Forsaken

by Leanna Ellis

  His gaze drifted away from her as if he was troubled by something else.

  “Levi.” She took a hesitant step toward him. “I need to know…what are you…have you said anything to Dat about last night?” Which seemed years ago.

  His gaze was solid and sure and his jaw hardened. “Why would I?”

  “I…well, I didn’t know. I needed to be sure is all.”

  “Your secret is safe with me, Hannah.”

  My secret. Is that what it was? It seemed worse than a secret; it seemed like a betrayal in some way. She waited for Levi to lecture her, to tell her it wasn’t safe, it wasn’t proper for her to go off at night to a deserted cemetery. But he said nothing of the sort. To fill the silence, she said, “Breakfast is ready.”

  “I’ll be along.”

  When she turned, Levi called her name, and once again she faced him.

  “Have you seen—” His lips tightened until he shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself.”

  Perplexed by the concern in his eyes, the tension in his stance, the unspoken question, she retraced her steps out of the barn, her heart beating faster than her footsteps could carry her. Hannah’s friends whispered about the different shapes of the boys they knew—who was built strong like an ox, who was thin as a twig, and who was husky from too much strudel—but Hannah had rarely purposefully looked, not since Jacob. He had been beautiful. But after this morning, she had to admit that Levi was rather pleasing to behold, and with the memory of him now tucked in a safe place inside her mind she felt her face once more grow warm.

  With her thoughts dragging behind, she rushed toward the spring house. She paused at the door, glanced over her shoulder to be sure Levi wasn’t following, then pulled it open and blinked against the darkness. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust as slivers of morning light cut through the boarded walls and slanted across the dirt floor. Picking her way through the wires, cords, and machinery, she moved toward the back.

  She needed to warn Akiva that her father would be coming soon. He would have to leave. He couldn’t linger. He couldn’t stay.

  But when she reached the back, the pallet she’d made was empty, and the space he’d occupied only a short while ago was vacant, the bedding neatly folded in a pile. Disappointment and relief swirled through her because now she wouldn’t have anything to explain. But where had Akiva gone? Would he be all right?

  Then behind her something scuffed the dirt. She whirled around. Her heart leapt into her throat, pounded, and extinguished her air supply.

  “What are you doing?” Katie stepped out of the shadows.

  Hannah’s hand covered the spot her heart should have occupied, and she took shallow breaths until it dropped back down into place. “You startled me, you goose.”

  “I’m not a goose.” She leaned to one side to look behind Hannah, who pulled her skirt sideways to hide the blanket. Still, Katie’s eyes widened. “Is Levi in here?”

  “Levi?” Hannah’s heart faltered.

  Katie laughed and shook her head. “Mamm sent me after you.” She stepped sideways and pointed toward the stack of blankets and pillows. “What’s that for?”

  Hannah gave an indifferent shrug. “I was going to take it back to the house. You can do it for me.”

  “Were you out here with Levi last night?”

  “Take the bedding to the house, all right?”

  With a decided pout, Katie picked up the blankets and pillow, and backed her way through the door. She let the door slap closed behind her, leaving Hannah alone in the darkness again.

  A fluttering overhead made her dart sideways, her heartbeat became more of a flurry than steady, rhythmic beats, and then she heard the decided flap of a wing, felt a sudden brush of air on her cheek, and ducked. When she pushed the door ajar and light poured in, she realized it was only a trapped bird.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Blood is powerful.”

  Roc listened intently to Father Roberto about his research and experience with vampires. Together, they had left the priest’s little room with his research books, taken a turn about St. Joseph’s, and ended up walking around the neighborhood past rundown houses and businesses that had metal bars covering the windows. This was an elderly part of Philadelphia, and its age spots were showing not only in the dated architecture and decrepit row houses but also in the ancient oaks, hackberries, and maples, their bare branches spindly, gnarled, and arthritic.

  “But the blood”—the priest spoke as if discussing the weather—“which these foul creatures feed on, only offers temporary life. It’s counterfeit to the sanctity of the blood of Christ, don’t you see?” His eyes glittered, like a professor discussing his own dissertation. “That is why they must feed often.”

  Obviously Father Roberto filtered this vampire theory through his religious ideology, but Roc hadn’t swallowed the murky Kool-Aid yet. Still it was all he had to go on. For him, all that mattered was that a dead body, or two, demanded someone had to pay, and compensation came through simple judicial accounting. This meant the perp had to be caught, and the best way to do that was to know everything there was about him…or her. And if that meant learning about bloodsuckers then that’s what he’d do.

  But that didn’t mean he felt comfortable with the subject, and he crossed his arms over his chest to ward off the chill that seemed to permeate his bones, though he wasn’t sure it was simply the weather at fault. “How often do they have to…you know…uh, drink?”

  “Every few days. When they feed, they grow warm, even hot, to the touch. But when they are hungry and on the hunt, their body temperature drops and they’re cold, cold as a dead body. They move a bit slower then.” A smile lurked at the corner of the priest’s mouth. “It’s a good time to kill them. And yet, you must be careful because when they are hunting they are also desperate, and therefore extremely dangerous.”

