Have Stakes Will Travel: Stories From the World of Jane Yellowrock (6 page)

The vampire screamed, his fangs nearly two inches long, lifting to the light. His bellow was powerful. As he sat there, the two bodies embraced on his lap, the stethoscope slid to the floor. And he seemed to look right at me.

The vision of the spell faded.

From behind me, Jane said, “Well that sucked.”

* * *

“The only thing that makes sense,” I said, “is for it to be a bubble universe. That’s the only way he could see me looking at him.”

Evan finished chewing before answering. We were sitting in an all-night Taco Bell, and between them, Jane and Evan had devoured a table full of tacos, burritos, gorditos, and chalupas. Crumbs and wadded papers were everywhere. It looked as if a platoon of four-year-olds had had a food fight. “If it’s a bubble universe, then what’s powering it?” Evan asked when he swallowed. “Bubble universes—pocket universes—are theoretical in physics and unheard of in magic since Tomás de Torquemada’s time. And even then they were hearsay as much as heresy. No one’s ever claimed to have made one, or been freed from one, or even found one.” He picked up the last taco. “Bubble universes usually have their own time span, linear but not exactly like ours, like in the fairy tales where time runs differently in Fairy from human Earth. This is more like a time loop, where things happen over and over again, in which case he wouldn’t have seen you unless your viewing the loop disrupted it somehow.” Evan shrugged. “Of course, the vampire could have been looking at something on the floor in his time, not seeing you.”

“He saw me,” I said. “Totally,
totally
saw me. That electric eye-contact thing.”

Jane was sitting across from us, lounging back, one jeans-clad leg up on the seat beside her, her weapons stowed in our trunk. “He saw Molly,” she said. “No doubt. I was sitting behind her and I felt it too. Vamp zingers. When they vamp out, you can feel their gazes.” She sucked Pepsi through a straw and made a face. Jane liked Coke; Evan liked Pepsi better. The two had spent a friendly ten minutes arguing about the brands before the first part of the meal came. There had followed the silence of carnivores eating—the chomp of strong teeth and the crunch of bones—I mean tacos.

“So if we figure out how to break the spell,” I said, “and reintegrate the bubble of time with our universe . . . can we save the witch?”

“Molly,” Jane said gently. “She’s dead. She’s been dead since the little vamp tore her carotids out and the big vamp tried to save
him
instead of the witch.” When I looked confused, she explained, “The bigger vamp’s blood might have saved the witch, if he’d been fast enough. He made the wrong choice, and by not saving her, and by adding her blood and his son’s blood into the mix while the spell was trying to save her, he warped the spell and trapped himself in the bubble universe.”

“Holy crap. That makes sense,” Evan said through a mouthful of taco.

Jane and Evan shared a look that had volumes in it. “What?” I demanded. “No, don’t look at each other. Look at
me
. I do not need protecting. Tell me. What makes sense?”

“The vamp isn’t dead,” Jane said, her brows drawing down as she thought it through.

“Yeah,” Evan said, gesturing with the last bite of taco. “What she said. I’m guessing that his undead life is keeping the looped spell going, and if you break the spell, he’ll attack.”

“And because his undead life force has been powering the spell, he’ll be hungry,” Jane said. “Like hungry for seventy years. That kinda hungry. He’ll be
insane
with hunger. He’ll have to be put down.” She shrugged by making a tossing gesture with the Pepsi cup. “I’ll do it, if needed. Gratis. Consider it my way of saying thanks for all the dinners.”

“You bring the food half the time,” I said, putting asperity into my tone, feeling guilt worm under my skin. I knew how much Jane got paid to kill a vampire. I understood, logically, how dangerous it was. But unless we went back to Chauncey for money—which might look like a shakedown—that kind of money was not in the budget. Jane had to know that. And I really wanted to put the extra into savings for the new car. Hence the guilt.

“Whatever. Gratis,” she said. “That’s my deal. Take it or leave it. And if you leave it, you can either find another vampire hunter or appeal to the vamp clan up in Asheville. I hear sane vamps are real sweeties.”

“We’ll take it, Jane,” Evan said. “Thanks. So who was the witch?”

“Beats me,” Jane said. “Molly?”

I knew they were working together to protect me, and if I hadn’t been feeling like a thief, I’d have been gratified that they were working together on something. On
anything
. “Monique Ravencroft,” I said. “She disappeared in the early 1940s. No one has seen or heard of her since.”

