Beware the Ninja Weenies (15 page)

We reached our house. I could finally get back to my game and finish the level. As I picked up the controller, Danube tugged at my sleeve.

“Play my game?” he asked.

I almost shouted at him to go away. But the image of those kids froze my anger. “Sure. I'll tell you what. I just need a couple minutes. Go get yourself a juice box, and then we'll play.”

“Yay!” He raced out of the room.

I finished the level, saved my game, and loaded up his. For a kiddie game, it wasn't all that bad. I was glad about that. I had a feeling I'd be spending a lot more time with Danube from now on. But I think that's a good thing. A very good thing.

 

RAT SLAYERS

My luck is holding,
Alarac thought as his blade sliced clear through the neck of the giant rat. That was an unlikely stroke with a single-handed sword, but he'd felt confident enough to risk one powerful blow rather than try to wear his opponent down with a flurry of slashes and jabs.

“Well fought,” the barbarian Golgetha cried as he swung his own twin-bladed battle-ax in a wide arc, dealing vast damage to three more rats that he'd backed into a corner of the cellar. “You are becoming a capable warrior.”

“I'm honored by your words.” Alarac hoped he'd soon be strong enough to wield a two-handed sword, or maybe even a pike. The idea of striking at his foes from a distance appealed to him, though his skills lay more in the area of blades than spears. Too bad he had no talent at all for bows and arrows.

He dashed forward to help Golgetha finish off the three wounded rats. The task didn't take long.

“Onward?” he asked, turning toward the door that led to the next area of the mazelike cellar beneath the flour mill.

“Always.” Golgetha let out a laugh and flung open the door.

They rushed through. It was dark, but Alarac used the one weak spell he knew to light the torches on the walls. The light, reflected in two dozen pairs of red eyes, revealed more enemies awaiting them.

“The mill owner will be paying us well,” he said as he moved to his left. They'd been promised a bounty of six copper pieces for each rat they slew.

Working together, Alarac and Golgetha made short work of the rats. Another door lay ahead. Alarac sensed that a more dangerous foe lurked on the other side. As he moved toward the door, he spotted something hidden amongst the shadows near a pile of old barrels.

“A club,” he said. There it lay, abandoned atop a scattered assortment of bones. “I suppose it didn't do much good for the former owner.” He picked up the club and felt the weight in his hand. He could definitely wield it. He had enough strength. It wasn't his customary weapon—he'd done all his fighting with a blade—but he couldn't help himself. He had to test it against the rats. He slid his sword into the scabbard on his back and prepared to battle the next enemy with the help of the club.

“Are you sure?” Golgetha asked.

“I am.”

They pushed on through the door, where the hulking sight of an enormous rat greeted them. It was so large, its back brushed the ceiling, and its whiskers were as thick as fingers. Alarac thought about retreating, but the door slammed shut behind him.

The rat leaped forward. There was no time to switch weapons. Alarac rushed to meet it, swinging the club. He struck the rat on its massive flank with a clumsy blow, doing no damage at all. The club was trickier to use than he'd realized. Alarac wondered whether he should risk reaching for his sword. Before he could decide, the rat lashed out with alarming speed, snapping its jaws down on his shoulder.

The club fell to the floor. Alarac screamed as his severed arm also fell. Alarac knew his health was draining rapidly. The pain was unbearable. He tried to grab medicine from the pouch at his belt with his remaining hand. He could save his life if he hurried. Golgetha was too busy defending himself from the rat to come to Alarac's aid. But the pouch was crammed with an assortment of small vials and flasks, only one of which would heal large wounds.

Alarac fell, his health completely gone. As he faded away, he saw the rat lash out again. It clamped its jaws down on Golgetha's body, catching him at the waist. The rat lifted Golgetha from the ground and flung him against the wall.

As Golgetha faded, a message expanded to fill the middle of the screen.
GAME OVER. RETRY FROM LAST CHECKPOINT?

*   *   *

Quentin threw down the
controller and turned toward Luke. “What was that nonsense with the club? Why in the world would you use a club against a boss? You spent hours raising your sword stats. What were you thinking?”