  Roc rubbed the back of his neck. The cold he felt inside had nothing to do with the weather. If he thought of what Father Roberto was saying logically, he began to doubt his own sanity, for listening to this nonsense or even considering it. But nothing rational could explain the things he’d seen. Illogical as the vampire premise was, it didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Still, he tried to focus on the words, excluding all thoughts and doubts, and simply absorb the information.

  “And is it possible to kill them?”

  “Of course, but it isn’t easy. They have to bleed out entirely. You must keep your distance because if they latch onto you, bite into you, they will only grow stronger. And then your chance will be lost. And you will end up dead. Or worse.”

  Death no longer frightened Roc, but allowing these…creatures to get away with killing made him burn. “Akiva…I wounded him. I’m sure of it. When he disappeared, could he have bled out somewhere?”

  “Unlikely.” Roberto clasped both his hands and raised his forefingers toward his chin like a steeple. “One thing you must do is bind them. I keep a leather strap for this purpose.” From his hip pocket he produced a thick leather strap that looked as if it could hold Samson. “But a rope would work just as well. Handcuffs even. If they are bound then they cannot change or vanish.”

  Roc cast an uncertain sideways glance at the priest. “Change?”

  “They morph into other creatures, bats mostly, but anything will do. I saw one morph into a snake and slither away. But they usually choose something that can fly so they can escape more easily and get where they want more quickly.”

  Roc stopped walking and a part of him wanted to bust out laughing. Come on! This was like a sorry B-movie. But the priest’s serious demeanor kept Roc in check. The whole premise was absurd…and even more impossible to imagine a vampire could be killed at all. It was like playing a game where the rules kept changing in favor of your opponent. “So what you’re really saying is that it’s impossible to kill one.”

  “It isn’t
easy, I’ll grant you that. It has to be done fast. Bind, kill. Like a one-two punch. It’s the binding that does the trick. You must wrap something around them, an ankle, a wrist…but it can’t be anything flimsy because they are fiercely strong.” He tugged on both ends of the leather strap, then slapped it against his thigh, making a thwap. “But you must not hesitate. No second thoughts. No vacillation. Remember, they will not falter at striking, at killing. Did you hesitate when you shot this one called Akiva?”

  Roc shook his head. “I gave him a warning.” Years of training had kicked in. “But I shot him, square in the chest.”

  “But it wasn’t a kill. You must destroy them.”

  “Even a mortal wound in the chest wouldn’t kill one?”

  “Not if they have the opportunity to kill and revive themselves with blood. What is mortal to you and me is not mortal to them.”

  Roc remained in place, unable to move forward into the world of dark toothy tales but unable to back away from all of the insanity. “Then there’s probably another victim. Is that what you’re saying?”

  The priest gave the sign of the cross. “God forbid. Akiva may have found an animal to feed on, but if not…then most likely you are correct.”

  Why didn’t that make Roc feel better? “Okay so how does one become a…you know”—he swallowed back his reservations—“vampire?”

  “They choose someone. Who knows why some are chosen and others killed. They have their reasons, I’m sure, they just don’t divulge those motivations to us lowly humans. And that’s how they think of us. We’re inferior in every way: physically, mentally, and, in the worst way, according to them: we have a conscience. They don’t seem to be hindered by that. Anyway, I have known vampires to choose someone as a mate and then change him or her.

  “It’s a delicate procedure though. Their feeding can get out of control and become frenzied. If they are hungry then they will not have the self-control to be careful and they’ll end up killing instead of changing the person.”

  “So what happens exactly?”

  “It is somewhat conjecture on my part, of course, as no one has lived to…” Father Roberto’s voice played out.

  “Tell about it?” Roc finished for him but no smile emerged as a result of the cliché. Anyone changed was no longer alive. Not the way Roc or Father Roberto saw life.

  The priest nodded. “Once a vampire, well, they are good at keeping their secrets. In fact, they release false information, which then helps protect them. But after much study, I believe what happens is the vampire bites the human, drains blood from them until they are weak and barely alive, then they must sacrifice another victim. The vampire offers the chosen one this so-called sacrificial blood. When the human drinks the blood of another, the change takes place. It is a delicate process, and I imagine it sometimes ends in death for all concerned.”

  Father Roberto clapped a hand on Roc’s back. “Think you’d like to take over my mission some day?”

  Roc laughed. “You’ve got to be crazy.”

  The priest’s gaze was steady and unwavering. “Not at all. I can’t do this forever.”

  “You seem pretty strong and capable.” Roc touched his side, which still felt tender from the priest’s strong kick.

  “You should have seen me in my prime.” His gaze raked over Roc. “You must work on your own strength, because this task will not be easy. It will demand every ounce of strength you possess…and maybe more. You have been ill for a while?”

  Roc sniffed. “In a way.”

  “You will be strong now. I will pray for you.”

  Somehow Roc knew it was going to take more than that.

  “For such a time as this…” the priest whispered, looking off as if seeing something Roc could not.

  “Excuse me?”

  Father Roberto waved a hand, dismissing what he had said and began to walk forward, waving his hand for Roc to catch up. “You are named after a saint, yes?”

