by Debi Matlack
I gave Poppy a long stare and sighed. “And now you’re trying to distract me.”
Adam observed with an air of detached amusement, as if watching a comedy routine on TV. Once we ran out of gas, he nodded at me. “What do you know about the man who attacked you?”
I said nothing, but went behind the counter and dragged out the battered binder. I dropped it onto the table between us. “That, and a trunk in the back that nearly made my head explode.”
Adam paused in his perusal of the top page of my notebook. “What?”
“A vintage Louis Vuitton trunk, somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred and fifty years old, give or take. It contained a pair of shoes, a few pieces of clothing and a cigar box full of personal letters, almost like a journal, all of them with variations of the same thing, about following someone, someone being angry, going to see them one last time. All of it was written in the same hand, even though the notes were clearly from different time periods.”
Adam looked startled, Poppy looked guilty. “What do you know about this, old man?”
He shook his head. I never meant for you to find that. I left it here to keep it hidden, from him and from us. I meant to destroy it, soon as I figured out a good way to do it.
“I suppose burning it was out of the realm of possibilities? Or is that too mundane? Maybe I should get it exorcised by a priest or maybe have a shaman drive the evil spirits out, what do you say?” Sarcasm colored my words with a broad brush.
Did you burn it?
Touché. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to touch it again after the first time.”
Me neither. He gave me a long look that I was the first to break.
“Point taken.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “It’s in the storeroom, under a chuppah cloth treated with salt and holy water, with a big crucifix leaning over it. I did go back into it for the papers. I gave them to Detective Jenkins.” I shrugged. “I think that trunk is still pissed off.”
Adam chuckled softly while he read. He glanced up from the papers.
“These tell what happened over the years, though some of these being associated with our particular bad boy is ridiculous.” He pointed to one paragraph. “ ‘Mrs. Homer Stewart drowned in her bathtub after a long evening of drinking and carousing with a man not her husband.’ That was a simple case of being an idiot drunk.” He pushed the papers aside. “Let me tell you why it started.” He made a quiet, mournful sound. “It’s my fault.”
I stared at him for a long moment. “Okay.”
Adam shrugged. “I was made a vampire in 1824. I don’t know why I was turned instead of killed. I was crossing the last fields before I got home from hunting. Just past the sinkhole, something attacked me and I woke up that night alone, bloody, but whole. I never saw who or what made me. When I tried to go home, the thought of seeing my wife and children again turned into this horrible hunger. It was so hard to control, I was terrified of what I might do to my own family. I never tried to contact them again.” His clear grey eyes clouded with regret. “Instead, I watched over them and satisfied my appetite on anybody who threatened them.”
“Were there that many disreputable people in Pinehaven then?” He shook his head.
“I didn’t feed on those people exclusively. I also bled livestock and killed vermin to live. Cattle and horses are easier to keep alive when feeding from them and nobody cares about rats and such. That’s pretty much how I feed these days.”
“How are you not creating armies of vampire critters?” Adam shook his head, mouth set in a moue of exaggerated patience.
“You’ve seen too many movies. It doesn’t work that way. To make a vampire, there are certain conditions, certain things that are done. It’s never an accident, it is done on purpose. Feeding is just that, no different than if an ordinary human was taking blood from livestock or clearing a rat infestation in their barn.” He sighed. “But after a few decades, I was lonely.”
“So, being a creature of the night ain’t all it’s cracked up to be?” I wasn’t trying to be funny but my nervousness transmutes into derision. It’s a defensive mechanism.
No trace of amusement tinted his expression. “No. It’s not. I spent some time in New Orleans, there are lots of us there, and I learned about others like me. I could have spent the rest of eternity in debauchery like many of them do, but that’s not who I am. I still felt responsibility to the family I’d been forced to abandon, so I came back.” He gave me a steady look. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Not anymore.”
A chill ran across my skin that had nothing to do with the company. “But you thought differently at some time, I take it?”
He nodded slowly. “Once. There wasn’t much of a night life around here, but there was a hotel, over on Cherry Street, near the train station. I worked there as a waiter in the restaurant at night. I met this young woman. She was sweet and pretty and she was kind to me. She thought I had some affliction that kept me out at night and hidden in the daytime. Technically she was right.
“Her brother and grandfather hated me. The old man had poisoned his grandson’s mind against us. I was corrupting her, a good Christian girl, with my keeping her out late and such.” A bitter chuckle bubbled up. “Even with what I was, or am, I was more of a Christian than that black-hearted, drunk old man. One night when she came home after seeing me, he beat her. Alice came to me, crying and bleeding. I told her what I was and she begged me to make her like me so she would be strong enough to leave her family and be with me.” A sigh welled up from the bottom of his soul. “I loved her and was foolish enough to think it would work. We ran off into the woods but didn’t get far. My poor Alice was too wounded to run, so we hid in the sinkhole, on the old family farm.” He and my Poppy exchanged glances. “There were old spooky stories about it and I didn’t think anyone would look for us there.” His eyes misted with sorrow and regret. “I didn’t even think about it being the place where I was made.”
