To: Ellis, Tempest

  Darlings, are we chatting? I forgot that you got me on this vampy social media thing. What’s going on? And hello, Ellis. I’m glad to hear you and your troupe of vamp dancers are doing well.

  To: Roxy, Ellis

  Auntie! I forgot you were on here, but I’m delighted to hear from you. Let me just switch to my laptop and I’ll catch you up to speed with everything that’s going on. Ellis, you remember my aunt Roxy, don’t you?

  To: Tempest, Roxy

  Hullo, Roxy! Long time no chitchat. Yes, the boys and I are having a blast, although I’m looking forward to having a home that isn’t prone to rocking. I hope all is well with you and your hub.

  To: Ellis, Tempest

  All is peachy keen, but now I’ve read back all the chat and I’m dying to know what’s going on.

  To: Roxy, Ellis

  This is much better. Everyone settled? Do we all have snacks and beverages? It’s going to be a long one. The scene: the official Moravian Council headquarters in Vienna. The cast of characters: Merrick and yours truly, Han, and Ciaran (so three of the official Four Horsemen). Also present is the famous author Christian Dante (Ellis, Christian is married to Allie, who is Aunt Roxy’s friend), and a very intense man named Andreas.

  “Are you sure you wish to do this?” Merrick asked as soon as Andreas entered the room. “You have been told about the risk of becoming a Horseman?”

  Andreas, who was German, kind of scoffed a little, which I knew would irritate Merrick. “Of course. I am not afraid of anyone, the Revelation included.”

  “You should be afraid,” Han said, giving him a long look.

  “They have stepped up their game,” Ciaran added, also giving Andreas a good, hard stare. “Five Dark Ones have disappeared in the last three months. The Revelation know we are hunting for them.”

  To: Ellis, Tempest

  Er ... who or what is this Revelation?

  To: Roxy, Ellis

  Oh, sorry, Aunt Roxy. The Revelation—also known as the Collective, and evidently in the past as the Triumvirate—is a group of baddies who have targeted people in the Otherworld who they can corrupt. Evidently, they are led by a man named Alphonse de Marco, as well as my cousin Carlo.

  To: Ellis, Tempest

  Cousin Carlo? I don’t have a ... oh, is that your dad’s side of the family?

  To: Roxy, Ellis

  Yup. Cousin Carlo is a bit ... well, let’s just say crazy and leave it at that. Anyway, Carlo is working for or with Alphonse, although we don’t know exactly who all the top guys are because whenever one of the vamps gets close to the leadership, they disappear. The vamps, not the baddies.

  Merrick says the Revelation used to go after anyone with power like mages and diviners, but for the last fifteen or so years, they’ve picked on Dark Ones exclusively.

  To: Ellis, Tempest

  So they are anti-vamp? Why?

  To: Roxy, Ellis

  Not so much anti-vamp as wanting to experiment on them in order to make them ... well, kind of slaves, I guess. This is what everyone thought, mind you, but then ... well, let me get back to the good stuff so it’s laid out properly.

  “They know we won’t stop until we’ve finished them off,” Han said (he’s a little more bloodthirsty than I like, but given the doom doom doom situation, I don’t blame him).

  “They targeted us through Nico, and they will try again.” Ciaran narrowed his eyes at Andreas, who looked very much like he wanted to pull a rude face, but he managed to get a grip on himself, and instead just looked mildly bored.

  “They may try, but I am not Nico,” Andreas said, and the others nodded.

  This was purely a formality, since Andreas had been interviewed by Merrick and the others several times, but I gathered this was the official recognition of making him the new fourth Horseman, so everyone was being a bit more formal and using their respective “this is all very serious business” manners.

  “Then we are of one mind,” Christian said, glancing at the others with an equally serious expression. “There is one issue I wish to mention before you leave.”

  “The rumor,” Merrick said, his jaw tight.

  “What rumor?” I asked, giving him a meaningful look.

  He avoided my gaze, which means he’s been keeping something from me. I pinched his leg, since he knows I hate being left out in the cold. He covered my hand with his, his fingers stroking mine in a way that made me go boneless with pleasure, until I just wanted to ...

