Hard Times (A Sam Harlan Novel Book 2) (7 page)

It was then that my hand started trembling, the adrenaline finally giving way to fear. I took slow, steady breaths and focused on my breathing until my hands stopped shaking.

The vampire was so fast.

If not for Callie’s crucifix, it would have killed us along with Maria Mendoza.

My legs went rubbery and I almost fell. Jack wouldn’t have fallen to pieces.

I’m a Harlan, damn it.

I could almost hear Jack’s voice.
Whatever you’re going to do, you better get on with it.

I ground my teeth together, allowing myself another second or two of panic, then pushed it down inside and buried it.

I had to get on with it.

I opened the tailgate and removed the black garbage bag with the bloody paper towels, then doused them in lighter fluid from a bottle I kept in the toolbox.

The crumbling foundation provided shelter from the road as I set them on fire and watched them burst into flames, quickly turning to ash along with a melted pile of goo from the bag.

Callie glanced up as I returned to the truck and climbed inside, her face barely visible in the darkness of the truck’s cabin. Less than ten minutes had passed since the vampire had killed the old woman.

“Anything yet?” I asked.

“No.”

I nodded. “Probably won’t be anything. Yet. There weren’t gunshots. Nobody else was home. Sooner or later, though, someone
will
find her.”

“What did you see?” Callie asked.

The question threw me, until I realized why she asked. We were both taken by surprise by the vampire’s attack. Callie must’ve been as frightened as I when the vampire murdered Maria Mendoza. Now that we were safe, it was best to compare notes when our memories were still fresh in our mind.

My opinion of Callie, already high, went up a notch. “It was a man,” I said. “Hispanic. Late twenties or early thirties in appearance. Shorter than me?”

“Shorter than you,” Callie agreed, “but taller than me.”

That put the vampire at somewhere around five foot eight. I nodded. “Sounds about right. Short hair. Scraggly.”

It was Callie’s turn to nod. “One hundred and fifty pounds?”

“No. Heavier than that. He was stocky. One seventy, at least.”

Callie sighed. “His skin. It was dark.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “He murdered Maria as soon as we felt his presence. He was watching the house? He saw us enter?” It felt right when I said it.

The vampire had been watching the house, waiting. For us? “You think that thing took the girl?”

“I think that Mary Kate knew more about Elena’s disappearance than she let on,” Callie said. “And, I think she knew more about Jack than she let on.”

“We need to speak to her,” I said.

Callie nodded in the starlight. “Good thing I have her home address.”

“How did you get that?” I asked.

“I searched online before we left Toledo.”

I whistled in appreciation. “Sister, you’re just full of surprises.”

* * *

Mary Kate’s house was a well-kept older one-story home in the middle of a block on the east side of town. Streetlights at the end of each block cast bright pools of light. A few of the homes sported Halloween decorations, and even Mary Kate’s home had a jack-o’-lantern sitting on the front step, a light flickering within.

The night air was chilly, and I shivered as we walked up the sidewalk to Mary Kate’s front door. I tried to convince myself that I was cold from the fall weather and not the aftereffects of adrenaline. Callie led the way up the front steps, past the carved pumpkin, to the porch.

She pressed the button next to the door and I heard the faint sounds of the doorbell within, then footsteps approaching. Mary Kate opened the door, her eyes wide. “What—”

I yanked open the screen door and muscled inside, causing Mary Kate to step back. Callie pulled the door shut behind her when she entered. We stood in Mary Kate’s living room and she watched us cautiously, pulling at her heavy red sweater, a nickel-plated revolver in her hand.

“You played us,” I finally said.

She started to speak, but I silenced her with a wave of my hand. I inspected her living room, a simple affair with a painting of a lighthouse on one cream wall and a shelf full of antique teapots on the other. It was solidly Midwestern and solidly middle class.

It’s not the house of a dummy.

Callie cleared her throat and I turned my attention back to Mary Kate. “You were intimate with Jack,” I said. “You saw his scars.”

Her mouth opened and closed, until she finally licked her lips. “Yes.”

“You know how he got them?” I asked.

She shook her head. “He never said.”

