by Jackie Ivie
“The kid?”
“Yes. That Nigel. He has been lucky enough to receive The Gift, and is blissfully on his honeymoon. I gave him a couple of months off.”
Bram grunted.
“Does that mean something?” Akron asked.
“Good for him,” Bram replied.
“Ah. This is interesting. I’m looking at a police report, Bramwell. They need to hire detectives with better writing skills. Apparently, the authorities received an anonymous complaint about Dobbin Creek. A shooting. Interesting. They did some investigating. Didn’t find anything of much interest. Right now they are filing the incident under breaking and entering.”
“That’s because they didn’t find a body.”
“I see. Well. You still need to return. Before dawn. You have two hours. Call when you get there.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The connection ended. Bram looked at the slim-phone for a moment before walking to one of the security fellows. He slid it into the guy’s breast pocket. That should give them something to ponder when they came out of thrall. He looked up. They were all big guys. This one stood a good six inches taller than Bram. Probably outweighed him by fifty pounds. Bram smirked and then pulled the fellow’s lapel handkerchief out. He walked to the elevator. Pressed the button. Waited what felt like minutes but was actually seconds before the elevator arrived. He tossed the handkerchief into the opening, reached around to press several floors, and stood back as the elevator doors shut.
And then he descended the stairwell. With one leap.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cobwebs. Cobwebs. And more cobwebs.
Marielle waved her bandana to knock cobwebs aside as she poked her way along. Her headlamp illuminated a myriad of dust-covered strands. She’d heard cobwebs weren’t spider webs. It was difficult to make that distinction when facing large spans of them. She wasn’t fond of spiders, but she was less fond of dark, cramped, unused spaces that looked like nobody had used them since Prohibition. Maybe before that. These tunnels were also scary. More than once, she’d spun as a sound touched her ear. Whispers lifted the hair along the edge of her neck. Impressions of movement shifted the silence about her. It was weird down here. Dank. Deserted. And out of cell phone range according to her screen. The only good thing was the temperature. It wasn’t as cold as a Nevada night could be. And it wasn’t remotely hot. It was actually pretty mild. Temperature-wise.
What was she doing? Thinking?
Her old counselor would be writing tons of notes over this. She really needed to get a handle on her impulsive nature. Stop going with her gut instinct. Learn from her experiences. Use her talent for a change, rather than get used by it. She was going to be twenty-nine next month. Thirty was just around the bend. She was an adult. And what was she doing? Exploring a lot of cobweb-filled tunnels without one soul knowing where she was. Her headlamp dimmed slightly before resuming full power. That was ominous.
She’d rarely acted so stupidly.
No. She had to take that back. She had taken up with a musician in Albuquerque. They’d met at a bar. He’d been gorgeous. Played a really soulful guitar. She let him move into her place. They had some good times. Some not-so-good times. And then she caught him with three other women. Not just one. Three. All at once. In her bed. That had been a wake-up call and a half.
Marielle shook her head at the recollection. She’d sworn off men over that. Her vow had lasted almost a year. Then she’d hooked up with a stockbroker type, one with a gold brick where his heart should be. He had a lot of financial acuity and not one clue to what being in a relationship meant. He’d considered commitment a four letter word. That had been another fun lesson.
Okay. Maybe she needed to narrow down her stupidity level here. It might be true that she was a failure at love, but she rarely put herself in dangerous situations.
That was wrong, too.
There had been that nature experience trip one summer. She’d booked a single vacation package with fifteen other singles, all of whom seemed to know what they were doing. She’d drawn in her sketchbook each night after making camp. But then they’d hit rapids, she’d tipped the boat, losing the sketchbook, her supplies, a good portion of everyone’s gear, and an instant spot on the ‘avoid-at-all-costs’ list.
She’d paid for it, too. Still did, if she thought of it. Rocky Mountain Spotted Tick Fever didn’t just dissipate and go away. She’d been lethargic and in pain for weeks before the diagnosis. That little bug had doomed her to recurrent flare-ups for life. It was the reason she was pale and couldn’t gain much weight. And she’d actually been praised by the previous Missus Stimson over her slender shape.
