do you hide it?”
He offered her a hand up. “In case I need to make an escape or...” he looked into her eyes “...help someone else escape.”
Ophelia climbed into the passenger’s seat, unable to take her gaze away from him. “Where do you live?”
Adrian climbed into the driver’s seat and pointed into the back with his thumb.
The backseat had been laid flat and a sleeping bag was neatly rolled out with a pillow. A suitcase, toolbox, and other supplies were neatly arranged beside it. Ragged paperbacks and a flashlight were stacked on the other side.
An old teddy bear reclined in the middle of it all.
Ophelia’s lower lip went numb and she picked up a gold-framed photograph of an adorable toddler boy in the arms of his ten-year-old sister, the same smile on each of their faces. “You’ve been homeless since you were fourteen.”
“Home is where your family is.” Adrian crammed a key into the ignition but didn’t start the engine.
“And your family’s...” she didn’t want to say the word. “...dead.”
“Not all of them. Perdy’s alive. I know she is and I’m gonna find her.” Adrian handed over an 8 x 10 glossy photograph. “This was her last picture. It’s the one I show to people I think might’ve seen her.”
Ophelia examined the young woman’s image. “She’s beautiful.”
Perdy had long, golden-blond hair, big blue eyes, a small nose, oval face, and full lips, the ideal Hollywood bombshell. She wore a red sweater which clung to her D-cup bosom.
And pointy ears.
Ophelia’s brow hurt from cinching, touching the photo where Perdy’s ear tip poked through her beautiful golden locks. She blinked at Adrian.
“All Sweets are really good-looking, male or female. She could’ve been a fashion model,” said Adrian. “She’s almost six feet tall.”
Ophelia handed the picture back. “Do they ever...I mean, have the Newbloods ever caught you?” She tilted her head, trying to see his ear without him realizing it.
“A couple times.” Adrian tucked the picture away.
“Do they try to turn you into one of them or kill you?” She reached to push hair away from his ear, but he pulled a stocking cap over his head.
“Turn me. The Newbloods are trying to take over the world, you know. They’re always on the hunt for new recruits.” Adrian picked up his copy of Beastmaster by Andre Norton and flipped through the pages. He was trying to appear casual, but tension gripped his eyes. “If they ever do turn me...”
Ophelia studied the tattered cover and thought of the elves. “You’d—”
“...become a monster like Martin.” He tossed the book aside and picked up The Hobbit. “But, don’t worry. If they ever turn me, I’ll just kill myself.”
“What?”
Adrian turned a page. “I’ve seen how they kill. I know how it’s done.”
Ophelia spotted a leather-bound journal under the flashlight. She took the well-worn brown book, imprinted with vines and fairies, into her hands. “What’s this?”
“Perdy’s journal. I thumb through it sometimes, but her scribbles don’t make a whole lot of sense to me. I just keep it to remind me of her. She crammed a lot into it.” Adrian popped open the glove box and pulled out a paintball pistol. “Know what this is?”
“Hmm?” Ophelia looked up from Perdy’s scribbles on the journal’s first page. “Oh, yeah, paintball was all the rage a few years ago, but most people around here hunt the real thing, you know, like moose, so they lost interest pretty fast.” She thumbed to the next page and ran finger down the page. “These are not scribbling.”
“They’re not?”
“Look.” She held it open before him and pointed to a word. “This is Russian. It means, ‘mild-mannered.’” She pointed to a sentence fragment at the bottom. “And this is Japanese. It means ‘became aggressive and rude.’”
“You speak Russian and Japanese?”
“Yes, Russia is just across the Bering Sea from us, you know, and Japan’s just a little further down.” Ophelia turned the next page and found a chemical diagram like a spider web. “Wow.”
“Perdy had just started on her master’s degree in chemistry when she was taken. You know what that is?” Adrian peered over the book cover.
“A flower.” She tapped the page. “Not just any flower, the Arctic Poppy, very rare. Perdy must’ve been studying the Newbloods, searching for ways to defeat them. Just like me.” Her chin dropped. “I was right again.”
“What? About what?”
“According to my research, poppies slow down a vampire’s attack. Just like...” She straightened in her excitement. “You know how vampires are said to hate mirrors? So, I backed one with mercury, a common element in medieval alchemy and it slammed an Oldblood right into a tree. I wonder what the Arctic Poppy does to—”
Adrian shifted in his seat to face her. “Wait. What Oldblood?”
Busted. Now, he’s gonna get mad at me.