Evan reached to push tangled chunks of black hair away from his forehead, and Alastair noticed that his fingernails were packed with dirt. Ribs showed under white skin. Raised red scars on his chest and forearm told of more recent tales.
“Did you hear about the woman who was killed?” Alastair asked.
“What woman?”
“A woman. Dead in the woods. She was skinned.”
Evan looked up sharply. “Murder?”
“We don’t know yet. Could be wild animals. Have you seen any packs of coyotes or dogs running around?”
Evan frowned and shook his head. “Where was this body?”
“A few miles from here.” Alastair watched Evan closely.
There had been a time when he could read his son, easily read him, but since he’d come back from Florida he sometimes felt Evan was somebody he no longer knew, and trying to read him was like trying to read a stranger.
“Did you see anything?” Alastair asked. “Hear anything the night before last?”
“No.” Evan frowned with suspicion. “Why are you asking me these things?”
“I’m a cop. It’s what I do.”
Evan grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor, stepped into them, got to his feet buttoning and zipping. “This is more than that.”
“I’m concerned about you and Graham living out here. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Especially with winter coming on. You’ll get snowed in. And now with this . . .”
Evan gave his words some thought. “I’m not moving back, but you might be right about Graham. Maybe he should live in Tuonela for the winter.”
“You should come too.” Alastair glanced at the plaster walls. “I’ll bet this place isn’t insulated.”
“Graham would be better off with you.”
“Not just Graham. You too.”
“Somebody has to stay here.”
“Why?”
“To guard Old Tuonela.”
“Nobody needs to guard it.”
Evan considered him for a long moment. “Why did you come back from Florida?”
“To help out.”
“I think it was more than that. I think it had to do with something that happened a long time ago. When I first got sick.”
Alastair’s heart pounded and his mouth went dry. “What are you talking about?”
“The Pale Immortal.”
He couldn’t know. How could he know?
Alastair’s mind raced, justifying the past. A father did what he could to save his son.
Evan picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, took a long swallow, then looked at his dad. “The heart. I’m talking about the heart. I’m talking about the broth you made from the heart of the Pale Immortal and fed to me.”
Oh, Jesus. Jesus, no.
Alastair swallowed. He could feel the sweat rolling down his spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you heard some crazy rumor, then that’s all it is. The Pale Immortal is all myth and rumors. That’s just another one.”
“I found it. I found the remaining heart, because you didn’t feed it all to me. My bet is you got scared and stopped.” Evan came and stood directly in front of him.
His eyes. Evan’s eyes were different. They were darker, the pupils large and druggy. There was somebody else in there.
“I found it,” Evan said. “I found it, and I drank it. Oh, I didn’t know what it was at the time. I just thought it was tea.” He laughed harshly. “You know how I like tea. I thought it was just some exotic brew with mushrooms and herbs. But it didn’t take long for me to put it together.”
“Did you drink it all? The entire container?”
“What do you think? Look at me. Do you think I consumed it all? Then you might want to ask yourself if you really want me to come to town and live with you. You might want to think really hard about that.”
Alastair reached behind him. He took several steps back until he hit the door.
“What am I?” Evan asked. “That’s what I’d like to know. What did you do to me?”
Alastair turned and walked blindly down the steps. Out the front door.
To the car. Get in. Turn the key.
Drive.
Away, away, away.
Before he left the last stretch of lane, before he got to the hard road that led back to Tuonela, he stopped and put the car in park.
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. A sob tore from him and his shoulders shook.
Chapter Eight
Graham stepped from the school building, flipped open his cell phone, and called the camera girl from the museum.
He sure as hell didn’t want to go home, and since he was pissed at Evan he wasn’t feeling all that uncomfortable about spilling his guts in an interview.
Her name was Kristin Blackmoore.
He did feel a little weird about calling a girl, but this wasn’t anything like that. Not like he was asking her out or anything, or even attracted to her. But when she answered, his heart beat in double time, then settled down.
