Dark Vigil
Page 14
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Back at her townhouse, Calico checked on her guest. Winston was still impaled with the rowan stake. She stared at his corpse for several minutes, trying to decide if she should behead him. She was already too used to all the weirdness for that to sound even a little bit disturbing.
She wanted to ask him questions about Lorcán, but could she count on him to tell her the truth? Pursing her lips, she decided to spare him for the moment.
Calico picked through the debris and found the key to the steel cabinet. Opening it, she pulled out the custom-made rack holding ten completed rowan stakes, wickedly sharp on one end and fitted with an iron cudgel on the other. She plucked them out and hurried to her bedroom. She dropped the stakes on the bed and pulled out her full set of matching suitcases.
Calico packed quickly as late afternoon fiddled away toward dusk. She set the stakes neatly in a row on top of her clothes in one of the suitcases. She packed her laptop in another. Her iPad was already in her purse. If she needed a printer, she’d taken her parents’.
Lugging three suitcases downstairs, she crammed two in the backseat and one in the front passenger seat. Her little car was almost filled to the brim. She took off for a hotel on the other side of Denver to put distance between herself and the townhouse.
Calico figured she didn’t need to be ultra-paranoid and pay in cash and get off the grid. Lorcán wasn’t the CIA or NSA or even the PTA. She didn’t remember Mom or Tabby talking about the computer prowess of monsters.
She got a room for a week, to start, at an Embassy Suites so she’d have space to spread out. She even had them bring up a folding table for more room. She set up her laptop and Mom and Dad’s new HP desktop computer along with their printer and plugged in the iPads to recharge them.
Calico poked around on their computer first, using their browser history to find the sites where they hooked up with Winston. Hopefully there were other people they’d been in contact with and they could help her.
It was easier to find than she thought it’d be. Mom and Dad had it all bookmarked. Obviously, they weren’t afraid of getting hacked. She hoped that meant she didn’t need to worry about it either, but it could also mean they were too computer illiterate to understand the dangers. Hell, Dad still had an AOL email address.
She surfed around some of the sites for twenty minutes, then stopped to look out the window at Denver’s nighttime skyline. She was a little northwest of downtown proper. The lights of the office and apartment buildings looked peaceful and inviting. To the right was the brighter glow of the Pepsi Center. There must have been a concert or sporting event going on.
Out there, people only believed in the monsters they could see—horrible bosses, muggers in the night, toxic and abusive significant others, politicians. Out there was a world of normality, of being blissfully oblivious. She missed it already.
Pursing her lips, she looked back at the website on the monitor. What exactly was she looking for? What kind of help did she need? Just randomly clicking through sites wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She needed names—or at least online user names.
Calico tried a couple of Mom’s account settings, looking for people she followed or those who followed her. She found a list of seven and went through their posts.
One person was following a series of news stories from Paris, about several disappearances and one confirmed murder. If they claimed it was an evil hunchback of Notre Dame come to life, well, she would just keep on reading because there was no point in feeling condescending. Not anymore.
The computer binged a Google search alert at her. Mom had been more advanced than Calico had given her credit. Someone posted about needing help translating some books filled with a strange handwritten code.
“Holy shit!” Calico gaped at a picture of one of the pages from the family’s bandruí chronicles.
Calico read the Irish. It seemed to be a random page about a spirit haunting the town of Ceannanus Mór. There was no date on the page, but Calico was pretty sure it was a couple of hundred years old, not one of the really old books.
Was this a trap set by Lorcán? Get her to reply and either trace her somehow or—she shrugged; did it matter? She wanted to find him. Calico replied to the post using Mom’s account.
Hey there, @LizWill82. I could maybe help. It’s written in Irish. This page seems to be an excerpt from a ghost story that takes place in Ireland. Where’d you find it? VERY KEWL!! DM me if you want :)
CHAPTER FORTY
Calico nervously refreshed the website several times a minute waiting for a reply. LizWill82 had just posted the picture and question, why weren’t they responding? You were right there just a second ago!
After ten minutes, a message showed up:
That was fast :) You know Irish?
Calico replied:
I’m from Dublin but live in the States teaching Irish history. I can read the text. Fascinating! Where’d you find it?
Was this some crazy-ass catfishing? Was a vampire on the other end of this DM?
Awesome! Picked up an old book at an estate sale. Just full of spooky ghost stories?
Calico typed:
A whole book of this? Wow. Can you scan some more pages? Too bad we can’t meet.
LizWill82:
:( yeah. I’m in Denver, where r u?
Calico:
Holy cow! I’m in Boulder!!!! Whereabouts in Denver?
Calico felt all next-level-spy for telling Lorcán that’s where she was posting from.
