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  Zach tried to shrug her off, struggling and unconvinced, until Cass brushed the lobe of his ear with her bottom lip as she whispered his name just loud enough for him to hear. “Shhh, Zach … shhh.”

  Cass felt the fight drain out of Zach as quickly as it had come.

  “I’m okay,” Cass whispered. “I’m okay. In fact, something has changed. I may be a little bruised but, really, I feel more than okay. I feel better than I have in a long time. I feel … plugged-in.”

  Zach twisted around and returned her hug, holding her head close against his chest, still keeping one eye on Richard.

  “It’s not that simple, Cass,” Zach said, holding her a couple of beats too long before awkwardly letting her go. “Even if he didn’t hit you himself, this guy is hip-deep in whatever shit you stumbled into tonight.”

  Cass knew there was something to what Zach was saying. Clearly, all these weird events were linked. She just wasn’t sure how.

  She was about to grant the point when she looked down at Zach’s hand and it clicked in her mind that Zach hadn’t brought a gun or a sword or baseball bat with him when he’d thought she was in danger.

  He’d brought a cross.

  “Zach, uhhhh, why are you holding a cross?”

  She’d told him about the attack, and she’d told him that the men had been creepy, but she hadn’t told him she’d cut someone’s head off. And she definitely hadn’t used the word “vampire.”

  Zach looked confused for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to respond.

  “What, this old thing?” he tried. “It was just laying around my apartment. I’ve got dozens of them. It’s just the first thing I grabbed when I ran out the door. It doesn’t mean anything at all.”

  Cass tapped her foot and let him dig his own hole deeper.

  “Dozens of them, huh. Just laying around your apartment,” Cass said.

  “Yeeaaah,” Zach stammered. “Yeah, you know how some people collect little decorative spoons or vintage comic books or Beanie Babies? I collect, uhh, weapons-grade crosses?”

  Cass reached out and took his free hand in hers, looking him straight in the eye.

  “Zach,” she said gently, “that’s bullshit. How did you know to bring a cross? How did you know that the low-lifes I ran into tonight were—” She choked on the word for a moment, but then decided just to own it. “Vampires?”

  Zach didn’t balk at this description. He looked back at Richard. Richard’s interest had perked up but, even so, he didn’t blanch either. Surprisingly, no one seemed surprised that vampires were now part of the conversation.

  “Cass, I promise to explain this all to you when we have time,” Zach stalled, squeezing her hand. “But we’ve got to deal with something else first. Those guys from earlier aren’t your only problem.”

  Zach extended the hand holding the cross in Richard’s direction.

  “This asshole is a vampire, too. Every time I wave the cross at this guy, he flinches.”

  For effect, Zach waved the cross in Richard’s face and Cass thought she could detect a visible effort on Richard’s part to not flinch or hiss or whatever a vampire would do. But, she wondered, would she act any different if someone were brandishing a cross in her face?

  “Cass, I realize you’ve had a rough night,” Richard broke in, “but that’s ridiculous. I’m not like whatever you saw earlier tonight. You’re not taking this seriously, are you? I came here looking for your help, not to hurt you.”

  Zach bristled at this denial and Richard responded in kind. Before things could get out of hand again, Cass took Zach by the arm and led him out onto the landing.

  “Zach,” Cass said.

  Zach was still glaring at Richard through the doorway.

  “Zach, over here, man.” Cass snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot to me. But I’ve got a lot to process and all this macho posturing isn’t helping. I need you to give me a little space to figure things out. Call me in the morning. We’ll talk, meet up, whatever. But give me a moment. I can handle this guy. And he’s not going to tell me what I need to know if you’re here … looming. I need to find out what this is all about.”

  Zach was still shooting laser-eyes at Richard—What was he, Superman, not Batman? Clark Kent did seem like a better fit. Zach was no billionaire playboy, that’s for sure—but she watched his gaze shift back and forth a couple of times between Richard, the sword wedged in the floor, and Cass’s battered practice dummy. He knew she could take care of herself.

  “Alright,” he relented. “Alright. But I’m calling first thing in the morning. And I’ll be here again in a minute if you need me.”

  Cass nodded in agreement.

  “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll text you if anything happens.”

  “And you have to keep this,” Zach said, tucking the front of her damp t-shirt into her jeans with two fingers and slipping his cross through a gap in her belt.

  “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. She gave him a gentle push. “Now goooo already.”

  Once Zach was gone, she shut the door, pulled the cross from her belt, and clapped it down on the counter.

  Richard looked relieved.

  “Now, Mr. York, why are you here in the first place. What, exactly, do you want from me?”

  “Well …” he started, unable to keep that playful glint out his eye.

  “For real,” Cass snapped.

  “I need you, Cassandra.”

  “For what?”

  “There’s a race underway,” he started, “to find the One True Cross. And I believe you’re the only one who actually knows how to do it.”

  12

  “Your work is brilliant,” Richard said.

  They were sitting at Cass’s kitchen table with documents, maps, and photographs strewn about. The room was lit by a single floor lamp that left the loft’s high ceilings in shadow. It was late. Coffee was brewing. Cass had slipped into dry jeans and a warm sweater. Richard’s suit coat was draped neatly over the back of his chair, his tie loose, his shirtsleeves rolled up.

