Rest in Pieces

by Lucinda Dark

  Rest in Pieces

  Barbie The Vampire Hunter Book One

  Lucinda Dark

  Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are.

  Joss Whedon

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  1. Barbie

  2. Barbie

  3. Barbie

  4. Barbie

  5. Barbie

  6. Barbie

  7. Barbie

  8. Barbie

  9. Torin

  10. Barbie

  11. Barbie

  12. Maverick

  13. Barbie

  14. Barbie

  15. Barbie

  16. Barbie

  17. Torin

  18. Maverick

  19. Barbie

  20. Barbie

  21. Torin

  22. Barbie

  23. Maverick

  24. Barbie

  25. Maverick

  26. Torin

  27. Maverick

  28. Barbie

  29. Barbie

  30. Barbie

  31. Barbie

  32. Barbie

  33. Barbie

  34. Maverick

  35. Torin

  36. Barbie

  37. Barbie

  38. Barbie

  39. Torin

  40. Barbie

  41. Maverick

  42. Barbie

  43. Torin

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  About the Author

  Also By Lucinda Dark / Lucy Smoke

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I want to take a moment to show my appreciation for all of the people who worked with me on this new series. A lot of people might think that a book’s creation belongs to its author, but it doesn’t. I’m not the only one who has worked hard to turn this story into something beautiful, wild, and enticing.

  So, without further ado, I’d like to give praise where praise is due. Thank you so much to Heather Long and Kristen Breanne, two of the most amazing editors I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. You ladies light a fire under my ass and always make me strive to be better. Thank you to Ellen, my wonderful proofreader. To the betas—Angela, Anna, Sue, and Sam—who were so wonderful and willing to give Barbie a chance.

  Special thanks and appreciation goes to Jenna Lee, who has supported Barbie from the very beginning. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me, and I cannot thank you enough. Thank you to the real Beth and Jon, two very good friends of mine. Thank you to my friends, Desireé, Caitlyn, and Ashley. Without my friends, I don’t know where I’d be. Probably typing away on a plastic keyboard in an insane asylum somewhere.

  Finally, a last thanks. Thank you to everyone who has supported me thus far, both for this new project and for past ones. Thank you to everyone who has shown such excitement for this book and who has believed in me. I hope Barbie lives up to your hopes and dreams.

  Dedication

  To all the Barbie Girls out there. To the girls who are feisty and the ones that are not. To the girls who are strong and the ones that are vulnerable. To the girls who love black and the ones that love pink. The girls who talk and the ones that don’t. No matter our preferences, we’re all beautiful.

  This one’s for you.

  One

  Barbie

  Life’s a bitch and then you die.

  I crumpled the remains of the surprisingly accurate fortune and popped the rest of the broken Chinese cookie into my mouth, chewing slowly as I stepped back and looked up at the massive side of Broadhaven’s Church of Christ.

  My fingers were already aching, and I hadn’t even started yet. Stuffing the stupid slip of paper into the back pocket of my jeans, I sighed. None of the doors had been unlocked and while I was willing to do a lot of things in the name of my cause, breaking down the door of a church was not one of them. I was also pretty sure the thirteen-year-old pickpocket rooming with me at the Youth Home for the last three weeks was behind my missing lock picking set.

  I reached up, stretching on my toes as my fingers closed over a brick and began the climb. As I scaled the side of the building, tightening my fingers around the uneven edges of the stone bricks jutting from the wall’s surface, I thought—not for the first time that night—how fucked up my life had become. Rather ironically, Ginger, the same thirteen-year-old pickpocket, had mockingly asked me to think what would Jesus do before I had snuck out of our cramped shoebox sized shared bedroom.

  Never in my seventeen years on this Earth had I ever actually considered the question: What would Jesus do? Whatever choices He’d make, though, I was pretty sure it wasn’t this. I reached the edge of the windowsill, my fingers clamping down as I strained up—my pointed toes barely making contact with the small ledge I teetered on.

  Please don’t be locked. Please don’t be locked. I repeated the silent mantra in my head as I reached for the edge of the window, and somehow, His Holy Grace must’ve been looking down on me with favor because the damn thing was not only unlocked—it had been left slightly ajar. Wedging my finger between the window screen and the pane, I shoved upward and gained a few inches.

  Muscles straining and sweat coating my upper lip, I shoved again, earning a nearly inaudible squeak as it slid the rest of the way up. No matter how quiet the sound had been, however, I paused and glanced inside just to make sure I hadn’t been discovered. No one appeared to be in the main hall of the cathedral. I sighed in relief and gripped the window as I leveraged myself up and inside, turning so that my legs dropped down first before the rest of my body.