LizWill82:
RLLY?!?! I’m in Aurora.
Calico:
Hey, I can come down. Meet at your place or whatever.
There was a longer pause.
Coffee shop ok?
Calico shook her head. Lorcán was playing coy. Their conversation wasn’t instantaneous and had taken another ten minutes to get as far as they’d gotten. Now he was pretending to be cautious. But then he’d suggest meeting in the evening—you know, after work and rush hour. It’ll be easier that way and convenient for a vampire with the sun having gone down.
Calico typed:
Coffee shop sounds good. When? Where?
LizWill82:
Saturday? Two? Could meet halfway to Boulder or something?
She frowned at the screen. Talk about next-level shit. Did he know that she knew and was going to let her suggest an evening meet because he knew she wouldn’t wait until Saturday? And he’d be right. Saturday seemed years away.
Calico:
I’ll be out of town this weekend. Could meet tomorrow.
Another pause, almost five minutes, before:
I work days. Tomorrow night?
There it was.
Calico:
Sure, that’d work. After rush hour? Maybe 7?
LizWill82:
GREAT!!
Calico:
How will I know you?
LizWill82:
Black chick with a really old book.
Calico almost laughed. He was really being all superspy with her. Also, dusk wasn’t until nearly nine, so he’d be late and send her a message asking if they could push it back until later. All very casual. Nothing to be afraid of.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Except it was a black chick with a really old book who showed up at The Grounds coffee shop. Calico had gotten to Aurora an hour early, first watching from across the street to see if there was anything suspicious going on. She kept nervously touching the rowan batons hidden beneath Tabby’s old black leather jacket and checking her phone for a DM from Lorcán changing the time.
She wore black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a nylon vest she’d bought that morning. The vest fit like a corset and she added some nylon loops so that it could hold four wooden stakes horizontally across her abdomen. She also bought some black quasi combat boots—something sturdier than her ballet flats, but still flexible. Lastly, she scrunchied her long wild red hair out of her face.
Ready for combat.
Five minutes later the black chick entered with the book. Upper mid-thirties if the “82” in LizWills82 had any meaning, though she could pass for thirty. She had a stylishly disheveled afro and wore a red blouse with a nice gray cardigan draped over her shoulders, a black skirt just past her knees, and cute little black ankle boots. Even without the boots she was taller than Calico, who waved as the woman looked around the small shop. She smiled at first when she saw Calico, then the smile faltered.
She’s about to bolt, thought Calico, who tensed to go after her. The woman’s shoulders sagged just a bit and she moved to the table, the smile gone. She set the book down, said, “I’m sorry,” and turned.
“Wait. I need the rest of the books.”
She stood with her back to Calico for several moments before turning. “I recognize you from TV. You’re the daughter.”
Ah, so that was it. “My name’s Calico. Please.” She motioned to the empty chair across from her.
The woman pressed her lips together, still deciding, then sat, putting a gold iPhone next to the book.
“Who told you to take the books?” asked Calico.
The woman wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Was it Lorcán?”
The woman looked confused. “Who?”
“Lorcán.”
She shook her head. “No. I—I did it on my own.”
Calico studied her face for a moment. “Why would you do that?” She almost added, when my parents were just murdered? but thought that might drive her away and she really did want answers.
The woman didn’t speak. She seemed genuinely embarrassed. “I should go.”
“Not without the rest of the books.”
“I’ll—I’ll get them to you.”
“Yeah-no. We’re leaving together and you’ll give me the books now. They’re family heirlooms.”
“I’m bigger than you,” said the woman without much oomph behind it.
“I’ll still kick your ass. I’ve trained all my life.” For good measure she unzipped her jacket and pulled out a polished dark brown rowan stake and set it on the table. The woman didn’t look at the pointy end but at the metal cudgel. Calico said, “Now talk.”
The woman’s eyes welled up. “I don’t, I mean, I wasn’t going to keep them. Honest. I was just curious is all.”
“How did you know about them?”
“I didn’t. I found them by accident.”
“By accident? So why the hell were you at the house?” There was more vehemence in her voice than she intended. She took a deep breath.
“It’s going to sound stupid. Just thinking of saying it makes me feel like an idiot.”
Calico just stared.
The woman’s eyes flicked up to hers and then back down. “I’m part of this group.” She reached for a packet of Sweet’N Low and tore it open, spilling in out onto the tabletop. She traced designs in the powder. Her face clouded. “You’re part of that group.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you replied to my post, I looked up your profile. You’ve made thousands of comments since joining the forum years ago.”
“That was my mom. What’s your name?”
The woman didn’t answer.
“Fine, you’re part of a group—”
“A sub-group, actually, within the forum. It’s those of us who want to believe but have never witnessed anything.”
