Darkest Hour (5 page)

“Forget it,” Jessie said. “You want to know how I learned to use my power? I’ll tell you.” She felt all three of them staring at her as if she were a bomb about to go off. And she could certainly oblige them.

“Gabriel,” she said. “He’s still inside of me. And he’s taught me everything I know about what I am and what I’m capable of, right from the beginning. Including how to keep my soul after being turned into a vampire.”

No one spoke.

Another wolf howled, closer now.

The police sirens had also gained volume. The others should have been able to hear them now.

Jessie didn’t know what to expect for a reaction after telling them about Gabriel. The usual shouting and bickering. Stunned silence. An attempt from Teresa to lodge a stake through her heart. Anything except for what came next.

Craig wrenched the supernatural Taser out of Teresa’s hand, marched up to Jessie, and jammed the business end up under her chin. Jessie had a second to gasp.

Then her dad hit the switch.

An instant of terrible pain.

Then darkness.

Chapter Six

Kate could still feel that strange tingle under her chin that had awakened her in the middle of the night. At the time, she thought she might have strained a muscle in her neck or something. She’d been in the middle of a nightmare at the time, though she couldn’t recall any details except for one strange phrase she had spoken in the dream herself.

This is how it starts.

What was starting and what was causing the start, she hadn’t the foggiest.

A couple years ago, she would have thought nothing of it. She never gave dreams any thought because she assumed they amounted to little more than the flotsam of the subconscious mind. But once she had been introduced to the supernatural world, she took nothing for granted, from the smallest coincidence to the warped visions in her dreams. It could all mean something more.

She scratched at the spot under her chin while trying to pay attention to what the woman across the table was saying to her. She found it hard to concentrate on the lady’s spiel because Kate had heard it so many times before.

How many boutiques with burning incense and some variation of sitar music had she sat in just like this one? The collection of statues on shelves—everything from Buddha to demonic cats. Even the creaky voice of the shop’s proprietor sounded similar to all the others.

This particular woman—Gala, she had introduced herself as, which made Kate think of the apple—reached across the table and held one of Kate’s hands in both of hers. Her skin felt softer than the wrinkles had promised. A nice variation to the leather and papyrus the many others offered. Kate could have done without the “natural” body odor from Ms. Gala, however.

“…almost as if you fear finding her.”

Kate blinked her way out of her reverie. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Gala smiled. She had a single dimple that creased her left cheek and almost looked like a wound. “Your thoughts are elsewhere.”

Kate wasn’t sure if Gala meant that as part of her “reading,” or if she had stated the obvious to embarrass Kate into paying better attention. “I’ve a lot on my mind.”

“I know.”

Kate stifled a yawn. Why had she wasted her time on another place like
Mystic Tree
, the name of Gala’s supposed psychic boutique? It would end the same as all the others—with vague predictions as helpful as the fortune in a fortune cookie.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I don’t think you can help me.”

The woman’s smile broadened. Her lone dimple grew deeper. “You really weren’t listening, were you?”

Kate pulled back the hand that Gala held, intending to get up, thank the woman for her time, and be on her way.

Gala gripped Kate’s hand tightly and refused to let go. “You need to hear what I have to say.”

“With all due respect, I have been to twenty or more places just like this one, and I’ve yet to hear anything that has brought me any closer to finding my daughter.”

The woman’s eyes flashed with mischievousness. Her smile broke open to show a set of teeth so white they looked fake, plastic. “I said you will never find her because despite what you say, you still disbelieve what you must believe in order to find your way. It’s as though you are afraid to find her.”

“That’s ridiculous. Finding her is the only thing that matters to me.”

“Then why haven’t you found her yet?”

Kate huffed. “Because I keep coming to charlatans like you instead of finding someone who really knows anything about the supernatural. I bet you don’t even
believe
in the supernatural. This is all just some fun trick to bilk gullible people out of their money.”

“You question my belief? How very strange.”

Kate tried to tug her hand free again. “Please let me go.”

Gala opened her fingers and raised her hands out to her sides in a surrendering gesture.

Kate gathered her purse from the floor beside her chair. She withdrew her wallet, counted out the fifty dollars Gala required for her services, and held the folded bills out to her.

Instead of taking the money, Gala folded her hands and rested them on the table in front of her. “I only expect payment from satisfied customers.”

Kate raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Ma’am, it pains me to see your struggle. I wish you could see what I see.”

“I’ve seen plenty. Things even someone like you would not believe.”

“Again you question my beliefs. But it isn’t my belief that keeps you from finding your daughter.” She unfolded her hands and splayed them flat on the table, palms down. “I’m no charlatan. But neither do I have the kind of power you need. I suspect you have more ability to find your daughter than I, or anyone like me.”

“No. I don’t have anything like that.”

“We all have some untapped power within. She is
your
daughter. Let your passion and love for her do the work.”

“You’re trying to tell me that I can just wish my way to her?”

“Wish isn’t quite the word. But I suspect once you get over your disbelief in yourself, you will find the path you require.”

Kate sighed, tucked her money back in her wallet, her wallet back into her purse, and gave Gala a final once over. What she said sounded like more mumbo jumbo malarkey, only with a slight twist. First, she did not expect payment. Second, she was suggesting Kate not waste payment on any more of these so-called mystics. In other words, Gala was the first to give advice, no matter how opaque, free of attached strings.

“Well, I’ll think about it.”

Gala’s eyes narrowed. She shivered. “I feel like someone just stepped on my future gravesite.”

“Sorry.”

“It just means something important’s happened.” She smiled. “I’d guess that you have quite a journey ahead of you.”

Looks to me like I’m going nowhere fast.
She forced a smile. “Thank you for your time.”

“Thank
you
.”

