Ria's Most Wanted: Ria Miller and the Monsters, #5

By Nigel Henry

THE HUNTERS BECOME THE HUNTED.

We've been unmasked. The entire world knows who we are. The police are hunting us by day and monsters are coming after us at night.

Our home is gone, our friends are targets, and our enemies think they've got us cornered.

But we've got an ace up our sleeves.

A new player is in town and he's powerful enough to even the odds. If we can trust him, we might just win this war.

If we can't, his fury will consume us all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nigel Henry
• Release date: Jun 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201282844

Book preview

One

"Come on, Mom. I’ve been at this for three hours. Can’t we just go home?"

Mark shifted his weight in his chair and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. He was on his second hour of struggling through his algebra homework and he just wanted it to be over. He’d have given anything to be anywhere else in New York.

His mother peered out from behind the cash register and stifled a yawn. Did you finish yet?

It’s not even due till Monday! I got the whole weekend to work on it.

"Or you can finish now and spend the rest of the weekend doing whatever you want."

Mark grumbled under his breath. He hated the way his mother had clamped down on him these past few months, insisting that he come straight to the antiques shop after school and not letting him out of her sight until his work was complete. He was eighteen—a grown man—and yet she was still treating him like a child.

Needing a break, Mark got up from the old wood table and looked around the shelves of the store where his mother worked part-time. They were filled with old garbage, chipped cups, worn photo frames, dirty watches and the like. It never ceased to amaze him that people paid money for any of it.

He scanned the items on one wall. There was an old blue vase that was chipped at the lip, a collection of bronze plates, a tin teapot, a couple of porcelain chickens, and other such nonsense.

One item caught his attention: a bright yellow glass bottle closed with a stopper. The bottle looked like a triangle, with a thick base that tapered to a thin mouth. Lettering was scrawled across the outside of the bottle, but it was nothing Mark could read.

He reached out to examine it. To his surprise, the bottle pulsed. It was as if the bottle was glowing from the inside.

Don’t touch anything! Mark’s mother yelled. Mr. Eugene will kill me if anything breaks!

He sighed and returned to his homework.

The ding of the front door chime alerted them both to a new customer, and Mark put his head down into his book as his mother greeted the guest. He listened to them talk about bronze plates and dark-wood shelves for only a moment before the anger built up in his stomach. Another perfect Thursday night — a known party night in Washington Heights—and he was wasting away surrounded by junk.

He stared down at the equation in his notebook, trying to focus on solving for Y. But the frustration only built. He started scrawling an answer to a question, only to erase it with such force that his pencil snapped in two.

This is fucking useless, he snapped.

MARK! His mother scolded. She turned to the customer. I’m so sorry, will you excuse me for a second. Then, to Mark, she added: "You, to the back. Now."

Mark rolled his eyes. She was going to yell at him again. Either that or she was going to plead with him. Anger and guilt were her two main tools.

He slid out from the table, shuffled behind the counter and headed toward the storage room.

His mother closed the steel door and lit into him immediately. Young man, what have I told you about your mouth?

I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you want from me! This stuff didn’t make sense two hours ago, it’s not going to make sense an hour from now!

I want you to try caring about your studies half as much as you cared about running track or chasing girls!

Why? He asked. It’s not like I’m going to college anyway. What’s the point of this?

"Excuse me? I am not hustling around working two jobs so that you can not go to college!"

I don’t even want to!

I don’t care what you want! I care about what’s best for you! You’re going to graduate in five months. Where do you think you’ll get a job? Who do you think will hire you when all they have to do is Google your name and—

Mark threw his arms up. How many times do you plan on bringing that up? I was cleared of all charges! The whole thing was bullshit anyway! I never did anything!

"Watch your language, boy."

Mark sighed. Look, can I please go home? I’m tired. I’ll work on it some more tomorrow morning before school.

He hated having this argument again and again. She was using the events of last fall as an excuse to cling to him. He was being smothered. If she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight, she could at least let him sleep when he was exhausted.

His mother slumped her shoulders. Fine. Pack up your things.

Finally, relief.

