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CHAPTER 16

28 DAYS LATER



“You are the biggest nerd ever,” said Nikki. “You’ve got carte blanche to do whatever you want with a hot girl, and this is how you spend it.” 

“Shut up,” said Reginald. His fingers touched ceramic, backed off, touched it again. 

Nikki grabbed the front of her shirt and jiggled her breasts dramatically. 

“Stop it. I’m trying to think,” he said. 

“See? Right there. The fact that you care about the game at all proves your nerdness. I’ll bet I could get action if I had giant cinnamon buns on the side of my head like Princess Leia. Let’s lay down on this board and get nasty.” 

“There’s a war on,” said Reginald. “Is that all you can think of?” 

“There’s not a war on,” said Nikki. 

“Give it time.” 

Reginald’s intuition on the hilltop had proven correct. Whatever Balestro had done with the ring of fire was evidence of Balestro’s — and, presumably, the others’ — dominion over their creations. Every vampire he’d encountered in the days following the hilltop events had seen the blue ring of flame. Every one knew exactly what it had been: Extinction. There was nothing they could have done about it. The phenomenon was psychic, inside of their collective minds. There was no way to fight something that came from within. They were only alive because Balestro had let them live. Because he had chosen, not because of anything else. 

“She was just making it up,” said Nikki. “It’s a talent that girls around you seem to be required to learn.” 

“She thought she was,” said Reginald. “But I doubt she actually was. She has power she doesn’t recognize yet. I wasn’t making it up about Altus and Claire. Balestro would have known if I was. The second master wizard ever and I’m already in good with her. What are the chances?” 

“Exactly. What are the chances?” 

Reginald sat up from his semi-reclined position and ate one of the cheese nachos on the plate at his side. “Impossible chances. It could really only have happened by plan.” 

“How?” 

“What am I, an angel?” 

Nikki leaned forward and kissed him. “I’m not rising to that rather obvious dig for a compliment,” she said. “But nice try.” 

Reginald made his move. Rather quickly, Nikki made her answering move, and then started tapping her fingers on the table, indicating that Reginald should hurry up yet again. 

“Don’t rush me.” 

“Come on, smarty pants,” she said. 

He moved his lips against each other, thoughtfully. 

Then she said, “You really think there’s a war coming?” 

“There’s something coming. You’ve seen the Council. Bunch of idiots. It’s like they were given a choice between right or left and were told that left led off a cliff. And so they chose to go up.” 

“I don’t understand that metaphor. As usual.” 

“Exactly. It doesn’t make sense.” 

Nikki waited for elaboration. None came. 

“Charles, with his little crusade. You think he’s trouble?” 

Reginald scoffed. “Come on! You’re prescient enough to know the answer to that. Charles, like so many of our other friends, has taken the simplest set of directions in the world and read them incorrectly.”

“Ah,” said Nikki. “That’s him ‘going up’ instead of going right or even left, in your metaphor.” 

“Correct.” 

“Because he’s going the wrong way. Because he read the directions wrong.” 

“Exactly.” 

“It’s as if you had a wagon full of hay, and suddenly Al Roker showed up,” said Nikki. “That’s a perfect metaphor for the situation.” 

Reginald ignored her. 

“Are you ever going to move?” she said. 

Reginald placed his hand on his remaining rook and moved it across the board, to check Nikki’s king. 

“Check.” 

Nikki moved. Reginald countered. 

“Check,” he said again. 

Nikki threw her hands up and hooted. Then she moved her queen in front of her king, checkmating Reginald’s king. 

“Nikki one, Reginald one hundred!” she hooted. “I’m hot on your tail, baby!” 

Reginald smirked, tipped his king, and sat up. “Well done, Nik.” 

“You owe me first bite.” 

Reginald tipped his head to the side, exposing his neck as a tease, then cocked it back to neutral and smiled. 

Nikki batted her eyelashes. “Should I put cinnamon buns on the sides of my head?” 

“That would be so hot,” he said, smiling. Then the smile melted away. “Seriously. Do you have any cinnamon buns? Don’t put them on your hair, though. That would be gross. On a plate is fine.” 

“I don’t want a cinnamon bun. I’ve lost my taste for everything but coffee. I want your blood, and then I want to go out and feed for real. I’ll catch you a nice young man.” 

“The buns are both for me,” said Reginald. Then, because it was an obvious move, he reached out and grabbed her buns as she stood from her chair. Then he got up, and he followed her. 

Inside of Reginald’s head, Balestro’s gift pulsed like a second heart.