I blinked, trying to tie all the information together with what I already knew. “Where Cora died?” He nodded and Poppy elaborated.
Where that pond is now.
I shuddered. That explained the waves of darkness I felt coming off that place. The guardian spirits made more sense, now. Maybe they were the early warning system. But I’d have to think about that later. Afraid to hear the answer, I still had to ask. “What happened to Alice?”
He bit his lips, his eyes distant. “To make someone vampire, first you drain them of all their blood.” He met my gaze. “They have to die. After they’re gone, then you feed them your own blood. If you feed them before they’re dead, you get monsters.”
I couldn’t even imagine what manner of creature he might be referring to. I’m positive I don’t want to know. Maybe one of them dwelt at the bottom of the pond. He went on. “But you have to feed them within a certain time after they’ve died but before the soul has fled or they stay dead.” He shook his head. “Her brother and grandfather found us at that critical point.”
“Oh no,” I breathed.
He nodded sadly. “They shot me, several times, and were surprised when I didn’t die. I tried to get to her, to feed her some of the blood I was leaking, wasting, from all those bullet holes, but they wouldn’t let me near her. I tried to tell them I could save her, I could bring her back, but they wouldn’t listen. I lost my mind. I attacked the old man. I didn’t try to feed, I tried to tear him apart. Her brother emptied the rifle, and then a pistol into me, and I fell. It was too late for Alice, I saw her soul fading away. Her brother went to his grandfather. Something happened then, that horrible old man changed and I saw absolute evil look out of his eyes. He pointed at me and said to his grandson, “Never forget who did this to us. Wipe out every trace of him.” Then the old man pulled out his knife and stabbed the boy in the belly. Poor kid coughed up a fountain of blood and they died together.”
“His name was Tony Fentriss, wasn’t it?”
Adam nodded slowly.
“S
o, you weren’t exaggerating when you said we were cursed.”
“No, I was not.”
“But if they both died… how the hell did it affect the rest of the family?”
Adam shrugged. “Tony’s sister was expecting her first child. She honored her brother by naming her son after him. Maybe that was all it took.”
I sat back in my chair, my brain bursting at the seams. “So, somehow that curse affected their family with the result of them trying to eliminate every single member of ours?”
Adam nodded. “And I’ve spent every moment since then trying to keep that from happening.”
“Then they’re cursed too.”
Adam inclined his head a fraction. “Maybe so.”
A memory tugged at me. “So, why did you bring me Cora’s Bible?”
“What?”
“If you knew this family was killing us off one by one, why did it matter which one killed Cora? If you already knew the name—”
“It’s not the whole family that does it. I’m pretty sure that only one member of the family is affected at a time. Through the years, we’ve lived alongside them, worked with them, even been friends. It’s not always Hatfields and McCoys. I’m not sure what triggers the killings to start again. Someone coming into their abilities may precede the murders starting back but I’m never sure which one of my descendants will be the target or which member of the extended Fentriss family carries the curse.”
“Well, male, dark hair and blue eyes seem to have a lot to do with it. Don’t tell me I figured that out before you did.” I was getting afraid and defensive again. Adam rolled his eyes at me.
“Do you have any idea how common that combination of features is?”
I shrugged. “Apparently not.” I gave him an even look. “And I couldn’t do any of this,” I waved my hands vaguely at myself, “before he took a hammer to us.” Frustration set my head pounding. I aimed my ire at Adam again.
“So, you’re telling me that you still have no idea of the name of the man that killed Poppy and tried to kill me twice?”
Adam shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what his name is this time.”
“Maybe Tony Fentriss?”
“It’s not always that name!” His eyes, flat grey glass, flickered a warning at me.
I ignored it, stuffed to the rafters with self-righteous anger and fear. “You grappled with him in the back room when he went after me! You drew blood! Why didn’t you steal his wallet, or follow him when he ran? Or hell, just eat him?!”
Adam’s mouth drew down into a tight line, jaw muscles working behind them. “I was kind of busy keeping him from killing you, and then this place was crawling with cops. You don’t think I would have if I could? It was all I could do to get out of here without them seeing me and thinking I was your attacker. By the time I picked up his trail he was gone.”
We stared at each other flatly for a few moments; if we’d have been dog, our ears would have been flat, lips peeled back as we growled. Finally, I huffed out a long held breath and shook my head. “Why did you bring me that damned Bible then, if you already knew about Cora and what the killers name probably was?”
He sighed his head with a rueful expression. “I had to know what you could do, that you were as gifted as I had been told.”
“By whom? And why did that matter?” Who the hell was blabbing about my abilities? Adam nodded toward Poppy.
“Him, for one.”
“For one?” My previous flight of fancy about that shadowy arcane convenience store was now replaced with a film noir vision of a fly-by-night tabloid newspaper office, various esoteric creatures hunched over manual typewriters, pounding away at the keys, reams of paper filled with my dossier spilling over onto the floor. I shivered. “How many people, if that is an appropriate term, know about me?”
Poppy sighed. What we, what you can do, makes a certain kind of ‘noise’, that others who know how, can ‘hear.’