Mark whispered a silent thanks to God before heading back out into the shop. He threw all his books into his bag, dreams of sleep dancing around in his head. He’d just zipped the bag up when his phone dinged.

It was a text from his friend Manny. "TURN ON THE NEWS RIGHT NOW," the message read. "THIS SHIT IS INSANE!"

What now? Mark whispered. He turned to his mother, who was finishing up with a customer. Do we have a TV in here? Manny says we need to watch the news.

There’s a small one in Mr. Eugene’s office, his mother said. But be careful.

Mark bristled at the insinuation. What did she think he was going to do, destroy the office because of the news?

Not wanting another argument, he kept his feelings to himself as he headed through the shop, past the register, through the steel doors and past the shelves stocked full of more garbage. Eventually he found Mr. Eugene’s office, a small, windowless cube with a black wood desk in the corner.

A small tube television sat on the desk, and Mark flipped it on to the news. He sat in the chair and leaned forward, expecting to see video of Manny pranking a television reporter somehow, but what the actual news was somehow even more unbelievable.

Once again, for those of you just joining us, the news anchor said, "police say they have confirmed the identities of the vigilantes that have been responsible for a host of attacks around New York. Police say the vigilantes have been identified as New York Chronicle reporter David Miller, his wife Erica, and their daughter Mariah Miller."

A picture of the Millers flashed on the screen and Mark nearly fell out of the chair.

The first two people he didn’t recognize, but the third, the girl, he did. He went to school with her. She’d saved him once.

"The Millers have been accused of breaking into a NYCHA office in Brooklyn, attacking police officers and leading police on a high-speed chase on the highway, along with a host of breaking-and-enter-ings and assaults."

Supergirl, Mark whispered. He pulled out his phone to send Manny a reply when his mother’s voice sounded, beckoning him.

Mark? Come out here. Now.

He ran out to the front, his heart going a mile a minute. Mom, you’ll never guess what I just saw on the news! One of my—

He burst through the door and skidded to a halt. Two police officers were standing opposite his mother, their hands on the guns at their hips.

Mark eyed them and turned to his mother. What’s going on?

Mark, these men want to ask you a couple of questions.

About what?

The police officer pulled out his phone and placed it on the table. On the screen was a photo of the girl, the one the news was saying was the vigilante.

We have reason to believe this young woman has committed some serious crimes. She goes to the same school as you, doesn’t she, Mark?

Mark stares at the photo. So? Why are you asking me about her? A lot of girls go to my school.

Some of your classmates have seen the two of you together on a few occasions. I’m just wondering if maybe she said anything to you. Anything that sounds…strange?

Mark rubbed his shoulder, the one she’d twisted when she slammed him against a wall before dousing him with water.

There was something strange about that girl. He’d wondered how she had managed to get into his room. Hearing that she was a vigilante made so much sense.

But then, the cops were saying she’d attacked people. That didn’t track with the girl he’d met. She had been looking to help him. She’d believed in him at a time when no one else did. At a time when these same cops said he’d committed serious crimes.

That mattered to Mark.

No, Mark said. I’ve met her once or twice, but we’re not friends.

And you’re sure she never told you anything that sounds weird?

Nothing at all? the second cop asked. Even if it sounds nuts?

His mother put her hands on his shoulder. Mark, if you know something, you’ve got to tell them.

Mark looked at the cops, anger rising in his chest. He couldn’t trust them. Not after what they’d tried to do to him.

Look, you’re wasting your time, he said. If she’d told me something nuts, I’d have told Principal Bowens. So would everyone else at Tech. Go ask her.

The first cop stared at Mark, his face pale and expressionless. It was as if he was studying Mark. Tension hung in the air between them.

The cop picked up his phone. Thank you for your time.

Mark watched, his chest puffed up, as the officer and his partner headed toward the door. They open it, only to pause halfway out.

The officer tiled his head back. One more thing: you’re the kid they accused of killing his girlfriend, aren’t you?

"Hey man, fuck you!" Mark growled.

His mother’s eyes went wide. But, to his surprise, the officer broke into a smile.

Something was wrong with his grin. Two of his teeth were longer than the others. Much longer. Like…fangs?