  An invisible hand tightened around the base of Roc’s spine. “How’d…” But his question died on his lips, because, of course, a priest would have studied the saints.

  “It was either that or Rocky Balboa.” Father Roberto smiled. “Do you know about this Saint Roch?”

  Roc rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the brightening sky. “My mother spoke of him some.”

  “He is sometimes referred to as Rocco.” The priest shoved his hands into his pant’s pockets. “But that is neither here nor there. He did great things, healing many from the plague. That scourge disappeared under his sign of the cross. And this new pestilence will be destroyed with your help.”

  What was the priest saying? That all Roc had to do was give the sign of the cross? He was no saint. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, and drinking away the last couple of years was one of them. He doubted God would be on his side, even in the most righteous of crusades.

  “It was said that Saint Roch was born with the sign of the cross on his chest.” Father Roberto’s gaze dropped down toward Roc’s chest.

  Roc began walking back to St. Joseph’s and Father Roberto matched him step for step. This change in conversation made Roc even more uncomfortable than discussing vampires on the loose. He’d rather focus on the case, on the perp, on tracking down this animal. Focus on the details. The details mattered.

  And the detail that stuck with him the most was the Amish girl and the trick-or-treater. A coincidence? Even though Emma hadn’t been dressed like an Amish woman, she’d been wearing plain blue scrubs the night she died. Was plain the connection? Pure simplicity? Or Amish plain? But if so, then the homeless man didn’t fit the perplexing puzzle.

  “That connection we were discussing…” Roc rubbed a spot just beneath his left collarbone. “Could these Amish deaths—”

  “I would say ‘plain’ deaths, as those dressed were plain but not necessarily Amish.”

  So the priest thought the same thing. Another thought occurred to Roc. “Could those murders have been attempts to change an Amish person into a vampire and it went bad?”

  The priest stopped, the lines in his face furrowing and sagging, and he looked grief-stricken. “Then it might be worse than I thought. If this Akiva changes an Amish woman then it would be worse than death for her.”

  Roc watched their feet move in a cadence, the strides matching, the determination even. “For anyone I’d say.”

  “True. Very true.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Two days later, sitting in bed with Katie curled up beside her, Hannah stared out the upstairs window into the foreboding darkness. Deep in the night, Katie had crept into her room, saying she was cold, and Hannah had wrapped her arms around her little sister, holding her tightly along with all she’d ever loved, wishing she could hold it all even closer.

  But her gaze drifted involuntarily toward the window in the direction of the spring house. The injured stranger—Akiva—had disappeared. But to where? Was he all right? Had he miraculously recovered? Or was he lying in a ravine somewhere needing help? Dying? She whispered a silent prayer for Akiva.

  Her mind wandered down a dead-end road of questions about him: who was he, where did he come from, how was he injured…and where was he going? These questions took her nowhere and left her feeling lost and confused.

  While he was here, she hadn’t wanted to admit that some part of him reminded her of Jacob. Of course, he had dark hair, just like Jacob, but Akiva’s was shorter than Jacob’s bowl cut. His features were similar and yet not. He seemed unattached, unfazed by the world, curious and eager to wander new roads. That’s how Jacob was.

  Was.

  And that same foolishness would be the end of Akiva. And her too.

  Buggy wheels crunched gravel, and she knew it was Levi on his way home. He had stayed late to help Dat with a faulty compressor. He was a good man, conscientious, help
ful, and kind. His heart, she was learning, was as wide as the heavens. She was foolish for putting him off, because he would make a good husband. And yet something kept her from making that step. Was it a simple need for her own running around time?

  Jacob’s rumschpringe had become a dead end, or so he’d prophesied about himself when he returned from his New Orleans journey. It might have been worth his money and her angst if it had brought him to a place of readiness to make his solemn vow to God and the church and the community, if it had brought him peace, but it hadn’t. Now, her own eagerness to wander might bring her home again. If it did, then it might be too late for Levi. Then again, it might not.

  She closed her eyes, squeezed them tight. Don’t think, Hannah, just sleep.

  That voice called to her. Confused her. Unbalanced her. Tilted her world. Where would it lead her? She shifted beneath the covers and covered her head with the pillow.

  Hannah.

  She fisted her hands, willed herself to stay in bed, and yet suddenly her feet were on the floor, the bed covers folded back over Katie. Resisting seemed impossible. She donned her clothes, gathered her wrap, and crept down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door. This time she didn’t bother taking the book, flashlight, or knife.

  The air was still and cold, and she could almost smell the frost forming. The moon sat high and full, only a tiny slice had been shaved off, but it was bright and capable of lighting her path.

  She entered the spring house, pausing, listening for any sounds, any visitors, but all was quiet. Peaceful. And yet, inside her was anything but tranquility. There was a rumbling, a stirring, a discontent. From where had it come? Or had it always been there?

  In the back of the cramped space, past the machinery, cords, and tubing, she knelt at the place where Akiva had laid. Had she only dreamed he had been here? Was it some apparition born of her need for Jacob? Had she gone narrishch? Jacob told her only days before he had died that he felt crazy. Was her own death near?