“That might have been nice to know, too.” I felt like a rat in a maze, observed closely by a bunch of white-lab-coated people with clipboards and stopwatches while I blundered around. I shook my head to rid myself of my increasingly persistent imaginative mental asides.
Poppy shrugged. You can’t turn it off, little girl. It’s like a little radio station, broadcasting all day and all night.
“So, anybody that can do this can hear me?”
Adam shook his head. “Not just anyone. It’s a skill, just like your psychometry and seeing spirits. You can learn to do it over time.” He gave me a steady look.
“So my amplifiers are turned up to eleven?”
Adam stared at me. “I don’t know what that means. But if you’re asking does your ability make a lot of noise, the answer is yes.”
“But I couldn’t do any of it until he tried to kill me.”
“Maybe he wasn’t trying to kill you.” He nodded toward Poppy. “Maybe he was trying to finish the job on Woodrow.”
Poppy shrugged. Maybe so. But you are so much more than I ever was, little girl. You see so many more things than I do.
Hoo. Freaking. Ray. I shook my head, trying to pin down all the facts, speculations and downright craziness that spun around me. “That doesn’t make any damn sense. Why didn’t he finish me off if killing us is his goal?”
Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe someone was coming and he worried he’d get caught.”
“He had time to clean and hide the hammer he used.” They both stared at me.
“How do you know?”
“Because Scott showed me a photograph of every hammer they could find after I told him what the guy used on us. He said they were all negative for fingerprints, blood and hair.”
Poppy chimed in. That’s why you have to learn all you can about how your skills work, so you can stop this.
“If I can ever get my hands on that hammer, I might learn a lot more.” Of course, the experience alone might kill me.
“That may not be wise.” Adam cautioned.
“You think I don’t know that? You think I honestly want to touch the thing he used to bludgeon us both with? I’d rather douse myself in gasoline and light a match.” This was way too much to take in. I could feel everything jostling for room against the inside of my skull, all sharp elbows and knees. I asked the Big Question. “Now that I’m informed, sort of, what do we do?”
Adam raised his brows. “Do? I’ve spent over a century trying to keep this family alive and you want to solve it in ten minutes?”
I stood and glowered down at him. “You’re damn straight. This… whatever he is, tried to kill me, killed him,” I pointed at Poppy’s shade, “and wants to murder my brother and his kids? I want this fucker dead, exorcised, abjured, banished, whatever it is we need to do to end this, I want it done and done now.”
Poppy’s frown of disapproval at my choice of language morphed into a smile.
That’s my girl.
I gave Adam a good look, up and down. “And soon, I need to introduce you to the rest of the family.” His face flickered with a moment of fear and hope. “I’m going to need help.”
Chapter 21
The following afternoon, Scott Jenkins called.
“I got them.”
My heart contracted into an icy fist. It would have been awesome if things slowed down, just a little bit, to give me a chance to take it all in. It took me a few seconds to answer him. “Okay.” It came out in a croak.
“How do you want to do this?”
“Alone.”
“Don’t you want your brother there? Or Barrett?”
Even though he couldn’t see me, I shook my head. I felt very strongly about this. “No way in hell. If something crazy happens, Mike would lock me up and swallow the key. I’m not sure Barrett’s reaction would be any more reasonable.” A choice between one dyed-in-the-wool country boy with an overprotective streak and one ex-Army medic with expert marksman qualification wasn’t really a choice at all. If either of them were around
for this I didn’t stand a chance of seeing the light of day again if things went pear-shaped.
I heard a snort over the phone. “And you want me to be your babysitter?”
“Not necessarily, I did say alone, after all. Though you’re pretty good at it. Truthfully, you’re probably the most objective person I could have around for this.” Adam might be another, but Scott was going to be present anyway, he had the damned hammers. And I wasn’t sure how Scott would feel about being in the company of a vampire, not that I planned on outing Adam. And what would Adam think about being around a police officer? I had the feeling that Adam was fairly well behaved on his own time, despite the hairy stories he’d told me the other night. I didn’t ask. I didn’t really want to know what he got up to between sunset and sunrise.
“Well, it’s my job to be objective, that’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
“I’m sorry, Scott. I don’t suppose chain of custody would let you leave them here unattended for a little while?”
“No ma’am. And besides, what kind of friend would I be if I left you alone and something did go wrong? After all, I am 911.”
“Can’t argue with you on that point. I was just trying to give you an excuse to be somewhere else.”
“Noted and appreciated. However, as I said, you might need help, and these things are evidence.”
Evidence for a case that would never arrest a prime suspect, never go to trial. Any testimony from a psychic would be laughed out of the courtroom and the fact that I was not only related to the murder victim but was almost a murder victim myself would make even non-woo woo statements from me suspect. I had suffered a severe head trauma which subsequently caused me to have migraines and ‘hallucinations’, there was no way anyone would be convicted on my word, even if they held the bloody hammer in their hands.
“Let’s get it over with as soon as possible.”
“Tonight?”
“Shit. Yeah, tonight.”
