My screech must have sounded so disturbing, the vampire crouched next to me. "Look at me, Señorita Zoe, please."

I obeyed, and the glance gave me the shaking-up I needed. In my mind, Bartolome still wore his grandfatherly face, not this mustached, bronzed, hardened mask of a fighting man, that sent a shiver down my spine.

"A vampire's weapons are their fangs, their speed and strength," he said. "You have none of these, and Freida had fed in secret on human blood. I don't think she ever stopped, like the rest of us at the Acres. We have to use every advantage to defeat her."

To call me an advantage, when even my friends treated me as a charity case, was quite a compliment. "I can't fight, Monsignor."

His etched lips curved into a smile so cold, it gave me another start. "Change this to 'I must fight', or Corazon was right and you're a sacrificial lamb."

I expelled a slow sigh. "No. No, I'm not a lamb. I still wish there was someone else you could ask to help you. Someone more powerful."

"Señorita Zoe, as far as I know, you're the only person who has thwarted Freida's plans since I caught her in Seville." That wintry smile played on his lips non-stop, but his mustache perked up. "You're a wild card, and against the overwhelming foe, there's nobody more powerful than a wild card. Do you understand?"

I didn't want to fight, or to be a wild card in a game between Ancient vampires, but I also didn't want Cruz to suffer a fate worse than death.

After I discovered the truth about him at the Eternal Acres, every other boy at our school dulled. Yes, I wanted to avoid the red flags since Dylan, and 'he's a vampire' was a strobing red light with a siren, but I couldn't stop falling more and more in love with Cruz. I wanted a chance to tell him that, even if we died afterward. But if we didn't, and he liked me back...that would be so much better! There was nobody else I would rather go to prom with.

Prom, gosh! How could I still be thinking about the prom!

I sobbed. "Basically, I'm doomed either way, so might as well go down fighting. Right?"

"Tsk, tsk, so gloomy. I'm supposed to be the tragic creature of darkness here, Señorita. Your role is to be young and eager."

"I don't feel eager," I muttered.

Bartolome spilled the contents of my tote on the floor. A wallet, school card, car fob, a sudoku book, phone and a crocheting hook impaled into a ball of yarn.

Seeing the knitting stuff brought up an even louder sob from me: I came prepared to spend an hour in an old folks' home, not fight vampires!

As if reading my thoughts, Bartolome picked up the crocheting implements. "The best weapons already belong to you, Señorita, rather than thrust into clumsy hands. So, a farmer would fight best with his pitchfork and a blacksmith—with his hammer. Ergo, you shall grapple and tangle."

There wasn't time to confess I was a beginner, though I loved it. The magic's blue glow emanated from Bartolome to imbue my simple kit. The yarn hung itself at my belt, and the hook inserted into my clenched fists.

Bartolome flourished his hands in the air. The wall mirror taller than even his great height disappeared from its frame, replaced by the billowing fog. Blue, of course.

"¡Santiago!" Bartolome bellowed and charged in.

His battle cry tagged on some strings in my heart I never noticed before. With it pounding in my chest, I followed the vampire into the blue, instead of executing a strategic retreat under Freida's bed. All my earthly possessions remained behind, but I doubted Necrontium had cell reception, and the rest of the items were even more useless.

I was low key proud of myself until the complete darkness of Necrontium enveloped me. My feet sunk into what felt like dry, cool sand.

"Blink," Bartolome, invisible in the pitch-blackness, commanded.

I did, and the faint light seeped under my eyelids from the magic brooch. Once I opened my eyes, I was no longer blind, though I couldn't say it brought me much comfort.

Bartolome and I stood at the foot of a grandiose obsidian building.

The first floor was a huge slab with staircases reminiscent of pyramids. The second was an open-air gallery, designed for massive gatherings. It surrounded a drum-shaped chamber, with a colonnade and a tall dome, blocking out the starless sky. Whatever was hidden inside, was the heart of the building, but for the moment, my gaze fixated on the dome.

Or, more accurately, I couldn't take my gaze away from the ghostly horrors that circled the spire on maybe phantom wings, maybe transparent gowns. There had to be hundreds of them, a giant wheel of ghosts in the sky. Their presence chilled the air, making it smell of yesterday's rain and mildew.

But the worst thing about Necrontium was its silence. It muffled the space, limited it, as if to make sure that our every move would be amplified and summon something even more disturbing lying in wait for us.

Shivering, I glanced behind my shoulder. Black dunes stretched for as far as the eye could see. If anything haunted them, it was the emptiness.

The imposing building drew my gaze back like a magnet. "What's this?" I whispered. Why would anyone need to erect a black capitol in a desert?

"Freida's mausoleum," Bartolome said far too loudly for my liking.

I instinctively pressed my finger to my lips, slanting my gaze toward the ghostly forms, but he shook his head. "They already know we are here, Señorita, for they can sense any lightwalker a mile off."

"Lightwalkers? Don't the vampires live in the shadows?" Would all these creatures attack me?

"Mostly yes, we prefer less sunshine than the mortals." Bartolome smiled underneath his mustache. "But don't worry, these beasts hate all vampires with a passion, save for their Mistress."

As if to confirm his words, the scary shadows broke their wheel-like formation and spiraled downward in a vortex, with the largest one leading the charge.

Bartolome rushed up the steps to the second floor of the building, obviously intent on meeting the leader at the gallery. He never forgot to tugboat me along. If I survived this afternoon, I would be in shape for Delys High's track-and-field team, I swear!

