Killing Nikovage Bloodhunter

Chapter 8

June 16th, 2003

Denton Valley, New York
Kipps's Cabin

I stepped through the door. The sun had sunk low and the sky was stained a light pink and darkening by the second. Charlie was in the kitchen doing something over the stove. Everyone else was spread out, doing their own thing. Travis and Kipps glanced up as I entered, but neither of them said anything as I toed off my shoes and ran up the stairs to the third floor.

The loft had four sets of bunkbeds in a row. At either end of the room was a window. I'd chosen the bottom bunk at the far end of the room and my things were piled neatly at the foot of the bed in an open duffle bag. Since I'd only planned on a short trip, I hadn't bothered packing. I'd just thrown my go-bag in the trunk of the car along with my weapons and hit the road. I was starting to regret that decision now, but it was a little too late to do anything about it.

I grabbed a sweatshirt and tugged it on before sinking down on the edge of the bed with a journal and a pen. Alban was a huge proponent of keeping detailed hunting logs, so I jotted down a few details about the day. One day, this journal, along with the two others I'd already filled over the past year or so, would be part of the Watchers Council archives for future Watchers and Slayers to read. That thought made me slow down and give a little extra care with my writing.

Someone pounded up the stairs. I glanced up and saw Travis, who stopped on the top step, clinging to the wooden banister.

"Charlie made dinner," he said. "It smells amazing."

"I'm not hungry," I replied quietly.

Travis frowned, started to say something, then stopped himself. He turned to go but stopped and turned back.

"Don't shut down on us," he pleaded.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are, and I know you know you are. We need you at your best, 'Lodie, because you're the one that's driving this team. You're the lynchpin."

With that parting thought, he turned and tromped down the stairs.

I most certainly was not the lynchpin of this motley crew. If anything, Ramsey was, and he was dead. He was the reason we'd all crossed paths, whether it was directly or indirectly. He was the one that was driving this train wreck of a mission, and that was that.

I pushed the thought aside and returned to my notes. From the third floor, I could hear faint noises from the dining room. Occasional bursts of laughter, raised voices, and the clatter of dishes. Part of me wished I was down there with them, laughing along with their jokes and stories, but the other part knew that if I was seated at the table beside them, I would be miserable.

"Elodie!" someone bellowed.

The pen nearly jumped out of my hand as the tip drew a startled, jagged line across the page. Frustrated, I closed the pen in the book and shouted back.

"What?"

"Get down here! Magnus is on the phone!"

I took the steps two at a time and crashed into the front room. Alec was standing in the great room, as far as the corded phone allowed him to travel. The others spilled from the dining room into the kitchen and were watching with curiosity.

"Well?" I asked Alec.

"He has a few ideas, nothing concrete, but he can't do anything unless he has the Cup of Life," Alec explained.

Of course.

I swallowed and nodded.

"Lucky for us, I know who has it."