Sam Harlan (Book 3): Damned Cold (7 page)

From the other room, I heard the hotel door slam shut and the lock click into place.

“Sam?” Callie said from the other room. “Are you okay?”

“That thing almost killed us,” I said. My voice was hoarse and shaky.

“What happened?”

I ran water in the bathroom sink, then stuck my hands under the cold water. Rivulets of blood stained the white porcelain sink, and I brushed at the bloody stains, grabbing for the towel hanging from the towel rack next to the mirror. “I don’t know, Callie, but it sure as hell
wasn’t
a vampire.”

I pawed through
the muddy branches on the carpet, trying not to get blood on my hands. The eyes were too large and too weird-looking to be human. I suspected that the heart wasn’t human, either. “I think this came from a goat.”

Callie watched my inspection. Her face was pale and her throat quivered. “A goat?” She looked like she might vomit, but held it together as I continued searching the remains. “Is there anything else in there?”

I touched the heart and found it cool, but not cold, and firmer than I expected. “Just a heart. And the eyes.”

“Do you think this was the vampire?”

“I hope not,” I said. “I’m pretty sure this thing was held together with magic. Can vampires
do
magic?”

I poked at the eyeballs. They were large and gelatin-like and squelched when I poked at them.

Callie gulped and said, “There’s nothing in the church records about vampires performing magic.”

“Well, this stick man was trying to kill us. We need to leave. It’s not safe here.”

“Where will we go?”

The smell wafting up from the stick man’s remains made me want to vomit, but damned if I would do it in front of Callie. I swallowed a few times until my stomach settled down. “Let’s head back to the church. Maybe Jameson knows what the hell this thing is.”

* * *

We wrapped the branches and organs in an extra bedsheet from the closet. I dressed quickly in the bathroom, making sure the Kimber was still loaded and ready for action, then carried the bedsheet outside and threw it in the back of my truck.

The vehicles in the hotel’s south parking lot were empty. A line of trees stood thirty yards to the south, but there didn’t appear to be anyone watching from them. Light spilled between the drapes of a few hotel rooms. Otherwise, the hotel was quiet.

Whoever had sent the stick man after us hadn’t stayed around to watch.

Or they didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

The door opened and Callie exited the hotel room carrying our duffel bag over her shoulder.

I nodded as she approached. “Get in the truck.”

Her eyes scanned the tree line. “We’re leaving?”

I snorted. “Hell yeah.”

“Shouldn’t we check out first?”

“That’s the first thing that comes to your mind?” I asked. “We’re sitting ducks out here.”

“You think someone might try to kill us while we’re checking out?”

“Fine,” I said. “If it gets us out of here, but you go where I go. There’s no way I’m leaving you in this parking lot by yourself.”

We drove around to the north side of the hotel, got out, and entered through the front entrance. A sleepy-looking woman in her late twenties sat at the counter, typing away on her phone. She glanced up, her eyes dully appraising, then asked, “Can I help you?”

“We’d like to check out,” I said.

“We have a policy,” the woman said, straightening her red blouse. “If you stay longer than two hours, you have to pay for the entire night. You understand that, right?”

“That’s okay,” I said. “The room was already paid for.” I removed the pair of plastic key cards from my trench coat and shoved them across the granite countertop.

The woman reached for the key cards and her eyes tracked across my face, taking notice of the scrapes and spots that were already scabbing over, and then came to rest upon Callie. “I don’t know…”

“We didn’t like the room,” Callie said.

The woman frowned, her expression doubtful. “If there’s something—”

“Please,” I said. “We just want to go.”

The woman sighed. “Fine. But if there’s any damage to the room, we’ll be billing it to the credit card on file.”

“Fair enough.” I figured that Jameson or Mosley had used their credit card to book the room. I wasn’t concerned. Surely the Catholic church could afford it.

* * *

The shakes hit as we crossed the hill next to the Bement Cemetery. The town was a maze of lights a mile to the south. I had a moment to think how pretty it looked, like fireflies glowing in the night, and then my hands started trembling so badly that it was a struggle to keep the truck from roaring off the road and into the steep ditch to the west.

“Sam?”

