YEAR OF THE VAMPIRE 23

Chapter 23

Music from: Celestial

Ivy's senses were still dulled when her father woke her up the next morning with a quick, "Back tomorrow. See you then. Love you, Ivy."

The bedroom door closed softly.

She sat bolt upright, then ripped off the covers and whipped open the door. "Dad!"

The top of his head was just disappearing down the staircase. He stopped and looked back at her. "Hi, Ivybelle."

Her fingers clutched the doorframe, no words coming to her lips. She forced a smile. "Be careful. And I love you."

"Love you, too, sweetheart." He grinned, waved, and continued on. "Have fun at the party and be careful. Say hi to Camille's folks for me. I'll call you tonight!"

She heard the front door open and close, the lock rattle with keys. A moment later, his car started and he was gone. She stayed at the door, the preceding night's events playing back through her mind.

It was a messy group of thoughts, tangled with music and shouts of Trick-or-Treaters, costumed children, and strange, woodcut images. She swallowed, feeling weak at the menagerie of engraved fairytales she'd seen at Brylinden Hall. She'd never seen any of the stories depicted in them.

She dropped onto her bed, reaching for her cell phone. One message from Lornie, another from Camille. Got in late. cu after matinee, was from Lornie. Camille's was simply, Dnt 4gt 8pm!

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Since talking with Vohn outside the library, nothing seemed real or true. What he'd told her about Dred sounded possible at the moment he told her, but now, now it seemed unlikely. With the sun stretching across her on the bed, someone as elusive as a killer in Rasperville seemed outlandish.

So did the residents of Brylinden Hall—whoever they were.

The images in the woodcuts came back to her. They made no sense, even with the cryptic letters above them. She could guess what the last one meant—or was—but the rest seemed to have no rhyme or reason. She pulled her phone out and did a quick internet search for woodcut art. The names Gustave Doré, Jost Amman, Master E.S., and Albrecht Dürer topped the list. She frowned, then clicked on a few images. Scenes from Ars moriendi, The Four Horsemen, Ukiyo-e, and assorted fairytales came up.

She scrolled through the images, most in black-and-white, but some, mostly Japanese ones, in color. None matched the panels she had seen in the Hall. From her recent searches, advertisements displaying accessories and memorabilia for Gone with the Wind decorated the phone screen. She pulled her thoughts from them; the temptation was nearly too distracting.

She closed the screen and put the phone in her book bag. A dull rattle came from inside, and she stuck her hand in, making sure the needlework supplies hadn't gouged her phone screen. She repacked the phone in the lining slot made for cell phones, and opened the bag wider. Somewhere in her mind, things started to slide into place, something she wished happened during those pop quizzes at school. She pushed away the hints creeping into her mind. Too many fairytales. Too many weird things in the past two weeks, she told herself.

Her dress faced her, hanging on her closet door in a clear garment bag, finished and awaiting presentation at Camille's party. Her promise to Dred and Evandis for a first showing loomed before her.

But she was no longer in a hurry to make good on that promise.

Too much strangeness there. Too many odd people.

And too many questions.