  Er ... moving on.

  To: Ellis, Tempest

  *snicker*

  To: Roxy, Ellis

  Ahem, Auntie.

  “What rumor?” I asked again, this time spreading the look to the other vamps there. They all suddenly became busy with their phones.

  Glorious pink poodles, Merrick! What’s going on?

  He sighed into my head, something that sounds weird, but is oddly reassuring. “A rumor has been going around the Otherworld that something ... untoward ... has happened.”

  “Untoward as in a vampire getting the ever-living crapola pinched out of his manly thigh because he won’t tell his Beloved the latest gossip?” I asked, tapping his leg.

  “No.” He was silent for a moment, his attention focused inward. I could feel him sorting through various thoughts, trying to make a pattern from a jumbled mess. “The rumor is regarding an impossibility. It is said that the Revelation have a being who can’t exist.”

  “What sort of being?” I asked, starting to get worried. Merrick tended to be a bit focused on the goals of the Four Horsemen—and for good reason, seeing as he was saving fellow vamps’ lives—but all five of the men present looked particularly grim.

  “There are many words for him,” Merrick said slowly.

  “Werreir,” Ciaran said.

  “Guerroieor,” Han said. “Chivaler.”

  “Overmaistren,” Andreas added. “Old One.”

  Silence filled the room, broken when Merrick said, “Thrall.”

  I looked first at his expression, then to the others. “That’s a lot of names, but what exactly is this overmas ... overmeis ... er ... Thrall?”

  “The progenitor of Dark Ones,” Christian said, his fingers tapping softly on the table. “It is Thralls who we are descended from.”

  “And that’s bad?” I asked, confused.

  “Very,” Merrick said, his hand once again warm on mine. “They are not like us. We carry the stains of their sins—the loss of souls for unredeemed Dark Ones—but they were not like us. They were savage, brutal, killing for the joy of it.”

  “Turning those who they did not destroy,” Ciaran said, nodding. “Making slaves of their victims.”

  “And each time they did so, they came closer to le Reniement.” Han frowned at nothing.

  “The betrayal?” I asked, digging around in memories of previous French classes.

  “The Breaking,” Han corrected. “At least in this case, that is the translation.”

  “They were destroyed, all of them, more than a millennium and a half in the past, but their offspring became Dark Ones,” Christian said. “We carry their blood, but not their savagery.”

  A little chill skittered down my spine. “I almost don’t want to ask this, but I feel like I have to know. This Breaking thing—who or what gets broken?”

  “Everyone,” Merrick said, his fingers tightening on mine until I had to wiggle them to let him know he was hurting me. “If the Thrall reaches his Breaking point, no one around him will survive. That is why we must investigate this rumor. If it’s true that the Revelation has located a Thrall, we will not be safe. Not Dark Ones, not mortals, not even the Otherworld itself. The Thrall must be found.”

  I glanced around the room, my heart sinking at the stark expressions on the faces of the men. “And when you find him?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to drag Merrick off to safety, where he would be protected from any threat. “What will happen to him?”

  No one spoke for a good minute before Christian, with a little sigh, said, “He must be destroyed. For the future of everyone, the Thrall cannot be allowed to exist.”

  To: Tempest, Roxy

  Holy shitsnacks! There’s some big bad vamp chomper going around? I’ll tell the boys. Maybe we should stay in Australia. Maybe we should close down the club in Monaco. Holy, holy hellballs, Tempest! Doom doom doom is right. What are we going to do?

  To: Ellis, Tempest

  Good lord! I had no idea there was a big bad behind the vamps. I assumed it was something to do with demon lords. But I’m still a bit confused about these Thralls. What does this group of baddies want with them if they are some sort of vampire ticking time bomb?

  To: Roxy, Ellis

  I’m not sure. I asked Merrick, and he muttered something in Italian, which he knows is unfair, because despite living here for four years, I suck at the language. Honestly, I don’t know why the Revelation would want a group of slave-making, violent, proto-vampires who may well explode on them at any time, but that’s just me. They must have a reason, and I suspect that we’re going to find out sooner rather than later.

