Slayed (3 page)

“Well,” Dad says, “there
are
times when dispatching vampires in front of citizens is unavoidable.”

Officer MacCready nods. He pats his large belly with his hands as he looks back and forth between my parents. “I suppose you’re right, but if I can’t get an assurance that the folks here in town aren’t going to be exposed to a staking and beheading, what’s to keep me from hiring Harker? His bid came in a thousand dollars under yours.
He had a lot of ideas about all of those babies ending up in the hospital too.”

I lean in, wondering if this was the “strange” stuff Mom was muttering about.

“Sounded like Harker knew what he was talking about,” Officer MacCready continues.

Mom takes a sharp intake of breath and exchanges a quick look with Dad. “We’ll match his price.”

“What?” I gasp.

Officer MacCready smiles. Even though we do get perks like full medical coverage, our fees are determined by how much a town can afford. With the recession showing little improvement and slayers underbidding each other, money has been tight. Mom and Dad keep talking about some of the repairs the van needs so I know knocking that much money off our fee is killing her. This also means I won’t be getting a cut like they promised, which means no curling iron and maybe even no magazines.

Mom and Dad have a great reputation, so even though there are at least a dozen other licensed slayers getting calls for bids, we usually get the higher paying gigs. Apparently the Harkers have something of a reputation too.

Mom folds her hands in her lap and puts on her best I-know-what-I’m-talking-about face. “And I’ve been giving the other problem a lot of thought. If your local
children are falling prey to a mysterious malaise, I’m thinking there may be psychic vampires feeding off their energy much like a parasite.”

Officer MacCready sucks some coffee through the gap in his front teeth. “According to Harker, attacks on children like this by energy or pyschic vampires are almost unheard of, yet we’ve had sixteen infants hospitalized for anemia and unexplained weakness—four more this week—and no common denominator connecting the victims. With the influx of vampires our little town has attracted recently, Harker thinks something else is involved.”

“Well, it could be a number of things,” Mom says. She starts fussing with the papers in the folder, obviously trying to buy some time to think.

I’d heard Mom and Dad talk about psychic vampires before and I think Mr. Harker is right. Most psychic “vampires” aren’t vampires at all, just everyday people who for one reason or another have never been able to maintain their physical or mental energy and wind up “sucking” energy from their friends, family, or coworkers.

Dad said a lot of times these people are controlling or emotionally needy, but some aren’t even aware they’re doing it. I don’t know a lot about it, but besides being all kinds of wrong, sucking energy from an infant doesn’t
sound very satisfying and I can’t help but wonder what the Harkers think is going on.

Dad clears his throat. “Did Mr. Harker share his thoughts with you?”

Officer MacCready shakes his head. “He didn’t go into detail but you can ask him yourself.”

He beckons with his hand and I turn to follow his gaze. A man is peering at us through the window next to the door. He nods and a cocky smile breaks out on his face. He struts in and I take an immediate dislike to him. He’s wearing a long, black trench coat over a dark turtleneck, jeans, and heavy black boots. His thinning hair is greased back and he looks—and smells—like he’s in need of a good night’s sleep and some body wash. His skin is paler than mine and his sunken eyes are underlined with dark circles.

“Vince, old buddy, it has been too long,” he says, “and Joy, looking good as ever.”

Mom jumps up and looks mad enough to charge, but Dad puts a hand on her arm and she simply stares the man down. “
What
are you doing here, Nathan?” she asks.

He smiles and fidgets with what I’m assuming is his wedding ring. “Same as you, looking for work. Seems we’d been doing such a good job out west that all the gigs dried up. I tried some construction work but that
just ain’t for me, so the boy and I decided to expand our territory.”

“Seems to me,” Mom spits, “you got a reputation for being a jackass and couldn’t find any ‘gigs’ so you had to crash ours. We had an agreement to stay in our own territories.”

Nathan Harker bows his head. “That was a long time ago, Joy, and I have to go where the work is. Surely you can’t fault me for that.”

Before Mom can answer, his eyes find mine. My cheeks redden as he looks me up and down and a slimy smirk breaks out on his face. “Are you your mother’s daughter or what?” He laughs and slaps his knee. “Spitting image.” He turns to Mom. “Bet she’s got your fiery temper to go with that red hair.”