“Believe?”
Her voice dwindled away. “Uh, you know, paranormal activity.”
Calico grew impatient. “Jesus, just tell me what the fuck you were doing.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” She took a breath and sat up straighter, removing her finger from the Sweet’N Low. “Okay. We sift through news stories to try and find evidence of, uh, this activity. When we find something of interest, one of us, whoever’s closest, investigates. Well, your parents’—” She looked up, horrified.
“Their murder. Go on.”
“Sorry. Well, it got our attention. Anything so, um, so violent we look into. And since it was in my backyard, so to speak, I volunteered. And, uh, that meant getting into the house, looking around. Reporting back.”
Calico kept herself from reaching across the table and throttling the woman. Fucking TMZ for murders. It was sick. “And besides the books, did you find anything paranormal?”
The woman sighed. “No. And, Jesus, I’m so—”
“Don’t say you’re ‘sorry.’ That’s gotten fucking old. So the murder scene didn’t have any indications it was supernatural in nature?”
She shook her head.
“And how would you tell? Did you bring all that junk the ghost hunters on TV take into abandoned insane asylums?”
“No, I just brought my phone and—” She looked horrified again.
“And took pictures. You took fucking pictures of my parents’ murder scene. Do you hear yourself? How stupid and insane and insensitive and—”
“I know. God, I know. It all made so much sense writing about it on a forum and talking to all these people around the world who just wanted to find evidence, real evidence, on a ghost or something. But now, after what I saw.” She shuddered. “I’m so sorry.”
She got the words out before Calico could stop her.
“And the books? Why’d you take them?”
“As lame as it sounds, it seemed like a good idea at the time, you know? Your parents were, um, gone, so they wouldn’t miss them. I happened to look up and see that the attic door thing was open and, I don’t really know why, but I decided to look and found those books. They were really old and there was strange writing in them.”
“You were hoping they were written in some kind of ancient Satanic language or something, didn’t you?” Attic? That’s where they were hidden? She should have known that. It made her realize there was so much she didn’t know.
“Yeah. I don’t know. I guess. Something like that.”
“Instead, it’s just Irish. And not supernatural. Have you shown the pictures of my house to anyone?”
“Your house?”
Calico stared at her for a moment, waiting for it to sink in. “It’s my house now.”
“Oh, shit. But no. I wanted to find out about the books first.”
“I want to see you delete the pictures. All of them. On your phone. On the cloud.”
“Of course. Sorr—of course.” She picked up her iPhone.
Calico moved behind to look over her shoulder. The woman tapped and swiped and brought up the images. Even though Calico recognized the house and the rooms, it felt like looking at someone else’s house. The woman selected them all and deleted. A pop-up asked if she was sure she wanted them also removed from iCloud. After several moments, the images were gone.
She wasn’t stupid enough to think the images were really truly gone, but she hoped the woman was chagrined enough not to try to get them back.
Calico picked up the book and the rowan stake. She slipped the stake back into her vest. “You’re going to take me to your house and I’m going to get the rest of the books.”
The woman stood up slowly. Calico took her arm and guided her outside. “You’re driving us in your car.”
“I Ubered,” she said.
“That makes it easy.” She led the woman to her Audi. “Where to?”
It was an apartment complex a couple miles away, a sprawling one with no more than four floors to any of the buildings. There was a tennis court and swimming pool and lots of grassy areas.
The woman’s apartment was on the second floor, a little two-bedroom with a living room, kitchen, and dining nook. There was a small balcony where the woman had a gas grill and a bicycle. The
place was all neutral colors with beige carpet and off-white walls. Boring, but not horrible. Calico was surprised by the Hobby Lobby prints on the walls. They were quite, well, ordinary. On the biggest wall were three separate prints of a body of water, a small sailboat in one of the prints.
There was mail on the dining table. Calico picked up an Xcel Energy bill. “Elizabeth Williams.”
“Lizzi,” she said, looking deflated.
Some cheery colorful flowers were in a crystal vase next to the mail. Calico had assumed that someone invested so earnestly in the paranormal would have more darkly spiritual shit scattered around. Prints of solemn angels holding glowing crystals. Lots of half-melted candles. Maybe a couple of skulls.
“They’re back here,” Lizzi said, moving down a short hallway to a bedroom-turned-office.
Skulls? Calico actually smiled, knowing Lizzi was talking about the books.
Opposite the office door were two windows looking out onto a grassy courtyard. The office had the usual desk and chair and computer and bookshelves, but also a dozen or so black garbage bags tied shut. Frowning, Calico knelt and opened one of the bags and found some of the books inside. She felt such relief, not realizing until then how anxious she’d been, as though she’d have let Mom down one last time if she hadn’t found them.