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

tried not to think about the danger he had put Zara in.   He’d let himself become obsessed with these creatures just as his father had.   He would have to make risking Zara’s life worthwhile.   He had to kill Damon, or it would have all been in vain.   There would be no saving her if he failed.   There would be no saving himself if he failed either.
     
    He eased the gate open just enough to slide past, and crouched down, moving quickly to the door.   He took out a small tube filled with liquid from his backpack.   The tube had a makeshift trigger on it, and he squeezed it, spraying the plaque, which immediately began to bubble and foam from the chemical reaction.   He couldn’t do what he needed to do so long as the house was protected by the plaque’s power.
     
    He crept around the side of the house, stepping softly on the flagstone walkway.   He knew everyone had gone out, but imagined the Caspari’s didn’t survive this long by letting people just walk through the front door and stake them while they were taking their power naps.  
     
    On his waist he wore a leather stake-holster belt that held three custom-made black walnut stakes that had been polished and sharpened for maximum penetration.   During his first encounter with one of the creatures a stake had broken in half when he missed its chest and he’d driven it into the creature’s shoulder, and he’d had to get really creative to finish the thing off.   Eventually he discovered that severing their heads worked just as well as staking them, but was much harder and much messier, so the stakes remained the weapon of choice.
     
    Just the same, he wore a machete on his side as well. The belt was noisy though, and he made a mental note to modify it later so that it would be quieter.
     
    The backdoor was locked, as he expected.   He sprayed the door handle with the corrosive liquid and watched it bubble, then gave the door a light push and it opened.   He readied a stake, gripped it tightly, and stepped into the dark house.
     

16.
     

     
    Micah parked the Porsche in an empty parking lot.   Zara looked up at the Denver Art Museum: a towering grey sharp-edged fortress rising into the night sky.   Normally, Zara would consider it a work of post-modern brilliance.   Tonight, though, she thought it very closely resembled a doomed prison filled with very clever torture devices.   “Isn’t it beautiful?” Micah asked.
     
    “Are you sure it’s open? There’s nobody else here…” Zara said, scanning the empty parking lot through her window.
     
    “It is for me.   I happen to know the curator, we’re like this,” Micah crossed his fingers. She wanted to ask why he lied about the “promotional event” but decided she had much bigger things to worry about.   Clearly Micah just did whatever the hell he wanted and didn’t concern himself with the consequences.  
     
    “So, I wanted to tell you something.” Micah said, placing his hand gently over hers.   She wanted to recoil, but didn’t.   He still commanded a powerful influence over her, and she could feel Twig’s potion waning inside her.  
     
    “I wanted to say, that sometimes we push so hard against what we know is right, because we are really just used to life being…a disappointment, and we are afraid to be truly happy.   I mean…are you really happy living in that little apartment, knowing such a hard life is waiting for you, so much meaningless toil to just get a few drops of happiness when it rains on other people?”
     
    Zara blinked and looked sadly away.   She wanted to slap him.   Tell him he was just a monster who knew nothing of her life and only wanted to drag her down into his own darkness.   But he was right.   Her whole life she had worried about whatever new problem was lurking around the corner—always waiting to spring forth and knock her down from whatever precarious footing she’d managed to get.   Everyday her father worked himself into