Just checking, he said.

He lunged through the air, covering ten feet in a single bound. He grabbed Mark by the collar and yanked him close. Startled, Mark shoved him away, and his hand searched the shelves for anything he could use as a weapon. He found the blue glass vase and brought it down on the officer’s head, shattering the vase with a crash.

The cop stumbled back, giving Mark the chance to see the rest of the room. The second officer had Mark’s mother wrapped in his arms, his mouth buried in her neck. It would have looked like she was being kissed, but a trail of blood ran down her arm.

What was happening? These were cops. Why were they attacking him? What was wrong with their teeth? And what were they doing to his mother?

Get the fuck away from her! Mark screamed. He raced toward her, but the first officer rose and delivered a palm to the chest. The blow landed with such force that it sent Mark back into the shelves, spilling antiques everywhere.

Nothing personal the cop said as he advanced on Mark. You just know too much.

Frantically, Mark looked around for anything he could arm himself with. He tossed a few plates, which the cop easily batted away. Then his eye fell to the yellow bottle.

It pulsed again as he reached for it. Mark wrapped his hands around it and swung like a baseball player. The bottle cracked into the officer’s face and shattered.

BOOOOOM

An explosion sprang from the bottle, filling the store with blinding light and throwing Mark across the room. He landed on his back, pain surging through him. He coughed, tasting blood. As the light began to subside, he struggled to his feet.

What the hell was in that bottle?

He wiped his face, turned to face the room, and nearly fainted from shock.

The officer he’d hit was standing still, but his weight was shifted backward awkwardly and there was a dent in his face where the bottle connected. The second officer and his mother were both suspended in the air, as if they were falling in slow-motion. None of them were moving.

It was as if they were all frozen.

Confused, Mark took a step toward the cop. He reached out his hand.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

A voice from behind made him jump. Mark spun and found a man leaning against the shelf. He was dark-skinned, with a thick beard. He was dressed in all black, topped by a long black overcoat. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but he wore an amused smirk on his face.

The man pointed to the cop. Touch him and you’ll restart the clock. That’s a very bad idea.

Mark’s head spun from the cop to the man and back. What happening?

What’s happening is that you and your mother are being attacked by vampires.

What?

The man lifted himself from the shelf and sauntered over to the cop. He stuck a finger in the man’s mouth.

I thought that was a bad idea, Mark said.

The man smiled. Cute, kid.

He pulled up on the officer’s mouth, revealing the sharpened teeth. Anyway, you know vampires, right? Fangs? Drink blood? Turn into bats? For some reason, these two came to kill you.

Why? What did I do?

The man shrugged his shoulder. How the hell should I know? I’ve been in a bottle for… He ran over to the wall behind the counter, where a calendar hung. He ran his finger across the page until he found the year. Huh, I guess it’s been seventy years. That was unexpected. Anyway, thanks for your help.

Mark shook his head. I don’t understand. What the hell is happening right now? Why is everyone frozen?

The man taps his forehead, as if chiding himself. Oh, sorry! I forget that not everyone is me. Yeah, I stopped time so that we can chat.

"Stopped time?"

The man sighed. Do you really not know how any of this works, or am I going to have to explain it all?

When Mark said nothing, the man slumped his shoulders. Fine. Let’s do this.

He snapped his fingers, and the yellow bottle appeared his hand. My name is Atmos, and it’s your lucky day. He gestures to the bottle with his free hand. I was trapped in this stupid thing until you came and let me out. So, because I’m a nice person, you get one wish.

Mark took a step back. How hard had he been hit? He was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Man, I don’t know what this is, but I don’t want any part of it. Me and my Mom are getting out of here.

Atmos’s smile faded, and he turned his head toward Mark’s mother. That’s your mother?

Mark nodded. Atmos walked over to her, crouching and examining her neck. I’m afraid she’s not going anywhere.

Mark raced over to his mother’s side. He reached to touch her, but Atmos blocked him. "She was bitten by a vampire and drained of her blood. She’s a heartbeat away from being dead. You touch her, the spell breaks and that heartbeat comes