  To: Ellis, Tempest

  Glorioski. Well, I hope your husband and the other Four Horsemen find this Thrall, and make him disappear.

  To: Roxy, Ellis

  I do, too. Otherwise ... the alternative is just too horrible to contemplate.

  June 13, 1889

  Dear Mr. Moore,

  Thank you for returning my book, although how did you know it was mine? Oh, wait, was it the calling card inside that I was using as a bookmark? I assume it was, even though the card is now gone, which means I’ve lost my place and will have to figure out just where I left off in it. You didn’t ... er ... glance through the book, did you? Because I’m not normally the type of person who reads erotica, but I have a history degree, and I know for a fact that this particular book is rare. Or it will be. And hence, will be really valuable in, oh, let’s say a completely random time of about a hundred and thirty years.

  As for the fondlage on my behind—that, sirrah, is another matter. You absolutely copped a grope when you were pulling your coat out from under me, not to mention the rudeness of a man who expects a woman to sit on a damp bench when his coat is lying right there waiting to keep said woman’s bottom warm and dry. In fact, the word “cad” comes to mind.

  Although it was nice of you to send me back my smutty book that I hope someday will do much for my retirement fund.

  Yours in icy reserve,

  Jenna James

  THREE

  “If you look over to the west side, you’ll see the town of Tybo Flats proper. To the north of that is the mine, which is closed due to massive cave-ins a few decades ago. South is the dried riverbed where some paleontologists are hard at work excavating what is rumored to be a new type of dinosaur. And of course, to the north, where we are headed now, are the famed alkali flats where so many sightings have been made.”

  “Miss Jenna, just what sorts of aliens are we gonna be seein’?” The nasal drawl that accompanied a raised hand at the back of the bus made me think of the worst Southern stereotypes. “Are we gonna see them grays that the preacher on TV said lurk in the night just waitin’ to grab you when you ain’t lookin’? Or are we gonna see some of the ET kinds with the big lumpy haids and long spider fingers?”

  I sighed to myself before pressing on the button of the PA system microphone, yelping when Mac hit a rut without slowing down, causing me to careen into the grab bar that ran from the bus roof to the floor. After a quick glare at Mac, I turned back to address the speaker. “I’m so sorry about the roads. Tybo Flats doesn’t have a huge municipal budget, as you can imagine. As for your question Mrs. ... er ... Walsh, was it? I’m afraid the Outta This World Tours doesn’t promise you actual aliens, as was covered in the Imaginarium introductory session.”

  “That dog and pony show?” The woman, who was seated dead center in the last seat in the bus, gave a snort audible to me all the way at the front, despite the white noise of the clip-on fans hanging from the seat backs that we used in lieu of air-conditioning. “I wasn’t fooled by that! That was just those animal tronics that Disney uses. They weren’t no real aliens. And what about them Midnight Walkers? I want to see those.”

  “That’s right, you have them here, don’t you?” one of two women sitting up front said rather breathlessly. “Beth, didn’t you say they have those blue people here? The ones who sparkle at night like the vampires?”

  “That’s what they said on Mysteries Abound, and you know Jack Rayburn is never wrong,” Beth’s buddy Lolly answered, the two women nodding together in unison.

  Mac uttered a rude word at the name of the eighties paranormal-show host, now deceased. I ignored her, and said with a quick glance out the window, “Actually, the Midnight Walkers don’t sparkle at night, and they certainly aren’t vampires.”

  “But they’re blue, aren’t they? I did some research on them—I’m premed, and I want to specialize in genetic disorders—and the articles I read all stated that the Midnight Walkers had a distinct blue cast to their skin due to some deficiency in their genetic structure from inbreeding, but Mysteries Abound said that it was known through the area that they were ... other.” Lolly, who wore a bright African-print turban, spoke the last word in almost a whisper.

  The other four tourists on the bus murmured excitedly.

  I could feel Mac looking at me. I gestured behind my back for her to keep her eyes on the road. “How very fascinating your research must be! Yes, it is said that the Midnight Walkers all had a blue-tinted skin, but nothing was ever proven.”

