“What was her next assignment?”
Callie mumbled something.
“What?”
Callie’s eyes flashed with anger. “Her next assignment was here in Chicago.”
Chapter Seven
The one-story building on the corner of Jefferson and Taylor looked like someone had smashed it repeatedly with a hammer and then smeared it with dirt and grime. For the fourth or fifth time. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Callie sighed. “It may not look like much, but it’s a fortress inside.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The windows aren’t actually boarded up,” Henry said.
“No,” Callie said. “They’re reinforced concrete on the inside. Short of a nuclear warhead, the building is secure.”
We opened the doors and got out. Henry stayed in the driver’s seat.
“Aren’t you coming?” I asked.
Henry cast a baleful look at the squat one-story building. “There’s something to that place. I don’t think I can go in.”
“Of course,” Callie said. “The protections.”
“Protections?” I asked.
“Like the holy relic Jack used to protect your farm,” Henry said.
“There’s a holy relic on the farm?”
“Are you sure?” Callie asked.
Henry nodded. “I’m pretty sure. It’s like a buzz saw against the back of my teeth.”
That was news to me. I knew that Jack had protected his farm, but I never expected there was a holy relic involved. “What kind of thing can keep out a vampire?”
“Could be the bones of a saint,” Henry said. “Or maybe a part of the cross.”
“The cross,” I asked. “Like, the cross? Like Jesus and the cross?”
Henry shrugged. “It’s just a theory, but a damned good one.”
I turned to Callie. She didn’t seem surprised by the news. “That’s freaking me out.”
“Why?” Callie asked. “You didn’t think the cross was real?”
“Because we’re talking about Jesus and the cross,” I said. “There might be a piece of the actual, literal, honest-to-God cross on the farm. Or, in the house. I’m going to have to look when we get back—”
“Focus, Sam.”
I shook my head and followed her through the parking lot, still thinking about the cross. As we got closer to the building, thoughts of the cross faded. Weeds poked up through cracks in the concrete, but the thick steel door to the back entrance looked brand-new. In fact, although the building was dirty, it resembled something familiar. “It looks like a bunker.”
“What?” Callie asked.
“It looks like a bunker. Why aren’t there any cars in the parking lot?”
“I’ve only been here once,” Callie said. “Well, twice. Once as a little girl, when Katie and I came from Ireland.”
Callie’s parents had died in a car wreck in Dublin. Shortly after, her great-aunt had sent them to foster care in the United States. They had joined the Church after turning eighteen and were assigned to Peoria to care for Father Lewinheim. “And the second time?”
“After we had taken our vows, we spent several days here doing research so that we might understand what we were dealing with.”
“I thought the Peoria diocese had records.”
“Not like they have here.”
We stopped in front of the steel door, and I felt an uncomfortable tingling in the back of my teeth. I thought back to what Henry had just said, and a chill ran down my spine.
If a vampire feels this way, then what does that make me?
A no trespassing sign hung from the wall next to the door. Callie inspected the sign, then rotated the top sideways several inches to expose a small red button. She pushed the button, and we waited for several minutes.
“You sure someone is here?” I asked.
“Someone is here,” Callie said. “There is always someone here.”
As we baked in the heat, a trickle of sweat ran down my back and began soaking through my shirt. Callie swiped at the sweat forming on her brow. My hypersensitive sense of smell was just another in a long line of side effects from killing and absorbing vampire essence, and I tried—and failed—to ignore the smell of her sweat overpowering her sweet lavender perfume.
It was also a reminder that I was that much closer to becoming the thing that Jack had become.
The door finally cracked open, and a wizened old woman with wispy white hair and papery white skin poked her head out and croaked, “What?”
“We would like to speak with Sister Beulah,” Callie said.
The old woman stared at me for an uncomfortably long time, her milky white eyes boring into mine with a ferocious intensity. The door swung wider, and the woman leveled a massive handgun at my face. For all the woman’s age, the gun never wavered. “She will speak with you, Sister Callie, and you alone. The Harlan stays here.”
“No,” Callie said firmly.
“You are in no position—”
“Sister Beulah will speak to both of us. Now.”
“You dare—”
“I’m no longer a child,” Callie said. “You can’t bully me anymore.”
The old woman smiled unpleasantly. “If I pull the trigger and kill the Harlan boy? What will you do then?”
“Lady,” I said. “You better—”
“You are old and weak,” Callie said. “If you kill Sam, I will take that gun from you and beat you senseless, Agatha. What would that do to a woman of your age?”
The old woman’s smile evaporated. “Sister Beulah will be here shortly.”
* * *
The woman who opened the door looked years younger than she had the last time I had seen her in Peoria.
Then again, I never saw her without her habit.
“You’ve got brown hair,” I said.
The nun, Sister Beulah, frowned. “Really? You drove all the way to Chicago just to comment on my hair?”
Callie sighed. “Shut up, Sam. We need to speak with you, Sister.”
