The Dead Travel Fast

By Allegra M. Walker

It isn't every day that you bump into legendary monsters, ancient witches, and stoic elves on your walk to school. But as fourteen-year-old Abbie is about to find out, the world is a lot more exciting-and dangerous-than she thinks.

Abbie Matsuda-Walsh has never thought much of herself-or of her dull, directionless life. But that life is about to burn down to the ground. In one disastrous night, her family, her home, and her sense of reality are shattered. And it's all because Goldie-an ancient necromancer with seemingly limitless power-has made her his target.

Soon, Abbie is on the run, pursued by a terrifying army of vampires, werewolves, and more. Desperate to protect herself, she teams up with Ariadne, a fierce elf from another universe, and her band of elementals. Ariadne insists that Abbie, too, is an elemental-a human with unique magical gifts-and that despite all her doubts, she has immense power. Enough power, that is, to defeat Goldie.

Abbie has a choice: hide from the danger that will haunt her forever or use her newfound abilities to avenge her family. But does she have the courage to fight the real-life demons that stalk her at night? Or will her own personal demons get the better of her?

The worlds of fantasy and horror collide in Allegra M. Walker's bone-chilling debut novel, a fast-paced, introspective tale of magical heroes, grinning villains, and grotesque monsters. The Dead Travel Fast is an unforgettable fantasy adventure that will thrill adult and teen readers alike. Perfect for fans of Neil Gaiman and Ransom Riggs!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Apollo Grannus Books
• Release date: Sep 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781953613011

Book preview

Dracula

1

It was a grim place. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all made of something shiny and metallic, which, in the faint glow from the torches on the walls, seemed to be speckled with little flecks of gold. I walked down a long corridor, passing door after door. Beneath the distant yet omnipresent sounds of the ocean that came from somewhere outside the building, I thought I could hear faint scratching or sniffling noises from behind them. Curious, I spotted a little window in one of the doors and peered through its thick iron bars. Inside I saw a small cell, illuminated only by the moonlight that streamed through a tiny opening in the wall. A hairy, wild-eyed creature was chained to a chair right in the center of the cell. As soon as it saw me with its red eyes, it started to thrash and scream. I jumped back, horrified, and ran down the hallway as fast as I could, sloshing through cold, slimy puddles.

On my way I passed several people wearing full suits of armor, carrying swords and spears. Their red and yellow eyes glowed malevolently from inside their helmets, but they showed no sign of being able to see me. I wondered if I was invisible. Even as I ran by, they kept staring straight forward and did not even glance in my direction.

Why was I here? I could not remember how I’d gotten here. I thought maybe I was dreaming, but it certainly didn’t feel like a dream. I felt alert and fully conscious.

I rounded a corner and, swinging open a gold door, found myself in the largest room that I had ever seen. I felt like I’d stepped outside, because above me instead of a ceiling there was just one huge iron grate. Bright moonlight streamed down through the grate into the room, making it a bit easier for me to see. But something about this place was very wrong. The whole room was filled with a thick, hazy, purple mist. It filled my nose with a terrible, sickening smell that made me nauseous. I suddenly felt woozy, my thoughts clouded, and my knees weak.

Come…

The voice was like a whisper in my mind—a sound that I couldn’t exactly sense with my ears but could hear all the same.

Over here. You’re almost there. Come to me.

There it was again!

Must I spell it out for you? Come here. Now.

My legs moved by themselves, taking me deeper into the room. Clouds of violet fog rolled away, and I found myself facing a giant cage in which a woman sat crossed-legged. She was an old woman, her back bent, her long hair straggly and gray, her hands gnarled and shaking. She wore a frayed black cloak that cast most of her face in shadow, so that I could only see the end of a large, crooked nose and the glow of her vibrant eyes. Those eyes…they sent a shiver down my spine. They were a vivid shade of purple, and they glowed and flickered like fire. They were not human eyes. I was sure of it.

Ah, that’s more like it! the woman said. She had a unique voice, as hot as burning embers and as smooth as oil, yet also as sharp as the edge of a knife. It somehow sounded both young and old at the same time. When she spoke, I couldn’t think clearly. The sound of her voice made me feel like my brain was melting.