The tunnel dropped a half-foot without warning. Marielle stumbled but caught the fall, disturbing even more cobwebs. She readjusted her lamp and checked the path. It looked even narrower ahead. Wow. Good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic. Four steps later another hint of something stopped her. If she had to peg the sound, it was a piano. She only heard three notes before it stopped, leaving an impression that slowly faded.
Marielle scanned the area. Turned around and checked behind her. The headlamp revealed all kinds of dark, cobweb-filled space. A lot of dirt. Some really old wooden posts. All kinds of rough-hewn planking lined the halls. Some were assembled into an ‘X’ shape at intervals, before they turned back into haphazard parallel lines. But that was it. Nothing else was in sight. Nothing physical...or astrophysical, either. Not a damn thing. Okay. She was hearing things now. And imagining worse. Her light flickered again. It dimmed to about half-power next. And it didn’t recover. Oh...double wow. This was at the top of stupid things she’d ever done.
Thus far, this all-consuming need to return to the Number Eight Saloon and explore was an utter disaster. All she’d found was an old tunnel, scooped from the earth and then held in place by a lot of rotting timbers. Labyrinthine. Lengthy. And deep. She’d gone down more than one incline since leaving the area beneath the bar. In hindsight, she should have stayed there. Despite how the stairs had lifted and closed with perfect precision behind her, at least she’d known where she was. There had to be a means of egress from this side, too. Somewhere.
Just because she’d given up after ten minutes of searching, that did not mean she was trapped down here. In complete darkness as soon as her batteries finished failing. Fated to wander a seemingly endless maze of corridors until starvation took over. Or maybe it would be asphyxiation that got her. Or both.
This was ridiculous.
She wasn’t that imaginative.
Next thing she’d be conjuring zombies.
The tunnel ended. Just like that. Without one hint of warning. The last of Marielle’s headlamp got her a vague view of dark space before reaching an earthen wall and more planking holding it in place. Her heart rate ticked up a notch, which was odd. There was nothing special about the spot that she could tell. And she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t a dead-end. It was a juncture with another branch of tunnel. The opening was narrow. And low. The timber supports that held back masses of bone-crushing earth barely cleared her head. She turned sideways and stepped through the opening. A hint of fresh air assailed her, chilling and yet enervating.
Well. The decision wasn’t hard. She couldn’t go to the right. Not far, anyway. There had been a cave-in at some point. She lifted her chin, sending the last of her light onto a mass of splintered wooden posts, all sizes of stones, and a pile of dirt that didn’t look like it was going anywhere soon. Marielle turned around. The left tunnel looked just as uninspiring.
And it looked familiar.
Marielle’s shoulders dropped slightly as she turned her head. The headlamp went even dimmer. She squinted, scanning the corridor she’d just left. Other than some cobweb-filled gaps, it didn’t look disturbed much. She looked back down the new tunnel facing her. It looked as if someone had recently passed through here too, brushing aside a century-plus of undisturbed webbing. It wasn’t her. She could have sworn she hadn’t gone this way befor
e. She’d have noticed a caved-in passage.
Wouldn’t she?
Marielle took a deep breath and started inching forward, waving her bandana, and within moments, her fingers hit something solid. Sound, like the dull thump of wood echoed eerily through the enclosed space. She ran her hands along it and then stretched to both sides. Unbelievable. The tunnel wasn’t a corridor at all. It was an entrance. Protected by a door. Not an ordinary one, either. This door was painted to look like ancient cobwebs and a dark tunnel. Just as the trap door in the saloon floor was painted to look like it was dusty.
It should have been really frightening. It wasn’t. She was fascinated. And excited. And everything except scared. Her heart rate sped up as she ran her hands along the wood, feeling for a handle. The painter had been an artist. Truly gifted. The work was exquisite. And they’d done it for a door in an unused tunnel beneath a rotting old ghost town?
