Hunted by P. C. Cast Page A

about
the
Council of Nyx, the one Shekinah had been head of that ruled all vampyres. But I had a Council also, a Prefect Council, acknowledged by the school, made up of me, Erik, the Twins, Damien, Aphrodite, and Stevie Rae.
    â€œKramisha has my vote,” Erik said.
    â€œSee, it’s practically official,” I said.
    â€œYea!” Jack cheered.
    â€œIt’s a crazy idea, but I like it.” Kramisha beamed.
    â€œSo, write those poems down for me before you go to sleep, ’kay?”
    â€œYeah, I can do that.”
    â€œCome on, Jack. Our Poet Laureate needs to get her sleep,” Erik said. “Hey, congratulations, Kramisha.”
    â€œYeah, big congrats!” Jack said, giving Kramisha a hug.
    â€œY’all go on now. I got work to do. Then I gotta get my rest. A PoetLaureate do have to look her best,” Kramisha said primly, finishing up with a couplet.
    Erik and I followed Jack and Duchess out of Kramisha’s room and down the tunnel.
    â€œWas that poem really about Kalona?” Jack said.
    â€œI think they all were,” I said. “Do you?” I asked Erik.
    He nodded grimly.
    â€œOhmigod! What’s that mean?” Jack said.
    â€œI don’t have a clue. Nyx is at work, though. I can feel it. The prophecy came to us in poem form. Now this? It can’t be a coincidence.”
    â€œIf it’s the work of the Goddess, then there must be some way we can use it to help us,” Erik said.
    â€œYeah, that’s what I think, too.”
    â€œWe just have to figure out how,” Erik said.
    â€œThat’s gonna take someone with more brains than me,” I said.
    There was a short pause, and then the three of us spoke together, “Damien.”
    Spooky shadows, bats, and my worries about the red fledglings temporarily forgotten, I hurried down the tunnel with Erik and Jack.
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    â€œThe door to the depot’s over here.” Jack led us through the surprisingly homelike kitchen to a side room that was obviously a pantry, though I’d bet what used to be stored there was more liquid than the bags of chips and boxes of cereal it now held. All along one wall, rolled neatly, piled side by side and on top of each other, were a bunch of puffy sleeping bags and pillows.
    â€œSo is that the way into the depot?” I pointed to a wooden pull-down staircase in the corner of the storage closet that led up to an open door.
    â€œYeah, that’s it.” Jack said.
    Jack went first and I followed him, poking my head up into thesupposedly abandoned building. My first impression was of darkness and dust, fragmented every few minutes by what looked like a strobe-light effect of flashes of sudden brightness leaking through the boarded-up windows and door. When I heard the rumble of thunder, I understood and remembered what Erik had said about a major thunderstorm going on, which wouldn’t be unusual for Tulsa, even in early January.
    But this wasn’t a normal day, and I couldn’t help but believe this also wasn’t a normal thunderstorm.
    Before I did any looking around I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. I opened it. No service.
    â€œMine hasn’t worked, either. Not since we got here,” Erik said.
    â€œMine’s charging down in the kitchen, but I know Damien checked his when we got up here, and he didn’t have any service, either.”
    â€œYou know bad weather can knock the towers out,” Erik said in response to what I’m sure was my sickeningly worried expression. “Remember that big storm a month or so ago? My cell didn’t work for three entire days.”
    â€œThanks for trying to make me feel better, but I just . . . just don’t believe this is a natural phenomenon.”
    â€œYeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
    I drew a deep breath. Well, natural or not, we were going to have to deal with it, and right now there wasn’t a darn thing we could do about