“Can we meet at your house?” Kristin asked. “We like to capture people in their own environment.”
Wouldn’t that be wild if he just showed up in Old Tuonela with a camera crew? Evan would be on one of his rants, tossing plates. Or maybe he’d be muttering about what he’d dug up that night. Graham laughed just thinking about it. “No, we can’t go to my place. How about upstairs at Peaches? It’s a coffee shop on Main Street three blocks from the inn where you’re staying. You can pretend it’s in my house. Oh, and I don’t want a bunch of people there, okay? Just you.”
“I don’t pretend. This isn’t a fictional piece.”
“Okay. Whatever.”
He was doing her a favor, for chrissake. “Do you want to do it or not?”
He’d been so pissy lately. He knew he should be ashamed of himself, and probably would be tomorrow. But not now. Now he was pissy and he liked it.
He disconnected, hopped in his dad’s black car, and drove to Peaches.
Peaches was an old two-story house that had been turned into a café. The floor was worn down to unstained wood, the couches were threadbare, and the chairs were wobbly.
Nobody was upstairs.
He settled at a small table in front of a window that overlooked Main Street. If anybody else showed up he and Kristin could step out on the balcony.
He thought he caught a glimpse of red hair.
Two minutes later Kristin appeared upstairs, a can of diet cola in one hand, a green canvas bag over her shoulder. She spotted Graham right away. Crouching, she slid her can of pop across the table, then sat down and began to unpack her bag.
Her hair was the fakest red he’d ever seen in his life. He liked it.
Was she a crust punk? Crust punks were dirty. She didn’t look dirty. Her jeans were full of holes and patches, and her green tennis shoes were faded and frayed, but she looked clean.
“That was fast,” he said. “You must have been close.”
“I was at the inn. I had a headache this morning, so the others left to scout locations without me.” She pulled out her camera and began fiddling with it. “Headache’s gone now, but it will probably come back. They usually do.”
“You live in Minneapolis? I’m thinking of going to the University of Minnesota.”
“Saint Paul. In a neighborhood called Frogtown.” She laughed. “Known for ethnic diversity, poor people, and hookers. You should come and check it out.” She pulled out a small telescoping tripod, opened it, tightened the locking rings, and positioned the legs on the floor. “What are you thinking of majoring in?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just need to get away from here.”
“Tuonela is beautiful.” She screwed the camera to the tripod. “I could stay here a while, I think. But it probably gets boring.”
Sweet hell.
He wished.
“This will be heavily edited—or maybe not even used,” she warned.
She turned on the camera and began by asking some pretty boring things. After a while he relaxed and forgot the camera was rolling. That’s when the questions got more personal. By that time he’d let down his guard and was beginning to enjoy himself.
It was like being with his therapist, only a lot more interesting.
He was pretty much a newcomer to Tuonela, so he talked about the town and the people as seen through the eyes of a newcomer. But when it came to talking about his dead, abusive mother and Evan, he stopped. While Kristin waited for him to continue, Graham thought about how strange it was that he’d traded one crazy parent for another.
He hadn’t seen that coming.
“I was looking for a fairy tale,” he finally said. “Because if anyplace could handle a fairy tale, you’d think it would be this place, wouldn’t you? With all the crazy shit that happens here, you almost expect it. I said
shit.
Can you edit that out? Want me to do it again? No? Anyway, this is really just like any other place. It is. Swear to God. I mean, things are weird, like all the Pale Immortal stuff, but people are people. They play softball. They have picnics. They go fishing. They love and hate. Just like any other place.”
“But other places don’t have vampires.”
“Do you believe that? Do you believe in vampires?”
She smiled. “Do you?”
“Come on.”
“What about your dad?”
“Are you asking me if he’s a vampire?” Graham shook his head. “I thought you said you were after something real. You’re putting your own slant on this. You’re going to make us look like a bunch of idiots.” He watched her closely, and could tell he’d hit a nerve. “You
are.
