In the Shadow of Darkness

by Nicole Stiling

  “Hey, buddy,” Megan called. Her cat came running into the kitchen, twisting around her calves and purring. Megan scratched his head. “I think you’re gonna like her.”

  She filled his bowl with dry food and refreshed his water before opening a can of pâté. She grimaced at the smell, but Merlin was licking his chops before she even got it down on the plate.

  Megan grabbed her laptop and stuffed some of her paperwork into a messenger bag just in case she ended up over at Angeline’s again. She’d have to ask her about bringing Merlin over or else they’d need to spend more time at her place once she was sure that she was no longer under surveillance. There was something so calming about being tucked into the woods, just the two of them, with no one around for miles. Megan had always assumed remote living would terrify her, but Angeline brought such unexpected comfort. Such safety.

  The ancient answering machine on the table in her foyer was blinking. She was pretty sure she was the only one left in town who still had a landline and an answering machine, but Aunt Susie favored her home number, so Megan couldn’t bring herself to cancel the service. Sure enough, Aunt Susie’s voice filtered out from the muffled speaker.

  “Meg? It’s me. I just wanted to check in on you. I haven’t heard from you for a while. Your story is playing on the news again. Channel Five, I think. They went over everything again, but they also said there is still a question about what really happened that night. And they put up a number on the screen for people to call. Has anyone called? That boy shouldn’t have been doing what he was doing, but to have his throat ripped out! And they still haven’t caught the person who did it. Anyway, please call me and let me know you’re safe. It’s Aunt Susie.”

  Megan nodded, smiling. No matter how long she talked into the machine, Aunt Susie always had to make sure Megan knew who was calling before disconnecting. As though she had tons of elderly relatives blowing up her phone line.

  “They haven’t caught them, have they?”

  Megan gasped and jumped back, colliding directly with another body. She turned and came face-to-face with a drawn-looking woman, her face gaunt and pale. The woman smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her expression was empty and frightening.

  “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” Megan asked, backing away.

  “I think you know who I am. I can smell her all over you, so I’m sure you’ve heard the stories. The big bad villain who took everything from her. I never saw it before, but she always was an ungrateful bitch,” the woman said, shaking her head.

  Megan’s voice caught in her throat and fear made her knees weak. It couldn’t be. “K-Kathryn?” Megan whispered.

  “In the flesh.”

  “But you’re dead. Angeline said—”

  “On the surface, that’s an accurate description. But I’m sure that’s not how you meant it.” Kathryn grabbed Megan’s hand, brought it to her nose, and sniffed before she dropped it disdainfully. “Ah. She’ll be here soon if that blood bond is worth its weight in salt. I assume this house has a basement?”

  Megan swallowed. Kathryn couldn’t possibly have shown up to make amends or for any other reason that wouldn’t end tragically. Could she? At least they knew who’d killed Jud Jenkins. Fear snaked its way up Megan’s throat. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Not directly. The basement?”

  “Why do you need to know where the basement is?” Megan asked. She took a few steps backward, trying to seem casual. If she could just make it to the door, maybe the element of surprise would work in her favor. If she could wave to the police car outside…

  “Because we can’t do this in front of a picture window.” Kathryn turned her head. “I assume it’s through there,” she said, nodding toward the door off the kitchen. She was right, damn it.

  “Angeline?” Megan asked, squinting at the window beyond Kathryn’s shoulder. Of course, there was no one there, but she couldn’t think of anything else that might interest Kathryn enough to make her move.

  It worked. Kathryn spun toward the window, her long red hair whipping behind her. Megan turned and ran toward the front door, cursing herself for installing a deadbolt in such a safe town. What used to be a safe town, anyway. She turned the grip of the lock and it clicked over, granting her access to the outside world. She reached for the doorknob as Kathryn sped toward her unnaturally, eliciting a scream from Megan that she didn’t even know she was capable of.

  Kathryn grabbed Megan’s hair and pulled her back into the living room forcefully. Her teeth were glinted, and her shining eyes meant business. “Cute. Get down on your knees.”

  Megan could feel her resistance slipping away, which fueled the panic in her chest. “Just tell me what you want!”

  “Oh, Christ. I don’t have the patience for this.”

  Before Megan could ask what that meant, she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head and watched as the world faded to a charcoal gray.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Meredith, New Hampshire, 1954

  It had been nearly a year since Angeline had left New York, broken and alone. She admired the black canvas of the night sky, speckled with more stars than she could ever remember seeing before. This early in the season, she had the in-ground pool to herself. The early June evening was warm, but not quite warm enough for swimming. Tourist season in the Lakes Region would pick up in maybe a week or two, but the motel had provided Angeline with a perfect short-term rental solution in the meantime. The owners, a nice couple in their sixties, were out the door by six o’clock each night. They’d left her their phone number in case of an emergency.

  In the first few days on her own, Angeline had nearly succumbed to the panic of being alone. Utterly and terrifyingly alone. But as time marched on, she realized that maybe she’d been more afraid of the unknown than of actually being alone. Because being alone didn’t seem all that bad.

