A Patch of Darkness

by Yolanda Sfetsos

  None of the streetlights worked, so darkness engulfed me as I continued forward, trying not to step on anything.

  What the hell was I doing?

  Oh, that’s right, someone—a stranger who didn’t even have the decency to wait for me to answer the door—left me a time and an address, and I was following it up. Without so much as a single weapon, backup or any idea of what was waiting for me at 669 Wallace Street.

  My feet felt heavier with every step. My ears were starting to buzz. The sound of the city in the distance seemed to be blocked off, as if this place were stuck under a canopy and anything outside the boundary was silenced. But I could feel something pressing against the back of my neck. Could feel things—both breathing and non-breathing—peering at me from the abandoned buildings on either side of the street.

  Fuzzy imprints of the activity that used to fill these streets years ago tried to push through but I closed my eyes and awareness to it, not eager to get caught up in the nostalgic emotions associated with such an experience.

  I tilted my head and opened my eyes to glance at the building number. I risked a deep breath of musty air into my lungs. The ancient metal numbers were still above the door, barely clinging by rusty nails. The nine had come loose and hung like a six below the other numbers.

  This was the place. Now what?

  I took my first careful step into the building and almost fell on my ass. A pile of mess, consisting of old newspapers and moist boxes, crowded the doorway. I straightened, fighting away the invisible needles of fear stabbing my fingertips, allowing my heart to slow to a nice and safe speed. I breathed the stench in from the confines of a squatter’s haven.

  At least on the street the air could circulate, but this building didn’t feel as if it had any sort of air circulation. I pulled at my sweater’s sleeve and held it in front of my nose. The shallower the breaths, the longer I could stand to be indoors.

  I stopped for a second to survey the area.

  Okay, so what was I supposed to do now? And where was I supposed to go? I didn’t expect the mystery client to be waiting inside to brief me on the situation, but I expected some sort of direction. Maybe there was another note or graffiti on the walls with instructions? Or maybe I was just expected to come face-to-face with an evil spirit the person wanted gone. If that was the case, I needed reports, eye-witness accounts, some sort of details before I could capture the spook. The Council would have a field day if I broke the rules. Again.

  I wasn’t high on their most-liked list. Those bastards have a handful of Spook Catchers at their disposal but still hated the fact most people preferred to come to me. I have a good reputation and an accomplished track record.

  My business was small, freelance, comfortable and approachable. They run a corporation. So why do most people turn up at the doorstep of my cramped office instead of their lavish building in the heart of the city? Maybe I’ll ask one of them someday, though I already knew the answer.

  Hell, maybe I could ask the mystery person responsible for my tiptoeing through filth at midnight.

  That’s when a horrid thought struck me.

  What if this was a setup orchestrated by the Council to get me out of the way and squash the competition? God knows they’ve harassed me long enough to sell up and come join their team again. I wasn’t interested. Their endless harassment came to an abrupt stop a few months ago. They even tried to take Ebony from me, but she knew working with them would involve a long-term contract with only one outcome—total control of her talent.

  Those people even made their catchers move into the Spook Catcher Council Tower, to control every move the girls made.

  A path cleared up ahead with two choices—a narrow dark staircase leading down and another heading up.

  I left bravado at the tainted door and took the stairs up. I’ve seen too many horrible things in basements, and most done at the hand of a human.

  My sneakers squeaked on the first step. If someone was up there I was going to be a dead giveaway.

  It was so deserted I was starting to enjoy my internal conversation, even if the self-inflicted madness could be stopped by turning around and heading back to my car. Adrenaline zoomed through my system. Exhaustion would surely strike as soon as my head hit the pillow again, right? But I’d come this far, I couldn’t turn around now.

  So what if my sneakers squeaked a little? I was probably the only thing left alive in this building anyway. The air felt thick and almost solid, suffocating.

