Welcome to Castle Cove

by Kory M. Shrum

  “Does everyone know everyone’s name around here?”

  She grins. “Dwayne is my brother. And everyone knows him because he used to date Ethan Benedict.”

  I choke on my water. Cold water stinging my nose.

  Kristine smiles. “Heard of him already, have you?’

  “He’s my boss.”

  “He’s so pretty,” the other bartender moans.

  “Just don’t date him unless you want everyone in town to know your business,” Kristine says, wiping down the bar.

  The other bartender snorts. “It’d be so worth it just to run a hand over that ass while—”

  “Reese,” Kristine says. “Not in front of the children.”

  Several girls no more than 21 giggle at the bar. Reese only gives them a devilish wink.

  “Do you think he’s cute?” I ask, hoping for clarification. Five seconds ago, I thought Kristine was flirting with me.

  “Not my type,” she says, with another one of those long, appraising looks. My face could light a match.

  “Your ride is here,” she says, looking away first. “Unlike the other creeps, Dwayne’s all right. If he gives you any shit, let me know.”

  “You’ll beat him up for me?” I laugh, gathering up my things and placing a generous tip on the bar.

  “No, I’ll tell our mother. She’s way scarier than me.”

  I slide off the barstool and thank Kristine again for all her help. “Hope to see you again. Soon.”

  Choice 39

  Give Kristine my number

  Call it a night

  Go home and go to bed.

  “I need to go home. My head is killing me.”

  “You have a concussion. Going to sleep is the last thing you need to do right now,” Kristine says, her firm hand on my back.

  I know Kristine is just trying to help, but I want to be home more than anything right now. I’m checking my pockets for keys and my wallet. Wallet yes, and my house keys. No car keys because Katie drove.

  I don’t know how I’m going to get home.

  “I’ll take you,” a voice says.

  I turn on the sidewalk and see Spencer standing there. He detaches from the dark shadows surrounding the bar and moves into the light.

  “She’s had enough creeps for one night,” Kristine says. Jack tenses beside her. They must be good friends. He seems willing to follow her every move. Or maybe they’re more than friends. I catch myself sizing up the tall man with the bundle of scar tissue at the base of his neck.

  What does it even matter? How can I think about anything but Katie right now? She could be in serious danger. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

  “We should call the police,” I say. “Report her abducted.”

  “I already did that,” Kristine says. “I was on the phone when you started calling my name. But none of that tells me who the hell this guy is.”

  “We’re friends from work,” he explains to the bartender. “I know where she lives. I can get her there safely. And you can tear my throat out if I don’t.”

  “Oh, I will,” Kristine says.

  “That seems a little violent,” I say, unsure why the tension is rising again. Haven’t the bad guys just left?

  “Let me take you home,” Spencer says, as if Kristine hasn’t even spoken. “You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

  I know I’ve knocked my head pretty hard against the pavement, but this concerned Spencer isn’t adding up. Where is the a-hole that’s dogged my step every week? What does this guy really want?

  Choice 40

  Let Spencer take me home

  Call a cab

  Try to find Katie. She could be in serious trouble.

  “No, I have to go find Katie,” I say, shaking them off.

  Kristine steps back. “There’s no telling where they’ll take her. And unless you’ve got some tracking ability, I don’t think you’ll find them.”

  Tracking ability?

  “I can’t just let them take her. God knows what will happen!” I say. “We need to call the police.”

  “I’ve already reported them,” Kristine says. Her dark hair tumbling forward as she continues to prod my cut. It burns like hell. “They’re more capable of finding her than you are. Will you please let me look at this cut on your head?”

  “No, I’ve got to go.”

  She grumbles something but I’m not listening to her. I have to find Katie. I have to. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.

  So I adjust my clothes against the chilly air, focusing on the night around me. The soft orange streetlamps. The people laughing and talking on street corners outside the businesses still open. My back and head ache. My hands are too cold. But I’m up and I’m ready to do something.

  Kristine marches back into the bar, clearly irritated by my decision. But she seems to let me make it anyway.

  I respect that.

  Then why can’t you do the same for Katie, my mind chides. She chose to go with those guys. Let her.

  Good point. But that is different. Katie is drunk. She clearly isn’t aware of the danger.

  Jack, who I really see for the first time, takes his place by the door, becoming a wall of a man again. When he turns toward a group of revelers looking to start off their night, I make my way down the street.

  I’m about halfway down the block when I realize I have two problems.

  First of all, Kristine is right. I don’t have the first clue as to where to start looking for them. Secondly, they were in a car and I’m on foot. And I didn’t drive here. The keys in my pocket are to my apartment, not Katie’s car, which is probably still in the parking garage where we left it.

  I pull out my phone and call her. It goes to her voicemail. Great.

  I can’t just wander the night calling her name. That’s ridiculous.

  “At least you were smart enough not to get in the car,” someone says.

  I turn on the sidewalk and see Spencer standing there. He detaches from the dark shadows of the brick building he must’ve been leaning against and moves into the light.

