Slayed (7 page)

“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”

I think about Kiki saying she wasn’t squeamish. “I hope you’re right.”

Dad pulls into a parking spot and I watch an assortment of insects flit in and around the lights illuminating the one level, no-frills motel. Faded plastic flowers droop in the window boxes and I eye the soda machine under an awning near the office. I’m going to need caffeine in the morning and this doesn’t look like the kind of place that will have a coffeemaker and packets of instant in the bathroom.

“This just might be good for you, Doodlebug. Living like we do doesn’t leave much time for friends.”

“Much time? How about
no
time?” And Kiki Crusher would be the last person I’d pick to be friends with. I scowl just thinking about her. “And even if I did want to be friends with her, we’ll be gone in a week’s time so what would the point be?”

“This isn’t about making friends,” Mom says gathering her things. “It’s about getting the job done no matter what obstacles they throw in our way. And like I said, I’d bet money that girl will be out of your hair in less than twenty-four hours.”

Suddenly Mom slaps the dashboard and I jump. “Oh, great, figures
they’re
here.”

I scan the lot. Mr. Harker is leaning on a rusted blue car smoking a cigarette. He sees us looking at him and nods.

Mom practically growls. “He’s infuriating.”

“Joy, it hasn’t been easy for him,” Dad says gently. “I really think he’s sincere in wanting to reconnect.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Mom whispers. “Never.” She shakes her head. “If he hadn’t been so reckless—hadn’t encouraged her to follow suit—she’d still be here.” Mom takes in a long breath.

I shift uncomfortably in the back. It occurs to me that Mom must have been friends with Mrs. Harker, and like Dad implied, friends are hard to come by. I’m having a hard time picturing Mom relaxing and laughing with a friend, though—she’s always so serious. But maybe there was a time….

“I know you still miss her …,” Dad starts.

Mom sits up straight, game face back on. “Let’s check in. We have a lot of planning and research to do if we want to come out ahead.” She puts her purse strap over her shoulder and opens her door. “I’ll get the keys.” She slams the door harder than necessary and stalks toward the hotel office.

I steal a look at Mr. Harker and I wonder if Dad misses working with him. I imagine he was a different man before he had to stake his wife. His face is heavily lined and with the greasy, thinning hair and unkempt clothes it’s clear the years haven’t been kind to him. He takes a drag on his
cigarette and his head turns to follow Mom as she makes her way to the office.

I catch Dad peeking at Mr. Harker too. “How long did you work together?” I ask.

Dad looks away. “Since we were boys. Our parents worked together too. Our mothers watched us in shifts. I always assumed we’d do the same until …”

He doesn’t finish his sentence but I know what he’s thinking—until Mrs. Harker got turned; reason number one million and one of why this business sucks.

“Let’s get settled,” Dad says, opening his door. “We have a lot of ground to cover before Ms. Crusher joins us in the morning.”

I grab my crate and bump the door closed with my hip. The hotel stands by itself by the side of the road, one long single-story building wrapped in a blanket of night sky. I can’t help but notice the clarity of the stars—so different from Buffalo where we’d just been.

Mom comes out of the office looking straight ahead, obviously trying to avoid eye contact with Mr. Harker.

“Joy,” Mr. Harker calls out loudly. “Do you have a minute?”

Mom visibly stiffens as he walks toward her. “I have nothing to say to you, Nathan,” she replies coldly as she keeps going.

He throws his cigarette down and crushes it with his heavy boot and then hurries to catch up with her. “I just want to apologize again,” he says. “I was out of line talking to Officer MacCready about Vince’s father—way out of line. But I think us working together like this is fate. It’s been too long; it’s time to mend fences.”

She stops and turns, pointing a finger in his face. “You threw us under the bus!” she hisses.

“Wait here,” Dad says, coming around the van. I honestly think Dad would give Mr. Harker a second chance, but Mom wears the pants in this family. He hustles over to Mom and puts an arm protectively around her shoulder. “Nathan, now is not a good time. Give us a chance to process everything.”

Mom stares incredulously at Dad. “There is nothing to process! We had an agreement.” She turns to Mr. Harker, eyes blazing. “You would stay on the West Coast and we would work the East. It was the perfect arrangement. What are you even
doing
here, Nathan?”