  Without further hesitation or internal discussion, I took each step up quicker than the last. Until I reached the rotted landing and noticed it wasn’t as dark as downstairs. The light of the moon reflected through a hole in the ceiling. I stood beneath it and could see the clear night sky above.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  My body tensed. I froze, couldn’t make any of my muscles move.

  “I asked you a question.” It was a male voice. He was standing close behind me, his warm breath on my neck.

  I shouldn’t have made myself such an easy target. It was stupid. I didn’t have any weapons, but it didn’t mean I didn’t know how to take care of myself. I dropped my hand from my nose, took a shallow breath and kicked my leg back. My right foot impacted with the guy’s knee.

  He grabbed my calf and twisted it, causing me to fall to the filthy, splintered floor with a grunt of pain.

  This was not a position I wanted to be in right now.

  I fought the impact by pushing my hands forward, slamming both palms against the rotting floorboards.

  The last thing I wanted to do was pass out inside this Godforsaken place while some stranger stood above me. One who’d knocked me down without a moment’s hesitation. I doubted homeless guys were adept in the way of self-defense.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” I blurted like an idiot. Not exactly the best thing to say to a violent stranger in a darkened building, in the abandoned part of town, but I wasn’t about to back down and make him think he had the upper hand. I pressed both hands against the floor and forced my shaky legs upright, wiping my palms on my jeans.

  “Not so fast,” he hissed, pointing something in my face.

  I narrowed my eyes to focus on the object he’d almost stuck into my eye. It looked like a piece of wood, sharpened to a sharp point. “What’s the matter with you? If you’re after money, I don’t have any on me.”

  “Show me your teeth.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “What, are you insane?”

  “I said show me your teeth or I’ll stab this stake into you before I find out what you really are!”

  This guy was totally insane, and the stake was only millimeters from my eyeball. I opened my mouth and lifted my lips away from my gums. He shoved a flashlight in my face, forcing my eyes shut instantly.

  “Okay, if you’re not one of them, what’re you doing lurking around here in the dark?”

  I peeked out of one eye. The bright light was gone but I couldn’t see his face. All I could see were blotches, residue from staring directly into the flashlight. Tears blurred my vision even further. “One of them? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “A vampire, of course, why else would I be checking out your teeth?”

  “I don’t know—because you moonlight as a dentist?” I returned, getting to my feet. I continued to wipe my palms against my jeans. Better to have whatever I’d fallen on stuck to my clothing than my skin.

  “That’s very funny, but I’m not in the mood.”

  “I’m in the mood for a good laugh,” someone else said.

  I looked past him. A silhouette was approaching from one of the rooms lining this long corridor. I couldn’t see a face. The damn blotches were still there, at the corners and center of everything I focused on. I didn’t even know what Vamp Boy looked like.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the rude guy asked.

  “Now, that’s not an appropriate way to introduce your
self in the presence of a lady,” the newcomer said with a slight Irish twang to his accent.

  “I’m not introducing myself,” Vamp Boy said. “Besides, where’s the lady?”

  “Don’t point that blasted piece of wood in my face, or I’ll snap every bone in your wrist so quickly your vampire hunting days will be over tonight.” The other man’s tone meant business. He sounded older but I couldn’t see either of them properly. “Did this brute harm you?”

  “I’m okay,” I answered. “Just having a little trouble seeing after a flashlight was shoved in my face.”

  Vamp Boy stepped back, allowing the other man to move into the spot of light streaming down through the hole in the ceiling.

  “I’m Oren McKee.” He extended his hand.

  I shook it, feeling the coolness of his touch bite into my palm. “Sierra Fox.”

  “So, I finally get to meet the infamous Sierra Fox.”

  I was puzzled and pulled my hand away from his cool grasp. He knew who I was? Was he the one who’d set this meeting up? “You’ve heard of me? Have I done a job for someone you know?” I rubbed both eyes with the back of my hands, hoping to clear my vision. Maybe I would recognize him when my eyesight returned to normal.