  I released the window and let my body fall, my feet smacking the cold hardwood floor behind a pillar. This wasn’t the first time I had been in a church, but it certainly was the first time I had broken into one. The soft scent of smoke lingered in the air. At the altar, a row of candles was displayed for visiting members who might appear for a late night prayer. Though, how they’d enter when the doors had all been locked, I didn’t know. Only two of the candles were still lit. A third had been mysteriously blown out—the tendrils of smoke curling above its still warm surface where the wax hadn’t yet dried.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”

  My heart nearly leapt out of my chest as I whirled in the direction of the unfamiliar voice, my hand going to the inside of my leather jacket and clamping around the handle of the dagger I kept there. I blinked. A short boy, not much younger than me, with a curly crop of carrot colored hair, stared at me with a perturbed frown. My fingers itched to withdraw the small dagger in my grasp, but I knew this boy wasn’t a likely threat. The creatures I hunted couldn’t enter a church. I slowly released the dagger and withdrew my hand from inside of my jacket.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  His frown deepened. “I’m Mitchell Callahan. Who are you?”

  “A figment of your imagination,” I replied.

  His eyelashes fluttered. The frown remained. “I’m going to get Father Gabriel.”

  “Why?” I asked, straightening and taking a step back. “It probably wouldn’t do to have him find out that you’re seeing people that aren’t really there.”

  His lips pursed. “Your voice echoes, you’re here,” he replied.

  I turned towards the altar with a sigh. I just needed what I came for and then I could be gone as if I really were a figment of his imagination. “No, I’m not,” I said.

  When in doubt: deny, deny, deny.

  “Yes, you are,” he pressed, his voice growing thick with irritation.

&
nbsp; I pulled out the empty bottles I stored in my jacket as I strode up the steps of the dais where the priest would have given his sermon had he been there and had the church actually been open. “Nope.” I reached the basin of water in the center of the dais and paused for a moment, looking back. “Has this water been blessed by your priest?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he replied. “Why?”

  “Because I need it,” I said with a shrug and began to load up. As soon as one was full, I recapped it and started on the others.

  “Why would a figment of my imagination need holy water?” the boy asked.

  I flashed him a glance over my shoulder and asked another question, rather than answer his. “What are you doing in a church so late at night?”

  He narrowed his caramel colored eyes at me. “I was helping Father Gabriel clear out the basement for a food drive. Why are you?”

  In lieu of lying to him, I once again ignored the question. “Why only you?”

  “It’s not only me,” the boy informed me, making my spine stiffen. “My whole family is here. They’re downstairs with him. They sent me up to get something out of the car.” He waited a moment as I recapped the second bottle. The weight of holy water in my jacket made me feel marginally better—like I’d wrapped myself in a security blanket. “Your turn,” he said matter of factly.

  I chuckled, turning towards him. I looked at him and then the front door. “You going to let me leave the easy way if I tell you?” I asked, spotting the key that dangled from a lanyard in his fist.

  “Maybe,” he replied, “if you don’t steal anything.”

  “Only thing I’m stealing is the water,” I said, lifting my hands in mock surrender as I descended the dais.

  He rolled his eyes and with a huff turned and strode towards the door. “You can’t steal holy water,” he snapped over his shoulder. “It’s just water. We give it away for free.”

  “Then no, I won’t steal anything,” I promised as I trailed after him—my gaze bouncing around, looking for shadows and things beyond them.

  “You going to tell me why you want the water?” he asked as he stopped in front of the door and inserted the key.

  I moved up behind him, my head canting down slightly. The top of his head barely came to my shoulder. Had my brother ever been that small? I wondered. Brandon had always seemed like a giant to me.

  I reached past him and turned the key when he didn’t make a move to do it himself, making the boy’s back stiffen as I fingered the handle of the door. Leaning down, I gave him his wish. I gave him the truth.

  “I’m hunting vampires and you shouldn’t go out at night all by yourself.”

  Gripping the door handle, I opened the door and slid around the astonished boy. I disappeared into the darkening shadows of the church’s parking lot. Sure enough, the kid probably thought I was some crazy lady who had broken in to steal free water. But maybe—just maybe—he might heed my words and his family wouldn’t end up like mine.

  Dead as doornails.

  Two

  Barbie

  “Okay, I’m calling it,” my social worker said with a sigh of frustration. “I think we’re lost.”

  “Wow, genius. Took you a whole hour to figure that out. Must’ve set a record.” I rolled my eyes and laid my head against the passenger side window as she shot me a dirty look.

  Six months, I had lived just fine in the group home. The roommates had been crap. There had been absolutely no privacy, but there had also been no connections. Why my social worker thought it was necessary to stick me with some supposed godparents I had never met was beyond me.

  “Can you at least try to be polite?” she asked.

  “I could try,” I offered, “but why be polite when I could be an asshole?”

  “Of course,” she griped. “You do it so well, after all.”

  “So proud you noticed,” I deadpanned.