Luke shrugged. “I don't know. I just felt like trying it. I had no idea the boss would be that tough. No big deal. It's a fun level. I don't mind replaying from the last save. It's not that far from where we died.”

“Okay, but stick with the sword this time.”

“Whatever.” Luke hit
X.

*   *   *

Alarac unsheathed his sword
as he emerged from the well of memories. Four rats lay ahead of him—three toward the right side, and a single creature to the left. “I'll take that one,” he said.

Golgetha raised his ax and charged toward the three rats. Alarac attacked his single foe. He decided to try for a critical blow, swinging right for the neck.
Maybe I'll get lucky,
he thought.

 

FRIGID REGULATIONS

There are several rules
every girl who lives up here learns as soon as she's old enough to walk. Boys learn them, too, but you know how boys are when it comes to rules. They like to take risks and show off, which is why a lot of them get hurt. Especially around here, where any mistake might be your last. I think rule number two is the one they violate the most. But here are all of them:

1. Always wear a cross when going outside.

2. Don't go outside alone.

3. Never invite a stranger into your home.

4. Don't forget to rub garlic on your neck.

5. Wash your hands before eating.

I'm pretty sure my mom added the fifth rule, because lots of my friends never wash their hands before eating. Besides, I don't see how clean hands can protect you from vampires. But I always pay attention to the first four rules, because I really don't want to get drained of all my blood and turned into one of the undead. And it's not like we have to worry about it all year long. The rules are really just for the dark period, when the sun never peeks over the horizon. But I don't mind. It's so beautiful up here, far to the north of all the rest of the country, that I'd never want to live anywhere else. You just have to respect the weather, and remember the dangers.

The problem is, vampires might be undead, and cold-blooded, and centuries old, but there's one way they're a lot like us—they get tired of the same old routine. They love to go on vacation. We get flooded with vampires during the dark period, when they aren't in danger of being crisped by the sun.

Every year at this time, they're all over the place. They try to act like they're just regular people. Two or three years ago, I found a booklet that one of them had accidentally left behind, with tips for blending in with the residents. It explained stuff like how to dress as if you could feel the cold, and how to talk about local issues. But as hard as they try to avoid notice, they don't fool us. You can spot one easily enough. Luckily, for the most part, they behave themselves, since they don't want us to get so annoyed that we start hunting them down. But they aren't always able to resist temptation, which is why the rules are so important.

On the positive side, they spend a lot of money here, which is good for the economy. So we deal with the annual invasion. We wear crosses, rub ourselves with garlic, and make sure never to invite a stranger inside. Because it's true—a vampire can't enter your house without permission.

It was a Saturday afternoon, right near the end of the dark period. My parents had gone off to the store for groceries. I'd decided to wash my hair. The colder it gets outside, the more I appreciate hot water. But I still didn't want to get myself totally wet. So I bent over the sink in the kitchen and used the sprayer to soak my head.

I have great hair. I'm not bragging. It's a fact. Mom has great hair, too, so I guess I got it from her. After I worked up the lather, I started playing around. I guess I was just as bored as the vampires. First, I made myself look like a punker with a mohawk. I snarled at my reflection in the side of the toaster, trying to act like a rock star with a bad attitude.

Then I swirled my hair into two buns, like Princess Leia in the old
Star Wars
movie. I'd just started turning my head into the Statue of Liberty's crown when the doorbell rang.

Oh, great.

Statue of Liberty is a totally secret game I've never told anyone about. Not even my best friend. I make spikes in my hair that look just like Lady Liberty's crown. Then I stand there with a towel draped around my shoulders like a robe and welcome immigrants to America. I make up stories about their struggles and about the good fortune they'll find in the land of the free. Sometimes I tuck a book under my arm. But the books get wet if I'm not careful, so I don't do that very often.

The doorbell rang again.