“You had your suspicions,” Callie said softly.

Mary Kate’s gaze lowered until she was looking at the floor. “I thought he had a … violent past. Maybe he’d committed crimes or served time in prison—”

“No,” I said. “You knew it was something more than that. Jack was a vital man. Strong. Especially for someone who looked to be in his seventies.”

Mary Kate sagged, her legs almost buckling. “Jack was so strong, so … primal. He wasn’t like my husband, Robert. I loved Robert, but he’d been dead for ten years. I felt something for the first time in—”

“Then you saw the scars,” I said. “You got to thinking. The scars, the silver bullets, and Jack always vague about what he did.”

Mary Kate lowered the pistol. “I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t
want
to believe. Jack scars. There were so
many
.”

“You didn’t want to,” Callie said, “but nothing else made sense.”

The pistol shook in Mary Kate’s hand. “I didn’t want to believe,” she agreed, “but nothing else made sense.”

“Say it,” I said. “Say it out loud.”

Mary Kate shook her head, unable to meet my gaze. “It can’t be true.”

“You knew something was off about Elena’s disappearance. You knew the family wasn’t acting right. You sent us right into the middle of it. Say it out loud. Say it!”

Mary Kate began to shake, her teeth chattering so badly she could barely whisper. “Vampire.”

“
That’s
the word,” I said grimly.

Like a sleepwalker, Mary Kate made her way to her sofa and collapsed against it. She looked at me with disbelief. “It can’t be true.”

“Vampires
are
real,” I growled. “They exist. They pollute this earth like a foul disease. They’re inhuman and they have no mercy.”

A range of emotions played across Mary Kate’s face—shock, followed by disbelief, finally giving way to a weary acceptance. The crow’s-feet around her eyes had deepened, making her look like a woman closer to sixty than fifty. “I just wanted Elena back.”

“You weren’t sure if you believed,” Callie said. “You suspected vampires were real, but you sent us to face it anyway. Why?”

Callie raised a good question. Mary Kate was caught between belief and disbelief, and just a few weeks before, I wouldn’t have blamed her.

But now? She knew more than I did before Silas took Lilly. It didn’t stop her from offering us like lambs to the slaughter.

“You knew if I was Jack’s kin,” I said, putting the pieces together, “if the thing you feared actually existed—”

“I thought if such a thing existed,” Mary Kate admitted, “that Jack could kill it. That he could save Elena. When you walked into my shop, you had the same look on your face that Jack had.”

“What look is that?” I asked.

“Anger,” Mary Kate said simply. “Anger and pain.” She stared at the brown carpet of her living room, until she finally continued, “And regret.”

I wanted to argue with her, but Callie stopped me with a raised hand. Mary Kate was right. She’d known—the minute we entered her pawnshop—we were connected to Jack. She’d known, just by the looks on our faces, that we had seen vampires and we had suffered because of them. She’d pointed us at the threat, like a loaded gun, hoping we would kill it.

“What do we do now?” Callie asked.

I snapped my fingers. The sound was so sudden and unexpected that Mary Kate’s eyes darted to mine. “You almost got us killed,” I said, “by a vampire. They’re dangerous, soulless killing machines.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary Kate said meekly. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to help Colden.”

Callie was watching, waiting for me to make a decision. And, like that, I made it. It didn’t matter what Mary Kate’s motivations were. The missing young woman was the only thing that mattered.

The Sister and I had made a promise, to ourselves and each other. “We’re going to find that vampire,” I said. “We’re going to shoot it and stake it and kill it. We’ll find your nephew’s fiancée and bring her home.”

* * *

I eased the truck through the darkened streets while Callie held the police scanner. We listened as the local police went about their night, waiting for the squawk of the radio to announce the discovery of a dead woman and the ensuing chaos it would bring, but there hadn’t been any calls about the Mendoza house.

Either no one had found Maria Diaz yet, or the vampire had been hard at work. I reached out with my senses as we drove through the deserted streets and felt nothing. No sign of the vampire, no ugly stain against my soul.

I turned to Callie. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Callie had been studying my face discreetly since we left Mary Kate’s house. “What are we going to do?” she asked.