  “Here. Look here,” he said, pointing at a grainy photograph. “This is what I’m talking about.”

  Cass leaned in and squinted for a closer look. From Richard’s open collar, she caught the faint scent of the same cologne that had clung to his business card. It smelled better—and even more expensive—on him. She couldn’t make out, though, what he was pointing at.

  “I’ve got a cleaner digital image of this same photo,” she said. She kicked back from the table and rolled across the room in her chair toward her work desk. She unplugged her laptop and scooted back to the table. She flipped the screen open and found the file.

  “Here,” she said.

  “Yes, this is it. Look right here.” Richard pointed with his finger to an ancient fragment of wood, his other hand resting on the back of her chair. “Take a close look at the unusual texture and the growth pattern.”

  “I still can’t quite make out the details,” Cass replied.

  “Let me try to enlarge the image,” Richard said assertively. He pulled her laptop closer to him and then—didn’t really know what to do.

  “Hmmm,” he frowned, like he’d been confronted with some artifact from the future.

  Cass tossed her head back and laughed.

  “Mr. Big Shot doesn’t know how to enlarge a photo? What, were you born in the fifteenth century?” she joked.

  He squirmed a little in his seat.

  Had that last bit hit too close to home? Was he older than he looked? How much older than me is he? Do I care?

  “Well …” he started.

  She laughed again.

  “I must confess,” he continued, “I am a bit of a luddite. I’m a damn genius when it comes to the math that makes the world of finance turn, but these infernal machines … I’ve never really gotten the hang of them.”

  He threw up his hands.

  She liked the fact that, apparently, he had a weak
spot.

  She easily zoomed in on the photo and saw immediately what he had wanted to show her.

  Damn, Cass thought to herself, he really knows what he’s talking about.

  “I see it,” she said, not quite keeping the note of excitement out of her voice, “I see it.”

  In the end, Richard’s pitch was simple. The group he represented was deeply committed to recovering every remaining piece of the One True Cross. Their motives varied, but money was no object and they all believed that the fragments had more than historical value. Richard personally oversaw the working group tasked with the day to day business of searching for fragments. Reviewing her published research had sparked an idea for him, but he needed her help to fill in the blanks.

  “Cassandra, we’re not the only ones searching for these fragments. You got a taste tonight of what the bad guys look like and you know their hearts are black. Time is running out and we need you. The good guys need you.”

  Cass nodded, staring at the table top, reluctant to meet his eyes. She ran her fingers through her jet black hair.

  Her life hadn’t been easy, but tonight had been different. She’d never seen real evil before tonight. And, too, before tonight she’d never felt the kind of power connected with vanquishing it. She’d liked the feel of the sword in her hand. And she’d been energized by the moment of deep connection with her mother. She was frightened and exhilarated by the door that had opened in her heart.

  What had she been training and studying for all her life, if not this?

  Her dissertation was the key.

  She’d used a cross-section of historical and literary texts to form a hypothesis about timber growth patterns in the areas where early Christians lived. Then, working from those patterns, she’d mapped the types of wood composing various relics and looked for anomalies. The fragments that fell within the right historical frame but failed to fit the larger material pattern were the prize. They were the potential pieces of the One True Cross on which—as Christians claimed—God himself had died.

  She got up from the table, wandered over to her practice dummy, and half-heartedly delivered the opening series of blows in a complicated routine. Richard leaned back in his chair to watch.

  She could feel her mind waver like a candle, weighing the pros and cons. She thought about her dad, wondered what he would think, and struck a wooden arm with enough force to rattle the whole dummy. She thought about her mom and wondered what she would want her to do. In truth, a big part of Cass just wanted to forget the whole thing and go back to selling coffee or working in a library. She yearned for the quiet. She was hungry for silence.

  But when Richard gently said her name—“Cassandra”—breaking the silence, she admitted to herself what she had already known was true: there was no going back.

  “I’ll do what I can,” she decided. “I’ll at least get you started. But I can’t offer you the kind of help you’ll need from a desk in a library. I’ll have to be present, in person, to sort the archeological, architectural, and literary clues that may be embedded in any prospective site.”

  “Done,” Richard eagerly replied.

  “And I’ll need the kind of sophisticated lab support that grad students can’t afford in order to analyze the fragments of wood.”

  “The lab support you need is already up and running.”

  “Anything else?”

  “And I need you to trust me.”

  Richard extended his hand.

  “I trust you,” he said.

  She took his hand, her small hand disappearing in his, and they shook on it.

  “Let’s go, then. Our plane is waiting.” Richard said as he stood, slipped his coat back on, and pulled the keys from his pocket.

  “Wait, our what?” Cass asked.

  “You’re in the big leagues, now, Miss Jones. Grab a change of clothes and whatever research you need. We’ll be off the ground within the hour.”

  Cass stuffed some clothes and her laptop into a bag. All of her research materials were already in the cloud.

  She paused at the door on her way out. Richard was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She felt like she was forgetting something.

  Her sword.

