Hard Times (A Sam Harlan Novel Book 2) (16 page)

“Good,” I said. “I’m counting on you two.” I pointed at Mary Kate and Lori. “You watch out for them while I’m gone.”

“You’re leaving?” Colden asked, his mouth dropping.

I shushed him. “I’m going for help. I’ll be back within the hour. Promise me that you’ll help our mom.”

“I promise,” Colden said.

I turned to Carrie, who had an uncertain look on her face. “Sure,” she said. “We’ll just trust you to save us.”

I resisted the urge to tousle her ridiculously colored hair. “You’ll be fine, kiddo.”

“Kiddo?” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you’re at least forty.”

I almost laughed. If she felt good enough to joke, I felt she might actually survive.

I smiled at them, then turned and walked back to Callie “We can’t hunt it,” I said quietly. “Not if we’re worrying about
them
.”

“How can we protect them?” Callie asked. “How can we hunt that creature and still keep them safe?”

It was the question I had asked myself on the drive from the Glicks’ house. “Billy Davenport,” I said.

“Davenport?” Callie asked. “You want him to protect their house the way he protects Jack’s.”

I nodded. “If we can make it so it can’t enter their house, we can leave them there in safety. Then, we’ll hunt it down and save the girls.”

* * *

The trip to Tama took less than thirty minutes, mile after dreary, dark mile passing in a blur. Callie was hesitant about leaving everyone alone, but Mueller was a cop, after all, with basic firearm training. The Glick family might not be much of a help, but at least Mary Kate seemed to know her way around a pistol.

As the miles whizzed by, I told myself it was for the best. My head still throbbed, my legs were weak, and the hunger had come roaring back. I chewed down a pound of beef jerky from the bag behind the seat, washing it down with a warm Coca-Cola that Mary Kate had given me. If the vampire attacked, I wasn’t sure I could defeat it on my own. I needed time to rest, and to do that, I needed a way to protect them.

Billy Davenport would provide that, whether he wanted to or not.

I pulled up to Davenport’s house in Tama a little after eight in the evening. I got out and braced myself against the night chill. The thermometer had plunged back into the lower forties, and I realized that it was Thursday. The day before Halloween.

The houses along Davenport’s street were decorated for the holiday. Bright lights illuminated bales of hay, and collections of plain and carved pumpkins hid among the bales. Ghosts—with black eyes and leering smiles—made from bedsheets dangled from the trees.

Nothing of the kind decorated Davenport’s house. A darkness seemed to seep from the old house, creeping across the neighborhood until it met his neighbors’ festive displays.

There was something definitely strange about Davenport’s house.

The dirty wooden steps creaked as I stepped onto the porch. A faint light within barely illuminated the front window. I knocked softly. After a minute, I knocked louder. There was the sound of heavy footsteps within and Davenport opened the door.

He looked worse than he had in the morning. He wore the same clothes and his face was splotchy red, with thick beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, and his black hair was plastered against his head. Warm air blasted out from inside the house and I realized he had the heat cranked up past what any normal person would find comfortable.

“Sam?” he slurred. “What do you want?”

I almost gagged at the whiskey on his breath. “I need your help.”

His eyes focused slowly on me and he grinned. “Sam. Hey, son, you wanna drink?”

I shook my head. “No, and by the looks of you, I’d say you’ve had enough. I need you to come to Marshalltown.”

His grin faltered. “Wha? Nah, gonna have a few more drinks. Got to get happy. Get to my happy place. You got a happy place?”

A happy place?

“I need you to do that thing again,” I said. “I need you to protect someone’s house.”

His face fell and his grin evaporated. “Can’t.” He shook his head. “C’mon in for a drink.”

“Billy,” I said gruffly. “You’re coming with me. A bunch of people are counting on us.”

Davenport shuffled his feet. “I told you. I’m no use. Gotta get to my happy place. It’s thin, son. I need a drink.”

I grabbed his wrist, and it was like holding on to a live wire. An intense tingling raced up my arm, but I didn’t let go. “Lives depend on me, Billy. You’re going.”

He tried to pull away, but I held fast. “No,” he protested. “Don’t want to.” He squinted at me. “It’s too thin.”

