Dark Corner (6 page)

The relationship between a vampire and his agent was
one of the most important relationships a vampire could establish. An agent could handle matters during daylight
hours: business transactions, errands, and the endless, miscellaneous details of daily living. Traditionally, an agent was
assigned to a single vampire for much of the agent's life,
from adolescence through late middle age.

For their devotion to the care of vampires, agents were rewarded with comfortable, prosperous lives, and, more compelling, the opportunity to learn ancient secrets to which few
humans throughout history have ever been privy.

On rare occasion, a vampire decided to take an agent as a
companion-and made them a vampire. But the practice was frowned upon because it disrupted the balance between
vampires and the available pool of agents. If all vampires
took their agents as companions, they would have to acquire
new agents, and it required years to select and train a capable agent. Agents volunteered for the role with the understanding that they would never become vampires.

Kyle trusted Mamu implicitly, in a way he would never
dare to trust another human. He had told Mamu of his plan
to find his father before he had told Mother about his mission. Mamu enthusiastically supported him, though it did
not matter whether he agreed with Kyle's wishes or not. An
agent was sworn to obey a vampire's commands. Still, Kyle
was relieved to have Mamu's earnest assistance. He regarded
the man as a friend, not an obsequious servant.

In the parking lot, Mamu headed toward a silver Lexus
sport utility vehicle.

"Excellent taste," Kyle said. "Of course, I would expect
nothing less from you, my friend."

Mamu smiled. He placed Kyle's bag in the vehicle's cargo
area.

They settled inside the cabin.

"How far are we from the town?" Kyle said.

"Approximately forty minutes," Mamu said in his precise
English.

Although, after being conscious throughout the day Kyle
needed to sleep, he was too excited to doze. He was going to
find his father. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach.

"What do you think of the town?" Kyle said. "Mason's
Corner?"

Mamu shrugged, his dark eyes scanning the highway. "It
is not much of a town. Small, rural, working class. We would
be wise to maintain a low profile. The residents appear to
pay undue attention to strangers"

"I see. Any incidents?"

"When I was in the hardware store acquiring supplies, the clerk, an elderly man, asked me where I lived, and I indicated the estate that we are renting. He regarded me as if I
were insane. `The Mason place?' he said. `It's haunted, man,
don't you know that?' "

"Haunted? What do you think of that?" Kyle watched his
friend closely.

Mamu's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Mamu,
though he had lived around vampires for his entire life, was
deeply superstitious and frightened of the world of the unseen.

Monsieur, you know me well. I am not one who is easily
disturbed. Yet I have found it difficult to sleep in the house."

"Because you believe it to be haunted?"

"I do not know. It is beyond my ability to investigate.
Perhaps you will be able to discover why."

"I'll check it out when we arrive," Kyle said. He did not
doubt that the mansion was haunted; he had seen tormented,
restless spirits before. They did not particularly interest him
or trouble him. What harm could a ghost cause to an immortal being?

But Mamu was only a man. Kyle patted his friend's
shoulder.

"Do not fear, my friend. Besides, the residents' belief that
the house is haunted could benefit us. The people will leave
us alone and allow us to perform our work undisturbed."

"That is an excellent point, monsieur. I had not considered it."

Kyle smiled. "Can we have some traveling music?"

Mamu found a contemporary jazz radio station on the
stereo. The lulling voice of a saxophone hummed from the
speakers.

Kyle reclined in the seat and looked out the glass, watching the wooded countryside race past. A fat, pale moon cast
milky light on the land. Kyle sensed the creatures of the
night roving through the thick forests: predator and prey, engaged in their ageless game.

Father, I am coming to free you, Kyle thought. When he re garded the deep night, it was easy to believe that his father
would receive his telepathic message. Your son has arrived,
and I will save you ... from yourself, if I must.

The Lexus shot like a silver bullet through the darkness.

he next day, Saturday, began as a busy one for David.

I In the morning, he dropped off the trailer at the U-Haul center in Hernando, fifteen minutes north of Mason's Corner.
Upon returning home, he finished unpacking.

He spent a couple of hours opening boxes, sorting through
items, and placing them in rooms throughout the house. King
awoke from a nap and trailed him, whining. David ignored
the hound for a while, then finally relented.

"Okay, I know you're bored," David said to the dog.
"How about we go to the park?"

King barked his approval.

The town park was located off Main Street. It was eleven
o'clock. The sun rays sizzled mercilessly, and the humidity
was cotton-thick. He was thankful that he had brought a cold
bottle of water with him.

He clipped the leash to King's collar, and they walked
across the grass at a brisk pace. Magnolia trees bloomed,
waxy and lush, their flowers emitting a sweet aroma. In the
distance, a small lake gleamed in the sunlight, and a red sign
warned "No Swimming."

David didn't see anyone there-most natives probably
stayed inside at that hour to avoid the heat but then a black
Labrador darted around a maple tree ahead. David was so
startled that he let go of the leash. King, thrilled to see another canine, took off after the Labrador, barking.

"King, come back here!" David chased after the dogs.

Moments later, he found the hounds playing in the grass,
near a young black woman who lounged in the shade of an
oak tree. Sitting Indian-style on a blanket, she didn't seem
troubled by the dogs. She watched them, giggling, as if
viewing a funny cartoon.

David approached, panting. He was in good shape, but
the humidity sapped his strength.

The woman turned and smiled at him. He suddenly found
it even harder to breathe. She had the most beautiful smile
he had ever seen, with dimples so deep his fingers could disappear in them.