  Terra Rhodes was at the threshold of middle age and that meant she had a lot of internally suppressed rage—probably directed at her biological clock or the way society no longer considered her as young and beautiful as she once was. Add to the fact that she had to deal with ‘grumpy’ teenagers like me, as she liked to say, and she was a scant step or so away from unleashing all of that feminine fury at any given moment. Yet, I still couldn’t help myself from provoking her, wondering what kind of cat-like ferocity she might release.

  “This thing hates me,” she complained, her fingers jamming at random buttons on the screen of her GPS. I eyed her from the side as she huffed and glared at the piece of technology as if it had greatly offended her.

  “Could try charting the stars,” I commented lightly. “Or maybe, go inside and ask for directions. Seriously? I thought only men hated asking for directions.”

  “We don’t need directions,” she insisted. “We’ve got this.” Terra gestured to the ancient GPS.

  I yawned and scooted down further in my seat. “Suit yourself then. If we make it there before I turn eighteen, wake me up and I’ll get out.”

  “That’s great. Very helpful, Barb.”

  My eyes shot open and I growled at her. “I hate that name.”

  “Oh, do you?” She hummed dryly. “Well, it’s your name. I would’ve thought you’d be used to it by now. Seventeen years with it and all.”

  “Barbie. I like Barbie. Not Barb. Not Barbara. Not Berry. Barbie.”

  She wrinkled her nose in distaste, but I didn’t comment. “Right, it must have slipped my mind. I’ll remember next time,” she said.

  Maybe I would tattoo it on her forehead while she was sleeping, I silently considered. Something to remember me by…

  “I think I’ve got it this time,” Terra said as she clicked a button on the GPS and it recalculated our location. “Oh, it says we’re right around the block.”

  Terra cranked the engine of her sedan and backed out of the convenience store parking lot she’d pulled into in order to let me run to the restroom. I hadn’t needed to go to the bathroom. She just couldn’t admit that she was a fucking techno-idiot, aka someone who couldn’t properly work even the easiest of technology.

  But this time, she was right. We were only a few streets away from the location she was taking me to. I was almost relieved when she pulled up to a white three-story house with four pillars lining the front porch. Those weren’t marble, were they? I thought only rich people lived in houses made of marble.

  “Um … Terra.” I didn’t want to sound weak or anything. I mean, hand me a gun and tell me to point and shoot, fine. Let me take a few blows to the head, all right. Roundhouse kick me in the gut? I could take it and come back swinging. But this … this was a whole world of difference. These people looked like they had money. Not pocket change kind of money, but like … someone might be related to royalty kind of money.

  Terra shut off the car and turned to me, putting her serious face in place. I leaned back. “Okay, let’s get this straight, Barbie,” she started, using my name correctly. “It took a lot of tracking down to find your godparents. We spoke with them over the phone and they agreed to take you in temporarily. Do you understand how important this is?”

  I nodded slowly. I knew that these people were gonna give me a roof over my head for another year or so until I aged out of the system and had to hack it on my own. That was about it.

  She must have sensed that and known that it wasn’t enough—at least, not for her—because she sighed and reached for my hand. I pulled back before she could touch me and she froze. “Sorry,” she mumbled, “habit.”

  I shrugged but tucked my hand under my thigh just in case she got the urge to reach for it again.

  “Anyway,” she began again, “it’s important because they agreed to a temporary set up.” She stressed that word. I still didn’t get it. Yeah. I knew it was only temporary. A year or so was all I got. “They’re giving you a chance—one that not a lot of kids in the system get.”

  I narrowed my eyes on her. “Not a kid,” I snapped.r />
  She waved my comment away. “If you mess this up, you could be sent back to me, do you want that?”

  “Wait. What?” It was like she had slapped me with an ice cold bucket of water.

  She nodded. “This isn’t permanent,” she repeated. “If something happens or they aren’t sure if they can handle another…” She eyed me and I knew she was about to say something like ‘child’ or ‘kid’ again. I squeezed my other hand into a fist until my nails dug into the crevices of my palm. She coughed awkwardly. “They can send you back to social services. They’re not adopting you, not yet. They’re your godparents, but they haven’t been in contact with your parents for a long time. Their existence is more of a technicality. They signed legal papers agreeing to be your guardians for the time being. We’re lucky they’re even giving you a chance, so don’t mess this up. They do have a choice on whether or not they take you in. Just … try hard to get them to like you, Barbie,” she finally said. “Things would go a lot easier if they did.”

  “For who?” I asked. “You or me?”

  “Both of us, Barbie. For both of us.”

  We got out of Terra’s crappy, gray sedan and met the couple that had walked out and now waited for us on the front porch. The woman was tall and slender with a series of freckles that ran down the bridge of her nose and spilled out onto her cheeks. From the way her hair was done to perfection—highlights in all the right places and not a strand out of place—I would have thought she’d find her freckles to be a flaw and try to hide them. But other than her hair, she seemed to be makeup free and comfortable. She wore loose silky looking pants and a floral blouse, while her husband—at least, I assumed he was her husband since he looked to be about the same age—was dressed in khakis and a blue polo.