“Ahhh,” Jane said. “Her, yeah. Makes sense. Her house was treated as a crime scene, with signs of a struggle and blood at the scene. But there was no body and no one was ever charged for her murder,” Jane said. When I raised my brows at her, she shrugged with the cup again and said, “I did a little research on the house. Found a cold case, a suspended investigation, at that address. No leads, and the principle investigator has been dead nearly fifty years.”

Evan and she locked gazes again and I said, “So?”

“Up to you, galumph,” Jane said.

Evan heaved a breath and said, “If it’s a bubble universe, and if we release the vampire, and if Jane kills him, and if we leave a woman’s dead body from forty years ago, and a dead child vampire—”

Jane interrupted, “If we close this, it could leave a mess. Unless we film it, it’ll be our word against, well, nothing. And whether we film it or not, I’ll have to report the killing of a supposedly sane vamp to the MOC of Asheville. And you’ll be called in to give witness.” Jane looked at Evan. “And you’ll be out of the closet. He’ll smell you’re a witch.”

“And if we don’t close it, we don’t get paid,” I said, grumpily, finally understanding. “Which makes me sound all kinds of mercenary, but we really,
really
need a new fridge.”

“Suggestion?” Jane offered. When Evan nodded, Jane said, “Ask a cop to come sit in on the undoing spell. I’ll provide him with a stake and some silver ammo. I’ll make sure he takes the killshot. He takes down the vamp. You are each other’s unimpeachable witnesses, he gets any reward from the Asheville MOC, and said vamp won’t smell Evan. By the time vamps get on scene, Evan and I will be gone and the house aired out.” Jane drained her Pepsi cup with an air-rattle of cola through straw. “And if you’re up for another suggestion, also in the paper, there’s a new cop in town, out of New York, name of Paul Braxton. He’ll be used to dealing with vamps and working with witches,” she said. “My bet is that he’ll let Molly stay in the closet to have her as an informant and,” she twirled a hand, looking for a word, “occult specialist. Sorta.”

Evan gave Jane a small salute and she grinned at him, one of the rare, full-on grins I’d seen maybe ten times in our relationship. But her plan did have a certain allure. I looked at it from every side. It wasn’t perfect, but it might work.

* * *

At eleven a.m. the next morning, Evan—who was missing another day of work—and I met with Detective Paul Braxton, out of New York. He had retired to the Appalachian Mountains, gotten bored fast and went to work for the local sheriff. We had found all this out on the Internet before we met at McDonald’s where we introduced ourselves, bought the detective a cup of coffee, and sat.

Braxton was a beefy guy, not as big as Evan, of course, no one is except a few professional NFL linebackers. He had brown hair and eyes, and wore a brown suit from the last decade. “So,” he said, “how can I help you folks?” He put both lower arms on the table and rested his weight forward, his hands cradling the cup of steaming coffee

“I’m a witch,” I said, starting at the most important part. “But I’m not in any police database.”

“Seven Sassy Sisters’ Herb Shop and Café,” Paul said, his voice gravely. “It’s not confirmed, but most locals think your mother was a witch. They also think your older sister, Evangeline, also called Evangelina, is a witch. The rest of you are above reproach, or were until today. Your friend over there, hidden behind the newspaper she isn’t reading, is Jane Yellowrock, a vampire hunter.” He tilted his head at Jane, who I hadn’t even noticed, and turned his attention back to us. Jane’s hands clenched tight, crinkling the paper. “So why call me in and ruin that spotless rep?”

“Jane,” I said softly. “You’re busted. You may as well get on over here.” Jane stood and moved across the room, graceful and nonchalant as any pampered housecat. She slid into the empty seat at the table and passed the detective her card. “We did not need protection,” I said. “And curiosity killed the cat.” Jane chuckled at the not-so-veiled reference to her supernatural nature, but kept her attention on the cop.

“‘Have Stakes Will Travel’” he read from the card. “Cute.” He tucked the card into his inner jacket pocket, including us all when he added, “Talk to me, people.”

“I was hired to get rid of a ghost, demon, or haint—that’s a poltergeist, to you. Instead, I found what might be a bubble universe—my husband says it’s also called a pocket universe—with an unsolved murder hidden in it.” I now had Braxton’s full attention. “To get rid of the problem, as I was hired to, I have to release the universe, which will bring the murder, the murdered, and the accidently killed back to our time. And that will release a vampire who has been without blood since the 1940s.”

