Zara's Curse (Empire of Fangs) by Andrew Domonkos

said sternly.   Damon pushed Norah away from him and leaned towards Twig, sneering with contempt.  
     
    “I figured you would want to be reunited with you father, but if you prefer the morgue, I guess I can exercise my right to defend myself against burglars.”
     
    “I swear I’ll spray this right in your smug face,” Twig said, sweating bullets now, the vampire’s ancient power burning away the power of his father’s resilience potion.   He could feel his resolve wavering and began to hear faint whispers in his head.   The room felt like the inside of a furnace.
     
    “Holy Water?   How quaint.   I drink the stuff with some a slice of lemon.   And I use the Bible as a coaster for my evening coffee.   Crosses and holy water don’t work.   Catholic nonsense,” he said, dismissively.  
     
    Twig narrowed his eyes.   He squeezed the trigger of the spray gun and sprayed Damon in the eyes.   “You drink hydrofluoric acid too?”   The corrosive liquid made Damon double over and emit a tortured roar of pain.   
     
    Twig sprung to his feet and freed his machete from its sheath and took a wild swing down at Damon’s neck, but Damon was swinging wildly himself, and one swipe caught Twig on flush in the chest and sent him flying across the room and into a bookshelf. A shower of weighty tomes crashed down on him.  
     
    Twig groaned in pain.   He lumbered up slowly to his feet and moved in for another attempt while Damon was still flailing, but Norah jumped on his back and began clawing at his face and pulling his hair, shrieking wildly.   Twig wrestled her off of him.   “Snap out of it!   I’m trying to save you, you idiot!” he shouted at her, but she clung to his leg.   She bit him in the calf and he kicked at her.   One kick caught her hard across the face, and the shock of pain seemed to make her snap out of whatever delirium she was suffering.   She let out a whimper and crawled to the corner of the room.  
     
    When Twig looked up Damon was gone.   He scanned the room desperately and swung his machete crazily in front of him.   The needle on the record player had been lowered again, and a creepy sonata had begun to play.   Something fluttered to his left.   Then his right.   He spun desperately around, swinging his machete into the air.   The smoke in the room made his eyes water and he could feel his heart thumping in his chest like a piston. He heard Damon laugh—a demonic, inhuman sound that seemed to come from all around him.  
     
    Twig panicked, and ran for the front door.   He had to regroup, he had to get help—Damon was much more powerful than he had anticipated.   He swung open the door and froze.   Half of the Denver police department had their guns trained on him.   He dropped the machete and laid down as they yelled instructions at him.
     
    He looked up to see Damon standing over him, his face fresh and unmarked.   “Don’t worry Nicolas.   I have many friends at Whispering Pines.   Seems we are both to have a family reunion.”
     

18.
     

     
    “Now this is art!” Drake said, tracing his fingers over the outer shell of an iron maiden.   I remember a girl I used to know, and she had something exactly like this.   What was her name Micah?
     
    “Elizabeth of Bathory,” Micah said dully.
     
    “Right!   She was a kinky one for sure.   And she knew how to throw a party.”   He opened the Iron Maiden and cast a sinister look at Abby.   This is where I’ll put you if you ever forget your place.  
     
    Abby looked at the contraption with her mouth agape.   “Do you even know how dirty that thing probably is?”   Zara couldn’t help but wonder how Abby would cope with being a blood sucker.   She threw up if she noticed pulp in her orange juice.   None of it made any sense.
     
    “If you don’t both shut up I’m going to put myself in there,” Micah said.
     
    Drake frowned at him.   “Seriously bro, lighten up.   Don’t be mad