I blinked. Callie was staring at me with wide-eyed concern. She grabbed the wheel and steadied the truck, steering us back between the lines.

“I’m okay,” I said, focusing on my hands until they stopped shaking, allowing me to regain control of the truck. “I’m just a little…”

“Upset?” Callie asked.

I swallowed hard. There was no sense lying to her. She seemed to know more about my emotional state than I did. “I’m scared, Callie. Really,
really
scared. Maybe it’s a side effect of the change.” I chewed on my lip. “We almost died tonight.”

Callie nodded. “I know. I’m scared, too.”

I glanced her way. She didn’t look scared. She appeared … calm. “If I hadn’t been able to stop it—”

“But you did.”

“Barely, Callie.
Barely
. I … can’t protect you. I can barely protect myself.” I hesitated, then the words rushed out. “You might be safer if you weren’t here. I can’t bear to think of anything happening to you. I’m terrified I’m going to get you killed.”

I slowed the truck and made the bend into Bement, following US-105 through town until we reached the church, pulling the truck into the gravel parking lot and turning off the engine.

We sat there in the dark. “We’re
all
going to die,” she finally said in a voice as hard as iron. “If it’s God’s will that I die fighting evil, then so be it.”

* * *

I knocked softly on the church’s office door. There was movement inside and a crash as something fell to the floor, then Jameson opened the door and peeked out. “Sam? Callie?”

I nodded and said, “Father. Can we come in?”

Jameson’s face went pale. He threw the door wide and ushered us in. Barefoot, the priest wore black sweatpants and a worn undershirt. He waved us to the chairs next to the desk and folded the red wool blanket he’d been sleeping with and placed it neatly on the tiny pillow at the end of the couch. “What happened? Are either of you hurt?”

A mustard-colored ceramic lamp on the table next to the couch provided the only light in the room. I stared at it for a moment, then stood and flipped on the switch to the overhead fluorescent lights, feeling an instant sensation of relief as they blazed on.

It was the feeling you get when the light vanquishes the evil things in the dark, but I could only wish that was true.

“We were attacked,” Callie said.

Jameson frowned, his face full of concern. “By a vampire?”

“No,” I said, taking the seat nearest the door. “That’s the weird thing.”

“If not a vampire—”

“It was magic,” Callie said. “Witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?” Jameson sat down heavily on the couch. “Tell me what happened.”

I ran through a quick description of the events at the hotel. Jameson listened intently, then said, “That’s a golem. You were attacked by a golem.”

My jaw dropped. “You mean the thing from
Lord of the Rings
?”

Jameson shook his head. “No. Not Gollum. A
golem
. They’re creatures of magic, animated by a gifted magician and infused with their will.”

I rocked back in my chair. “Magic. Why does it have to be magic?”

Jameson looked like someone had stuffed a lemon in his mouth. “Golems have existed since mankind first learned to harness magic. There is a long history in the Jewish tradition of the creation and uses of golems. The Talmud—”

“I don’t care about Jewish tradition,” I said. “Tell me how they’re made.”

“In Jewish tradition,” Callie spoke up, “golems are made from clay or earth. But with magic? They can be made from almost anything.”

I swiveled to look at her. “How do you know so much about them?”

“The Church records are actually quite extensive—”

“Callie,” Jameson said, shaking his head.

“He
needs
to know,” Callie said, her green eyes blazing with a sudden ferocity. “He’s already involved. Keeping him in the dark will only put him in more danger.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“The nature of magic,” Callie said before Jameson could stop her. “The Church’s official position is that magic does not exist. That any display of magic or witchcraft is a demonic trick, played on humanity by demons to corrupt them and lead them from God’s will.”

“Like Lewinheim was talking about,” I said, the conversation suddenly making sense. “But that can’t be true. I saw my great-uncle perform magic. It wasn’t demonic.” Something else occurred to me. “And Jack said
anyone
could learn magic.”

Jameson sighed heavily and leaned back against the couch. “The unofficial position of the Church is that magic does exist, but that to involve oneself in it can lead to demonic possession.”

“Jack was right?” I said. “I could learn magic?”