“Doesn’t seem like I did much of anything for you, seeing as you don’t want payment.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, honey. You’ve made me a small piece of history. That’s more than enough.”

Furling her brow, Kate caught herself from asking what Gala meant. She had met her daily quota of obscure and meaningless banter from old ladies pretending to be psychic. Instead, she gave a final nod and headed for the beaded curtain between this back room and the shop out front—another standard feature among these places. When she reached the beads, Gala called out.

“Remember. Believe. That’s all it will take.”

Kate slipped through the beads and made her way out the shop’s front door. The bleating horns and constant sigh of traffic noise greeted her along with the smell of rotten eggs and exhaust. When Kate had first arrived in New York City, all that noise and bustle had intimidated her. It took surprisingly little time to get used to, though. And getting used to it eventually came to actually enjoying it. Six months in the Big Apple and Kate could barely remember living anywhere else.

Which sometimes frightened her. She felt like forgetting about their home in Michigan was disrespecting her memories of Jessie. It took constant self-recrimination not to let it get to her. That home was just a place. Remembering Jessie and fighting to find her—that’s what mattered now.

All that New York noise almost masked the voice from behind her.

This is how it starts.

She whirled around, expecting to find Gala had snuck out of the shop behind her. All she found was her own reflection in the door’s glass.

Chapter Seven

Headquarters was a weird cross between a military base and an old farm. It always gave Lockman a surreal tweak whenever he stopped to look around. Today he stood under a noon sun, in what might be considered the base’s center square. Someone had even taken the time to install a flag pole and raise the Stars and Stripes.

Not that this operation was even remotely all American. Creatures from all over the world and in at least seven different dimensions populated the compound at any given time.

Lockman squinted against the sun and stared out at the farmhouse that sat toward the front of the roughly fifteen-hundred Texan acres they now occupied. What used to be a horse pen now sported a dozen motorized vehicles, from a muddy four-wheeler to an armored SWAT truck painted to look like a delivery truck on first glance. A second glance would tell even the wettest civilian it was anything but.

Quonset huts made up the rest of the base. They had erected six of them so far. Two of them housed bunks for the ranks that had signed up for full-time work. Another one served as a mess hall. A fourth housed their command center, which included a central war room as well as various other rooms centered around mission planning, debriefs, and an intelligence hub where the techies performed their own kind of mojo by hacking into various government surveillance systems to “borrow” their services. The fifth structure warehoused their growing collection of artillery. Finally, they had a sort of laboratory for handling the mojo side of things, even though Lockman didn’t exactly approve of treating mojo like science. The Agency had done that and it always made them think they understood more than they did. When it came to mojo, only one fact mattered—it was all bad.

He had forgotten that rule himself.

The farmhouse itself served as a sort of initial reception area. New recruits were briefed there. The few enemies they had apprehended were processed there before being detained in their underground cell block. This was also where they had installed their personal entrance to the inter-dimensional network of portals Lockman first discovered through a small café in the French Quarter.

The house also served the special purpose of housing Jessie, who slept in the old brick basement to avoid the sun.

That’s where she was now. They had put her, still unconscious, in there last night. So far he had heard no reports as to whether she had come around. For now, with the sun up, he didn’t have to worry about facing her again.

Gabriel.

His shoulder muscles knotted at the mere thought of the name. A strange thing considering those same shoulders used to belong to the man.

It was bad enough to know that Gabriel was trapped within Jessie. She hadn’t mentioned him much, though, so Lockman hadn’t thought about it in a while. Now he finds out all this time Gabriel has been feeding her advice and instruction, making her dangerous. A weapon. One he probably thought he could manipulate for his own gain.

Six months of putting together a paranormal army had occupied too much of his attention. Plus, Jessie had become so competent; he had stopped thinking of her as the daughter he had vowed to protect and began treating her as just another member of the team.

Last night had flipped that naiveté out the window and on its head.

Key images flashed through his inner vision—Jessie, face covered in blood and a ripped hunk of werewolf in her mouth was a persistent image. Then he had the bandage around his arm to remind him of her tearing a piece of
him
off and using it to fuel some seriously sadistic mojo. He didn’t care about the wolves. It wasn’t compassion for them that worried him. It was that his daughter could come up with such a wicked method of death.

She’s a monster.

He clenched down on that thought, stuffed it away. This wasn’t her fault. None of it. If he had destroyed that artifact like he was supposed to, Jessie would be the same old temperamental teenager she had been the day she knocked on his door in Los Angeles.

Blaming yourself isn’t going to fix anything, Craigy Boy. Nobody’s going to come to your pity party and help celebrate your failures.

Weird. His own chastising voice sounded a lot like Gabriel’s. Was it possible a piece of him still existed in Lockman? Had the psychopath passed out parts of himself like slices of pie?
Here! Have a little Gabriel. I’m tasty, and will stick with you no matter how hard you try to get rid of me.

“We’ve heard back from the team in Alaska.”

Lockman started at the voice even though he recognized it. He turned and looked up at Adam. The ogre cast a large enough shadow to put Lockman’s whole body out of the sun.

“Sorry,” Adam said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine. What’s the report?”

Adam took a deep breath, which told Lockman everything he needed to know before the ogre said a word. “Rumors are true. Group of vamps collected up in Barrow to take advantage of two months of permanent night. Word is they’ve thinned enough of the population to get Feds out to take a look. Not all that thinning was food. They’re still turning.”

Lockman sighed and returned to staring at the farmhouse. “Can’t catch a break, can we?” They had hoped the vamps would remain relatively spread out across the country. It would require fewer recruits to take out the smaller groups of vamps. Even the ones that got into the hundreds like in New Orleans. Seemed a lack of leadership from their dead king didn’t keep them entirely from some organizing.