Chapter Four
I take the Corolla back to the mall and leave it at a far corner of the parking lot. I don’t expect I’ll be needing it again anyway. Dim streetlights illuminate the mostly empty parking lot, a few roosting pigeons wreath the mall’s roof. A stray cat darts in front of me as I make my way toward the main building. It’s close to nine o’clock and the mall is closed now. Still, the signs outside are lit.
Cars drone by on the highway and overpass behind me. It’s a lonely feeling to be here on my own. Instinctively, I glance around searching for any sign of Uncle Devin and his men. I breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to detect even the faintest whiff of them. But I catch nothing.
After all, why would they expect us to come back here?
Once I’ve satisfied myself that Uncle Devin didn’t choose to linger, I pace to the sidewalk that runs around the mall like a miniature wrap-around porch. The mall is locked up for the night and unless I wanted to break in, going inside isn’t an option. But I figure that if the Huntsman went in, odds are he came out through one of the doors.
It takes about fifteen minutes before I find it, that dusty, sweaty, slightly spicy scent. It’s a few hours old, but I doubt its owner can have gotten far. Without going back for the car, I take off into the night at brisk jog. I know Uncle Devin will be scouring this whole region for us and every minute counts. The sooner I can get help or confirm we need to keep running, the better.
I told Damian to steal another car and get out of here if I’m not back by nine tomorrow morning. I wish I were able to call him, but I had him leave his phone behind like I did with mine. Though I’m not sure Madelyn’s phone is what led them to us, I’m furious with myself. I feel like I should’ve been more vigilant or something.
My brother is depending on me and I feel like I’m failing him.
I run at a steady pace that’s easy to maintain since I’ve fed tonight. I keep out of streetlights and plain sight when I can, but sometimes it can’t be helped. I smell most people before I see them and I’m usually able to avoid coming into their view. When letting them see me is unavoidable, I ignore them and for the most part they do the same. There’s one weighty man in a tattered muscle-shirt that tries to stop me. I run around him and keep going. For whatever reason, he doesn’t chase me. And if he had, he would’ve found out just why you shouldn’t bother strangers.
It’s a good thing I’m wearing sneakers now, because the Huntsman’s trail leads me quite a few miles outside the city to a semi-rural suburb. This neighborhood is one of those where there are woods all around the houses and large tracts of land stretching out behind the backyards. There are even few deer dozing on some of the front lawns.
Here, the natural ruggedness of the Texas landscape seems to spill over into the yards. While this is technically a subdivision, many of the houses are hidden from each other by the thick tangle of juniper trees, live oaks, mesquites, and climbing weeds that press in around them.
I follow the Huntsman’s trail to a sizable house placed about fifty yards back behind the trees from the asphalt road. Here, the scent is decidedly stronger. It must be where he lives, or at least spends a good deal of his time. Judging by the number of trucks parked in the garage and in the gravel driveway, at least a half dozen adults live here.
I stop and catch my breath. Even I lose my breath after a run that long.
I survey the house. It’s a split-level ranch house with a mostly limestone exterior. Even though it’s well past ten at night, most of the lights are still on and someone’s baking something with a lot of butter in it. I think the house reminds me of a very rugged Better Homes and Gardens display. While it clearly has a feminine flair in the decoration and neatly tended rose bush out front, there’s also a certain practicality and fortified quality to the house’s design that makes me think that this might very well be where the Falkner family lives.
What my father wouldn’t give to find this…
Taking a deep breath, I march down their driveway, the gravel crunching beneath my sneakers. I adjust my jacket and pull up the collar of my deep purple turtleneck. Like any woman, I smooth my raven-black hair and redo my ponytail. A number of strands came loose during my run here.
By the time I’m marching up their well-lit front porch, I think I look presentable. I pause as my forefinger hovers inches from the doorbell. I try to think this through. What am I going to say? I try to get it all straight in my head. Is this the best course of action? Well, ringing the front doorbell is more likely to inspire goodwill than breaking through a window, but…
Taking a deep breath, I jab the little button and hold it in as a loud ring sounds inside the house.
A dog, probably some sort of hound, barks in excitement and flings its body against the other side of the door. Human voices shout inside and a jovial woman’s voice laughs as it draws nearer. There’s a brief commotion and I’m guessing that someone’s holding the hound dog back.
The door swings open. Inside, there’s a plump woman somewhere in her fifties with a head of neatly trimmed short gray hair and rectangular glasses. Her handmade floral apron is powdered in flour and her house-shoes attest to a meticulous nature. She greets me with a warm, friendly smile, if with a bit of apprehension. She takes me in with the air of one experienced in the art of reading people—she sees a teenage girl alone on her front porch at half past ten.
