Gabriel (10 page)

I considered tearing through the curtains, letting my fangs crack, and forcing them to tell me what the hell they were doing and what had happened to Jonah.

“I said I was sorry, Fergal.” A small, nervous voice sounded, and I detected the thick Irish accent immediately.

“No, not all right. You let it get away.” The passenger next to him, whom the small boy had referred to as Fergal, snapped in reply.

Were they talking about Jonah? I hoped that they were.

A tense silence fell, and I automatically reached for the wall of the Winnebago to steady myself as we rounded a bend.

The driver said nothing but began winding down his window; it squeaked, only making it halfway before jamming. As the air blew into the van, the scent of my kidnappers hit me hard.

Humans.

They weren't Vampires or Angels. They were ordinary human beings. And they had taken me against my will. Along the side of the vehicle there was a door. I could just open it and jump out. It would be easy. I could even try to just think myself away … Or, I could confront them before taking my leave and teach them some manners.

The driver lit a cigarette. “Cameron, you said that demon belonged to the same group that took the girl, which means we've gotten lucky. They've come back and she might be with them, if they haven't killed her already.”

My interest was piqued just as I was easing myself toward the door. They knew what Jonah was and they had been spying on us in Hedgerley, waiting for us to return, waiting for me. But why?

“I wouldn't be so jammy, Phelan. Thanks to this eejit, that demon is a walking wounded, and it's gonna be none too happy about it. You should have bound its legs in silver—you let it escape!” Fergal shouted at Cameron.

“I didn't mean to,” Cameron said. “Doesn't matter; took it down long enough to rescue the
bure
back there.”

Bure?
I gritted my teeth. Who was he to call me “girl”? And I didn't need to be rescued.

Phelan took another pull on his cigarette. Blowing the smoke from his lungs, he said, “Why did you tell Cameron to shoot it in the leg? Why not the chest? Why injure the thing instead of killing it?”

“I don't have to answer to you,” Fergal retorted. “I'm in charge, remember?”

“Aye. Humor me, then,” Phelan replied.

“I wanted to interrogate it so that we could find the girl quicker,” Fergal said. “You're forgetting what the Angel Aingeal said.… You know, we gotta find the girl and all that.”

My heart stopped.

The Angel Aingeal.

My mother.

“What's your hurry, Fergal?” Phelan piped up in a confident, controlled voice. When no reply came, Phelan carried on, “If your father was still alive, he'd be reminding you of the tortoise and the hare.”

Fergal punched Phelan in the shoulder, causing him to swerve the vehicle, and shouted, “Feck off with you, that's a child's story.”

“Exactly,” Phelan muttered.

I had no idea who these hardy boys were, but they knew about Vampires and they were searching for a girl who, unbeknownst to them, was in the back of their Winnebago. Nothing about their conversation suggested that they knew I was the girl they had been tracking, and they hadn't noticed the effect the silver had on me. For once, I had the upper hand.

With my mother's name ringing in my ears, any thoughts I had about leaving diminished. If these lads knew where she was, then perhaps I could find out.

I had no idea how these travelers had come to be in the presence of my mother, and regardless, who knew what their motives truly were? Not long ago, Michael had taught me just how easy it was to be deceived. I hadn't paid enough attention to my gut, and that nearly got us all killed. No, I wouldn't be fooled again. I would play it smart.

Just that second, the Winnebago veered off, turning a sharp right. Then the engine shut off.

I sat myself down at the table, far away from the silver, and waited. The boys jumped out of their seats and, still arguing, made their way around the side of the Winnebago. I pushed my hair behind my ears and wondered for a moment if, on closer inspection, they would recognize me.

The handle of the door shook as someone tried to push it down from the outside, and then it creaked open.

The main light switched on, and the guy who had been driving, whom they had called Phelan, stood in the doorway. He looked straight at the empty sofa, and then his eyes quickly darted to where I was perched in the far corner.

“Ah, you're awake.”

“Who are you?” I shot back.

