Loved (House of Night Other World #1)(41)

Skye grimaced with understanding. “Worst section ever. Someone needs to talk to Kramisha about it. That big community table thing just doesn’t work in Tulsa.”

“Right?” Xena said. “Like we’re New York City, or something?”

“Hey, thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“No big deal. I have my eye on a designer bed for my Pita cat, so I appreciate the extra tips.”

“Thanks again. Um, your cat is cray. You know that, right?” Skye frowned as the phone began ringing.

“Your mom’s cray,” Xena shot over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen to check on her orders. “And answer the damn phone.”

Still frowning, Skye picked up the phone that was a reproduction of a brass cradle rotary dial. It totally fit the rest of the Depot’s décor as the restaurant was decorated in 1920’s art deco classic club style—right down to their flapper waitress, and tuxedoed waiter uniforms. “Depot Restaurant, how may I help you?”

“This is Zoey Redbird. Who is this?”

“High Priestess!” Skye automatically stood straighter. “This is Skye Summers. Your table is open. Can we expect you—”

“Is Kramisha there?”

“Well, no ma’am. Or, yes, but she’s somewhere downstairs in the—”

“Listen carefully to me. Do exactly what I tell you. Go to the front doors. Lock them. NOW. Then get all of the guests downstairs and into the tunnels. Close and bar the entry behind you. Then have Kramisha call me.”

“But, um. They’re not done eating. And there are a lot of humans here. They won’t want to go into the tunnels.”

“I don’t give a crap about what they want! There is an army of creatures on their way to you. They will kill everyone in their path. Put the phone down right now and lock that front door. Then get everyone into the tunnels and call me back on the landline down there.”

“Y—yes, High Priestess.” Shakily, Skye set the phone down and started toward the big double glass doors at the entrance of the restaurant.

She didn’t make it.

The doors exploded open. On a tide of snow and frigid air, ravenous creatures flooded into the depot. Skye saw their red Marks. She saw their glowing eyes and flashing fangs. She heard the shrieks of the restaurant patrons as they bolted from their tables, only to be tackled as the horde mobbed the dining room and began ripping, tearing, and eating the flesh from the humans.

“Skye!” She heard Xena’s shout, and she tried to retrace her steps. Tried to make it back to the kitchen and the trapdoor that opened to the tunnels below.

Instead a red-eyed demon blocked her way.

“Ooooh, pretty,” he hissed.

Skye screamed until he ripped out her throat, and then, blissfully, she knew no more.



Zoey

“Oh, Goddess, no. No, no, no, no, no!” I could hear everything. “Run!” I screamed impotently into the phone. “Get into the tunnels!”

The line went dead.

“Think, Zoey!” I punched three numbers into the landline, 9-1-1.

A busy signal beeped like a harbinger of doom.

“Seriously?” I shouted into the phone. My hands were trembling so badly that I had a hard time putting in the security code to my phone. Still no service. I got into my contacts and found Kramisha’s landline number. We’d had a landline installed in the tunnels during their renovation. No matter how hard we tried, none of the cell phone providers could come up with a plan that gave us reliable service down there.

The phone rang. “Come on, Kramisha!” And rang. And rang. Then her archaic answering machine kicked on. “Messages is lame. If you under forty, I know you feel the same. I seen your ID. But I ain’t here. Just re-call me.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!” I hung up and scrolled to Detective Marx’s desk number and somehow managed to punch it correctly into the landline. Please … please … detectives have to work weird hours. Please be there. He answered on the second ring.

“Marx, it’s Zoey. Just listen. Get a lot of cops to the Depot Restaurant. Now. Something happened in Woodward Park tonight. Red vampyres and fledglings from somewhere else got through to our world. They’re killers. And they’re at the depot.”

“How do we tell the difference between good and bad red vamps?”

“If it smells off, like something dead mixed with your grandma’s moldy old basement, it’s a bad guy. Oh, and you have to sever their spines to kill them.”

“Sounds like old-school vampyre stuff.”

“More like old-school zombie stuff, but you’re not wrong.”

“Is Neferet loose?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did she do this?”

“We didn’t see any sign of her.”

“The mess on Twenty-First—in front of Woodward Park—that wasn’t a simple car accident?”

“Nope. And there’s more. Look by the wall around Neferet’s grotto. It’s bad. Also, keep an eye out for Frances LaFont.”

“LaFont? What does she have to do with this?”

“Well, let’s just say she was her usual charming self and interrupted some spellwork tonight, which let those red vampyre zombie things into Tulsa. She took off, but I have no clue if she made it home, or if one of those creatures got her.”