I had enough of his nonsense. “What’s too thin? What are you talking about?”

“It’s bad,” he said. “I
hate
this. Every year it gets thin.”

“Halloween?” I asked.

He nodded. “Thinnest time of the year. The space between us and them.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes grew wide, his face feverish. “I walk between. It’s harder now. It’ll ease up next week. Need to drink. Helps keep me
here
.”

I had no idea how much of what he said was the truth and how much was the ramblings of an alcoholic. “Damn it, Billy. You’re coming with me.”

I pushed him back, forcing my way into his house, then promptly wishing I hadn’t. The hot air and rank smell took my breath away. It was the smell of sickly sweat, but mixed with liquor and a greasy stench that I attributed to the numerous pizza boxes that littered his living room.

A tiny flat-panel television, tuned to a gardening show, sat on the floor. An old wooden console stereo sat next to it playing a scratchy record, barely audible. I recognized the song immediately. “‘Waltzing in Old San Antone,’” I said. “Bob Wills.”

“Yah,” he slurred, eyebrows raised. “How’d you know?”

I didn’t tell him it was because I had once caught Jack listening to the same song. “Grab whatever you need.”

He stomped his foot. “I told you, I’m no good.”

I let my trench coat fall open, just wide enough so that he caught sight of my holster, and he blanched.

“You’re coming,” I said, my voice low and menacing. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Davenport swiped his hand across his head, smoothing his damp hair. He started to argue, but caught himself. “I need some things.”

“Get them.”

He removed an old leather satchel from an antique roll-top desk in the corner and draped it over his shoulder.

“You got a gun in there?” I asked.

He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t like guns.”

I harrumphed. “You’d be safer with a gun. I could give you silver ammo.”

Billy gave me a long look. “You might get me killed. I should take something to drink, just in case.” He started for the rickety table next to his shabby couch, his hand reaching for a bottle of Jim Beam, but caught the glare I gave him and slowly pulled back. “If I die sober,” he said through clenched teeth, almost ready to cry, “it’s gonna be on you. You bastard.”

* * *

We made it back to the pawnshop just in time to witness Duane and Lori Glick arguing. Duane was a big man, with thinning brown hair and a large bulbous nose. His face was red and he was speaking loudly, telling Lori that he was sick of listening to a bunch of make-believe nonsense designed to scare his children.

I motioned for Davenport to wait by the entrance and sidled up next to Callie. “He’s not buying it?”

She shrugged. “What did you expect? He hasn’t seen what
we’ve
seen.” She waved her hand at the rest of the Glicks. “What
they’ve
seen.”

I looked around, but Mueller wasn’t to be found. I glanced down the hallway, through the gun room, to the front of the store and saw him standing in the doorway, his handgun ready, keeping watch on the front. Mary Kate stood next to her sister-in-law, shaking her head.

I whispered to Callie, “Might as well introduce myself.”

She nodded and gave my bicep a gentle squeeze. “Take it easy on him,” she whispered back. “He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know.”

I gave her a small nod. “Get Billy ready. I want to get the Glicks home and safe as soon as possible.”

She smiled and turned to speak with Davenport while I walked over to Duane Glick.

He spun on his heels, glowering at me. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sam Harlan. I know what you’ve heard might sound unbelievable—”

“Unbelievable?” he asked. “I’ve never heard such horseshit. What kind of game are you playing?” He leaned in close. “What kind of con are you pulling on my family?”

I thought about telling him how far out of the loop he was, about vampires, magic, and the terrible things that could happen to a father, but I grabbed his hand and bent it at the wrist, applying pressure that caused him to howl in pain and drop to his knees.

Lori took a step back and Mary Kate shouted, “Sam!”

I sighed and eased the pressure on his hand. “I don’t have time for this, Mr. Glick, so here’s what I’m going to do. I don’t give a damn about what you think or what you believe. Your family saw that thing. They know the truth. If you want to live,
by God
you’re going to listen to them.”

I gave his hand a little extra twist and he yelped, but Mueller had joined us by then. “Duane, Sam is telling the truth,” Mueller said. “It’s not a con. He’s not trying to pull one over on you. He saved your family tonight. If you care about them, you’ll listen.”