  The ability to make friends, or even acquaintances, had been abandoned in the nineteen twenties. And in her current condition, Angeline didn’t think that a mixer at the local watering hole would be the smartest idea.

  But an existence without Kathryn was easier than Angeline thought it would be. She’d been afraid that she’d have all kinds of existential questions that could only be answered by someone with a lifetime of knowledge and experience. She found that she didn’t have any, really. She’d been nervous that her nights would be filled with silence and she’d end up staked, surrounded by torches in a hunter’s front yard because of her weaknesses and lack of skill. But that didn’t happen, either. She’d been able to stay under the radar quite easily, and Lucy and Ethel had ended up being better company than Kathryn had been.

  She still thought of Charlotte often, but the crying had finally stopped, and the guilt had subsided just the tiniest bit.

  The sound of rustling behind her lounge chair made Angeline jump. She was on her feet in seconds.

  “Miss? I’m sorry to have startled you. I was wondering if you had anything to eat. I’m making my way up to Canada, Montreal to be exact, but I’m about to go ape if I don’t get some food. Everything around here is closed, even the gas stations.”

  The man spoke so rapidly, it took Angeline a moment to digest what he was saying. He was young, maybe twenty, with slicked-back hair. He had on black trousers and a loud Hawaiian shirt. Times had certainly changed. She could remember when a proper man wouldn’t leave the house without a tie around his neck.

  “I don’t really have much,” she said. “I think there may be a can of Franco-American spaghetti in the lobby. There’s a small cupboard and a hot plate for guests that are passing through.”

  “Oh, thank you, I’m jazzed. If you’d offered me a bowl of week-old clam chowder, I think I’d take it. Phil’s the name.”

  Angeline smiled as Phil followed behind her toward the motel entrance. She had a key, in case something happened after the owners had gone home for the night. They deducted fifty cents from her weekly rent for her ge
nerous availability.

  It would have been easier to tell him to buzz off, or maybe take a quick drink for herself before sending him on his way. But Phil seemed harmless enough, and she really ought to make conversation here and there if she wanted to at least fit in with society somewhat.

  Phil sat in one of the faded wingback chairs while Angeline poured the contents of the can into a small saucepan.

  “Now, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re a real doll. Are you circled?” Phil asked, flicking the ash of his Lucky Strike into the ashtray next to him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Circled. Spoken for. You know, married.”

  “Oh,” Angeline said. It was like he was speaking a foreign language. Every generation’s slang got stranger and stranger. “No, not married.”

  “What are you doing here on your own?”

  “Enjoying myself. I appreciate the quiet.” She unfolded the tray table and set it in front of him. She placed the bowl of bright orange spaghetti down next to a glass of milk.

  “This is great, really peachy of you to let me in like this. I wish I had some money for you, but I’ve been thumbing rides for weeks now. All outta dough. Sleeping under the stars.”

  Phil shoveled in the spaghetti like he hadn’t eaten in months. Angeline watched with a mixture of amusement and disgust.

  “That’s all right. Where are you staying tonight?”

  Phil adjusted his collar. “Hadn’t thought about it much. I wouldn’t mind staying here, if that’s okay by you.” He raised his eyebrows at her seductively.

  “I’m sorry, no. The owners don’t allow anyone to stay here without a reservation.” Angeline brought his bowl to the sink in the small pantry and wondered if she’d made a mistake by inviting him in.

  Angeline whipped around when she felt his footsteps behind her.

  “But they wouldn’t even have to know.” He leaned against the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

  “No, that isn’t an option. If you’re finished, I think it’s best that you be on your way,” Angeline said. She could feel the hairs on the back her neck begin to rise.

  “I do thank you for your hospitality, but I’m not finished quite yet. I think we could have a nice time together if you’d just relax.”

  “That’s it. You need to leave. Now.” Anger bubbled beneath the surface. Angeline unconsciously flexed her hand into a fist.

  “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Phil said, any pretense of being a “nice guy” out the window. He produced a switchblade out of his pocket and extended the blade. “I think it’s time you started being a little nicer to me, don’t you?”

  Angeline couldn’t help but smirk. Before he could realize what was happening, Angeline had him pinned against the pantry wall, his head smashed up against a flowery calendar. She sank her teeth into the soft flesh of his neck and smiled as she felt his body go limp. His blood mixed with the sweet tomato sauce from the canned spaghetti was certainly an acquired taste.

  When she’d had her fill, she carried him over to the wingback and dropped him into the seat, the upper half of his body draped over the arm. As she watched his fingertips fall still against the pilled carpet, she cocked her head. She really could do this on her own. She’d be just fine with no one to answer to but herself.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Fog Hollow, Massachusetts, current day

  Angeline wondered if she’d said too much. She rubbed her upper arms and grabbed a hoodie from the closet in her entryway. Even though Megan had acted fine after hearing Angeline spill her long and sordid story, that didn’t mean she was fine. It was a lot for a person to take in. It was a lot for a non-person to take in too. And she hadn’t even rehashed all of the gory details.