  She sheathed the katana and slung it over her shoulder, then slipped Zach’s cross into her bag as well. Anything else? Atlantis would be on his own for a while, but when wasn’t he? He’d be fine. And she’d call Zach from the plane and try to explain. Better to do that with a little distance between them.

  She stepped through the door and locked it behind her.

  No going back now, Jones. No going back.

  Cass glanced up at the stairwell window. The evening’s earlier storms had cleared, leaving behind a calm night sky. That seemed like as good an omen as any. She jogged down the stairs and in seconds they were both out the door, headed for the Model X.

  But as soon as they were out the door her weak eye started to twitch and burn.

  A dozen or so angry looking vampires, men and women, stepped out of the shadows and into the street.

  13

  These vampires looked like they’d been briefed. Cass wouldn’t be catching this group with their guard down. Some of the men were just wearing ironic t-shirts and skinny jeans—hipster vampire casual?—but all of the women were wearing tight black leather pants, corsets, jackets, etc.

  Come on, ladies! Cass thought. Seriously? Was there an enforced vampire dress code? Was feminism all for nought? In this humidity, that leather must squeak and chafe with every step.

  There was no talking this time, no preliminary banter. The vampires immediately started to circle around, hemming them in.

  Cass could hear Richard swearing under his breath. She could feel her eye clearing and focusing, the cloudiness dissolving, a fire radiating from her bones. She dropped her bag and drew her sword. It felt true in her hand. Time slowed just a hair. Everything seemed sharply defined.

  A woman signaled several of the group to position themselves between Cass and Richard and the car. She was apparently the leader. That made sense. Her pants seemed the tightest and, too, her corset seemed the bustiest.

  Are those real? Cass couldn’t stop herself from wondering and then gently shook her head. No way. No damn way.

  She noticed that Richard had noticed, too. She couldn’t say for sure, but the look in his eye seemed less skeptical—or, at least, less judgmental.

  The group was basically in position now. Cass and Richard had their backs to the storefront. The vampires were just waiting for the signal.

  The woman took one step forward. Her leather audibly squeaked as she moved and Cass was sure she saw her stifle a wince when her thighs rubbed together.

  Ha! I knew it! Get some baby powder, asshole!

  The woman gave the signal and the vampires closest to Cass and Richard leapt into action.

  Cass wondered for a moment how she could possibly protect both herself and Richard from a dozen vampires. But when a vampire launched himself toward them, Richard plucked him out the air, grabbing him by the throat, and slammed him onto the pavement. She could hear the poor guy’s vertebrae crackle as Richard twisted his head and broke his neck. She didn’t know if you could kill a vampire that way, but he seemed dealt with for the moment.

  Okaaaay, note to self: Richard can hold his own.

  Cass needed to focus on her own problems. Two had already zeroed in on her, but they were leery of her sword. One made a move and Cass relieved him of his arm, blood spraying everywhere. The other angled in from the side but, as Cass exhaled, time slowed a fraction more. Still following through from her initial stroke, she spun on her heel and her blade passed cleanly through his neck. Before his head could roll, the vampire dissolved in a shower of ashy dust.

  Cass and Richard were back to back now, facing opposite directions. The remaining vampires weighed their approach. The woman popping out of her corset didn’t seem pleased with how things had started.

  “Cass,” Richard wh
ispered. He reached back with his hand and felt for hers. “Do you trust me?”

  Cass hesitated. Did she? She doubted that “trust” was the right word. But the truth seemed beside the point at the moment. Even if she didn’t trust him, she needed him.

  “Yes,” she lied. “I trust you.”

  As soon as she said it, she knew it had been a mistake.

  Her sword felt less true in her hand, her feet less steady, and the fire in her bones cooled.

  Richard squeezed her hand.

  “On two, toss me your sword.”

  He let go of her hand as the vampires between them and the car made their move.

  “One,” Richard said and pushed a button on his key fob, firing up the car’s engine and blinding several vampires with the car’s LED headlamps.

  “Two,” he said, pushing a second button on his fob that popped the car’s gull-wing doors, cracking a vampire in the back of the head, sending him stumbling.

  Cass tossed her sword to him, handle first. Richard snatched it cleanly out of the air, took off another vampire’s head in one smooth stroke—poof!—and grabbed the now open car door with his other hand, smashing it down on the already dazed vampire’s head.

  Cass was impressed, but this wasn’t going to be enough.

  The others made their move.

  There were too many of them.

  And Cass wasn’t strong enough or quick enough. Her connection to the strength she needed now felt weak and spotty—like she had one bar at best.

  One of the female vampires leapt onto Richard’s back while a second one wrenched the sword from his hand. At the same time a vampire tackled her from behind. As her knees buckled, the queen bee herself crash-landed on Cass’s chest, doubling her over backwards. She hit the sidewalk hard.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Richard struggling to get the woman off his back, spinning in circles. Her sharp teeth were bared, her arms squeezing tight around his neck. His face was bright red. He tried to ram her against the brick wall, but misjudged his position. Instead, he smashed her into the storefront window of the noodle place, shattering the glass and propelling them both into the restaurant’s interior.