I thought about that. The vampire probably had Elena somewhere, but we had no idea where. Something had kept the police from finding Maria’s body. Either the vampire had disposed of her body, or it had twisted the minds of the Mendoza family, forcing them to ignore her sudden absence.

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You certainly seemed sure of yourself when you promised Mary Kate we would kill the vampire.”

“What should I have said?” I demanded. “Should I have told her I don’t know what I’m doing? That I don’t know where to begin? You came with me to kill vampires. Did you think it would be easy?”

I stopped the truck at a four-way intersection near the southeast side of town. The streetlight illuminated the intersection, but not nearly enough for my liking. Trees lined the streets, tall maples and massive oaks that reached to the sky. The darkness felt like a living thing, watching us fumble around as we struggled to find the missing girl.

I flipped the truck’s heater to full blast, trying to take the chill out of the October night. I finally glanced at Callie. Her face was hard, but I knew she was upset. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought it would be easier.”

“Sam,” Callie began.

I thumped my hand on the steering wheel. “No, Callie. I should have left you in Peoria. You would be safe back in the diocese with Edmund, not risking your life driving around in the dark with an idiot.”

“It wasn’t your decision to make,” Callie said. “I’ve felt a … calling my entire life. When Katie died, I felt it again, except instead of the Church, it was to go with you. I’m right where I’m
supposed
to be.”

For a brief moment, I resented her. She seemed so sure of herself. I wasn’t sure of anything, anymore. Not after what I had seen and done.

“What are we supposed to do?” I asked. “I’m tired and I’m starving and I don’t know where to go. There’s no indication the vampire will return to the Mendoza home. Watching the house might not get us anything, but driving around these streets isn’t getting it done, either.”

I made a left, heading back north. A sheriff’s patrol car approached slowly and I kept the Chevy well under the speed limit. We passed the car without incident, the officer never giving us a second look. I breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to Callie.

“Please,” I said softly. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I think we should go home,” Callie finally said. “You need to eat and we both need to sleep.”

“What about the vampire?” I asked.

“We didn’t even know it existed yesterday. We can’t assume the weight of the world, Sam. That way leads to madness.”

I couldn’t help but feel defeated as I gunned the engine and headed for US-30, back to Toledo.

* * *

It was almost midnight when we made our way up the gravel lane to Jack’s house. I pulled the truck into the machine shed and parked it, then followed Callie through the armory, up the basement stairs, and into the kitchen.

My stomach growled. The gnawing hunger in my belly was back. I had never felt anything like it until the change. It was almost impossible to think of anything else, almost impossible to breathe. I opened the refrigerator and stared at a pile of paper-wrapped steaks sitting on a plate, sixteen ounces each, and my stomach rumbled.

Callie started to push me aside but stopped when I placed my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll do it,” I said.

She nodded and left me alone in the kitchen while I heated the skillet. A pat of butter in the smooth black pan soon sputtered and spat, quickly dissolving, and I shook the pan to distribute the golden liquid.

I could almost pretend I was back in my diner, cooking for the evening crowd. For a moment, I wondered if Stacie would come through the door, holding Lilly’s hand, ready to pitch in with the evening shift, then I shook my head.

Stacie and Lilly were not coming back.

I placed two steaks in the hot butter. The aroma of cooking meat filled the kitchen and my vision swam. I was so hungry I wanted to reach into the pan and grab the sizzling meat, tearing into it with my teeth like an animal.

For a second, I could taste the bloody grease running down the back of my throat, the warmth as it dripped down my chin.

I blinked. The steaks were still in the pan.

The hunger was getting worse. Jack had assured me it would fade, becoming more manageable, but I hadn’t noticed it fading. It was only getting more intense.

I grabbed two plates from the cabinet and plated my steak, leaving Callie’s to continue cooking, then removed a six-pack of Miller High Life and put it on the table. I rooted around in the refrigerator until I found a head of lettuce and chopped it up, making a quick salad with some onion and cucumber. I drizzled mine with olive oil and tossed a splash of balsamic vinegar over it, then took Callie’s steak from the pan, turned off the stove, and carried the salads and her steak to the table.