  Oren shook his head. “Oh no, let’s just say we’re in a similar line of work.”

  “Okay.” I looked up at his face. He was slightly taller than me, and after several blinks, I could finally see him. Oren was thin and his white hair, held back in a long ponytail, hung over his shoulder and past his chest. Dressed in black pants, shirt and shoes, the monotone clothes were a stark contrast to his startling pale skin and hair.

  Why hadn’t I thought to dress in black?

  “What exactly do you do, old man?” Vamp Boy decided to be rude again.

  Oren glanced his way, light eyes emotionless. When he returned his attention back to me, the coldness faded from his gaze and a small smile quirked his thin lips. “I’m a witch hunter. I’ve been hunting witches all over the world for over sixty years.”

  “A witch hunter,” I echoed. Witches were things of myth, weren’t they? Just like vampires and werewolves and zombies. I looked at Vamp Boy for a second.

  He stood to the side, watching Oren suspiciously, fingers wrapped tightly around the wooden stake at his side. His arm was flexed, as if on alert. His dark jeans and cartoon tee, even the goatee made him look like any other guy, but he held firm to that sharp piece of wood he used to—what? Stake through the heart of undead bloodsuckers? Was I dreaming? Had the incident at the Prevette house affected me this bad?

  I could handle a little nosebleed, shaky hands and a lingering headache, but this hallucination was another story.

  I turned my attention back to Oren. “Are you saying witches actually exist? Not just the Wicca and Pagan kind, but actual witches with magical powers?”

  He nodded. “Is this the first time you’ve heard of their existence?”

  I felt like an idiot, but nodded anyway. “Well, I’ve read things, but assumed…”

  “Witches have existed as long as man has. Some practice white magic. Yet most become tempted with the power of darkness sometime during their long lives, hence the term black witches. Those are the ones I hunt.”

  “So you’re just a glorified Inquisitor?” Vamp Boy snickered. The disgust was evident in the sharpness of his voice. “You hunt witches down and judge them just like the hypocrisy of the Church used to do centuries ago.” He snorted. “You’re no better than them.”

  “Isn’t it similar to what you do? A wooden stake, burning and relics from a variety of religions are all used to stalk and kill vampires.” Oren’s light eyes were still on mine, even though he clearly wasn’t addressing me. “We’re not so different.”

  “Yes, but I don’t kill humans. I hunt down vampires.”

  “Witches aren’t human.”

  Vamp Boy laughed. “Right, listen, buddy, whatever keeps your conscience clear.”

  “I could argue vampires are also human.”

  “That would be stupid because they’re not.”

  “They were once. Just as witches were human before they chose to give themselves over to the power of darkness. Humanity ends after one allows obscurity to consume the soul. Vampires do it, witches do it.” Oren inclined his head in my direction. “Even ghosts can be tempted.”

  This exchange was starting to get interesting. “Did you leave this address at my office?” I asked.

  “No, if I’d stopped by your office, I would’ve had the decency to introduce myself. How could any man pass by your doorstep without stopping in?” Oren said, shaking his head.

  I found myself blushing and hoped the darkness concealed it.

  “Stop flirting with her, old man—she could be your granddaughter.”

  Oren responded with a smirk aimed at him and a wink at me.

  I couldn’t stand to look in his eyes any longer. He might be an old guy but there was something very alluring in those clear blue eyes—an old-fashioned appeal I found charming and likeable. Not an attraction, but some sort of spark of ease, almost familiarity.

  “Who left the time and address then?” I whispered.

  “Beats me.” Vamp Boy shrugged. “I found a piece of paper with the deets in my mailbox.”

  “I received it via telegram,” Oren added. “I’ve been out of the country the last few months, hot on the trail of a witch in Italy. Though, this was much too intriguing to ignore.”

  “Italy, huh? The Vatican must be so proud!” Vamp Boy snickered. “And who gets telegrams? Don’t you have email?”