Duane started to speak, but Mueller leaned in and said, “He’s the only hope I have of getting Olivia back, and probably Elena as well. If you truly care about your son and your future daughter-in-law, you’ll shut up.”

Mary Kate watched the exchange, then spoke up. “It’s all true, Duane. You’ve known me since I was a child, even before I married Robert. I would
never
lie about this.”

Duane stared at them, then his head lowered and he took a series of deep, panting breaths. Whether it was their message or their tone, his family had broken through. When he looked up at me, I saw there was still anger and defiance, but also a trace of fear. “Fine. Whatever you say.”

I grabbed him by the arms. His eyes went wide, and he tried unsuccessfully to pull away. “Mr. Glick. I will give my
life
to kill that thing and to save those girls. Come to that, I will give my
life
to protect your family. If you believe anything, believe
that
.”

His face went gray, and he stammered, “I believe you.”

“Good. Now, here’s what we’re going to do…”

I explained how the deputy, Callie, Davenport, and I would follow them home and how Davenport would protect their house.

Mary Kate and Lori both glanced at the big Meskwaki, but I kept going and laid out the rest of my plan.

Colden shook his head. “You’re going to talk to Elias? How will that help?”

“He knows something,” I said. “The vampire hasn’t been able to keep up the mental pressure. He might know where Elena and Olivia are being held. If not that, at least something that may help us track the vampire.”

“Give me a gun,” Colden said. “Give me the silver ammunition and I’ll help.”

Duane Glick reached for his son. “You’re not getting involved in this mess.”

“I’m
already
involved in this mess,” Colden said and wrenched away from his father. He was practically glowering at me. “I’ll help find it and kill it.”

Mueller said, “No way, Colden. You could get hurt. Or worse. Let Sam do it. I’ll help. You need to go home, where it’s safe.”

I said, “Colden—”

“Don’t tell me to go home,” Colden said. He whirled to Mueller. “And don’t tell me
you’ll
handle it. We were friends and you
abandoned
me.”

“It was for your own good,” Mueller insisted.

“It wasn’t for
me
,” Colden said. “It was for her. You think Elena would have dumped me for you. That’s why you left.”

He turned to storm off, but I grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “You’ll go with your parents,” I said, in my best command voice. “You want to know why? I’ve seen a man’s head ripped from his body and tossed across the room. His eyes? He was looking at me when he died, but he was still alive, at least for a few seconds.”

I almost said it was my own great-uncle. Everyone was staring at me, everyone but Callie and Davenport. Callie was giving me a look full of pity, and Davenport looked like he might be sick. “You can’t begin to imagine what that thing can do,” I said. “You’ll not die on my watch. Go with your family. Let
us
get your fiancée back.”

The deputy parked
his patrol car in front of the Glick house and I pulled in behind him. I concentrated, trying to shut out the stench of stale booze and flop sweat emanating from Davenport, who sat wedged between me and Callie. I couldn’t sense the vampire, so I flashed my lights to indicate it was safe for everyone to get out.

Mueller exited his patrol car, his hand near his holster, and quickly made his way to Lori Glick’s Taurus, where he rapped his knuckles against the window. Lori, Carrie, and Colden got out and spun back and forth, peering into the dark. Duane got out of his brown Ford F-150 and joined them.

I let Callie out first. She had returned the shotgun to the toolbox in the bed of the truck, but she held fast to her crucifix. Davenport followed, his hands locked on to his leather satchel. I exited, my hand near my Kimber just in case, and followed everyone to the dark opening where the front door had once stood.

Mueller turned to me and pointed to the doorframe. I nodded and stepped in front, then pulled out the Kimber and entered the house. I could make out the interior almost as well as if it were fully lit, just from the streetlight down the road, and realized just how much sharper my night vision had become.

The Glicks’ living room was a mess. The front door lay on the floor where it had fallen and the sharp smell of gunpowder still lingered. I shook my head and waved the rest of them in.

The Glicks entered and Duane Glick turned on the overhead light. They stared at the door on the floor, then at the remains of the front bay window.

Duane Glick shuddered. “Christ almighty. You’re telling me a … vampire … did this?”