Her fingers snagged on a latch. Marielle started trembling. The piece was small. Cool to the touch. Smooth. Probably metallic. She didn’t bother checking farther. The latch didn’t matter. She put a finger beneath it and lifted. With a click, the door shifted a couple of inches inward, sucked that way by an influx of air. Her headlamp gave her another warning flicker. Marielle took a deep breath and held it. The air wasn’t dank or stale. Maybe there was an exit through this way. She exhaled. Breathed in again. And then she moved the door open just enough to peek.
Her headlamp was a ghost of its former self. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. A glance showed an old-time lamp hanging from a rafter. And as she watched, it sparked into life, as if triggered by the opening of the door. Moments later, golden light spread throughout the opening, illuminating dark-toned wooden walls and an assortment of odd things. Marielle pushed the door open enough to slide around it. The portal shut behind her with a hiss. She spun and frowned at it. That had been exceptionally stupid. She might need to make an entire new category for events like it for her future.
Somebody obviously lived down here. They’d taken great pains to keep that fact hidden. Shouldering the door did nothing. It had become part of the wall again. Now she was truly trapped. She should have been prepared. Didn’t she ever learn? She could have dropped something into the gap. Her backpack came to mind first, but even the now-dead headlamp would have worked.
She sighed, pulled the headlamp off, and turned back to the room.
Well. Whoever owned this place didn’t know much about home decorating. The floor was covered with a patchwork of what looked like blankets. Several times since she’d come west, she’d had the opportunity to handle intricately woven saddle blankets. Real ones. Crafted just as they had been for centuries by indigenous peoples. She’d even painted them into portraits. These looked to be premium grade. And they were being used as rugs?
Large wooden barrels were grouped on her left. An assortment of saddles, horse tack, and more blankets, were keeping the barrels company. There was a long row of guns beyond the barrels. They looked like rifles, mostly. Some shotguns. And there were some really nice museum-quality pistols on hooks above the gun rack. A large, substantially built table was in the middle of the room. On her right sat an exquisite Victorian-era settee. She’d played on one once. In an antique store. In the far corner was a piano. A large upright. Looked like a player piano. She could see the mechanism in an opening above the keyboard. And at the far end of the room was another doorway. Somewhere within, a light source flickered into life as she watched.
And that should have been spooky as hell.
Fright should be overtaking her. She had all the signs. Her breath stopped. Her eyes widened. Her belly tightened. She felt chilled all of a sudden. Shivers rippled along her skin. She should have rooted to the spot with fear. But that wasn’t what happened. That portal was like an oasis to a parched throat. Air to a drowning victim. Pollen to a honeybee. It was magnetic. It drew her. As if every move she’d made since finding the trap door led to this. There was no denying the pull she felt. She didn’t even try.
Marielle pulled the backpack off, added it to her headlamp, and dropped both atop the table as she passed. Leather-wrapped metal bindings thudded before her pack settled. She reached the door without conscious volition. Each breath was labored. Her heartbeat was so loud it drowned out ambient sounds. And then she was there. Looking into a span of wood floor...and not much else.
This room was almost empty. A strip of patterned carpet split the space. It led to a pedestal. The piece was situated almost like it was an altar that appeared to be made of marble. Fluted columns were carved into each corner. Substantial. Really heavy. But – she reminded herself – in this place, the pedestal might have been painted to look like marble. A long wooden box rested atop the stand. What could be the lid portion rested against one end, propped up like a surfboard stuck in sand. It had a distinctive shape. She’d seen it often. Hexagonal. Tapered at one end. Anthropoidal. Heck. They even made candy in this shape around Halloween. Marielle blinked. Eased each breath out only to suck in another. Tried to think around the sound of her increasing pulse. That box looked an awful lot like a coffin, and that could only mean—
Vampire!
There was no reason her mind should instantly scream the word. None whatsoever. But it was beyond cool. Marielle reminded herself that she didn’t believe in supernatural stuff. Time travel. Ghosts. Werewolves. Vampires were a joke. But none of that changed the view before her.