  “I got my invitation to this little party via email.” This time the voice was female, approaching from the same direction I’d taken only minutes before.

  I turned around slowly in time to watch a tall woman heading towards us. She wore a black sleeveless top showcasing her pierced navel and toned upper body. Red leather pants hugged her long legs, and spike-tipped leather boots with heels completed the outfit. Her black hair was swept up in a tight ponytail on the top of her head, the length braided. Her face was perfectly made up and her light brown skin seemed to glow under the moonlight. She looked as if she’d stepped right off an action movie set.

  Vamp Boy pushed past me, eyes glued to the woman.

  “Hey there, the name’s Conrad Hicks. I hunt vampires for a living, and your name was?” he asked, blocking our view.

  “I didn’t tell you my name.” She smiled, revealing a perfect smile with brilliant white teeth. “But for the record, I’m Vixen.”

  “Ah…just the one name, like Madonna, huh? I like it!” He inched closer.

  Vixen held a palm out in front of him. “Uh-uh, that’s close enough, little boy.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Vixen,” Oren said, taking several steps towards her with his hand extended.

  She shook it, offering him a smile. “Now, does anyone know what the hell we’re doing here?”

  I shrugged when she looked my way.

  “This is truly extraordinary,” another person called before the sound of clapping erupted around us. It bounced off the decayed walls. The sound so loud I was sure the foundations would start crumbling around us if he kept it up.

  “What the hell?” Conrad’s wooden stake made an appearance again as he pointed it in front of him.

  The clapping stopped as the newcomer took center stage. At first glance he appeared to be an average-looking man wearing a dark suit. There was nothing outstanding about him, nothing which would make him stand out in a crowd, like the other people around me. He was balding, eyes beady and a cheesy moustache adorned his upper lip.

  He looked odd, as if he was wearing a fat suit. His skin was a little waxy and perspiration clung to his face. Something looked wrong about him, as if he’d been put together hastily—as a last-minute preparation to disguise himself as an off-kilter overweight man.

  “And who are you supposed to be?” Vixen asked, resting a nail-polished hand on her shapely hip.

>   “It’s not who, but what,” the stranger answered with a raspy laugh.

  Chapter Five

  “I suppose you’re the one who intrigued us enough to make our way to this abandoned place during the witching hour?” Oren took the chance to address him first, sizing the man up with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

  The smug expression held on the stranger’s chubby face. “I am the culprit. Though I never imagined I’d be able to lure any of you during my first attempt. It’s astonishing.”

  “And why did you do that?”

  “Ah. The always impatient Vixen, real name—”

  She held a hand up. “Stop right there, Mister. I don’t appreciate where this conversation is going. I don’t want my real name spoken to a bunch of strangers. It’s bad enough if you know, but I refuse to let it go any further. So please, stop making a show out of this and tell us why the hell we’re here.” Vixen stopped for a breath. “Cut the circus act and tell us what you want, or I’ll walk. I was intrigued, but if this is some sort of sick joke from a circus-ring announcer, then I’m outta here.”

  Conrad stared at her during the speech like a lost puppy who’d found his owner. The grin on his face suggested lust and he wasn’t doing much to disguise it. Vixen seemed oblivious.

  I didn’t like Conrad-whatever already. Not just for tripping me and acting like a total jerk about it. Not even because he’d insulted me when Oren referred to me as a lady. No, he seemed like the type of shallow guy who’d fall for a pretty smile at the drop of a dime. Everything was obviously superficial with him.

  The man responsible for getting us there suddenly looked worried, his expression changed. The cocky demeanor fell from his features, replaced by uncertainty. He probably regretted getting on the wrong side of someone he obviously needed for something.

  His beady eyes shone in the dark. “Look, I didn’t mean to offend any of you. I’m just surprised by the immediate reaction to my message.”

  “You call that a message?” Conrad asked. His sleazy gaze still stuck on Vixen.