Phelan sauntered over, scratching the back of his neck. The material of his long-sleeved shirt clung to his biceps. The tendrils of a black tattoo glided up his neck, stopping just below his square jaw. He wore a beanie hat and had shaved sideburns that still left a gray shadow, giving him an almost military appearance.

Eyeing me closely, he pulled out a chair and swung it around so that he was resting his arms on the back of it with his legs straddling either side. “No one important. My friends and I were passing by and saw you being attacked. So we helped.” He gave a nonchalant shrug, but he was staring at me intently, running his hard eyes over my every feature.

“It's a little hazy,” I lied. “Attacked by whom?”

“Just some guy.”

“Right.” I folded my arms and crossed my right leg over my left.

“What were you doing out by the forest, all by yourself?”

“Taking a morning stroll.”

“To where? Or rather, from where, exactly?” He pushed, scraping the feet of his chair as he balanced his weight on the front two legs.

“From the hotel I was staying in, out to the local shop, for milk.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Why was he so interested?

He shifted uncomfortably, and we continued to stare each other down. He opened his mouth to say something, when another one of the boys jumped through the doorway.

“You're up. You all right?” he asked cheerily, bouncing through the messy room. He stood next to the would-be soldier who was questioning me.

“I hear you rescued me from some creep, so I guess a thank-you is in order?” I smiled coyly and moved out from behind the table.

“Aye, the name's Fergal.” He extended his hand for me to shake.

He was much shorter and slighter than my interrogator, who was still watching me carefully. Fergal wore baggy gray tracksuit bottoms, with the tongue of his Converse sneakers sticking out over the top. He had on a warm-looking, cream-colored vest over the top of a long-sleeved shirt, but it was the gold cross hanging low around his neck that caught my attention. I thought for a moment that it pulsed with a white glow as it shimmered under the lighting. I returned Fergal's wide smile as he played with his mass of blond hair, teasing it forward. He looked like a member of a boy band—not a gun-wielding Vampire slayer.

I edged in closer to him, taking his hand, and a weird sense of calm flowed through me, but it only lasted as long as his handshake.

“Don't suppose my brother here has bothered to introduce himself?” Fergal jovially nudged the other guy in the shoulder.

“It's Phelan. And what may we call you?” he retorted, standing up.

I wasn't sure what name to give. Circling my palm with my fingertips, I considered Fergal a little longer than I should have before replying. “Brooke.” It was the first name that popped into my head. Okay, the second name, but I wasn't about to give Hanora's.

“Right, well, we're setting up camp here tonight. We can drop you home tomorrow if you want. Or can you call your daddy—ask him to come fetch you?” Fergal offered sweetly.

I had been gone some time, and I knew Gabriel would be worrying about where I was. Well, if he had returned from his meeting by now. I could easily open my mind and call to him, but I knew the second I did that, he would arrive and take me away. And if he thought these lads knew where my mother was, he'd be even quicker to remove me from their company, to ensure I couldn't find out. I needed … time; time to crack these travelers and find out what they knew; and time to think things through.

“Actually, I'm kind of a loner. Could I crash with you for a couple of days?” I asked.

“Might be a bit difficult, that, like.” Fergal dropped his gaze to the floor.

“No,” Phelan chimed in fast, all the while continuing to stare at me.

Fergal tilted his chin back up and glared at Phelan. Then, turning his attention back to me, his right eyebrow arched, he said, “Can you cook?”

“I worked in a bed-and-breakfast once. I make a mean fry-up.” I tried my best to sell myself.

“Grand, you can help Iona in the kitchen,” Fergal said.

Phelan's mouth opened, ready to protest, but Fergal had already placed his hand on my back and was shimmying me out of the doorway before Phelan's protest could meet the air.

 

EIGHT

I
TRAIPSED ACROSS YET
another empty field. I glanced up at the sky as the winter's night drew in. This far from the city, no layer of pollution hid the stars, which had come to life—gleaming brightly.

I scanned the immediate area and could make out a motorbike, a large motor home, and a caravan, which was rigged up to the back of a truck. Looking back, the Winnebago I had just left was well worn, with large sections of the garish blue paint having long chipped away.