Marielle didn’t remember approaching, but somehow she was there. Looking into a dented mass of draped white satin. It was shaped into the form of a body. A fairly large body. And that was just beyond possible.
“You want to put your hands out where I can see ’em?”
At the words, Marielle’s hands instantly went out at her sides. Everything else froze. The voice was hard-toned. Deep. Masculine. And absolutely terrifying.
“Now turn around. Real...slow.”
And then she heard the sound of a gun being cocked.
CHAPTER SIX
It was a woman. What was that? Three of them? In less than thirty hours? Bram almost groaned.
This female wasn’t much to look at. Bram considered her for a moment or two. From where he stood, in the doorway, she looked like a whole lot of straight black hair and long legs. And while the legs were displayed in skin-tight leggings, they were fairly thin. Nearly shapeless. And then she turned around...
Whoa.
Bram’s hand trembled minutely on the Colt. He nearly whistled. He’d been off a bit on his first impression. This was some woman. She was close to his height. She didn’t look like the prostitute selling her body for cash. Nor did she resemble the gambling woman, selling her soul for cards. This woman would look native, if her skin wasn’t so pale and pristine. Or her eyes less almond-shaped. Her lips a bit smaller. A thick headband held back her hair. He already knew it reached her lower back. That’s why he hadn’t noticed how small her waist was. Nor that it definitely highlighted some nicely shaped hips.
Whoa again.
If he had to run into another woman, he couldn’t have done better. He was looking over a goddess. Standing right in front of him. In his home? It was pretty unbelievable. He blinked a couple of times. The view didn’t change.
“Um. I can...explain,” she said.
His glance snagged for a moment on the aqua hue of her eyes before he tipped his chin down, using his hat brim for a shield. It was a subconscious move. Instinctive. And self-preserving. He’d had to do something. A quick jolt zapped through him as he met her gaze. It resembled what had happened when he’d wired his abode without training or instruction. He’d learned. Electricity wasn’t to be played with. And yet he felt something similar now? That was really strange.
“Right.”
He eased the hammer back into place and spun his gun, sliding it into the holster with a precision he’d perfected decades ago. It was practiced. And flawless. He did it without looking. That move used to gain him r
espect. Silence rabble-rousers. Frighten off opponents. She wasn’t immune, either. Her gasp as he finished was loud. And appreciated.
“You...uh...live down here?”
He smiled slightly. “You could call it that.”
“I didn’t think anyone owned...the saloon. Or...anything else in Dobbin Creek.”
“No law against thinking,” he replied.
“Well!”
The word was whispered. Bram frowned slightly as the sound left her mouth. His view mainly encompassed her chin. Mouth. Shoulders. She had a very nice vein throbbing along her throat. Tempting. Tantalizing. His fangs tingled against his tongue before he conquered the impulse. Good thing he’d fed recently. And well. He didn’t need any complications in his afterlife. And she looked like a major complication.
He focused on her shoulder area. He daren’t look elsewhere. Something was awfully weird about this encounter. The room gained clarity, resembling the influx of new light when he changed bulbs in his lamps. The air thickened, gaining heft. And moisture. He licked his lips. There was a salt taste associated with it. That was another oddity. And then the vaguest rumble filtered through the space, almost loud enough to decipher and assign meaning. Nevada wasn’t prone to earthquakes, but they’d brought heavy equipment through the ghost town before...maybe a decade ago. It had sent the same vibration through the tunnels. Maybe that was what happened now.
Because it couldn’t be the woman.
No.
Impossible.
Bram narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore the barely-there shadow of cleavage below her throat. She didn’t appear to have much in the way of a bosom though it wasn’t possible to tell. She wore a cropped top that strapped any hint of breasts well into submission before they had a chance to get noticed.
“You’re really shy. Aren’t you?”
Bram’s frown deepened. “No.”
“Then why won’t you look me in the eye?”
“Don’t want you to get enthralled.”