Mr. Harker runs his fingers through his greasy hair and then looks a bit wildly around the parking lot as if he’s expecting something to jump out at them. “It’s time. Can’t you feel it?” His eyes dart around some more as he fidgets with the ring on his hand. “I’ve been waiting so long,” he mutters. He looks at Dad hopefully. “But something told
me I had to come east. And meeting up with you—here in this town—it was meant to be. Tell me you can’t feel it.”

Mom and Dad exchange looks and I’m sure they’re thinking the same thing I am: Mr. Harker is nuts.

“We can work together,” he insists. “I know things—dark things,” he says quietly. “It can be like it used to.”

Mom’s eyes widen and she looks almost afraid of Mr. Harker. “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t want to know. Just stay away from my family, and when this job is over I want you to get the hell back to the West Coast and keep out of our territory.”

Mr. Harker’s lips turn up into a slight smile. “You just need some time to get used to the idea. It always did take you time to warm up to things.” He looks at Dad and winks. “She’ll come around.” He laughs. “She always does. Right, Vince?”

A door opens and Tyler Harker pokes his head out of his room. “Dad,
come inside
.”

The tone of his voice makes it clear he’s embarrassed. I imagine he’s been watching the scene from his room.

Mr. Harker ignores Tyler. “And think about my boy. He needs people in his life, people who understand what we do. So does your girl.”

Dad purses his lips. He glances at Mom, who shakes her head ever so slightly. “It’s not going to work, Nathan,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He leads Mom back toward the van.

“Dad, come on!” From the light pouring out of his room I can see that Tyler’s hair is slicked back from being in the shower. I wonder if this is the first hotel he’s stayed at in a while—the first shower.

“It’s fate!” Mr. Harker calls out. “You can’t fight it any more than I can.
The die has been cast
.”

As he says this, a shiver runs through me. Mom reaches the van, grabs my arm roughly, and pulls me toward our rooms. “Let’s go, Daphne.” She looks over her shoulder at Mr. Harker and hustles me along.

She sticks the card in the door for room fourteen and the lock whirs and clicks. The green light comes on and Dad opens the door and ushers us in. The air is fairly stale inside. They must not get a lot of people this time of year. I put my crate on the small desk and see there’s no adjoining door, so I’ll have a little more privacy without Mom barging in whenever she feels like it.

Mom sits on one of the twin beds and starts obsessively picking at the fuzzballs on the ugly brown and pink floral patterned bedspread. “He’s crazy. I can’t believe Officer MacCready didn’t take one look at Nathan and toss him out of his office.” She stares up at the ceiling and shakes her head. “And demons, of all things!”

This gets my attention. “Demons? What are you talking about?”

Mom gets up and paces in the small room. “He went on and on about demons being responsible for the attacks on the children and Officer MacCready acted like that was a credible theory.
‘There’re vampires, why not demons,’
” she says, obviously recounting what Officer MacCready said in his office after I’d left.

“What kind of demons?” I ask.

“He didn’t get into the details,” Dad says. “He wanted to talk to us afterward but we—”

“We said ‘no’ of course,” Mom interrupts. “You need to stay away from them, Daphne.”

I roll my eyes. “You won’t get any arguments from me.”

“God, this job can’t end soon enough,” she mutters.

“Let’s make our plan of attack for tomorrow,” Dad says. “I think we’re in for a bumpy ride.”

I can’t help but think he’s right.

When Mom and Dad leave to get their things out of the van I take my binder out. I hear Mr. Harker’s voice echo in my head. “
It’s fate.”

I never believed in fate, but after he yelled that out I started thinking. I found one of my “friends.” Not like I imagined—but still—to actually meet Maybelle Crusher, live and in person; what are the chances?

I sit on a bed and open the binder. I flip through
the pages until I find the picture I drew with the name “Maybelle” scrawled in purple crayon at the top. I’d drawn an arrow from the name to a round girl with long, brown hair. She’s holding hands with my cartoon self in a pink house filled with music notes I’d scribbled here and there. There’s a unicorn that looks more like a dog with a spike coming out of its forehead, nibbling a flower in the garden surrounding the house.

I turn the pages back toward the front and stop on the picture with the house and the white dog.

