Suave as Shift

by Keira Blackwood

  I wondered how he’d gotten my number. Strange, because I didn’t even know my number.

  “Your boss at the CDC gave me your contact info.”

  Leonard. Apparently he was doing more than just checking in on my case, he was injecting himself into it. I sank down in my seat and leaned my head back.

  “Get to the hospital right away,” the sheriff said. “It’s an emergency.”

  Unless the emergency was a vampire attack, somehow in the middle of the day, I probably wasn’t the best person to call.

  I turned to Juliana. “Looks like we’re going to the hospital.”

  Chapter Ten

  Juliana

  On the first floor of the hospital, there was some kind of jam with the elevators. While a crowd of people waited their turn, three orderlies shimmied beds back and forth. It was like watching a driver try to back his car into a parking place, but not quite making it right. Times three.

  We opted for the stairs again.

  Neither of us knew what to expect, but Lincoln didn’t seem bothered. He was cool and collected, like always. I used that, drew comfort from his calm, as I walked by his side. Whatever was happening, I just hoped it wasn’t related to Em.

  Lincoln held the door for me when we reached the second floor.

  And the voice that greeted me as I stepped out broke the calm that I had mustered.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Hammond?” Sheriff Nielson was redder than usual, from anger this time, not alcohol. Well, maybe both.

  “And hello to you, too,” I replied.

  We approached the sheriff together, meeting him halfway down the hall.

  The sheriff raked his fingers through his hair and turned to Lincoln.

  “You know she’s not qualified to be a part of this investigation, don’t you?”

  Lincoln slipped his sunglasses up into his hair and winked at me. Idiot. Sexy idiot.

  “So I’ve been told. But I’m quite fond of her.”

  “Whatever,” the sheriff said. “You’ve figured out what it is, haven’t you? The disease? And you have a cure? That’s what the CDC does, isn’t it? Tell me you have a fucking cure.”

  He grabbed the lapels of Lincoln’s jacket. Anger rushed through my veins. I took a step forward, compelled to defend him. That was weird.

  Lincoln grabbed my hand, stilling me. That sense of calm I needed, it flowed from his soft palm. He had this, he didn’t need me to defend him. I knew all of this from single touch.

  “Tell me what happened.” Lincoln’s voice was soft and soothing.

  Sheriff Nielson looked down at his white knuckles, fisted in Lincoln’s lapel. As if he’d just noticed that he was grabbing hold of another person, he let go. Anger melted away, leaving the hard asshole looking uncharacteristically vulnerable.

  “It’s my son.”

  The sheriff gestured to the open door behind him.

  From where I stood in the hall, I could see the end of the bed, and a pair of large feet tenting the blanket. They were completely still. Was it really Brian in there?

  “We were fishing together, in the stream down by the church, and he just disappeared. I was right there. I only turned for a moment.”

  “And you found him somewhere else,” I added. Better than face-down in the water.

  “You must be loving this,” he said.

  I hadn’t thought about it like that. Sure, Brian was an asshole. Sure, I’d appreciate the sheriff actually believing the truth of what had happened to my sister. But I’d never wish this on anyone, not even Brian Nielson.

  “Of course not,” I said.

  The sheriff stared at me but didn’t say anything. Maybe this would be the turning point, where he’d realize he’d spent years treating me like shit for no reason. I’d welcome the change, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.

  “I’d like to take a look at his chart,” Lincoln said.

  “Yeah,” the sheriff replied, turning his attention back to Lincoln. “I’ll take anything that could help.”

  I took a step forward, following Lincoln, only to be met by the sheriff’s hateful gaze. He’d take anything but me, it seemed.

  “I’ll wait in the car,” I said, and headed back downstairs.

  “Juliana.” Lincoln called after me, but I kept walking. There wasn’t any reason for me to stay here. He could tell me whatever he wanted to say after we were away from Sheriff Nielson.