  “Are you following me?” I ask. I’m taking inventory, trying to figure out what I have on me that remotely resembles a weapon. I could put my car keys between my knuckles, but that’s about it. I have mace, but it’s at the apartment. All the good it will do me now.

  But he warned me about the guys. If he wanted to hurt me, he’d have kept his mouth shut, right?

  Unless he has his own evil plans for me.

  “Let me take you home,” Spencer says. “You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t leave with those guys. When locals stepped in, I backed off. But here you are, looking lost again. I thought offering you a ride was politer than just watching you from the shadows. Don’t you agree?”

  I don’t know what to think.

  I know I’ve knocked my head pretty hard against the pavement, but this concerned Spencer isn’t adding up. Where is the a-hole that’s dogged my steps all week?

  But even though I can’t get a clear read on this guy, mixed signals at best, the fact remains I’m stuck here. I can’t walk all the way to my apartment in Old Town. I need to either call a cab or accept Spencer’s offer for ride. If I call a cab, it will take a while. I should probably wait in the bar where it’s warm instead of standing out here in the chilly night.

  Already my skin feels like ice.

  Choice 41

  Let Spencer take me home

  Call a cab

  Call a cab.

  I reenter the bar and find a buxom bleached blonde whose hair is pulled up in twin pigtails, behind the bar with a tray of empty glasses. The ends of her pigtails are black as if dipped in ink.

  Kristine sees me and arches a brow. “Back already.”

  “I need a cab.”

  “I’ll call you one if you let me check you for a concussio
n.”

  “Deal.”

  I wait for her to fish a pen light out of the cash register and then lean over the bar.

  “Look at my ear.” Kristine shines the light in my eyes and for a moment, the bar is reduced to a cacophony of sound.

  “Verdict?” I ask.

  “You’ll live.”

  “Is that your professional medical opinion?”

  She snorts. “It’s the opinion of someone with lots of brothers. In our house, someone nearly loses his head every week.”

  She slides a glass of water across the bar. “Drink this while I call that cab.”

  “I don’t like tap water.”

  She throws a cherry in it. “Better?”

  I look at the cherry in the glass and feel tears welling up in the back of my throat. Katie…where are you? What have you done?

  A hand closes over mine and squeezes.

  “Whatever happens to your friend tonight, it’s not your fault,” Kristine says and lets go of my hand. “You did what you could.”

  I nod only because I don’t trust my voice not to betray me.

  Kristine punches a number into the phone by heart. “Yeah, Dwayne, I need a cab. No, not me.” Kristine arches her eyebrow. “Where you live?”

  “Old Town.”

  Kristine repeats this to whomever is on the line. “Yep.”

  She hangs up. “Five minutes.”

  “Five minutes. That’s fast.”

  “He’s already on his way here to drop some folks off.”

  “Does everyone know everyone’s name around here?”

  She grins. “Only the locals. We have plenty of people who breeze through off the interstate. I think we’ll get more drifters if Benedict builds that casino by the interstate like he wants.”

  “Ethan Benedict?”

  “You know him?” she asks, taking the dirty glasses off the tray and putting them somewhere under the counter.

  “He’s my boss.”

  “He’s pretty, is what he is,” the buxom blond with black tipped ponytails chimes in.

  “Why don’t you ask him out then?” I ask.

  She laughs. And to my surprise, a handful of patrons who’d been listening to us—more than I realized—share in the chuckle. Kristine is the only one not laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask her. “Is dating him such a ridiculous idea?”

  Kristine shrugs. “I suppose it depends on what you’re into. He’s not my type.”

  “Is he seeing someone?”

  “Not anymore,” she says and the laughter around the bar falls short. They’re all watching Kristine.

  “Did you date him?” I ask, trying to understand the shift.

  “No,” she says. “He dated my brother.”

  I snort and water burns my nose.

  “Your ride is here,” she says. “Dwayne’s the cabbie. He’s all right. If he gives you any shit, let me know.”

  “You’ll beat him up for me?” I laugh, gathering up my things and placing a generous tip on the bar. Kristine nods at the bills appreciatively.

  “Don’t have to. I’ll tell our mother.”

  I wake to a soft paw batting my nose.

  “Meow.”

  A tinge of claws.

  “Meow.”

  I pry my eyes open against the sunlight streaming in. This is all the encouragement that the cat needs. He climbs onto my chest and proceeds to rub his head and ears against my face until I’m gasping. I swat him away.

  I sit up and check the time. Almost 10:30. I’m surprised he let me sleep this long. But I must’ve needed it after the horrible night I had at Alpha’s.

  “Okay, okay,” I say and throw back the covers. He’s already jumped off the bed and is galloping down the hall. He leaps up onto the island barstool and then the countertop before I can get the plastic container of his food down off the fridge.

  Only a small circle of the bowl’s bottom is exposed—of course—but I give him his morning scoop anyway. I’ve learned that simply shaking the bowl to cover the thin patch sends him into hysterics.