That’s what this is about. Just another freak show.”
“I’m after the truth,” Kristin said. “I want proof that none of this vampire stuff is real.”
“You do know my dad has a skin disease, don’t you? He’s allergic to sunlight. It has a medical name, but most people just call it vampire disease. Look it up.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “I’m done. Shut off the camera.”
She could see he was serious.
She shut off the camera, removed it from the tripod, popped out a tape the size of a small container of stick matches, and inserted another. “I want to show you something.” She watched the viewscreen, then turned the camera around.
Graham leaned forward and craned his neck to see. It took him a moment to realize he was watching footage of the museum opening. Low angles, low light, and a bobbing camera made it tough to put together the exact location. But there he was, telling Kristin she couldn’t use a camera in the museum. There she was, ignoring him. The camera kept running, and somehow she was able to focus on the case containing the mummified corpse. A reflection on the glass created confusion and distortion, but suddenly the face of the Pale Immortal seemed to take on a human quality.
“Isn’t that freaky?” Kristin asked.
“It’s a reflection,” Graham said. “Somebody in the crowd.”
“Is it?”
She rewound and replayed the footage. She froze the video on the face.
He stared at it for a long time. For some reason, the reflection reminded him of his dad. He didn’t mention that.
“It’s just a reflection,” he repeated as he watched her pack up the camera and telescope the tripod legs.
“I think we’re going to a karaoke bar tonight.” She zipped up her case. “Want to come?”
“I’m seventeen.”
“I have a computer program that I use to make fake IDs. If you want one, just let me know.”
“You’re just trying to get that interview with my dad. It’s not going to work.”
She laughed. Threw back her head and laughed.
Maybe it
was
working.
“You’re funny.”
“Yeah, people tell me that. I don’t really get it.”
“And you’re older than seventeen. Inside.”
She was right.
He’d done something most adults had never done. Something that was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.
She hadn’t asked him about that. Maybe she didn’t know. That was nice. To be around somebody who didn’t know.
“I have to work at the museum. After that I have to go home.”
“Okay.” She got to her feet. “I’m not trying to corrupt you or anything. Thanks for the interview. If you change your mind about karaoke, let me know.”
After she left, Graham headed to the museum, where he put in a four-hour shift. He didn’t want to go into the mummy room, but that was his station.
The numbers weren’t as bad as they’d been on opening day, but the building was still uncomfortably crowded. After Graham got over his initial nervousness, he tested his reflection theory, standing in different locations and watching as people entered the museum, but he couldn’t re-create the effect from the video.
When his shift was over, he drove to his grandfather’s house and parked in front of the sidewalk.
He used speed dial to call Evan. No answer. Graham left a voice mail. “I’m probably going to stay in Tuonela tonight with Alastair. If that’s not okay, let me know and I’ll come home.” He disconnected, grabbed his backpack, and got out of the car.
The house was located on Benefit Street in the very spot where a sharp valley gave way to flatland. Just months ago Graham’s mother had dropped him off there.
Months . . . It seemed like years. Now she was dead. How many people were gone? Four?
The house was old—dark beams and stucco, with a huge front porch and woodland on three sides.
It took a while for his grandfather to answer his knock.
Even though his hair was white, Alastair Stroud probably wasn’t all that old. He was kind of wiry and still kinda tan from time spent on golf courses in Florida. He wore a lot of crisp plaid shirts and always smelled faintly of aftershave. Right now he smelled like alcohol, and it took only a few seconds for Graham to realize his grandfather was wasted.
Nice.
Did any of the adults in his family act like adults? That was what he wanted to know. And his grandfather was a cop. But he guessed cops got drunk just like anybody else when they weren’t on duty. Weird to think about.
Alastair tried like hell to appear sober, but he was too far gone. He blinked and dropped awkwardly into an overstuffed chair. “Have a seat.” He waved a drunken hand.
Graham hovered near the doorway. “I don’t know. I think maybe I’ll just go.”