  I knew the guy was a prick, no new news there. But it didn’t make being an ass to me any less frustrating. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I had actually done something nasty to the Nielson family, but I hadn’t. The grudge was entirely about my parents, who were both gone.

  When Lincoln and I figured this whole thing out, when Emily was better...she would be, she had to be. After all of that, I’d leave this shitty little town and find my own path, anywhere else, where I would be judged only by the person that I was, and not by association to anyone else. Life would be better, because I’d be in control. Make it or break it, I’d be free.

  Down the stairs and through the glass doors, I made my way back to my car. Once inside, I reached into the glove box for a distraction—my well-worn copy of Beefcake Bloodsucker. There was nothing like the scent of an old paperback, or getting lost in an engaging story, to ease frustration.

  Lydia woke to darkness, to the weightless feeling of being suspended mid-air. But she knew she wasn’t in space, or flying. No, she was buried. Underground.

  With hands cupped, she swam upward, parting soil with her fingers.

  When at last she reached the surface, she was bathed in moonlight.

  She looked this way and that, searching for her love, but he was nowhere to be found.

  “Charmula, my sweet Prince Charmula, where art thou?”

  She dusted the dirt from her dress and traipsed through the graveyard to find her beloved.

  It wasn’t working. I just wasn’t getting into it. My thoughts remained on the dickhead sheriff and what had happened in the hospital. I couldn’t shut my brain off. But it was better to keep trying while I waited, better than doing nothing.

  A shadowy figure moved between tombstones. A black blur in a sea of blackness.

  “Charmula, I’m over here,” she called.

  But he did not go to her. Instead, the shadow disappeared.

  She walked between the graves, searching for him. Perhaps he couldn’t hear her.

  A dark figure appeared from nowhere, a woman in black.

  Lydia gasped.

  Green skin, hooked nose, and a face full of hairy warts—it was a witch!

  That’s it. I snapped the book shut. I knew where I’d seen the symbol. It wasn’t in Dad’s library, it was on a sign above the door on a shop he’d only taken me to once when I was little—Fortune & Charms.

  One time had been enough. The place, and the woman who ran it, had given me nightmares for weeks. I could still picture the murals painted on the walls in the dark building. Beady red eyes hidden in swirls of a black, shadowy pit. Claws and fangs were glints of light in black, vertical strokes of abstract darkness.

  Madam Melphini hadn’t done anything bad to me. It was just the atmosphere of the place, and her white eyes that had freaked me out, enough that I’d dreamed it was her in the darkness, climbing out of the wall to reach me. A shiver crawled up my spine at the memory.

  The passenger-side door flung open, and Lincoln slipped into the car beside me.

  “Miss me?”

  “Yep.” I’d said it as a joke, but the truth was, I did like being around him. He was fun and funny, and strangely charming. In a lot of ways I’d been lonely before he’d come to Barbetta, after Em fell ill, and before that, even. He stirred something within me, awakened a part of me I hadn’t known existed, and I liked it.

  “You did miss me, didn’t you?” He flashed me the smile that melted my insides—in the best way.

  “I kept myself busy so I could stand it,” I said, handing him my book.

/>   “Oooo, this looks fun.”

  “Be careful,” I said. “It’s addictive. So did you find out anything interesting?”

  “Nothing I didn’t already know.” His dark eyes sparkled as he looked me over.

  “I might have a lead,” I said.

  “Oh?” Lincoln’s eyebrows shot up.

  I pulled the car out of the lot and hit the road. It was a long drive, so we needed to get started.

  “Did you find the answer written in here,” he asked. “Perhaps a sensual vampire kiss?”

  I glanced over to Lincoln, who was flipping through my copy of Beefcake Bloodsucker.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  He waggled his eyebrows, his grin spreading wider.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  If he expected me to be embarrassed, I wasn’t. I liked what I liked.

  “Really,” I said. “What’s that look for?”

  “You like a little bite in your heroes,” he said.