Sister Beulah turned to the old woman, Agatha, and said, “You may go.”
Sister Agatha glared at me, and then her eyes slipped past mine and focused on Henry’s Suburban. “What about the thing in the parking lot?”
“He can’t come in, no matter how powerful he is. You know that.”
Sister Agatha hesitated. “I don’t like this.”
“We’ll be fine,” Sister Beulah said.
The old woman nodded and left, but not before casting a disapproving look at the Suburban.
Sister Beulah opened the door. “Come in.”
Callie brushed past me into the building. I followed her down a concrete hallway, turned a corner, and stopped in a plain room with black-and-white linoleum like the kind I had in my old diner.
The place reeked of vanilla and machine oil, and I said, “It stinks in here.”
Sister Beulah rolled her eyes and pointed at an old steel-and-chrome table. “Have a seat.”
I held a chair for Callie and said, “This looks a lot like diner tables. I mean, this really looks like it came from a diner.”
“It did,” Beulah said. “The Order bought it at auction, just as we purchased this building for our headquarters.”
“Headquarters?” I inspected the barren room. The walls were painted white, just like the ceiling. “It’s a tiny concrete box.”
“Sam,” Callie said. “There are six stories below the surface.”
My jaw dropped. “Six stories? That would make this place…”
“Quite large,” Beulah said. “It is also none of your business.”
“But how in the world—”
“It was built as an FBI substation during Prohibition,” Sister Beulah said. “It was abandoned during the forties. The Order’s shell company purchased it shortly after. The Order watches everything, and it never forgets. Is there anything else you would lik
e to know?”
“Sam,” Callie said. “Let me.”
I glanced between the two and shut my mouth.
“Why are you here?” Beulah asked.
“Sam spoke with Raymond Burzynski. He’s a priest at Saint Mary of the Angels. He knew a lot about us, Sister. Things that he shouldn’t have known.”
Beulah’s eyes narrowed. “What kinds of things?”
“Things that I wrote in my reports.”
“Reports?” I turned to Callie. “What reports?”
“Things that happened to us. Things we did.”
“You’ve been reporting to the Order about us? Why would you do that?”
“She was doing her job,” Sister Beulah said. “She works for the Order.”
“She helps me.”
“She works for the Order,” Sister Beulah insisted. “She may have gone with you, but she hasn’t forsaken her vows.”
I shook my head. “This can’t be happening…”
“Sam,” Callie said gently. “You are my friend, but I have dedicated myself to serving God.”
“That means spying on me?”
“Children,” Sister Beulah said, her eyes flashing angrily. “Now is not the time for this. The information the Order collects is kept within the Order. No one outside of the Order has access to that data.”
“That’s what I thought,” Callie said. “But that doesn’t seem the case.”
“Impossible,” Sister Beulah said. “None of the Sisters would betray the sacred trust.”
I grunted. “Burzynski knew too much. Check your people, Sister, because I don’t need anybody knowing our business.”
* * *
“Learn anything?” Henry asked dryly.
I slammed the door shut. “Don’t trust women.”
Callie climbed into the front seat. “I didn’t betray your trust, Sam.”
Henry glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You know, in all my years, I’ve learned to never get between a feuding couple.”
“We’re not a couple,” I said.
Callie turned to me, but Henry raised his hand. “Sister? Before you say something to him you’ll regret…”
Callie glared at me but nodded her head.
“This is really for the both of you,” Henry said. “You’re wrong, Sam. You may not be a romantically involved couple, but you are partners. Sister, you have your vows. I respect that. But you agreed to partner with Sam. You can’t do that if you serve two masters.”
Callie’s face flushed. “I don’t serve two masters. I serve the Lord—”
“I wasn’t talking about God,” Henry said. “I’m talking about your Order. I know about them, Callie. They do good work, for humans. Sometimes our interests align, but the only one you can really trust is your partner.”
Callie’s mouth opened and closed. “You’ve had experience with partners?”
Henry looked like he was about to speak, stopped, then said, “I’ve been around a long time. Partners can be … difficult. But, in the end, they’re the ones you have to trust.”
I said, “She’s been telling the Order everything we’ve been doing.” It came out angrier than I intended.
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure a lot of this isn’t…”
“Isn’t what?”
“You’re feeling strong emotions. Desires. Everything is … amplified.”
Callie pursed her lips. “He has been having trouble dealing with things.”
“Dealing with things?” I asked. “After all we’ve been through? Of course, I’m having trouble dealing with things. The hunger is still eating at me. I’m angry all the time. I’m a mess, and you are, too!”
Callie started to protest, but I continued, “You’re still upset about Katie. She broke her vows trying to save you. What about when Meriwether kidnapped you and carved those scars into your skin? Don’t tell me you’re over that.”
Callie frowned. “You’re right, Sam. I’m still a mess, but I didn’t know they were passing information to Burzynski. I promise.”
Henry pointed at the building. “I take it you spoke with the women in there?”