  While the cat crunches down his kibble, I stand in the kitchen trying to adjust to the idea of a new day. There was something…

  Katie!

  I check my phone to see the time and see that I have a voicemail.

  I play the message while dragging myself from the sofa so that the damn cat will leave me be.

  It’s Katie. Her voice is hushed and frightened and I have to restart the message to make sure I understand what she is saying.

  “Baltimore. Oh Christ, Baltimore. Help me. I shouldn’t have left Alpha’s with them, but how the hell was I supposed to know they were vampires?! Honest-to-god freaking monsters. I don’t know where they’re taking me. They’ve got me in a trunk and—”

  “What the fuck,” a man cuts in. “I thought you took her phone.”

  A scream cuts off the message. Katie’s scream.

  The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up. I listen to it two more times, feeling sick over my pounding heart.

  Then I hang up and call Katie. Fingers crossed she was drunk, in a bad situation, but is home safe now with a hellacious hangover.

  Vampires? Actual vampires? Surely she was drunk…

  But the call goes straight to her voicemail. Damn. I leave a voicemail anyway, sounding like a hand-wringing mother no doubt. I could drive to Alpha’s and see if she came back for her car. Or I can go by her place.

  Choice 42

  Go by Katie’s apartment

  Go by Alpha’s

  Let Spencer take me home

  “Where did you park?” I ask.

  Spencer motions toward the garage and I fall into step beside him. About half a block down with the swell of music carried on a breeze and the scent of ocean water in its wake, he slides off his jacket and throws it around my shoulders. I balk at him in disbelief.

  “You’re shaking,” he says by way of explanation.

  “It’s cold.”

  “I run hot,” he says. “You take it.”

  My ringing head and exhaustion from the falling adrenaline makes an argument seems pointless. I slip my arms into the sleeves of his jacket and try not to laugh at how it dwarfs me. My hands disappear inside the cuffs. Spencer is about five inches taller than me, with comically long limbs apparently.

  “Kristine must like you,” Spencer says, by way of breaking the silence. When I show my confusion, he adds, “She went out of her way to help you out.”

  “I must’ve really come across as quite the damsel tonight.”

  “You’re just new,” Spencer says. “And it doesn’t seem fair that you don’t have a clue what you’ve stepped into. It’s probably second nature to her.”

  I cast him a look as we step into the parking garage. The temperature change is welcome. Though it’s still chilly, the protection from the wind makes the night feel ten degrees warmer.

  “What do you mean her nature?”

  “She’s the oldest of eight. She has seven younger brothers. The youngest is just fourteen. I think she can’t stop herself.”

  “I won’t take it personally then.”

  “Excuse me,” he says and slips a hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his car keys.

  I feel the back of his hand slide over my hip through the fabric, and it’s strangely intimate. And a total surprise since not six hours ago I wanted to dunk this man’s head in a toilet.

  Then I realize what he’s just said, replaying it. “How do you know so much about Kristine? Are you friends?”

  He doesn’t answer me until after he climbs into his car, a red sedan. Not brand new, not too old. But perfectly maintained on the inside.

  He turns on the car and heater before I even have to ask.

  “We’re not friends,” he says finally. “I just know a lot about the people in this town.”

  “Why?”

  He doesn’t answer as he backs the car up and makes for the exit.

&nb
sp; “Did you grow up here?”

  “No, I’ve only been here two years.”

  I’m not sure where to steer the conversation from here. “I live in Old Town.”

  “I know where you live,” he says.

  The words send a chill up my spine. “Why do you know where I live?”

  He hesitates but it’s such a brief pause I can’t be sure it isn’t just my paranoia. “It’s listed in the work directory.”

  Right. I’d forgotten about that. Everyone’s address, even Laura’s, and their preferred number, is listed in that thing. But knowing my street address and knowing exactly where I live isn’t the same.

  I decide to watch him and see if he pulls up without any guidance.

  Sure enough. He pulls the car to the curb right outside my apartment building and looks up at its brick facade. And if I’m not mistaken, when he leans over for a closer look, his eyes go automatically to my balcony and the dark window it frames.

  Don’t be hysterical, I tell myself. There aren’t that many streets in Old Town. If he’s lived here for two years, he might have simply known this was the street. But then again. There are two clusters of apartments across from one another. Why didn’t he look the other way?

  Take a breath. So what if he knows how the streets are numbered?

  “Have you had any problems with your apartment?” he asks.

  “No, why?”

  “I heard it was haunted,” he says. “They’ve had tenants move out after just a couple of weeks. Apparently, they even brought in a priest to cleanse it, hoping it’d find a more permanent tenant.”

  “Are you screwing with me?”

  He cracks a rare smile. “No. I guess the cleansing worked.”

  When he meets my gaze, those blue eyes piercing beneath the shaggy black hair, I can’t help but question my entire week. Who is this guy?

  At least it explains his familiarity with this area. If this apartment is infamous, I’m sure it would’ve been the subject of much local gossip.