Cryptic Cravings Read Free

moment.
    “What’s wrong?” he insisted.
    I had to squint to make out the object. It was then I could see clearly a familiar car—or, rather, hearse.
    I tried to block Alexander’s view by attempting to pull him away, but he didn’t budge.
    Alexander was already staring at the barren factory.
    His blissful expression sharpened slightly, and I could tell it registered to him that it was Jagger’s car.
    I remained in his comforting clutches, bound to my love in a way I hadn’t been before. We clung to each other, both reluctant to break our euphoric encounter and face the situation that we now overlooked.
    So Jagger hadn’t gone back to Romania or Hipstervil e when Alexander’s party was over. There had to be a reason why he didn’t return and was apparently staying in the factory.
    Alexander and I shared one last kiss before giving over to the distraction that lay at the bottom of the hil .

Chapter 2
Dead End
    Not wanting to draw attention to us, Alexander parked the Mercedes in a grassy area more than fifty yards away from the mil . I was stil beaming over Alexander taking my blood as his own. We tiptoed over the gravel road that led to the factory with a connection that couldn’t be broken. As we neared the entrance, the dreamy look in Alexander’s eyes continued and was only slightly marred by his concern over the discovery of Jagger’s presence.
    We walked quietly through the shadows, and Alexander squeezed my hand extra tight.
    The two antique smokestacks pointed toward the heavens like giant grave markers. The desolate and dilapidated factory was riddled with graffiti, broken and missing windows, rusted doors, and overgrown weeds and grass.
    Discarded boxes, trash, and beer cans were scattered around the grounds.
    We turned a corner and came upon a vintage black mustang—Sebastian’s ride.
    Alexander stopped in his tracks. He sighed and slumped, let down by the discovery that his best friend was in the company of his former nemesis.
    “Maybe Sebastian felt he had nowhere else to go,” I offered encouragingly.
    “Now that he’s fal en for Luna,” Alexander said, “he’s probably under Jagger’s spel , too.”
    Alexander took a deep breath and started for a white wooden door with the words “GET OUT” spray-painted in black.
    “Wel , then I guess we’re going in,” I said.
    But instead of charging in, Alexander stopped.
    “Maybe we should wait,” he said, pausing at the doorway. “They obviously didn’t want us to know that they’re stil here. Maybe we shouldn’t let them know we found them.”
    “But how are we going to find out what’s going on with them?”

    “I could go in myself—undetected,” he said, al uding to his nocturnal powers.
    “That hardly seems fair,” I said with the disappointment of a child who is told she is too short to go on an amusement park ride. “If I could change into a bat, I’d do it, too.”
    Alexander realized my limitations were upsetting me.
    “Besides,” I said, “it might be dangerous to leave me here alone in this dark, desolate place.”
    He nodded in agreement. “We’l see what we can find out from here.” Alexander cupped his pale and once bloodstained palm. I stuck my combat-booted foot in his cradled hands and he lifted me up. I struggled at first but managed to grab on to a ledge and pul ed my head slightly above it so I could peer in through a broken windowpane. My black fingernails were in stark contrast with the gray cement.
    Breathless, I peered in. At first it was hard to see. My vision had to adjust to the dim lighting. A flickering candelabra sat on a wooden table, and then I spotted a flash of white hair.
    “Over there,” I whispered to Alexander.
    He adjusted his stance a few feet to our left to where I could now see clearly. Jagger was sitting with his back to me, his red-flamed Doc Martens boots resting up on a crate and his fingers woven together, supporting his white-haired head. He was the king of this crumbling