It was Friday, the fourth day since the ritual that had turned Ethan's life upside down, and Bellingham High buzzed with weekend excitement. Students chattered about dates, parties, and plans to escape the town for a couple of days. But for Ryan, he would be holed up in his bedroom, the world felt far from festive.
Ryan's POV
Four days had passed since I performed that cursed ritual, and I still couldn't unravel what went wrong. Why did fire burst out of Ethan's body? The question gnawed at me, a splinter I couldn't pull free. I sat on my bed, the room dim with drawn curtains, the air heavy with the scent of old wood and my own unease. My parents thought I was grieving—Jaxson and Carter's deaths had given me a convenient excuse to stay home—but the truth was far messier. I messed up, and now I'm cleaning up the fallout.
I'd worked tirelessly to cover our tracks: planting fake evidence by the old bridge—wallets, phones, a staged scene to sell the suicide story—and using compulsion on witnesses, cops, anyone who might've seen too much. It was exhausting. And now I have to lie to her. The thought of Lady Freya sent a chill down my spine. If she learned about me doing the ritual, her wrath would be merciless. I couldn't afford to slip up.
Where the hell are Frank and Oscar? They'd been quiet since that night, too quiet. If one of them blabbed to Freya, I'm done for. The idea made my stomach lurch. Punishment from her wasn't just pain—it was obliteration. I grabbed my phone, the screen's glow harsh against my eyes, and dialed Oscar. Voicemail again. "Damn it," I muttered. What's he playing at? I tried Frank next, my fingers tapping impatiently. To my relief, he picked up.
"Hi, Ryan," Frank said, his voice cautious but steady.
"Hey, I'm good, Frank. How about you?" I kept my tone light, masking the frustration bubbling inside.
"I'm good too," he replied, but there was an edge to his words.
"Where've you been the past few days?" I pressed, leaning forward. "I've been working my ass off alone to cover up that mess."
Frank's voice hardened. "I've been hiding, Ryan. What did you expect? I watched two powerful vampires turn to ash in less than a second. You think I'd stick around or make myself easy to find? No way."
I gritted my teeth. Fair point, but he's not the one dealing with Freya. "I hear you, but you need to come back. We have to meet and sort this out. There's a lot to do."
"Then explain what that ritual was first," Frank shot back. "Why did things go down like that?"
I forced a calm I didn't feel. "No problem. Let's meet at the old warehouse on the edge of Sehome Hill—our usual spot. I'll tell you everything I know."
"Fine," Frank said after a pause. "I'll be there this afternoon."
"Good. One last thing—have you talked to Oscar lately?"
"Nope," Frank replied. "Last time I saw or talked to him was that night."
"Alright. See you later, then." I ended the call, exhaling sharply. At least Frank's accounted for. One less thing to worry about. But Oscar's silence gnawed at me. If he'd gone rogue or, worse, talked to Freya, we were all screwed. For now, I needed Frank's help to investigate Ethan. If the worst happens, I can throw Frank under the bus and run. It was a cold plan, but survival demanded it.
I spent the morning preparing, pacing my room as I pieced together a strategy. The weekend and next week were all I had to come up with a foolproof plan. Ethan was the key, but I needed to understand what he'd become. The fire, the ritual's failure—it all pointed to something beyond vampirism, something I didn't understand. If I can figure him out, I can control this. I grabbed a notebook, jotting down what I knew: Ethan's resistance to compulsion, the flames, and the ash. It wasn't enough, but it was a start.
Afternoon approached, and I left home, the house empty with my parents at work until late. The fog clung to the streets as I drove to the old warehouse on Sehome Hill, a crumbling relic hidden by overgrown pines—our private base for years. The air smelled of damp earth and rust, the silence broken only by the crunch of gravel under my tires. I arrived early, setting up inside the cavernous space. Rusted beams loomed overhead, and the faint drip of water echoed from a corner. I needed Frank for this, but I couldn't shake the feeling that every move was a gamble.
Frank arrived a few minutes later, his footsteps cautious as he scanned the shadows. His eyes darted around, searching for anything suspicious, and I couldn't blame him. After what we'd seen, trust was frayed. He spotted me sitting calmly at a rickety table, two folding chairs set up, and approached slowly. As he sat opposite me, his posture was tense, ready to bolt.
"Before you say anything, Ryan," Frank said, his voice low and firm, "you know what I want. Explain, or I'm leaving this town. I'm not dealing with something I don't understand."
This bastard thinks he can demand answers just because I need him. I forced a smile, swallowing my irritation. "Okay, let's start with the ritual. I found it snooping through Lady Freya's archives. It was supposed to amplify a vampire's power without waiting centuries to grow stronger, as you know we grow with time and no amount of training can make you stringer." I leaned forward, keeping my tone even. "I thought I'd hit the jackpot—a shortcut to strength."
Frank cut in, frowning. "If it's that powerful, why aren't older vampires using it?"
"I was getting to that," I said, my patience thinning. "The notes at the end crushed my hopes. The ritual had been tested hundreds of times, and it never worked. Every vampire who tried it failed. The final note declared it useless."
Frank's eyes narrowed. "So why use it on Ethan?"
I exhaled, choosing my words carefully. "When Ethan overheard us talking about vampire stuff, I tried to compel him. It didn't work. That's when I remembered the ritual. I thought maybe it needed a special human—someone immune to compulsion. So I used him, thinking I'd absorb the power. But what happened… the fire, the ash—I don't know why it went down like that."
Frank leaned back, processing. "So you're saying we're dealing with an unknown supernatural who can vaporize vampires into ash. He could be hunting us right now, and you want to poke that hornet's nest, why don't you get Lady Freya involved?"
He's not wrong, but he doesn't know the half of it. "Look, Frank, we can't tell Freya. You don't deal with her directly, but I do. If she finds out, we're both dead—no matter where we run. Our best bet is to deal with Ethan before she catches wind."
Third Person POV
As Ryan and Frank continued strategizing, their voices low in the dim warehouse, Ryan's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, and his face drained of color. The caller ID read Freya. A cold sweat broke out across his skin, his heart pounding as the device vibrated, demanding an answer. Frank's eyes widened, sensing the shift, but neither spoke. The call was a ticking bomb, and whatever came next would change everything.