  “But what about them blue-skins being the result of impregnation by aliens,” called Mrs. Walsh from the back, sniffing irritably. “That’s what I heard they were. All that anal probing goin’ on, you know.”

  “Unfortunately,” I said, forestalling what I was sure was going to be more comments from Mrs. Walsh about the area’s second biggest claim to fame, “there are no blue people to be found. That is, there are no members of the Walker family who show signs of the rare chromosomal issues that made them so famous a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “It’s a wonder your nose isn’t growing,” I heard muttered from the driver’s seat.

  I ignored her. “However, that doesn’t mean that we are going to have a boring trip to the flats! Far from it. As you know, our driver today is MacKenzie Fitzwilliam. Mac has lots of experience working with such prestigious organizations as the Jet Propulsion Laboratory—”

  “Fired after six days due to a trumped-up story about misuse of a proton collider,” Mac murmured.

  “Industrial Light & Magic—that’s the Lucasfilm people—”

  “Not so much worked for as claimed an office and joined a robotics project for eight months until I was caught and banned for life from the ILM campuses,” Mac told the steering wheel.

  I took a deep breath, glancing at the vlogger girls in the front seats, but they were too busy filming themselves to hear Mac’s comments. “And of course, she spent copious amounts of time with her father, Sam, a famed pyrotechnical specialist who worked on many Hollywood movies.”

  “Convicted arsonist, died in prison, but had the best firework shows in the entire San Fernando Valley,” said Mac.

  I smiled at everyone again, thankful for the noise of the fans and bumpy road that made it hard to hear conversation. “Mac understands the excitement that comes with visiting Tybo Flats, and she’s kindly set up some special effects for your enjoyment.”

  The tourists murmured excitedly as Mac pulled over on a wide dirt shoulder. I opened the door to the bus, and ushered everyone to a sign we’d placed earlier in the morning.

  “Now, let’s see,” Mac said when I hurried back to the bus. She pulled out from under her seat an electronic firing-system board most commonly used by hard-core firework aficionados. “Shall we go safe or singeing their bangs?”

  “Safe, Mac, safe!” I said quickly, rubbing a small fresh scar on the left side of my forehead. “You almost blew me to kingdom come last month, and I just know that woman from Vegas who was standing next to me when you set off the pyrotechnics is going to make me pay for her weave. You know how expensive those can be.”

  “She shouldn’t have been wearing flammable synthetic hair,” Mac said, watching through the windows as she cued a cardboard cutout of a 1930s sedan with two figures silhouetted in the back seat, followed by a trio of orbs that popped up and wobbled back and forth. “The tour-agreement fine print clearly states that any flammable clothing and accessories is the responsibility of the bearer. Besides, I ran out of the stuff I used for that explosion. Sure made a hell of a light, though, didn’t it? I couldn’t see out of my peripheral vision for almost a week. Wish I could find more of it ...”

  “You do, and I’ll fire you,” I swore.

  “You can’t. I’m the only one who can do the light show you need for the turistas. Stop giving me that look—I’ll do the safe version for this group. Although if you’d just give me three hundred and seventy bucks, I could get a very cool decommissioned laser. It would add some serious oomph to the tourist shows.”

  “You already have a decommissioned laser, as I well know,” I said, absently rubbing a second scar, this one small and round, about the size of a pea, and located on my elbow.

  “Pfft. You Midnight Walkers heal fast,” she said, giving me a laughing look from the corner of her eye. “Must be all of your alien DNA.”

  “Oh, ha ha. Very funny.” The tourists oohed and aahed as Mac’s light show lit up the area around the orb trio, everyone taking pictures and videos. I looked at my watch again, then glanced out across the alkali flats to where a smudge of black rippled with heat waves rising from the ground. “We’re going to have to pick up the pace if we want to get to the caves early.”

  “You’re the one doing the talking. I just drive. And blow things up. Speaking of that—”

  “No. I don’t have three hundred and seventy dollars to give you for another laser.”