Chapter 3: Last Call at the Lantern Tap

The crypt had a back door. Of course it did.

Nyra found it by following the cold air moving through the passage. The tunnel ran north from the room covered in carvings, narrow enough that she had to crouch and turn her shoulders to squeeze through. Roots hung from the ceiling, brushing against her hair and neck. Twice, her hand landed in something wet. She decided she didn’t need to know what it was.

She kept her eyes off the walls.

Every time her phone light caught one of those circles with thirteen jagged lines, the mark on her palm started throbbing. She didn’t know what the symbols meant, but she was beginning to hate them.

After what felt like forever, the tunnel sloped upward. Nyra pushed through a rusted iron grate tangled in ivy and stumbled into the rain.

She recognized the place immediately. She was behind the Lutheran cemetery, at the base of the old stone walls. Kids from Saint Veil High came here to drink, sneak around, and tell stories about a Dutch soldier who supposedly haunted the grounds.

Nobody had ever mentioned a tunnel under the cemetery.

Nyra brushed dirt from her uniform and looked toward town. The storm had knocked out the power hours ago, but the bells were still ringing. Church bells, the town hall tower, even the little brass bell outside the firehouse. The noise rolled through the valley while flashlights bobbed along the streets below.

Somewhere, a dog was barking like it had lost its mind.

Nyra started down the hill at a jog.

She made it three blocks before she heard something above her.

A soft clink.

She stopped and looked toward the hardware store. Something was crouched on the roof, its weight bending the gutter.

The pale vampire with the shaved head looked down at her.

Ansel.

A fresh cut ran across his cheek, but the wound was already closing. He smiled as if he’d been waiting for her to show up.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Nyra ran.

She cut left on Hollow Lane and raced through the alley behind the bakery. Every few seconds, she heard the faint scrape of Ansel moving across the rooftops above her. He wasn’t rushing. He didn’t have to. He was following her like this was a game, and she was the only one who hadn’t figured out the rules.

She needed somewhere to hide. Somewhere with people, locked doors, and preferably somebody who owned a weapon.

There was one place in town with its lights still on.

The Lantern Tap.

A generator hummed behind the building, and the neon beer sign glowed above the entrance. A chalkboard by the door read: POWER’S OUT, BEER’S COLD, JADE’S MEAN.

For once, Nyra couldn’t argue with the advertising.

She hit the door with her shoulder and stumbled inside.

Jade Okafor looked up from behind the bar. She was pouring a shot for nobody, surrounded by candles she’d placed on every table. Her braids were piled on top of her head, and she wore the Lantern Tap T-shirt she’d cut into a crop top because, according to her, management had no taste.

“Oh, good,” Jade said. “You’re alive. The whole town thinks the church is on fire. Mr. Pruitt called me to ask if it’s the Rapture. I told him if it was, he wouldn’t be the one finding out.”

“Jade.”

“You look like hell, by the way. Is that mud? Is that in your hair? Is that blood?”

“Jade, I need you to hide me. Right now. Don’t ask questions.”

Her friend’s expression changed.

Twelve years of friendship had taught Jade when to joke and when to shut up. She’d seen Nyra through two terrible breakups, one dead dog, and a night on the Taconic that neither of them liked to talk about. She could read Nyra’s face better than a menu.

“Walk-in,” Jade said. “Go.”

Nyra didn’t argue. She hurried behind the bar and squeezed into the cooler, crouching behind a stack of kegs. The cold hit her immediately, and the smell of limes and spilled beer filled her nose. She pulled the door almost shut, leaving a narrow gap so she could see the bar.

The front door opened.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Jade announced. “Act of God. Or Central Hudson. One of the big guys.”

“I’m looking for a girl,” Ansel said.

His voice was soft and pleasant, like he was asking for directions.

“Dark curls. Brown skin. Probably frightened.”

“So, every girl in here on a Friday.”

“She came in that door.”

“Lots of people come in that door. That’s sort of the business model.”

A pause followed.

“You smell like her.”

Jade didn’t miss a beat. “Babe, I smell like Jameson and regret. Do you want a drink or not?”

Nyra watched through the crack as Ansel leaned across the bar. Candlelight caught his eyes, turning them red.