  “Sure,” I said. “I like a good fantasy, with a happy ending. If it’s hot, all the better.”

  “Sexy heroes don’t just come in books,” he said, leaning in a little closer.

  I grinned. “When you find one, let me know.”

  He grabbed his chest and whistled between clenched teeth, like I’d wounded him. “Ouch.”

  A little laugh escaped my lips and I couldn’t help but smile.

  This was what I liked, the back and forth. And he was pleasant to look at. That certainly didn’t hurt.

  “But we’re not going to the little fictional town in the book,” I said.

  “Too bad,” Lincoln replied. “So, where are we going?”

  “We’re leaving Barbetta.”

  “Ooh, I just love a good adventure,” Lincoln quipped. “You’re not planning on holding me hostage in a cabin somewhere far away, are you?”

  “A cabin?”

  “Sure, what else is there in the wilderness surrounding this tiny town? If not a cabin, maybe you’re holding me hostage at another location?”

  “You really want me to kidnap you, huh?” I asked.

  “Does it count as kidnapping if I go willingly?”

  This time my laugh caught me by surprise, in a half-snort. Recovering, I said, “Let’s bench the idea until after we figure this thing out.”

  “Sounds fair,” Lincoln said. “But I’m always up for it if you are.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We passed trees and hills and more trees as we drove. At first everything seemed great, both of us at ease with each other. But as time went on, Lincoln started drumming his fingers on the dash and wiggling around.

  “You still didn’t tell me where we’re going,” he said.

  “I get the impression you don’t like surprises.”

  “That all depends on the surprise,” Lincoln said. “How about you tell me what it is and I’ll tell you if I’ll like it.”

  “I could do that…”

  “Go ahead, I’m ready.”

  “Or I could enjoy watching you squirm instead.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Pretty sure I would. Double dog dare.”

  “The most serious of dares,” Lincoln laughed.

  “Exactly.”

  The heat of the day began to fade as the sun set, with shades of orange and red washing away the blue sky.

  “So, Mr. Lollygag…” I hardly knew anything about Lincoln, and somehow I still trusted him. Stuck in the car together, this was my chance. I wanted to know him, and I needed an answer to the question I should have asked sooner. “What’s your real name, and why are you pretending to be work for the CDC?”

  “My name really is Lincoln,” he said.

  “But not Lollygag.” It wasn’t really a question.

  “Not Lollygag,” he repeated. “Blake.”

  “Lincoln Blake.” I said the whole thing together, weighing the sound of it. “It’s better than Lincoln Lollygag.”

  Lincoln shrugged.

  “And the CDC?”

  He stared out window, without answering. This was where the fun ended, where he put up a roadblock in the two of us getting to know each other, where he pushed me away. I wanted to learn everything there was to know about Lincoln Blake, even if knowing him risked what we were doing together. Maybe he just got off on traveling around lying to people, an actor like I’d first thought, just not in any film. I wasn’t surprised he was shutting me out, just disappointed.

  “I get the IDs from my boss,” he said.

  I whipped my head toward him, surprised by his words.

  “Who also happens to be my dad, well, as much of a father figure as I have.”

  “What are they supposed to be for?” I asked.

  “The IDs? Exactly what it seems like,” he said. “I get an envelope of cash, a fresh identity related to some sort of law enforcement, and a mystery to solve.”

  “So you’re what, a mercenary detective?” I asked.

  “Not quite.”

  “Not quite a mercenary or not quite a detective?”

  “Oh I detect,” he said. “I detect to the bank and back. I’m the James Bond of detecting shit.”

  “So not quite a mercenary,” I said, again not a question.

  “I’m not for hire.”

  “But you get paid, right?” I asked. “To the bank and back.”

  “I do.”

  “So then why does your dad send you out to do these things?”

  “It’s his job. And it’s my job,” Lincoln said.

  His forehead was lined, and he held his hands in his lap. He kept his face forward, and he looked...vulnerable.

