Darkest Hour (9 page)

Kate screamed, thrashed, kicked. The chair should have toppled, but it was somehow fastened to the floor. Her struggles only coaxed soft creaks from the chair’s wooden frame.

The ghost with her now held his hands out. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Kate stopped kicking, but nothing could stop her trembling. Hot tears streamed down her face. Her stomach turned as she remember the feel of that foreign presence slipping into her, forcing her own consciousness into a backseat as inescapable as a police car’s. No handles on the doors. An iron mesh separating back from front. A position so untenable, it had driven her mad.

Only Jessie had managed to bring Kate back to sanity.

“Please,” the ghost said, “I promise. I have no intention of harming you in any way.”

A ridiculous claim. Why else would he have her naked and tied to a chair? Fear kept her from being able to say as much.

“You’re probably wondering why I have you restrained.” He folded his spectral arms. The ghostly suit and tie he wore wrinkled and shifted like real fabric. “This is all a precaution. My people can never be too safe.”

Safe? From her? He could walk through walls. He could possess bodies. What in hell did he have to fear from
her
?

He studied her a moment, focusing on her eyes, maybe reading her thoughts for all she knew. “You’ve seen a ghost before, haven’t you?”

Kate tamped down her fear enough to nod. The fear came swelling back before she could gather any words, though.

“Despite the fiction, there aren’t many of us out there. And most aren’t very well behaved. On behalf of whoever he or she was, I apologize. It’s a hard transition, going from corporeal to spectral. People like me don’t belong on the mortal plane. We’re not meant to face the things in death we once faced in life.”

Kate ground her teeth to hold back the scream that wanted to burst out. His words reached her, but they meant nothing. All she could think about was how to get away from this thing before it hurt her like the last ghost she’d encountered.

“Please,” the ghost said. “Please try to relax.”

“Let me go.” Her voice sounded guttural and ragged.

“I will. I promise. But you must answer a few questions for me. I have to be sure you aren’t…tainted.”

The air had dropped at least six degrees since the ghost entered the room. Her shivers from the cold were indistinguishable from those caused by fright. She would have killed for a little warmth. A blanket. Better yet—her clothes.

“I’m not answering anything,” she said in that low and grinding voice—if she’d heard it on a recording, she never would have recognized it as her own. “Not until you untie me and give me back my clothes.”

The ghost sighed, the sound like wind through a crack. “I’m afraid we’ve destroyed your clothes. I apologize.”

“What? Why?”

“Our mystics attempted a ritual to track your daughter and her father. It appears you’ve had no contact with them in a while, though. The ritual failed.”

“I could have told you I haven’t seen them in months. I have no idea where they are.”

He nodded. “We needed to be sure. Again, I apol—”

“Don’t.”

He held out his hands again. Looked like a politician when he did. “Fair enough.”

“I’m freezing. I’m not talking to you like this. I need clothes.”

“That’s me. Ghostly presence tends to drain heat from an enclosed area. I should have thought of that. I’ll have some fresh clothes brought right away.” He looked over Kate’s shoulder, toward an upper corner of the room, and nodded.

A few seconds later, Kate heard the sound of a door opening behind her. Footsteps came in and around to Kate’s side. Mica, the pixie with the skunk stripe, stepped into view holding a small duffle bag. She set the bag on the floor by Kate’s feet, then drew her switchblade. She circled back behind Kate. Kate felt a tug against the rope binding her to the chair, followed by sudden release.

The ropes fell away.

Kate had two breaths worth of time to decide what to do next—stay docile and go along with what they wanted or try to break for it now that she was free of the ropes. The duffle probably had clothes for her. She could grab it, spin around, bolt for the door.

And face off with Mica and her switchblade.

Kate had no fighting skills, no special training. Again, she found herself up against the wall of her own limitations.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Kate tossed aside the limp ropes, picked up the duffle, set it on her lap. The bag was already unzipped. She ruffled through the set of clothes inside. A basic outfit, but complete. From the Chicago Cubs sweatshirt and jeans to the sweat socks and off-brand sneakers. They even provided a pair of cotton panties and matching bra, all in her size.

“Will they do?” the ghost asked.

Instead of answering, she stood up and got dressed.

The ghost turned his back to provide some privacy. A hollow gesture considering the surveillance camera Kate could see now that she was up from the chair. The camera’s beady lens stared down at her, a red light winking on and off underneath.

When she finished cinching the belt they had provided, Kate realized a good chunk of her fear had given way to a flood of anger. She faced the ghost, her back straight and shoulders square, and cleared her throat.

He turned to face her, must have noticed the change in her, and took a step back. Not that he had anything to fear from her. They both knew if she took a swing at him, her hand would pass straight through his form.

“What do you want from me?” Kate asked.

“Your help.”

She looked around the room. Nothing in there except the camera and chair. The only break in the plain walls was a steel door with a few fist-sized dents in it. These made Kate wonder if the walls only looked like plaster, but were actually made of something stronger. If someone—or something—could punch dents into steel, plain old plaster wouldn’t prove much of a barrier.

“You don’t have to be psychic to know what I’m going to say next.”

The ghost smiled. “I’ve a funny way of asking for help.”

“Funny’s not quite the word I’d use.”

“You should be very proud of yourself. Despite the fear that must be coursing through your veins right now, you’ve managed to pull together nicely. You’re a strong woman.”

Her heart hammered a million times a second. Her muscles felt like they would unravel at any moment from all the trembling. Even with the clothes on, her skin rippled with cold gooseflesh. She did not feel like a strong woman. But apparently she was faking it well enough.