"We chose our ground!" Bartolome hopped on the railing and waved at the enemy. That left a square mile or so of the marble-paved floors for me to defend.

But Bartolome had it covered. "Keep your back to the crypt, Señorita!" he ordered.

Great, but..."A c-crypt?"

He rolled his eyes, as if to say duh! It's a mausoleum, so what else could it be? "They'll try to attack you first, and I'll thin them out. Try not to die."

Really? After talking up my supposed powers of a wild card? "You just needed me as bait?"

"Not exclusively! Use your weapons!"

"Thanks! I'd have never figured that out myself."

"You're welcome!"

The leader of the shadow pack ignored Bartolome on the railing and dive-bombed me.

It was roughly humanoid in gauzy rags. The only solid part was its skull, gaping with empty black sockets, but it could hurt me. Bare teeth, polished by time, clicked within an inch from my nose, before I could even lift my crocheting hook in defense!

Bartolome snatched my monster out of the air and tore it in half, like a tissue. But there were dozens of them right behind!

"How do I even..." I wailed, staring at the stupidest weapon in history that Bartolome created for me. Sure, the crocheting hook glowed blue, but it still was a crocheting hook, for crying out loud!

"You'll get the hang of it. I believe in you," Bartolome yelled, while swinging from the railing at blurring speed and destroying our attackers. The foggy pieces floated down like ash, then bobbed on the marble slabs like dead jellyfish on the tide.

"Eww! What are these things?"

Bartolome seemed too busy shredding the 'things' to answer, but answer he did. "Wraith, the trapped souls of Freida's feeders!"

I didn't need another reminder that behind me, among the forest of the columns and under the magnificent dome, hid Freida's crypt. Meaning, she could exit at any point and grab me!

"Incoming!" Bartolome yelled.

I didn't need a reminder that a flock of these...wraiths was zeroing in on me either.

Clenching my jaw, I unwound the yarn like a lasso. Or I hoped it was how the cowboys did it, because I didn't watch the Westerns.

Bartolome went airborne, turning his body into a mini-tornado to suck in wraiths within the reach of his wind-milling, chopping arms. Anything that came into contact with the rib of his hand, fell apart. Skulls came down onto the marble floor slabs like giant hail.

The slaughter didn't deter the wraiths. They came in thicker and thicker, so it wasn't long before one of them evaded Bartolome's killing frenzy.

My breath hitched in my throat, but I did the only thing I could think of. I tossed my yarn and waved the hook in the air, almost too afraid to look what would happen.

Good thing I didn't squeeze my eyes shut: The yarn weaved into a lace dolly and caught the wraith like a net!

I was doing it! Fighting with my magic weapon!

Emboldened, I waved the hook again, imitating a flick of a magic wand like we did playing wizards in our childhood.

Electrical charge zapped through the lace, crumbling the wraith in the dust; all but the grinning skull.

I pulled the hook back—and my magic yarn wound itself back into a ball. Ashes hung in a cloud, and the skull tumbled, cracked when it hit the marble floors, and rolled somewhere.

"Wow!"

From the main fray, Bartolome gave me the shortest thumbs up in history. I would have waved back, but I already had another sneaky wraith angling for me.

And so it went, in a roughly 10:1 ratio of kills, not in my favor, but who cares! My eyes watered from extreme concentration. My arm was sore from swishing the crocheting hook. And my throat felt raw from the acrid ash and yelling. But I was fighting. I wasn't a lamb!

Finally, the wraith downpour thinned, but I couldn't run around without stubbing a toe on the extinguished skulls. Since I had a bit of time, I started rolling them to rest against the wall.

"Leave it!" Bartolome hollered from above.

"They were humans once," I argued. "Freida's victims."

"You're kind-hearted, and I like that, but right now—" he glided down to me from the railing, using a short cloak attached to the back of his ridiculous outfit like a wing. "Right now we must confront the predator in her lair."

I looked up—the air was totally wraith-free—and gulped. "I can't believe we destroyed them all! There were thousands! Against the two of us!"

"Don't celebrate an easy victory, Señorita, for it's most likely a trap. Be on guard."

It was his realm, so he was probably in a better position to judge what counted as easy here. I sighed, rubbing off the goosebumps of excitement from my forearms. But come on, thousands of wraith!

I defeated thousands! my heart sang, as we circled the drum-shaped crypt.

I tried to keep my ears pricked and glanced around every stupid column, but found nothing suspicious, until we stopped before the metal-clad doors. A huge padlock hung on their hinge, but Bartolome ripped it off with a bare hand. Then he opened the door and led the way inside.

True gentlemen probably let the ladies go first, but I sobered up enough to feel grateful for his un-Southern behavior. Wraith were wraith, but I didn't want to come nose to nose with Freida!

The crypt was far smaller than it would have appeared from the outside, and empty, save for urns in the honeycombed walls, and a black onyx sarcophagus in the middle. The lid of the same material reclined against its right side.

Even uncovered, the stone monstrosity was so tall, the smaller, wooden coffin inside it hovered above my waist-height, perfect for display. Tallow candles flickered among the flower arrangements making the nesting funerary boxes look even more somber. The inescapable white lilies bent gracefully over the face of the boy who lay in state. The petals reached to caress his waxy cheeks.

"Cruz!" I shook Bartolome's gripping fingers from my shoulder and dashed to the sarcophagus. I had to know if he was alive or undead or whatever...so long that he wasn't truly dead. "Cruz!"

"Señorita, Señorita..." Bartolome groaned behind my back. "I told you to be—"