I harrumphed. “Remember Sister Beulah?”
Henry smiled wanly. “Yep.”
“She’s a good woman,” Callie said. “She’s going to look into … whatever is going on.”
“I thought the Order was a secret organization?” I asked.
“It is,” Callie said.
“Did Lewinheim know about them?”
Callie shook her head. “Very few believe in vampires anymore, and fewer do anything about it. Father Lewinheim didn’t need to know about the Order.”
“What about Burzynski?”
“Father Burzynski is one of the few in Chicago who knows about vampires and the threat they represent.” She stopped and glanced at Henry. “Sorry, Sheriff.”
“No reason to apologize, Sister. You ain’t said nothing that’s not true.”
“So Lewinheim didn’t know about the Order,” I said, “but Burzynski might? And, he’s been feeding that information to Garski? As if we didn’t have enough to worry about.”
“Father Burzynski is a good man,” Callie said.
“Is Garski a good man? Because I think he has a screw loose.”
Henry cleared his throat. “I’m going to have to drop you two off back at the house. I’ve got some … business to attend to.”
“What kind of business?” I asked.
“The kind that doesn’t involve humans,” Henry said, starting the Suburban and swinging it around the parking lot and back onto the street.
“What are we supposed to do without your help?”
Henry swerved around a closed lane and headed back to the heart of the city. “What would you do if I hadn’t brought you into this?”
“We’d find a way to track the vampires,” I said.
“Then that’s what you should do.”
“We don’t know where to look,” Callie said. “We would usually have more information or some kind of lead to follow.”
“Good idea,” Henry said. “You should work on that.”
We made our way through the crowded streets of Chicago. The heat had been building all day, finally reaching a level that threatened to steal my breath away. It didn’t stop the people from flooding the streets as their workday ended. “Henry?”
“Yes?”
“Is this other business Ancient business?”
There was a long silence. “The less you know, the better.”
“The first man, Peter, said there were others here in Chicago. Four of them.” When Henry didn’t speak, I continued, “Are we in danger?”
“You hunt vampires,” Henry said softly. “You’re always in danger. But, if we don’t find out what’s happening to these men and why, we might all be in danger. The Ancients really don’t like change, and the world has changed far too fast for them.”
“Are you going to tell us what’s really going on?”
“Sam is right,” Callie said. “Something has been … off since you approached us in Toledo.”
Henry sighed. “Anything I’m keeping from you two is for your own protection. You need a place to start. I’ll give you one. Madame Wang.”
“Who is Madame Wang?” I asked.
“She’s a psychic. Well, more like a witch, really.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Nuh-uh. Not happening.”
“She’s fine,” Henry said. “As far as I can tell…”
“I’m with Sam,” Callie said. “No witches. Not after Monticello.”
“Do either of you have a better idea?” Henry asked.
Callie shook her head, sending her auburn hair swishing against the back of the seat.
“He’s got a point,” I said.
“I don’t like it,” Callie said.
“Neither do I, but we don’t really have another choice.”
“A tou
gh couple like you?” Henry said. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t mention me to Madame Wang. She might still be a little…”
“What?” I asked.
Henry shrugged. “Just … don’t mention vampires.”
Chapter Eight
Henry dropped us off at his mansion and introduced us to his housekeeper, Xavier, then left.
Xavier was a brown-skinned man in his late sixties. His bald head was covered in faded scars, and he wore black cotton pants and a black cotton shirt like the kind men used to wear in the kung fu movies on cable television I would watch after my father sent me home from the diner on Friday nights.
He gingerly withdrew a slip of paper from his pocket, handed it to me, and said in heavily accented English, “The sheriff wanted you to have this.”
I took it and glanced at the precisely written script. “Madame Wang’s address?”
Xavier shrugged and made a pained expression.
“Are you okay?” Callie asked.
Xavier sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “I was struck from behind.”
Callie clucked her tongue. “Let me look at it.”
Xavier took a step back. “No. The sheriff said I will be fine.”
“You’re not one of them,” I said.
Xavier blinked. “No. I am only a man.”
“Why work for him?” Callie asked. “You know what he is.”
“The sheriff saved me from the gangs of São Paulo when I was just a child. I owe him my life.”
Callie shook her head. “But he’s a—”
“Callie,” I said. “Let him be.”
“But—”
“Callie,” I repeated. “It’s none of our business.”
Xavier showed no signs of emotion. “The sheriff said you should go. He will contact you when he is through with his business.”
He left us alone in the mansion’s kitchen, and I inspected the address. “It’s on North Halsted.”
Callie took her cell phone, punched the street address into Google Maps, and showed me the result.
The map displayed a blue line from Henry’s mansion to Madame Wang’s business.
I sighed. “Why did it have to be a witch?”
* * *
I parked the Chevy at the 7-Eleven across from Madame Wang’s business, went inside, and gazed longingly at the rack of Jack Links beef jerky.
Deal with the Devil Page 9