My heart aches.

Meeting “Kiki” should’ve been a “this is the end of your troubles” moment complete with trumpets blaring and angels singing. Instead I can’t shake the feeling there’s a truckload of crap coming my way. Despite my best efforts to stop it, a tear tumbles down my cheek. Why did Maybelle have to become Kiki and ruin everything?

I wonder how many more of my dreams have to crash and burn before I adopt Mom’s robotlike persona.

I slam the binder shut and move the things around in my crate so I can bury it at the bottom. Whatever happens tomorrow, I can’t help but think Mr. Harker was right—the die has been cast.

The only question is: at what cost?

Revenge. Hunger. Feed.

My alarm goes off at 5:45 a.m. and I sit up in bed with a start. Whispers tickle my ears and I look wildly around the dark room as the echoes of faint voices fade away. Dark shadows flit and drift around the ceiling with clawlike hands pulling at the air.

Hunger. Feed.

My heart races as I squint, trying to make out the shapes. I turn on the light and see black wisps roll back into themselves until there’s nothing.

I rub my eyes and look again. Nothing. Just a dream.

I take a deep calming breath as I sit up. Then I do my
usual “where am I?” and “what do I have to do today” routine to ground myself.

I look around the small room again. South Bristol, Maine. Meet with Kiki. Kill vampires.

I head to the bathroom and look in the mirror and frown. Nothing like bed-head and crease lines from the pillow on my cheek—ugh. Jennifer-Kate has suggested satin pillowcases for better hair and skin in the morning but Mom thought the idea was ridiculous and assumed Jennifer-Kate must have an interest in some pillowcase company.

I splash cold water on my face, run my fingers through my hair and then dig out an assortment of quarters and dollar bills from my purse.

I open my door and head out into the parking lot. A fishy-smelling fog is drifting around in swirls and eddies. I shiver as I head for the soda machine. As I get closer I see someone leaning over to take out a soda.

Tyler Harker.

“Hey,” he says and my stomach flips. His eyes are wide and for the first time I notice blue. He stares nervously at me, no doubt because I wasn’t too pleasant during our first encounter. He’s wearing a tight white shirt and I can’t help but notice he’s got a better build than I first thought. He should definitely ditch the baggy trench
coat. His hair is still hanging in his face, but without the eyeliner he doesn’t look half bad.

Too bad he’s the enemy. Not to mention a complete jerk.

“Hey,” I say nonchalantly, deciding it’s best to act a little friendly—keep-your-enemies-close kind of thing. I walk past him and run my fingers through my hair again, wishing I’d brushed it before I’d ventured out and immediately hating myself for thinking that. I smooth the wrinkles on a dollar bill to put in the machine and wait to hear his footsteps walking away.

Nothing.

“No coffee in the rooms—sucks, huh?” he says.

I nod, keeping my attention on the soda machine. “I could tell they wouldn’t have free coffee when we pulled in. I’ve developed a sixth sense for predicting which places have it and which don’t. At least there’s decent shampoo.” The first bill I try is too wrinkled and the machine keeps spitting it out. I take out another and feed it carefully into the slot.

“You’re up early,” he says.

The bill comes back out toward me and I turn to him with my best evil eye. “Yup, gotta get an early start since we’re competing for kills.”

I yank out another rejected bill and hear him sigh.
What does he expect? It’s bad enough we have to share the job. Does he think I’m going to be all buddy-buddy with him after he and his dad almost stole it from us? Please.

Suddenly he’s standing by my side, inserting a crisp bill into the machine. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as his arm briefly bumps up against my shoulder. Goose bumps crop up on his bare, well-toned arm and I wonder if it’s from the cold or me. The dollar disappears in the slot and I add two quarters. “Thanks.”

I push one of the diet soda buttons and the bottle rattles to the bottom. After I fish it out of the machine, I hand him one of my wrinkled bills but he shakes his head.

“I’m good. It’s the least I can do for crashing your territory.” His dark bangs fall across his eyes and he brushes them aside. “Look, I know it was a really crappy thing for my dad to do, but he got completely obsessed with coming out here. He’s …” Tyler looks away. “He’s not in a good place, if you know what I mean. He hasn’t been for a long time.”