The door of the adjacent motor home swung open and music blared, spoiling the tranquil setting and cutting my observations short.

Several bodies dashed toward Phelan and Fergal, greeting them with slaps on the back. I hung behind, taking in the scene in front of me.

“Cam said he shot one in the leg!” A voice belonging to a burly young lad sounded and, before he had finished his sentence, Phelan had knocked him onto the ground.

“Hey!”

“We got company,” Phelan said. Peering at me over his shoulder, he studied my expression. I nudged my shoulders up and down, to reassure him that I was oblivious to anything that had been said. A fake half-smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

A small figure weaved through the boys, launching herself into Fergal's arms. She bear-hugged him, and he rubbed her back reassuringly.

“Thank the Lord you're okay,” she whimpered.

Brooke wasn't lying when she'd once told me that Vampires could see in the dark. Though I had to focus, I could see the girl's features. By her reaction, my initial thought was that she was Fergal's girlfriend. But the bend in her nose, the curve of her plump lips, and her washed-out gray-blue eyes told me that the two of them were in fact related.

“I made chicken casserole. They wanted to eat before you got back, but I said no, we eat together. Always together.” She beamed triumphantly.

Fergal fluffed her long, white-blond hair affectionately.

“Come on, everyone, I'm starving. Let's eat,” he instructed, and the bodies piled back into the motor home.

I hung back, wondering if I was doing the right thing. It would be easier just to do as they had intended with Jonah: pick one off and interrogate him about my mother and about their intentions. But there were other ways of getting answers—better ways; ones that, through deception, rewarded you with the absolute truth.

“You coming?” Phelan hustled me forward through the door.

Unlike the beaten-up blue Winnebago we had arrived here in, this motor home was huge. Phelan directed me to a large round table in the middle of an open-plan sitting room and kitchen. Down the hall, there were many doors; bedrooms, I guessed.

I was ushered into a seat by Phelan, who wasn't about to let me out of his sight, and I thanked him as I pulled in my chair.

The living area was contemporary, with veneer blinds, a flat-screen TV, and a leather corner sofa that wrapped around the walls. This van didn't smell of smoke; instead, the inviting smell of cooked chicken and stock warmed me through.

The table had been set for eight people; the young girl hurriedly positioned another place mat and set of cutlery under my nose before switching off the stereo and scurrying back into the kitchen.

She returned speedily with a large casserole dish, which she placed at the center of the white tablecloth next to a stack of freshly cut bread, a jug of extra gravy, and a few cans of beer.

Taking her seat opposite me, she called out, “Dinnertime!”

Phelan and Fergal were already seated, with me stuck in between the two of them. Once I sat, they bowed their heads, and Fergal said, “Lord, we thank you for this food and this drink that will keep us strong. Lord, we ask you to bestow upon us your blessing, while we continue with your work. Lord, we ask you to protect the congregation back in Lucan. Lord, we thank you for keeping those who have fallen, alongside you in paradise, for they died in your name. Amen.”

I was the only person at the table who was not bowing their head in grace. But I repeated the “amen” under my breath, just before eager hands grabbed and tore at the bread and can tabs clicked backward, spraying fizz.

“Hey, guys, manners. We have a guest,” Phelan instructed, and the group quieted.

Fergal flashed him a quick glance, and Phelan responded with the lightest nod of his head. If I weren't supernatural, I think I would have missed it.

Fergal passed me a tall beer can, and I took it out of politeness.

“This is Brooke.” Fergal gestured to me. “We, er, helped her out today. She's gonna stay with us for a day or two, help Iona out in the kitchen, like.”

“She's staying?” the girl said.

A smug smirk creased Phelan's cheek, as though he were pleased that even she seemed to think the idea was ridiculous.

“Yes, well.” Fergal glared at Phelan. “Doesn't the Lord's work extend to helping others, like?”

I suspected it wasn't the Lord's work that had been the reason for the offer. I thought instead that it had everything to do with Fergal disliking Phelan trying to take charge.