Suddenly the room erupts in yelling. Mom is in Mr. Harker’s face and Dad is trying to pull her back, begging her to calm down. Officer MacCready whistles loudly and everyone turns to him. “Folks, if you all were hoping to impress me, you’re going about it the wrong way. Let’s have a seat and discuss this like mature adults.”

Mom’s chest heaves up and down while Mr. Harker nods and smiles. “I would like nothing more than that,” he says. “I’m sure we can work out an amicable agreement.”

Mom wipes her mouth like she’s trying to rid herself of a bad taste and stalks over to me. “Daphne, I don’t see any reason why you can’t start on reconnaissance. You know the drill.”

“But we don’t have the job yet,” I say quietly. I look over her shoulder and see everyone is watching us.

“We will,” she says. “And the sooner we can get this over with the better. Go.”

I nod and grab my large purse off the chair. “Okay. I saw a pub when we pulled into town. I’ll start there.”

I shut the door on my way out and let out a long sigh. What a freaking mess!

“Hey,” a voice says right behind me.

I jump and turn around, heart pounding. A greasy-haired boy about my age smiles down at me hesitantly. He’s wearing a long, stained trench coat identical to Mr. Harker’s so I’m guessing this is his son. I try to remember what Mom said his name was, but decide it doesn’t matter. He’s got jerk written all over him just like his father.

I look him up and down the way his father did to me and take in the tragic Goth look he’s sporting. Head to toe black complete with tight jeans and T-shirt emphasizing his skinny frame,
guy-liner
, keys hanging from a chain off his belt loop, and a skull-and-crossbone–adorned messenger bag for which I decide to cut him some slack because
he does need to carry his stakes and knives in something. “You always sneak up behind people?”

He smiles wider. “Ha, yeah, that wasn’t real smart of me.” He leans in close. “Lucky for me you didn’t pull a stake out,” he whispers like this is supposed to be funny.

I take a step back—the guy definitely needs a shower. “I gotta go.”

I turn and he puts a hand on my arm. “Wait.”

“Get off me!” I say, yanking my arm away from him.

He holds his hands out in front of him as if he’s going to deflect a punch. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but I just wanted to talk.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing his long bangs aside. “It didn’t sound like things were going too well in there. My dad was hoping we could all, you know, work together.”

I give him an incredulous look. “Are you for real? Your dad tried to sabotage this job for us and he thought we’d want to team up and go all Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew mystery special together?”

He bites his lip and looks down at the floor. “He kind of panicked when he heard it was your family that was going to be here. And he only said that stuff because we really need the work. He was kicking himself for it afterward, really, but he was also hoping maybe …” He shrugs.

“You know what I hope?”

He peers out at me from behind his bangs.

“I hope you two go back where you came from and leave us the hell alone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some recon to do.”

I storm down the hall and push the outside doors open as hard as I can. The cool air smells of low tide and my head starts to clear. That guy is seriously deluded. I can’t believe he even had the nerve to try to talk to me after what his father did.

What an idiot.

I walk through the parking lot to the main street and admire the red-tinged clouds hanging in the darkening sky. I check the sunset schedule Mom printed out—the sun officially set fifteen minutes ago. It would be nice to go to the nearby dock and look out over the water and watch the stars come out, but I’ve got work to do. I undo my braid and put my hair band in my coat pocket. I shake my hair out and then reach into my purse for some red lipstick. I swipe it on and take a quick peek in my hand mirror. Amazing what some lipstick does to make me look a little older.

I zip up my purse and head for the pub. Hanging out in the local drinking holes is a great way to overhear gossip and look for vamps trolling for dinner. I’d already loaded my wallet with my fake Maine driver’s license and
several credit cards to give the illusion that not only am I old enough to drink, but I’m also poised to ruin my credit by maxing out all my cards like so many other twenty-one-year-olds I’ll be pretending to be.