I have been waiting for you, she said. I have tried the others, and they have all failed me. But it doesn’t matter now, because I believe you are the one, Abigail Matsuda-Walsh.

With considerable effort, I made myself speak. Who are you?

The woman cocked her head. I suppose you want my name. I have had many names over the years, and I don’t prefer any one of them over the others. If you are asking for my birth name, the name that my parents gave me, I don’t remember it. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Speaking a birth name is the only way to truly strip a dark sorceress like myself of her power.

I remained silent.

She sighed, rolling her fiery eyes. Call me Celeste. It is what they have called me since I became the queen of the witches, because they say that I am older—and more beautiful—than the sky and the stars themselves.

I shivered. But who are you?

Like I said, I am the queen of the witches. The last witch queen ever, in fact. Hopefully, though, that will change. With your help.

What do you mean?

I mean what I said! I hope to bring the witches back to their former glory. And you will be the first step. You will be the first person to join me in thousands of years.

J-join you?

Yes. You have great power, Abbie. Power that I could use to defeat my enemy and bring the great witches back to life.

I stood there, dumbfounded. I had no idea what she was talking about.

All you have to do is come east, to the Pit in the sea. Come east and use your powers to free me from this prison. I know you can do it. As a reward, you will become the most powerful witch in all of history—except myself, of course—and together we will defeat Goldie.

Why…why are you in prison?

Celeste snorted. He caught me. He used the strongest enchantments he had to capture me and put me in this cage. Even now, my powers are trying to escape. She gestured at the purple fog. Only an elemental would have the power to break these enchantments. That’s why you must come east, and you must set me free.

I shook my head. I can’t do that. I don’t even know where you are.

She let out a loud, bone-chilling cackle. You can’t? Tell me that you can’t tomorrow night, when your family is dead and the world has forgotten you.

What? I cried, stepping back. You’re lying. This is all a dream! You’re not even real!

Oh, of course this is a dream. But I’m real and I need you to cooperate. Trust me, this is as much about you as it is about me. In exactly twenty-four hours, Goldie will come for you and your family. You will escape, but they will not. If you don’t hide your family immediately, they will die. He will murder them in cold blood, exactly the way that he murdered my family.

What are you even talking about? What does this have to do with me?

This dream is a warning for you and also an offer. After you hide your family, you can come join me. I can make you powerful enough to protect them, and they will never suffer the way my family did. Think of it as a bargain. I am warning you ahead of time so that you can save your family. In return for my help, you will set me free.

I backed away from the cage, refusing to meet those terrible eyes. This isn’t real, I said to myself. This isn’t real.

So, do you accept my offer?

No. You aren’t real.

You will know that this is all real, cried Celeste, when you meet him tomorrow. He will be in the form of a woman. She will be exactly five feet and ten inches, with dark hair and cold hands. You will look into those eyes—golden eyes—and remember me. You will know then that everything in your dream was real. You will still have time, Abbie, to reconsider your decision.

Not real, not real, not real—

Celeste rose to her feet with surprising swiftness and pointed a long finger at me. Just remember the price that you will pay if you don’t listen to me. The price will be your family.

And that was the last thing that I heard before the entire scene—the prison, the cage, the woman—faded from view. And suddenly I was awake. I was in my bed, sweating and shivering.

I was right. It had all been a dream.

2

I almost shouted with relief. I was in my room at home. There was no Celeste, no prison, and no strange prophecies about my family’s death. Everything about my pathetic little life suddenly seemed warm and welcoming.

My relief did not last long. There was my mom, standing above me and shouting at me. She was a tall, imposing woman, with big arm muscles and dark hair cut in a pixie style. She always made me feel like a disappointment, even when she wasn’t trying to; I knew I could never be big, strong, and athletic like her. She was already dressed in her leggings and fleece, which meant she was about to go on her morning run by the Charles River. It looked like she was trying to tell me something, but I lay there for a minute, wondering how she managed to convince herself to go out and run every single morning. The world could be ending, and she would still be going on her morning run.