“It’s best you don’t try,” Jameson said. “Magic manipulates the very forces of creation. That … infringes upon the Lord’s will.”

“That’s a problem?” I asked.

“Of
course,
that’s a problem,” Jameson said, his voice growing louder. “
Nothing
should infringe upon the Lord’s will. Playing with magic dances close to a fine line that opens one to the demonic.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “That’s bad?”

Jameson sagged against the couch, his gaze turning to the floor, and ran his hand through his shaggy hair. When he finally glanced up, his eyes were full of emotion—anger, definitely, but fear as well.

“Demons are no joke,” he said wearily. “They exert their will in an eternal battle against God. Against His will. Against His judgment. They will stop at nothing to prove that He made a terrible mistake.”

“What mistake?” I asked.

“Creation,” Jameson said simply. “They will stop at nothing to prove to God that
creation
was a mistake.”

I chewed at my lip while absorbing that information. “Okay, avoid magic. Got it.”

“That might prove difficult,” Callie said. “Someone used magic. The golem is proof of that.”

“Yeah,” I said. “About that. The eyes and the heart. What was that about?”

“I’m not sure about the eyes,” Jameson said, raising his head. “The heart gave it life. You were lucky. If you hadn’t crushed it, the golem would have killed you.”

I finally asked the question that had been gnawing at me. “Why send that thing after us? We haven’t
done
anything.”

Callie nodded. “Sam has a point. We only just arrived. Why try and kill us?”

“You must represent a threat,” Jameson said slowly. “Something you did, or something you might do, threatens someone.”

“Why?” I asked. “Who?”

Jameson shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“You think it has something to do with Dorothy’s disappearance?” I asked. “Or is it because Mosley felt a vampire?”

“Now you believe Ethan?” Jameson asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what to believe,” I said. “I do know one thing. Someone tried to kill us, and that just galls me.” My hand reflexively slipped to the Kimber in its shoulder holster. “I don’t like being galled.”

We spent the rest of the night on the church’s floor. Callie lay next to me, her head laying on her soft coat, her body covered with another wool blanket Jameson had scrounged from the church’s closet.

I rolled my trench coat into a ball and used it as a pillow, but held on to the Kimber.

The night passed slowly. Every time I was on the verge of sleep, my eyes would snap open, half expecting to find the stick man standing over me, trying to crush my windpipe. The desktop computer on Mosley’s desk cast shadows that danced across the ceiling and kept jerking me awake.

I finally fell into a fitful sleep. My dreams were full of anger and menace, and I’ll leave it at that.

The rustling of fabric and quiet footsteps finally woke me. Jameson was fiddling with an ancient Bunn coffeemaker in the corner.

I peeked over to find Callie still asleep. She was strikingly beautiful, even with messy hair and wearing an old pair of sweatpants. She looked so young and vulnerable, and I vowed to keep a repeat of the previous night from ever happening again.

I will do anything to protect her.

The glow-in-the-dark dial of my Timex read five in the morning, and I groaned softly.

“Sorry to wake you,” Jamison said. He finished pouring water into the coffeemaker, then inserted the carafe and pressed the button.

“That’s okay, Father.” The smell of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room and my hunger began to rise. I stretched my arms and tried to work out the kinks, then staggered to my feet and did the same with my back. Twisting from side to side made everything ache. “Where is the bathroom?”

Jamison smiled and pointed to the door that led deeper into the church. “There’s a toilet and sink down the hall.”

I carefully shut the door behind me so that I wouldn’t wake Callie. After finding my way to the bathroom, I flipped on the light. There was a mirror over the old porcelain sink, and the face staring back at me was gaunt and hollow-eyed. I’d lost ten pounds of fat in the months since Silas had kidnapped my daughter. My hazel eyes were haunted and my hair was wild and unkempt. I rubbed at my goatee. It was on the verge of unmanageable, and the rest of my face was covered in stubble.

I looked like the kind of man I used to avoid, thinking him dangerous or unstable.

Now I was the dangerous one.

The scratches on my face were healing quickly, the scabs almost ready to fall away, and the bruising had already gone through the purple and yellow stages and was a barely visible brown.