“You know,” the cop said, pulling a small electronic tablet out of a pocket and starting to take notes, “I usually spend an hour getting this much information out of an informant. Succinct. I appreciate it, lady. Go on.”

I explained it all to him, and his part in the solution if he was willing. He was. He also agreed to keep my name out of his report if at all possible. And we all agreed to meet at dusk back at the Hainbridge house for an exorcism. His last words to us were, “This will be different. I was afraid I’d be bored in this little town. Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else. And I’m Brax, to my friends.” Which sounded like a good way to start.

* * *

At dusk, Brax drove up to Monique Ravencroft’s house in his unmarked police car, parked, and joined us in the foyer. I had already cleansed the house by burning some dried sage, the acerbic smoke strong on the air. The chalk circle, the lit candles, cut crystal bowl, bell, and Bible were in place again, and, with the cop staring at the house and my equipment, I explained what I was going to do.

When I was done, he looked at Evan and said, “I get why you’re here—to protect your wife.” He looked at Jane and said, “What’s your part in this?”

She shook her head. “The vamp I saw was sane, and I don’t have a contract. You, however, can kill a sane vamp if one attacks. Think of me as your helpful witness.” She held out a silver-tipped stake. “Just in case.”

I knew that she had a half-dozen identical stakes in her boot. If Brax missed, Jane would not let the vampire go free. She would take care of—well—everything and everyone around her. It was what she did.

“And this,” Jane handed him a silvered blade, “is for cutting off his head. You know, if needed.”

“Helpful, huh?” Brax shook his head, turning the blade so the candlelight caught and reflected off the silver. “You do know that this is longer than the legal limits on concealed carry for bladed weapons, right?”

“I wasn’t carrying it. It was in my saddle bag on my bike,” she said with her humorless half-smile.

“Uh huh. You Southerners are even more polite and obliging than I was led to believe.”

“That’s us. Just itching to help out the New York Yankee cop.” Jane handed him a sheath for the blade, one that strapped at waist and thigh.

Brax chuckled. “I’ve never used my vamp-fighting techniques, but I’ve kept certified and in practice.” He strapped on the blade and accepted the stake. “I’ve never had to kill a vampire. The Master of the City of New York keeps a firm hand on his underlings. So this is a first for me.”

“We hope you won’t have to kill one tonight,” I said. “We hope he’ll be saner than he looked last.”

“But we won’t bet our lives on it,” Evan said. “If he attacks and you need backup, you can deputize Jane.”

“I’m not the sheriff,” Brax said, “but consider Jane deputized if it’ll keep my butt alive.” He looked at Evan. “Okay, Mr. Trueblood, Mrs. Trueblood. Ready when you are.”

* * *

It didn’t take us long to prepare. I was wearing the same white dress, slightly grimy from the last time I’d worn it here, which I gathered close and sat behind the bowl, cross-legged, the bowl of water between my knees. Just as last night, I opened the Ziploc bag and held Jane’s shirt over the bowl, shaking it with a snapping motion this time. There wasn’t much dust from the parlor left, but what there was sprinkled onto the still surface of the water. I took my three deep breaths to settle myself and nodded to Evan, who lifted the silver bell. As I spoke the words he rang the bell with the silver mallet. “Bell, book, and candle. Bell, book, and candle. Bell, book, and candle.” The tones were rich and true, echoing through the house. “Dust to dust, through time to now. Dust to dust, through time to now. Dust to dust, through time to now. Time of warding. Time of blood. Time of attack. Time of betrayal. Time of undead. Time of change. Time of vampire. Time of transference. Time of death.”

As before, the bell chimes shivered through the empty house, leaving the air expectant. As the last tone faded, the water between my knees brightened, and so did the floor of the parlor. Twin, green, luminous feathers of light rose, twining and twisting like smoke, up to the ceiling overhead, pooling against the high corners, spreading toward the center of the room.

The old-fashioned electric ceiling light appeared, adding light to the falling dark, revealing the furnishings of the past: the blood-rose walls, the velvet upholstered couch and wheeled tea tray, the wing chairs and card table. The man’s squeaky song came from the old-fashioned phonograph, hollow and cheery. The small, auburn haired woman once again sat in the wing chair, the basket of yarn at her feet. I heard Brax take a slow, shocked breath.