I finally tuned into what she was saying.

You’re going to be late! You only have a few minutes, hurry!

Oh, shoot. School. I glanced at the clock and realized that she was right. I was definitely going to be late if I stayed in a bed for even a couple more minutes. I hopped out of bed with a groan and pushed my mom into the hallway before I put on my clothes. I didn’t bother to brush my hair, which was longer and darker than my mom’s. I pulled my winter clothes over my limbs—skinny and weak, unlike hers—and grabbed my school bag.

Looking out the window, I could see that it was still dark outside. That didn’t surprise me. After all, today was the twenty-second of December, and last night had been the longest night of the year. It was early enough in the morning that the sun was only just starting to appear over the horizon.

I emerged from my room, only to find my mom still standing in the hall, waiting for me.

Here, she said, shoving a bag into my hands. It’s your last day, so I packed you a special lunch.

Her tone was so stern that it took me a moment to register that she had said something nice. I twisted the top of the bag in my hands.

Oh, uh, thanks. Did you put onigiri in it?

There was nothing wrong with onigiri—in fact, I really liked it, and over the years it had become a staple dish in our household—but I had figured out long ago that the other girls at school didn’t like the look of it. They thought it was weird.

She scowled. No, of course not. How could I forget?

Good. Thank you. I started down the spotless, shiny hallway, so unlike that dark hallway from my dream, toward the big staircase that would take me to the ground floor. But before I could get there, there was my mom again, blocking my path. There was concern on her face and in her composure.

Are you all right, Abbie? she asked me.

I tried to laugh. Yeah. Why?

You were sleeping deeply this morning, and I was wondering why you were so tired. Did you stay up late on your phone again last night?

No, Mom. My phone is charging downstairs on the kitchen table, exactly where I left it last night.

Okay, okay. And you weren’t out with your friends? Or with a boy? Her eyes gleamed with suspicion.

No, Mom! Geez. I went to bed last night and I stayed there. It was true. While some of my friends had occasionally discussed doing such things, I had never been tempted to join in. I didn’t want them to think I was boring, but I had already decided that I would rather be left out of their fun than face the wrath of my parents if they ever found out. So now, even though I had already turned fourteen years old, when my mom questioned me, I never had to lie.

Hmm. Maybe you’re coming down with something. Do you feel sick?

Do I get to skip school if I’m sick?

Not unless you have a fever.

Well, no, I don’t feel sick, then.

You only have one day left! My mom glanced at the hallway clock and squeaked. And you’re going to be late! Go!

I hurried down the big, winding staircase, the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows and giving the wooden railing a faint glow. As I reached the ground floor and ran through the kitchen toward the door, I saw my sister, Tori, calmly eating her breakfast. She was eleven years old and in fifth grade, so her school started about half an hour after mine.

I thought you’d left already, she said. You’re gonna be late.

Yeah, I know that, I grumbled, rolling my eyes. I grabbed a slice of toast from the toaster and sailed out of the kitchen.

Hey! she cried. That was mine!

I gotta go! I called without looking back. Just make another one!

Her huff of annoyance was lost as I ran down the front steps of my house and let the door slam behind me. Leaving the comfort of my tidy front yard, with its big oak trees and stone pathway, I headed out to the sidewalk. Luckily, my school was not far away, and if I walked fast enough I might just get there on time.

I lived in Brookline, right on the fringe of some of Boston’s nicest neighborhoods. As I jogged in the direction of my school, careful not to slip on the patches of wet ice characteristic of late December, I passed grand old Victorians like the one I lived in, tall row houses, and cute cafes. I glanced up at the sky. Even in the dim half-light of morning, I could already tell that it would be a bright, clear winter day.

I was already convinced that my day would be reasonably normal. Maybe I was a bit later than usual for my last day of school before the holidays, but nothing really strange was going on. I had not yet witnessed anything out of the ordinary. I might even have felt happy that morning. Christmas vacation was supposed to start the next day, and I was excited—eager, even—to leave my middle school’s dreary hallways and not return for a little while. I had already started to forget the odd dream I’d had the night before.