  Everything she’d told her had been the truth. It had been torturous pretending that she didn’t feel anything toward Megan, that she didn’t see her as anything but a bother that she would move on from once their blood blond had broken. It had gotten weaker over the last month, that much was obvious, but it was still there. Even if it wasn’t there anymore, Angeline wasn’t sure if she would have told Megan that. If nothing else, it gave Angeline a reason to remain close by.

  Megan might have been a nuisance, albeit an incredibly attractive one, in the beginning, but once Angeline had let herself get lost in those gray eyes for more than a second, she knew it would be an uphill battle from there. Megan was sweet and thoughtful and curious, and Angeline hadn’t been so attracted someone since…since a very long time ago.

  She was afraid, there was no doubt about that. There hadn’t even been a twinge of love for another person in Angeline’s heart for decades. She’d honestly believed that that part of her life was over. Done. She’d dedicated herself to the welfare of animals, beings that could actually be trusted, and had decided that she was satisfied with that. One-night stands and the occasional fling had often crossed her path, but nothing more. And that was by design. She supposed she could have tried to find a vampire that she had a spark with, but that felt more like searching for a needle in a haystack than a real possibility. And her last relationship with a vampire had been disastrous.

  No, she’d been content. A little empty, maybe, but content. Angeline scrolled through the local news on her phone to see if anything was amiss. Something felt off, though she couldn’t put her finger on what, exactly. Her senses weren’t exactly piqued, but she was disquieted just the same. It was probably nothing, just the nerves of being with someone like Megan after all the time that had passed. It was momentous, really. But that explanation didn’t satisfy her. She opened up the Sun to see if anything had been reported, something that would make Nolan seek out Megan again. Local kid wins math bee. Funding for school playground denied. Council on Aging holding meeting on first Thursday of the month.

  Murder at Eastbay Park. Angeline sat down at her kitchen table and read the story with a growing pit in her stomach.

  Fog Hollow, Massachusetts. UPDATED: 23:41 EST

  With no suspects in custody, Fog Hollow is becoming a deadly place to live. Fog Hollow’s own journalist Blair Gates came across a disturbing and terrifying image earlier this evening. A local resident, who must remain nameless until the police have finished their investigation, was found beneath one of the wooden benches at Eastbay Park. Gates touched the victim’s shoulder to see if they were responsive, only to find that they were not. It appeared to Gates that not only was the victim’s left ear missing, but that all blood had been completely drained from the body. There were bite marks and puncture wounds on the victim’s face and on their jawline. Fog Hollow police declined to comment. Developing story.

  Again. Angeline cringed. That had to be why the detective wanted to see Megan. Anything else would be too coincidental. But really, at this point, how dangerous was too dangerous? Angeline appreciated Megan covering for her, but if the detective was so sure that she knew something, Angeline was afraid that his investigation would intensify. What that meant was a mystery. Angeline had done her very best to evade the law as often as possible over her extensive time on earth. Police would only complicate things. She had to find out who was doing this and, one way or another, put a stop to it. The only person who would have a vendetta against her personally, at least that she knew of, had been dead for a very long time. There was always a niggling part of her that wondered if, somehow, Kathryn had managed to escape the burning house that day, but Angeline didn’t see any possible way. She’d been stuck to the heavy door by a sword in the proverbial stone.

  Angeline pulled up her messaging app and clicked on Megan. As she began to type, she felt a tug in her chest. Huh. She rubbed aimlessly at the spot, trying to decide if it was an undigested piece of fried chicken or something a little more serious. She picked her phone back up, but before she was able to compose anything coherent, she fell backward into the chair, her stomach cramping in pain. Angeline felt suffocated, terrified, and sweat began to pour down her forehead. She was disoriented for a moment
before she realized what the pain signified: Megan.

  Angeline felt her fangs jut out in response to the swirling within her body. She willed herself to see past the emotion and get her bearings. Maybe Nolan had arrested her. Angeline refused to allow herself to think anything worse. She had a simple task in front of her. Find Megan and put an end to whatever had frightened her so desperately.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Megan opened her eyes slowly, blinking rapidly. It took her a minute to recognize her surroundings. She was in her basement, nestled between totes full of Halloween decorations and various vacuums and carpet shampooers that she’d accumulated over the years. She’d meant to either trash them or have them fixed at some point, but she just hadn’t gotten around to it.

  Before she could wonder what she was doing in her basement on the floor, Megan realized that her hands were tied above her head. Bungee cords, her own from her last trip to Laconia, secured her to the cast iron sewer pipe that snaked its way around the basement. It took a second, but it all came flooding back to her in a nauseating wave. Kathryn, the doorknob, the searing pain in the back of her head. She felt a scream well up, but she successfully pushed it away. She had a feeling it wouldn’t do her any good anyway. She looked at the bungee cords again. The top of the cord, near the metal hook, was slightly frayed. Maybe it would provide her with the weakness she needed to break free. She pulled as hard she could, the nylon burning her wrists, but the cord didn’t give at all.

  “Oh, you’re awake. Goody,” Kathryn sat flipping through a magazine at Megan’s tool bench. It didn’t actually contain many tools except for a hammer, a wrench, and a few other assorted items that had come inside the toolkit Aunt Susie had given her a few years ago. Mostly the bench was piled with entertainment magazines meant for recycling and old paint cans.