"Come enjoy the show," she said, and indicated the dogs.
King was striving mightily to sniff the Labrador's rear end,
and the Labrador nimbly eluded him. "Is he yours?"

It took David a second to realize that she had spoken to
him. In addition to her smile, she possessed sparkling,
honey-brown eyes. He easily could have looked at them for
hours.

What's wrong with me? he thought. I never act like this
when meeting a woman.

"Uh, yeah, he's mine," David said. "King, uh ... hasn't
had any female company in a while. I didn't mean to let him
escape the leash. Your dog startled me"

She favored him with another dazzling smile. "Sorry
about that. I usually let Princess run loose when I'm here.
She doesn't bite."

"So she's named Princess? That's kinda funny. King, meet
Princess." He thought he sounded corny, but no other witty
comments came to mind.

Smiling again, the woman unwound from her cross legged sitting position and stretched her legs in front of her.
He tried to avoid staring at her, but it was impossible. She
was lovely. Dressed in denim shorts and a yellow tank top,
she had mahogany skin and a toned, shapely figure-a
physique like an aerobics instructor or a track runner. Her
dark brown hair was tied into a ponytail that dangled to the
middle of her back.

Best of all, she didn't wear a wedding band on her ring
finger. Thank you, God.

There was a moment of silence, in which he realized,
with some surprise, that she was checking him out as openly
as he was admiring her.

"Our dogs have introduced themselves," she said, and he
caught her soft Mississippi accent. "How about we introduce
ourselves to each other?"

He knelt on the grass and extended his hand. "I'm David
Hunter."

"Nice meeting you, David. I'm Nia James"

He thought he felt electricity when their hands touched,
but maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. However,
their handshake did last a second or two longer than was
customary.

"I haven't seen you in town before," she said. "I would've
remembered seeing you"

Heat flushed his face. She was flirting with him, shamelessly. He felt as shocked as the class nerd who learned that
the school's most popular cheerleader had a crush on him.

"I only moved here yesterday," he said. "I live on Hunter
Drive, and in the Hunter house, actually."

She blinked. "You're related to Richard Hunter?"

"He was my father."

"Oh, my God" She put her hands to her mouth, blushing.
She grabbed the hardcover book beside her and showed him
the front cover. It was one of his father's controversial, bestselling novels, entitled Coloreds Only.

"I've read all his books, many of them twice," she said. "He was brilliant, an amazing writer." She put her hand on
her chest and appeared to regain her bearings. "I'm so sorry
about what happened to him. That was a terrible accident."

He nodded somberly. "Did you know my father?"

"Not really. I saw him around town all the time, of course,
but I only spoke to him once or twice. He signed my book."
She cracked open the cover. He read the inscription on the
fly page, "To Nia, the prettiest girl in town, who has great
taste in literature." It seemed a typical comment for his father to make. His dad had been a notorious ladies' man,
though Nia was surely no older than twenty-six or twentyseven, young enough to be his daughter.

"You favor him, you know," she said. "I've seen photos of
Mr. Hunter when he was in his twenties. You could be his
twin."

"So I've heard. To be honest, I didn't know my father
well. He was pretty much a stranger to me" He was rarely so
open with a new acquaintance, but something made it easy
for him to trust this woman. She radiated a comforting aura.

"I'm sorry. I know how that feels, sort of. My father died
when I was a little girl. I only have these vague memories of
what he was like."

"How long have you lived here?" he said.

She laughed. "I'm a homegirl, David. I've been here all
my life, mostly. I grew up here, went away for college at
Jackson State, then moved to Houston for a few years ...
but that didn't work out-long story, there" She shrugged.
"I've been staying with my mom for the past year that I've
been back"

"Do you plan to stay here for a while?"

"Maybe another year or two. Mason's Corner is a nice,
quiet town, but I think it's obvious that there isn't much to do
here, socially or otherwise. I've been thinking of moving to
Atlanta."

"Really? I'm from Atlanta."

"And you gave up the ATL to live here?" She reached for ward and placed her warm palm against his forehead. "Are
you sick?" She laughed.

He chuckled. "It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you later.
How about ... over lunch?"

"I'd like that," she said, and wriggled her toes in the grass.
Her bare feet were smooth, with crimson, pedicured toenails. A gold anklet glittered around her slender ankle.

Talk about a stroke of good luck. He could hardly believe
that a routine walk in the park had brought him face-to-face
with such a fine woman. But he had an inexplicable feeling
that he and Nia were meant to meet; intuition told him that it
was destiny.

His rational mind, however, told him that he was only infatuated.

Still, he decided to push his luck one step further. "Cool,
so are you free for lunch this afternoon?"

A dimpled smile curved across her face.

"One o'clock," she said.

As was his habit on Saturday mornings, Franklin Bennett
rode his Schwinn bicycle downtown. He enjoyed the exercise, and, even better, catching the latest gossip.

Franklin loved Dark Corner on summer mornings. On
such mornings, the town moved at a slower pace than usual
(which was really slow), folks sitting on their porches, sipping coffee and reading the Chester County Ledger. Others were
busy with yard work. Children played in the streets. Many
people, children and adults alike, waved at Franklin as he
zipped past. He returned the greetings. Riding his bicycle
made him feel like a youth again, cruising throughout town.

When he reached Main Street, he pedaled to Shirley's Diner.

"Morning, folks," Franklin said. A scattered chorus of
"Morning, Doc," greeted him. Shirley's was a simple place:
a ceramic counter wound along one side of the restaurant,
with about ten stools in front of it. Throughout the middle, a row of tables stood; along the opposite wall, there were vinyl
booths.