But everything changed when I slammed into someone on the sidewalk.

Losing my balance, I fell to the ground hard. The impact upon hitting the ground sent a numb shudder through my arms, back, and legs, but even worse was the feeling of cold, wet ice and snow seeping through my clothes. Despite the uncomfortable wetness, I sat there for a moment, trying to grasp what had just happened. I had run full-speed into a person, and now I was sitting on the pavement, which was dirty and snowy and strewn with road salt. Yuck.

I looked up to see the person that I had just collided with. Oddly enough, she was standing firmly on her feet, showing no sign of having slipped. She must have been running, because she was dressed like my mom, in leggings, running shoes, and a fleece jacket, her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She was tall and thin, with one of the most unremarkable faces that I had ever seen. It was a face that I would forget the moment I looked away. Gazing down at me, her eyes cast in shadow, she wordlessly offered me her hand.

Don’t take her hand.

I started. I had just heard a voice! Looking around wildly, I saw that no one on the street was close enough to talk to me except for the runner herself, but I had been looking at her and I knew she hadn’t spoken. Besides, it was not a faraway voice, a voice that would travel to my ears by vibrations in the air, but a voice that I could hear right in my head.

It was Celeste’s voice. I remembered it clearly from my dream.

I started to lift my hand.

Don’t do it! Don’t take it!

I was definitely going crazy. I couldn’t actually be hearing a voice in my head, could I? I reached up, grabbed the woman’s hand, and let her pull me to my feet.

The touch of her bare hand was horrible—icy cold, with a grip like steel. Of course, any human hand out in the December air for a good length of time would be cold, but this was extreme. Her hand was as cold as the icy pavement, like a lifeless, inanimate object that had been outside for hours and had absorbed the cold. It didn’t feel like a real hand.

I found myself standing straight up, looking the woman in the face. I could see her face a little better now. She had a long white nose and thin, expressionless lips. Her eyes-

Don’t look at her eyes!

No. This couldn’t be happening. I was not hearing voices in my head. I wasn’t crazy, was I? I looked at the woman directly in the eyes.

I was taken back. The woman’s eyes were large and hollow, with irises that shone like gold in the sunlight and pupils that were weirdly pale. Unusual colors aside, they were sort of glassy, like the dead eyes of the corpses that I had seen in movies and TV. The moment I made eye contact with her, my stomach turned and my head started to ache. I looked away.

I guess you’re all right, said the woman. Her voice was smooth and cool and emotionless. It was low, like a man’s voice.

I was a little taken aback. She was right, of course, but it was still an odd thing to say.

Um, yeah, was all I could manage.

Good. So am I, she said. It’s a funny thing that we should cross paths today, Abbie Matsuda-Walsh. Though perhaps it isn’t such a strange coincidence. I’m here for a reason, after all.

What?

You’ll understand soon enough. She smiled at me, but her face was so emotionless, her eyes so dull, that it was horribly creepy. I’m not sure you’ll like it, but soon enough you’ll find out that it’s all for the best.

With that, she turned around and walked away down the sidewalk.

I stared at the back of her head, feeling a heavy, deep horror growing in the pit of my stomach.

He will be in the form of a woman. She will be exactly five feet and ten inches, with dark hair and cold hands. You will look into those eyes—golden eyes—and remember me.

That was what Celeste had said in my dream. And she had been right. Today, I had run into a tall woman with dark hair, cold hands, and even golden eyes. It had all come true.

See? I told you, said Celeste’s voice in my head.

Utterly freaked out, I ran after the woman, hoping to catch another glimpse of her, but she had just turned around a corner. And when I rounded the corner, the only person I could see was a man wearing a long, flapping trench coat and a hat. His back was to me.

I desperately wanted to believe that nothing was wrong. I wanted to think that I was not hearing an unfamiliar voice in my head, and that I had not had a dream come to life. But now I was not so sure.