“Hello,” the woman says. “Can I help you?”
Past her, I can see a boy in his mid-teens holding back a coonhound. The coonhound’s tail frantically whips from side to side. Past them, I can see an extensive collection of swords, firearms, knives, and assorted weapons mounted to the walls in neat displays. I’m more certain by the second that this is the residence of the Huntsmen.
“Um, hello,” I stammer, trying not to imagine what those weapons have been used for. I pull myself together. I’m here to offer a business proposition—sort of. As such, I can be businesslike. “Is this the Falkner’s residence?” I politely query.
The woman bobs her head. “That’s right, honey.”
My heart seems to flip in my chest. Though there are certainly other Falkners in Central Texas besides the Huntsmen, what are the odds of me tracking a Huntsman’s scent and coming to the wrong house? I hide the excitement, triumph, and fear that surge through me at once. “I’m Hadassah Chadwick.” I extend a hand and the woman shakes it. I know she wouldn’t be half as quick to do that if she had any idea who or what I am.
“Mary Falkner,” the woman says.
“Huh-doss-uh.” The boy holding the coonhound sounds out my name as if trying it out. “That’s neat. Is it Arabic?”
“Hebrew,” I reply, surprised at his question.
“Hmm,” the boy says. “It’s pretty.”
“Luke, put Bear in the yard. What can we do for you, Hadassah?” Mary Falkner asks.
The boy drags the dog, presumably Bear, away from the door and out of sight.
“I…” I hesitate. “I have a problem.”
Mary’s brow wrinkles. “What kind of problem?”
“A very specific sort of problem…I was led to believe that your family could help me.” I swallow. I don’t know how else to phrase this question without seeming suspicious. Just in case I am at the wrong house, I don’t want rumors of a nutty girl looking for a monster-hunting family to spread.
Mary Falkner’s attention is definitely on me now. “And what sort of problem would you have?”
I straighten. She’s going to make me be the one to say it. “Vampires.”
When Mary Falkner doesn’t laugh and call me crazy, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m at the right house.
“You’d best come in,” Mary sighs, swinging the door open wider and waddling away. I’m guessing she’s headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get James, he’s the one to talk to about these things. Chase should be home any minute…”
I stand there, on the threshold, not sure what to do. I wait a moment. “Ma’am!” I ne
arly shout it. I think it’s best I tell her now, here, while I have the open space of their yard at my back and I can run away if it turns out these Falkners are going to try and kill me.
Mary Falkner pauses. “Is something wrong?”
I sigh and look to the side, then back to her. “There’s something you should know first.”
She watches me silently, waiting
I take a deep breath. “I am one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a vampire.”
Mary goes rigid. She seems to be waiting for me to pounce. She eyes me up and down and it doesn’t escape me that she looks to the wall of weaponry.
I keep still. It’s highly likely that one of the Huntsmen is behind me, waiting to see what I’m going to do.
Mary looks skeptical. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“Nope.” Planning on proving it to her, I open my jaws and drop down my fangs. For a moment, they gleam bone-white in the porchlight before I draw them back up into my skull and close my mouth.
“James?” Mary shouts, glancing back down the hallway. “James, come here!” Outwardly, she looks perfectly calm, but there’s an edge of anxiety and fear in her voice.
I keep my hands in plain sight and remain unmoving. I know that’s the reason she hasn’t screamed or tried reaching for something on the wall. Whether this was a bad idea or good idea, there’s no turning back now.
In a few moments, a man reeking of beer, stalks in from the other room, I’m guessing the living room. In spite of his pungent alcohol odor, there’s nothing drunk in his appearance. A worn John Deere baseball cap is perched atop his head. A dark red beard bristles over the lower half of his weathered face. His jeans and plaid shirt have a few stains, but have been washed recently and his boots are clean if a bit scuffed.
The man who smells of beer, I’m guessing he’s James, walks up to Mary and touches her shoulder. “What’s up, hon?”
Mary jerks her head toward me. “Vamp.”
As a look of horror and aggression comes over his face, I realize how stupid this plan was. I have been a complete and total moron thinking that the Falkners might help my brother and me. But it’s just James and Mary right now, and if I hurry, I can get away before they rouse any of the others, the young men who we call the Huntsmen.
I whirl around, planning to dash back the way I came. But something heavy and solid smacks into my face. My vision goes blurry and the next thing I know, there’s blood coming out my nose, I’m flat on my back, and the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun is rammed against my sternum.
Fanged Page 8