“It’s a little late for flattery to work on me.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He crossed his ghostly arms. “Let me give it to you straight. We need to find your daughter and Mr. Lockman as quickly as possible. We had hoped to find them both with you.”

“Can’t you find them the same way you found me?”

“Finding you was a fluke. In retrospect, we should have realized Lockman wasn’t with you simply because you were so easy to find.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our mystics managed to track you because you weren’t doing anything to
keep
us from tracking you. In fact, you did quite the opposite. Your engagement with those various freelance practitioners left a large trail for us to follow.”

Kate curled her hands into fists. She stalked away from the ghost. The walls felt closer. The camera’s stare felt more pointed, accusatory. What a fool she’d been. Her efforts to find Jessie had only managed to make her an easy target. She had no idea what she was doing. She was in over her head. That’s why Craig had sent her away in the first place. This world was not her world.

“I don’t know how you think I can help you.”

“What you said to Mica back at your apartment is true. You have a blood connection to your daughter. There is little that is stronger.”

“So what? You’re going to rely on my motherly instincts?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“I don’t care. I’m done here. I don’t know what you want with Jess, but you aren’t getting to her through me.”

The ghost reached out a hand. “Don’t you want to find her?”

“Not if it means leading the likes of you to her.”

“You know,” he said with a lopsided grin, “the mortals I work with have a nickname for me. They call me Casper.”

Kate folded her arms. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s because I’m friendly.”

“I get the reference. You’ll have to excuse me for not taking the word of a couple of nameless people.”

“I don’t have any intention of harming you. If you want to leave, you can leave. But you’ll be walking away from any chance of seeing your daughter again.”

Heat crackled up the back of Kate’s neck. “You just got done saying I have a strong link to her. Seems like I’ll have better luck finding her than you.”

“How’s that? You going to enlist the help of another powerful mystic you look up in the Yellow Pages? Maybe you can dial up one of those psychic hotlines and do the whole thing over the phone?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe. Of course, by then it could be too late.”

It was bait and Kate knew it. She couldn’t keep herself from taking it, though. “Why?”

“Because if we can’t find your daughter and Craig Lockman soon, they’re going to set off the end of the mortal world as we know it.”

Chapter Twelve

Lockman couldn’t let Gabriel continue using his daughter. But that’s what Dr. Truman basically suggested. Sit by and do nothing, because getting rid of Gabriel
might
disrupt their stupid prophecy.

A gust of wind rattled the glass in the old window by the bed. His quarters were on the second floor of the farmhouse, the only other person besides Jessie living in the house itself. He sat on the edge of the hard mattress, staring out the window but not seeing anything outside. He saw pictures of Jessie with wolf blood on her face and vacant rage in her vampire eyes. He saw the quivering innards of a wolf turned inside out, a heinous punishment delivered by his teenage daughter. Images from nightmares. Only these were real.

What have I let happen to you?

This didn’t have to go on, though. Maybe there was no cure for vampirism. That didn’t mean he had to let Gabriel continue haunting her mind. Truman thought it possible to get rid of him, perform some kind of exorcism. He owed his little girl that much.

To hell with the prophecy.

He stood and strode to the door. Paused with his hand half-reaching for the knob.

You’re letting your emotions muddy this.

Jessie could be the only thing standing in the way from an all out vampire apocalypse.

He had promised himself he would keep his head.

I am keeping my head.

Gabriel was a danger, no matter how you looked at it. Having him around would jeopardize what little they’d managed to cobble together in the last six months. Lockman could quantify that. The mission was to stop the vamps from reorganizing into an army that could eventually take over the mortal world. A tangible objective. No prophecy necessary.

Jessie was a definite asset, but she wasn’t their only asset. They had pulled together a small army of their own. They also had the infrastructure in place to wield that army with speed and precision. Small ops directed at specific targets had kept the vamps broken up and disorganized just like vamps should be. And if any vamp tried to rise up like the king had and try to better organize them, a simple assassination would squelch that before it began. Once they had larger numbers, they could push forward and begin full-on vamp culling. Wipe vamps out of the mortal plane altogether.

A solid strategy.

They didn’t need a prophecy. They needed clear vision and sound tactics.

Let’s get this done.

He strode out of the farmhouse and right back to Dr. Truman’s lab.

“Have you consulted with the others?”

Truman’s voice shook, which told Lockman all he needed about how this was going to go. He grabbed the doctor by the lapel and backed him into a filing cabinet. On top of the cabinet, a ceramic figurine of a dolphin on a pedestal of waves tipped over.

“I don’t need to consult anyone. This is my daughter we’re talking about. I want that fucker out of her head ASAP.”

“There’s no need to get rough, Mr. Lockman.”

Lockman let go and backed off. “What do we need to do?”

Truman adjusted his collar, but his trembling didn’t help with straightening it. “I’ll need to call Father Caruthers.”

“A priest?”

“As I said before, it will be an exorcism of sorts. Father Caruthers used to be a physicist before he became ordained. His specialty is possession.”

“But this isn’t a demon. This was once a man.”

“I know full well who Gabriel Dolan was.” Truman lifted an eyebrow and gave Lockman a pointed look. “The mechanics of possession are rather uniform. The Father will know what to do.”

“How fast can we get him here?”

“He’s already here. We’ve had him working on the loss of one’s soul during vampiric transformation. We were hoping to find a way to perform a ‘reverse exorcism.’” He raised his hands and curled his fingers into quote marks. “Seeing if there’s a way to put a soul back into a vampire.”