3

I somehow managed to get to school on time. After waking up late, getting distracted multiple times, and crashing into a weird lady on the sidewalk, it must have taken a miracle for me to make it. But in the end, I did arrive at school right when I was supposed to. My group of friends did not even bat an eye when I rushed to join them, panting and red-faced. Of course, that may have had something to do with the fact that they never really noticed me.

I went to a private middle school in Boston alongside a bunch of other preppy kids with wealthy parents. It was not a normal school in that it had advanced levels of schoolwork and unusual methods of learning, but it still suffered from the usual middle school problems—the beginnings of the drugs, drama, bullying, and occasional teen pregnancies that would later become bigger and more problematic in high school. All in all, I didn’t feel like my middle school experience was too different from anyone else’s.

My friend group was made up of four other girls—Gigi Bernard, Katie O’Brian, Maya Sullivan, and Audrey Goldberg—and whomever they were dating at the time. They routinely switched around their boyfriends, but usually they chose them from a particularly obnoxious group of popular boys. All four girls were popular (or at least, they thought they were popular) and loud, so seeing that I was neither, I was a little different. My friends got up to all kinds of things—they had parties, messed around with boys, and sometimes would even dabble with marijuana or alcohol. I was usually around when they did stuff like this, since I was in their squad, but I rarely participated. Usually I just stood around. Honestly, I wasn’t sure why they even let me hang out with them. I guess they liked having a groupie, someone who would cheer them on but not engage with them. Or maybe I added some diversity to their group, being the only half-Asian. I couldn’t really tell; their motives were a mystery to me.

When I got to school and found my friends, who were also just arriving, I was dead tired from running and really upset after hearing voices in my head. I ran over to my friends, and gasped, unable to hold myself back, The weirdest thing happened to me today! I was late, so I was running, and—

Shut up! hissed Audrey. Gigi’s crying!

I stopped short. What did I miss?

They all ignored me. Gigi was indeed crying. Mascara running down her face, she was gasping, I thought he really liked me! I loved him, but he— She choked.

I know, said Katie. I thought he did, too. We all did.

Since no one was telling me what was going on, I pieced it together myself. Apparently, Gigi’s boyfriend, Sean, had just broken up with her. In fact, I could see him now—a tall, thin blond boy standing there several yards away, laughing and talking with his friends. He didn’t look upset at all. Well, I hadn’t liked him when he was Gigi’s boyfriend, and I didn’t like him now.

He doesn’t deserve you, said Maya heavily. It’s his loss.

Gigi nodded, sniffling.

I looked around, noticing that a lot of people were staring at us. I then turned back to the crying Gigi, and said awkwardly, I’m sorry, Gigi. I know it’s hard.

I didn’t expect the reaction that I got for that comment. Gigi looked up at me and said ferociously, "No, you don’t know! You don’t know what any of this is about, because you’ve never had a boyfriend!"

I gulped, taken aback. Yeah, but I know you’re upset, and...

She continued dramatically, I bet you’re happy right now, because you’re not the only single one anymore!

What?

Oh, no one understands me! With that, she fled, running into the building, the other three girls running after her. I was left alone, dumbfounded.

It was at times like this when I questioned my own choice of friends. I didn’t get them. I didn’t understand their values and their priorities, and they didn’t understand mine. With them, I felt like I could never do or say the right things.

But what was I by myself? Nothing. I was just some random middle schooler with no talents. I couldn’t even be considered a smart Asian, because my grades were mediocre. I was a shy person, and without them, I would have no friends, I would never be noticed, and I would always be alone. At least they were something that other people could associate me with.

I remembered what it was like back in elementary school. I had been friendless and withdrawn, and I had been picked on mercilessly. It was so unpleasant that when I got to middle school, I went to the loudest, most obnoxious group of girls that I could find and stuck with them. So here I was in eighth grade, still hanging onto the coattails of those same four girls.

Fortunately or unfortunately, as I sat in class for the rest of the school day, these unpleasant reflections were driven out entirely by the memories of my strange dream. How could something like that be possible? I did not believe in magic, so how could I have had a dream that had come true? And why was I hearing voices in my head?