  I didn’t like it.

  I decided it was best not to push him further. Maybe they were part of some kind of weird cult or something, I didn’t know. If he wanted to tell me, he would.

  The beat-up trailer was on the side of the road right where I remembered. Just enough shreds of sunlight were left to make out the details while casting the place in shadow. There was a big covered porch and a hand-painted sign attached to the roof, lit with a small spotlight. On it was the same symbol that was painted on the black bags, and white letters spelling Fortunes & Charms. There were no cars, but a parking area where the grass was worn down to nothing.

  “This is it,” I said, and parked beside the trailer.

  “That’s our symbol,” Lincoln said. “Nice work.”

  “Thanks.” We climbed out of the car, while only a few glimmers of daylight remained. “See,” I said. “It’s not a cabin.”

  “Too bad,” he replied. “But this is good, too.”

  Too bad. I let his words sink in. Too bad it’s not a cabin where I’m planning to keep him. Too bad it’s just business, too bad it’s not more.

  How could there be more when we didn’t know each other? How could there be more when he was going to leave town after we solved this thing? It’s not like I wanted to ask him to stay. I didn’t want to stay myself.

  I wasn’t sure what I wanted.

  “My dad brought me here once when I was a kid,” I said.

  “Seems like you have some fond memories of him,” Lincoln said.

  “Some, sure,” I said. “Like the library. This one, not so much.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The porch steps were rickety, rotten in places and falling apart. I was careful with my footing, and the decking above was in better shape.

  Lincoln opened the door and flinched. I stepped inside and guessed why. A cloud of stuffy funk hung in the air. It was like the whole trailer was a velvet bag filled with the most wretched of noxious smells. It was an anti-flower shop.

  Other than the stink, it was just like I remembered, the grotesque paintings of nightmares scrawled across the dark room, and a portly woman with no irises staring at me. Or at least she stared in my direction. It wasn’t quite so creepy as it seemed when I was younger. Now I knew that it was only
paint and contacts.

  “You can come in,” Madam Melphini said. “Your friend stays outside.”

  “Can’t he have his fortune read, too?” I asked.

  Lincoln was surprisingly silent, remaining in the doorway. He didn’t enter.

  “His kind isn’t welcome here.”

  “His kind?” I looked at Lincoln. The color was gone from his face, and he stared at Madam Mephini like I had when I was a kid. “You mean men?”

  “He knows what I mean.”

  “I’m just going to…” Lincoln’s voice was quiet. All the fun—it was gone.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, offering a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “It’ll be like the hospital, but it’s my turn this time to wait outside.”

  “This is silly.” It didn’t make any sense. It was nothing like what happened at the hospital. This chick didn’t even know Lincoln. There was no reason to ban him from entering, and no reason for him to obey her.

  “I’ll be right here, just outside the door if you need me,” he said.

  “Uh, okay,” I said, agreeing without understanding. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded, his attention set on the middle-aged woman sitting alone in the dark.

  And with that, Lincoln slowly shut the door.

  And then I felt it, the creepy crawly feeling like someone was breathing on the back of my neck, like I was nine years old, terrified of paintings on the walls.

  “Hi,” I said. “So, I have a couple of questions for you.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes, what?”

  “I know you do, Hammond girl,” she said. “I remember you, and I foresaw your return.”

  “Okay…”

  “What can you tell me about this?” I pulled the black bag from my pocket and held it out for her to see.

  Her white eyes remained fixed forward at the door, unmoving.

  “You’re mistaking the purpose,” she said.

  “Am I?”

  “And worse, you’re blinder than me.”

  I sighed. This was a mistake.

  “Your friend is more than he appears.”

  “Aren’t we all?” I let the sarcasm drip from my words. This was the kind of talk these types always used, vague non-information that could be interpreted to fit whatever actually happened in the future. Next was probably some kind of warning about a random letter and number meaning ill fate to someone I knew.