As I approach The Rusty Rudder, I pass an alley and catch a glimpse of a bright pink car. In some parts of the country pink cars aren’t that unusual, but the color seems glaringly out of place in northern Maine. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I turn back and duck into the alley dividing the pub and a bookstore. I unzip my purse and put one hand on a stake because finding vamps skulking in dark alleys is fairly common in
any
part of the country. Drunk guys pissing behind bars and restaurants make for perfect victims. It’s sad the number of drained bodies we’ve found with their pants around their knees.

As I get closer I see it’s a Cadillac—with a purple
THE DISCO UNICORNS
magnetic sign on the bumper—parked next to a Dumpster stinking of rotting food and stale beer.

The Disco Unicorns are a kiddie-rock band that I absolutely loved when I was little. They had their own TV show. It was hard not to wish I was one of the kids singing and dancing in the Unicorns’ Pink Pony Playhouse instead of watching my parents sharpen stakes or wipe blood off knives in whatever cheesy motel we happened to be staying at.

The driver is in the front seat blowing smoke out his window. He looks like a pretty big, burly guy and I wonder why on earth he’s driving a pink caddie with a Disco Unicorn emblem for all to see. As I head back to the pub a smile comes to my lips, and I hum the tune to their “Pineapple Pizza Picnic” song; one of my favorites—and one Dad used to sing to me.

I remember the day he took Mom and me to a restaurant and ordered pineapple pizza, something I thought only existed in the Disco Unicorn world—and something Mom came down on him for because the pineapple cost a whopping two dollars extra.

When I get to the sidewalk I look to see if that Harker kid is lurking around in his stupid trench coat stalking me. I spot him leaning on the rails by the end of the dock peering out at the sky—apparently not looking for me at all.

As I pull open the door to the pub, overly loud music and voices spill out and I remember his name.

Tyler.

Inside The Rusty Rudder, a loud
group is playing pool and laughing. A few people sit alone or in pairs, and a girl with white-blond hair is arguing loudly with the bartender. I’ve seen this scene played out at countless bars before and know it’s only a matter of time before Blondie will be forcibly bounced out for being intoxicated—which she will vehemently and loudly deny.

It’s never pretty.

I decide to ask for a seat near the pool table. The waitress comes over and I get ready for the drill.

“I’m Shelly and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something?” she asks.

“I’ll have whatever the Sam Adams seasonal is—on tap if you have it.”

“Do you have a driver’s license?” she says without missing a beat. She stares me down like she knows I’m underage and completely wasting her time.

I nod and take out my fake ID. “Here ya go.”

Shelly gives my license a quick once-over and hands it back.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she says.

My parents have instructed me to order alcohol to “blend in,” but have made me promise to drink very little because I’m only seventeen. I’ve been on “bar” duty for a year, and it’s such a relief to be away from my parents and pretend I’m a grown-up for a while. I turn my attention to the crowd at the pool table. They’re overly loud, but unfortunately, it’s mostly giggling by the girls and posturing by the guys—nothing about vampires, missing persons, or the kids in the hospital.

Everyone else seems to be consuming their drinks—so no vamps in here at the moment. Vamps will order a drink and bring the glass to their lips but take only very tiny sips.

They prefer blood.

The pool table crowd suddenly stops talking. One brunette with her hair in a ponytail gently elbows her friend
and they both look toward the bar. The bleach blonde who was arguing with the bartender is weaving her way toward them and they stifle a laugh.

“Oh, God, here she comes,” the brunette says.

“Booty call, Gabe,” another girl says.

Two guys fist bump while another in ripped jeans and a flannel shirt holds a pool cue up to his mouth like a microphone and starts singing an off-key rendition of “Jelly-Bean Jamboree” which was another one of my favorite Disco Unicorn songs. I look around trying to figure out the connection to The Disco Unicorns but come up empty.

“You suck, Gabe,” Blondie says, but she’s smiling at him.

The guy in flannel puts the pool cue to his lips and licks the handle. “Actually, I was hoping
you’d
suck,” he answers back with a wink.

He leans in and tries to kiss her but she pushes him away and then jumps up to sit on the edge of the pool table. I cringe and hope she’s wearing underwear because her skirt is way too short. “Asshole,” she says, but it’s obvious she’s enjoying it all.