The only logical explanation, of course, was that I was going crazy. But I didn’t want to believe that. And besides, that encounter with the stranger on the sidewalk had felt so real. It didn’t seem like I had imagined it all. Then again, my dream had felt very real until I had woken up.

I should have at least told someone about it. But I didn’t feel like I could. I was afraid that my family would think I was completely insane and send me to a psychiatrist. And, of course, I knew all too well that my friends would never take me seriously.

After sitting through boring classes all day and receiving my homework for the next couple of weeks, I joined my friends outside of school, and we milled around there for a little while. I apologized to Gigi (even though I still wasn’t sure what I should be sorry for). Her only reply was a despondent shrug.

You’re going to need to redo your makeup, said Katie. She squealed. We’ll help you!

I’m so ugly it won’t even make a difference, was Gigi’s response.

No, you’re not! the other three cried. You’re beautiful!

Don’t say that about yourself, I added.

Maya whipped out a case of makeup and started to shuffle some items around. All of my stuff is old, she complained. After I touch up Gigi’s makeup a bit let’s go to the makeup store and buy some new stuff.

I hated that store. I never bought anything there, it always took forever for my friends to buy anything, and I felt weird just standing around waiting for them as the clerks asked me again and again if I needed help. Also, everything there was wildly overpriced, and though my parents had a lot of money, they had told me over and over again not to waste it. That place can be expensive, I said weakly, hoping to get out of another trip to the makeup store. Why don’t we—

You don’t get it, you don’t even wear makeup, said Audrey.

I know, but what I was going to say was—

You should try wearing makeup, Gigi told me pointedly. Why don’t you wear makeup?

Um…I don’t need it?

That was the wrong thing to say. Ugh, rude! Katie said. "Are you saying that we do need it?"

No, I—

They had already moved on to the next subject because a group of boys had just sidled over. You aren’t going to buy makeup, said one of the boys as he put his hands over Katie’s eyes. Because I’m going to walk you home! You need someone to protect you, ha ha.

No, I don’t! Aw, Travis, stop it, Katie giggled, grinning ear-to-ear as she wrenched herself away from her boyfriend.

As the other boys made similar clumsy gestures of affection to Audrey and Maya, I thought about the fact that even though the other girls teased me for never having a boyfriend, I really did not want anyone to make comments like that at me. How on earth could they possibly think that these eighth-grade boys were romantic? Maybe I just didn’t understand the whole romance thing.

Let’s all walk home together, suggested Declan, Maya’s boyfriend.

Yes! said Maya. It was so fun yesterday!

Let’s do it again! said Audrey’s boyfriend, Kyle. I brought a pack with me!

The others cheered, but I grimaced. Yesterday, my friends, their boyfriends, and I had all walked home together, and to my surprise, they all stopped in an alleyway to smoke some cigarettes. I had never even touched one of those before, so I was shocked when Kyle pulled a pack of them out of his bag and offered them to us. My parents—particularly my dad, who was a doctor—were very anti-smoking, and they would have freaked out if they’d seen me anywhere near a cigarette. The others had helped themselves, but I hung back and refused the proffered pack.

What, you don't want one? Kyle said.

No, it’s fine, I’ll pass.

Why not? Maya said. They all looked at me.

I don’t know. I just don’t want one.

Forget it, Travis said. Maybe Asians are too busy studying to smoke.

That made me mad, so I’d taken one and tried to not gag. I hated the smell of cigarette smoke, and it didn’t help that I kept having visions of what was probably happening to my lungs.

I’d stuck it out for the sake of not alienating myself, but now that I was in danger of going through that experience again, I decided I’d have to make myself absent. If I walked home with those boys as well as my friends again, I might have to accept another cigarette, and I honestly was not sure if I would be able to do it. So when everyone started to talk over their plans to go to a restaurant together, I said, I don’t think I can go with you guys.

Why not? Gigi asked suspiciously.

I just remembered that I need to get home soon, I lied. My mom wants me to do something.

They all exchanged looks. I wasn’t quite sure what those looks meant. See you later, then, said Maya.