I was tempted to ignore it. But it could be my parents. Dad had a habit of forgetting stuff, including his house key. Maybe he'd come back for it. It was about twenty degrees below zero outside, so I knew he and Mom wouldn't appreciate waiting.

I draped a towel around my shoulders and went down the hall to the entryway. There's no glass in the front door, so I had to open it.

It wasn't my parents. It was that annoying boy, Barton Holdrup, from down the street. He was standing on the front porch, shivering.

“What?” I asked.

“My house is on fire. I need to use your phone.”

That was terrible. Fires were one of the worst things that could happen when it got really cold. It's hard to spray water when everything freezes so quickly. “Come in!” I stepped back and opened the door.

As Barton walked inside, three thoughts hit me all at once. First, I didn't smell smoke. The air here is so crisp and clean, any smell stands out. Barton's house was less than a quarter mile down the road. Second, Barton always has his cell phone with him. We all do. Even if he didn't, he'd probably risk getting burned to grab it before he ran out of the house. We all would. Third, he was looking pretty pale.

Barton smiled, and revealed his fangs.

I might not have totally broken rule number three when I invited him in—he wasn't really a stranger—but he'd obviously stopped being Barton. I had a feeling his transformation had happened very recently. He was probably hunting for his first blood. But this was no time to think things over, since it was obvious he wanted that first blood to come from me.

I had to get away.

Vampires are fast. Not as fast as in the movies, but faster than anyone would like them to be. He probably expected me to run into the house and try to hide, or block off my bedroom door while I called for help. I was pretty sure that would be a bad move. Vampires are also strong. Not as strong as in the movies, but definitely strong enough to break down a door.

I couldn't outrun or outfight him. I needed to outsmart him. That should be possible. It was Barton, after all. He was stronger and faster, now that he was one of the undead, but he wasn't any smarter.

Instead of zigging toward the hallway, I zagged right out the front door.

The bitter cold air slashed at the exposed skin of my face and hands. I could feel the damp towel start to freeze around my neck. Too bad that wouldn't be enough to stop a vampire's bite. He'd tear through the cloth like a wolf through a rabbit.

I ran, not risking the time it would take to look back. I heard footsteps behind me, crunching on the snow. Good. At least he hadn't been a vampire long enough to learn how to skim the ground.

Where to go? The nearest house was thirty yards down the road. I'd never reach it before he caught me. The garage was no good. If I went there, I'd be trapped inside, without any place to hide. Suddenly, leaving the house seemed like the worst idea of my life.

The footsteps got closer. The air bit at me like a million piranhas made of ice. Each breath I took stabbed into my lungs like a dagger, or a sharp stake.

Stake!

That was my only chance. And it wasn't going to be fun.

I slid to a stop and spun around to face Barton. He was racing toward me with his mouth wide open. I screamed and held up my hands, like I was trying to stop him.

He leaped at me, arms spread to grab my shoulders.

Here goes.
I was about to risk my neck.

I bent over just enough to put my head at the same level as his chest. He slammed into me. Two screams ripped the air as I got knocked back by the impact.

I screamed in terror, and also disgust, as I felt a spike of frozen hair on top of my head sink into Barton's body. He screamed because one of the few things that hurts a vampire is a stake through the heart. Or, in my case, a frozen spike. At least my neck didn't snap.

Now I had a problem. To kill a vampire, you have to leave the stake in his heart and then cut his head off. I wasn't really eager to do either of those things. So I was stuck. Literally. And so was Barton. A real stake would have paralyzed him, but it looked like frozen hair was good enough to slow him down.

I took a step forward, pushing at him. He took a step backward, offering no resistance. He was howling a bit, but not as loudly as before. Staying bent over, I walked all the way to my house. Then I turned him around and backed up, keeping my fists clenched on his shirt so I could pull him along. It felt weirdly like we were dancing.

When I reached the door, I said, “Barton, I take back my permission. You can't enter my house.” I wasn't sure whether that would work, but I couldn't think of anything else to try. I groped behind myself until I felt the edge of the open door. I grabbed it with one hand and put the other against his chest. Then I gave a hard push.