Jade saw it.

Nyra saw Jade see it.

Her best friend didn’t scream or run. She went still for a moment, then reached for a bottle on the shelf.

“Okay. Sure. Let me get you something top shelf.”

She brought the bottle down and smashed it over Ansel’s head.

Glass and whiskey exploded across the bar.

Ansel staggered, hissing. Jade grabbed the wooden club she kept under the register, the one with WHISKEY BUSINESS burned into the handle, and swung it into his temple with enough force to make Nyra wince.

Ansel hit the floor.

He didn’t stay there long, but Jade had bought them a few seconds.

“NYRA!” she screamed. “Back door! Now!”

Nyra burst out of the cooler. Ansel was already pushing himself up, his lips pulled back from a pair of very real fangs.

She didn’t stop to ask how he planned to use them.

Jade grabbed her wrist, and they raced through the kitchen, shoved through the swinging door, and sprinted down the narrow hallway toward the back exit.

They ran straight into a man coming the other way.

Nyra nearly swung the broken piece of lantern glass she’d been carrying.

“Whoa. Easy.”

Dr. Elias Wren held up both hands. He had a medical bag in one and a flashlight in the other, rain dripping from the brim of his tweed cap. His gray beard was damp, and his wire-rimmed glasses had slipped down his nose.

He’d been the town doctor for as long as Nyra could remember. He was also the reason she’d signed up for EMT training instead of drifting from one job to another without a plan.

“I saw the light,” he explained. “The clinic’s dark, and those bells have half the town panicking. I’m checking on everyone.” His eyes moved between them. “What on earth was that noise?”

Nyra glanced over her shoulder.

The bar was empty.

The front door swung in the wind, and Ansel had disappeared.

“Bar fight,” Jade said. “I won.”

Dr. Wren looked down at her hand. Blood was running from a long cut across her palm.

“You’re bleeding.”

Jade followed his gaze. “Huh. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.”

“Sit down before you drip all over my floor.”

He had her sitting on a keg within seconds. He cleaned the wound by flashlight and stitched it with quick, practiced movements while Jade complained about the lack of decent lighting. Dr. Wren hummed as he worked, an old tune with a slow, rocking rhythm.

Something about it caught Nyra’s attention.

She couldn’t explain why, but the melody made her chest feel tight. It reminded her of something from childhood, something she almost remembered. A lullaby, maybe.

She pushed the thought aside. Tonight was already strange enough.

“Your hands are freezing,” Jade told the doctor.

“Poor circulation. Occupational hazard of getting old.”

He tied off the last stitch and turned toward Nyra. His expression changed as he studied her face.

“And you’re running a fever, young lady.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re flushed and shaking.” He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead and frowned. “You need fluids and rest. Whatever’s happening tonight, stay out of it.”

Nyra almost laughed.

Stay out of it? She’d watched a man turn to ash, discovered a glowing mark on her palm, been called royalty by a vampire, and learned that a pack of wolves wanted her dead before sunrise. There was no staying out of anything anymore.

Dr. Wren snapped his bag shut.

“The bells haven’t rung like that in a very long time,” he said quietly. “Be careful out there, Nyra.”

Then he stepped into the rain and disappeared down the alley.

Nyra watched him go, unsettled by the look he’d given her. She couldn’t tell whether he was worried about her fever or something else.

Her phone buzzed.

She pulled it from her pocket. One bar of signal had appeared, just enough for a text to come through.

MARA: Get out of Saint Veil before sunrise. Don’t look for me.

Nyra read the message once.

Then again.

Then a third time, hoping she’d somehow misunderstood it.

Don’t look for me.

Her mother had vanished in the middle of a fight with creatures that shouldn’t exist, called her Hollowborn, and left her with more questions than answers. Now she was sending a text telling Nyra to run away and forget she existed.

Mara had clearly never met her.

“What’s wrong?” Jade asked.

Nyra held out the phone.

Jade read the message, and whatever she was about to say died on her lips. She looked toward the front window instead.

“Nyra.”

Something in her voice made Nyra turn.

Outside, the street was full of eyes.

Amber eyes, staring through the rain at the Lantern Tap.