Bye. I turned around and hurried away, carefully staring ahead. I hoped my excuse wasn’t too lame. I didn't think it would occur to anyone that I was trying to avoid cigarettes, but I could never tell what they were thinking.

Retracing the route that I had taken to school in the morning, I spotted the exact spot of ice that I had slipped on after running into that weird woman.

I turned a corner and saw my house looming above the street. It was an elegant house, half-hidden by the shrubbery in the front yard. My parents kept it in pristine shape, both inside and out. There were a few large rose bushes in the front, the kind that were usually quite pretty, but now looked ugly and bare in the winter.

I noticed that there was a figure standing amongst those rose bushes, poking around like they were looking for something.

I started to run, wondering if this person was trying to break into my house. As I neared my front yard, I saw that it was a woman. She started to peer through a window, and, despite my usual tendency to avoid confrontation, I yelled, Hey!

The woman stood up straight in the middle of the bushes and turned around calmly to face me. I was now running from the sidewalk into the yard, hoping to catch her before she ran away. But she stood completely still—almost too still—and when I saw her face, I stopped dead.

4

For some reason, when I made eye contact with the woman, I half-expected to see the golden eyes of the runner. But it was not the runner. In fact, this woman was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. Her skin was pale—no, not pale. White. It was a colorless kind of white, not like the bright white of snow or the rich white of chalk. Her wavy dark hair was pinned up all around her head, and she wore an ankle-length coat with fur trimming, black velvet gloves, and a huge magenta hat covered in ribbons and artificial flowers. She looked like she had come straight out of a history book. When I tried to look at her face, my mind clouded and everything looked fuzzy. Her face was like a work of art—the nose delicate, the lips and chin strong, cheekbones high, and eyelashes long. I couldn’t get a look at her eyes because they glittered and sparkled so much in the winter light.

I couldn’t move. I could hardly even think or breathe. The woman smiled at me with very white and sharp teeth. Why, hello, darling, she said sweetly. Could you help me, please? She had a soft, melodic voice, and she spoke with a posh British accent.

I gulped. My mouth was very dry, and my thoughts were so clouded that I couldn’t process what was going on. I had forgotten about everything, everything except that magnificently beautiful face. Forcing myself to speak, I could only manage, Um, what?

She was unfazed by my slow reaction. With a wide smile, she said, I am looking for someone. Have you recently seen a man in a long, dark coat recently? He may also have been wearing a hat and carrying a portmanteau.

I couldn’t remember anything at all. Uh…no. I don’t think so.

The woman sighed dejectedly. Oh, well, she said. That’s all right. She was using that it’s-OK-you-did-your-best kind of voice that always made me feel worse. She turned, gracefully climbed out of the rose bushes, and started to walk away down the sidewalk.

She looked so sincerely disappointed that I cried, Wait! Is there any way I can help at all?

Stop. Stop right there. Do not help her.

That voice! There it was again. But I was too captivated by the woman to wonder at it this time.

She turned around. Her lovely lips were once again stretched into that beautiful broad grin, and she fluttered her eyelashes at me. Of course. I would be very grateful if you could help me.

What can I do for you?

Have you seen a young woman lately? You would have seen her on the sidewalk around here. She might have been wearing—oh, what do they call them these days?—leggings and a vest. Her hair is dark, just like yours. Perhaps she passed by your house?

I gazed into those gorgeous sparkling eyes and saw in them the image of that runner. I knew I had seen the runner before, so I opened my mouth to say-

Snap out of it, you idiot! Lie to her! Don’t tell her that you saw that runner!

I jumped. Before, the voice had only been an unfamiliar whisper in my mind, yet now it was a loud, piercing shriek. Something about the strength and ferocity of Celeste’s voice cleared my thoughts. Suddenly, I was able to function normally again. When I looked at the woman, who was gazing at me expectantly, I could see her properly now. She was still beautiful, but no longer dazzling in quite the same mind-boggling way. Her smile was full of odd, pointy teeth. And perhaps it was something about the sunlight, but I could finally see her eyes, and they were strange—a deep shade of blood red, and full of moving and dancing shadows. Not to mention that she fit into her surroundings the way a puzzle piece might be able to fit into the wrong puzzle. Her Victorian clothes made her look very peculiar standing there in the gritty snow and traffic of Boston.

All at once, I realized how odd this woman was, and that did not make me eager to open up to her. Stuttering a bit, I said, N-no, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that recently.

Unlike last time, the woman did not look dejected at my unhelpfulness. Instead, she glowered at me. That isn’t true, is it, she spat. You know exactly who I am talking about, and you have seen her recently. You’re lying. I can smell it. Thank you for your help. With a decisive rustle of fabric, she whirled around and strode off in the opposite direction.

I frowned, standing on the safe pathway of my front yard and watching her go. I can smell it, she’d said. What on earth did that mean?

As she crossed the street, I remembered suddenly that I had in fact seen the man she had asked about earlier. After I had just met the runner, she had disappeared around a corner. I had tried to see where she went, but all I saw was a man in a hat and a long trench coat.

The voice came back. Aren’t you going to follow her?

What? I muttered, shaking my head and wondering why I was bothering to talk to myself. Why would I follow her?

Because the dead travel fast, Abigail! Go follow her, now, before you lose your chance!

For some reason, I obeyed the voice. A minute later, I was hiding at a bus stop across the street, watching the woman strut purposefully down the sidewalk. A few people turned to gawk at the stunningly beautiful woman striding along in her long Victorian dress and her giant hat, but no one saw me dart from tree to bus stop in her footsteps. It wasn’t difficult to remain unseen—at least, I thought I was unseen.

Finally, after walking a few blocks, the lady crossed a street and turned into a deserted alley. I hesitated a moment but went in after her. Thankfully, she did not see me; she had already slipped into an even deeper, narrower pathway. I stayed in the alley, pressed against a wall. I couldn’t see her very well from my position, but I could see that she was standing in a small nook, probably nothing more than the backyard of some building. There were a few dumpsters, many shadows, and not much else.

I know you’re there, Goldie, she said in a voice dripping with excessive sweetness. She looked around, a sly smile on her beautiful face. No need to hide. Or perhaps you’re hiding because you’re afraid.

A voice in the air, though I could not tell where it was coming from, replied, You’re a fool, Cynthia. I am much older than you. You are an abomination, a mere shadow of what I am. It was a strange voice, very flat and emotionless. It reminded me of the runner.

Oh? She cocked her head, smiling indulgently as if she were speaking to a toddler. But you’re not beautiful, are you?

No. And I don’t squeal with fear every time I see garlic bread, silverware, or wooden poles. Oh, and crucifixes! We cannot forget those.

Cynthia sighed. It’s very hard for me in this city, you know. The Bostonians are much too religious. It’s like everywhere I go, there’s a giant cross staring at me!

Poor you, the voice said unsympathetically. You’re pathetic, all of you.

"By the way, I ran into someone earlier. Well, I didn’t exactly run into her. I met the newest elemental. It seemed to me like your plan is already in motion."

Yes, obviously. You knew that already. Now, if you don’t mind, let us get to what I wanted to discuss.

I’m listening.

So, I take it that you are the leader of the International Clan?

Yes. In other words, I am the queen of all vampires. I’m the youngest queen in history, in fact.

Vampires?

But how can I trust you? the voice asked. The International Clan is barely an organization, just a bunch of elites cobbled together. Most vampires are independent individuals. Yet you are telling me that you have complete authority over all of them?

Tsk, tsk. For someone so smart and powerful, you don’t know anything about us. We are creatures of blood. We spread like a disease through the blood of humans, and we all share the same blood—the blood of the first vampire, whoever that may have been. We can easily communicate with each other, no matter who we are or where we are standing. We understand each other, too, and every vampire knows who has authority. In this case, I have the authority.

The International Clan—

"The International Clan is only a tool that we use once every few centuries. What really matters to us is blood and tradition. We are like a big family, after all."

Goldie snorted. "You are all