Unlike vampires, Deamhan didn’t need to be invited to come into her apartment. She walked over to the window and peeked through the blinds.
“What the hell happened out there?” He jumped to his feet. “She exploded! Well, not like exploded but she turned to ash, right in front of us! Have you seen anything like that before?”
“You should spend the night.” She walked to the kitchen. “I’ll make you some coffee.” Still groggy from the drink Chelsea gave her, she filled the coffee pot with water, poured it in the coffee maker, and turned on the power.
She leaned against the kitchen counter, mentally unequipped to handle another barrage of questions.
“Are we in trouble?” His eyes widened and his eyebrows lifted. “Should we call the police?”
“No!” she answered, loudly and hastily. She leaned her forehead against the cool stainless steel fridge, just slightly out of his view. It wouldn’t hurt to tell him about the Deamhan, she reasoned. He had every right to know, especially since he lived in a city filled with them. Telling him would better prepare himself for what was out there. Would it?
“Why not?”
“They can’t do anything, Murphy, believe me.” She walked over to the living room and she sat across from him. “They wouldn’t believe us anyway.” Nonchalantly, she pushed the envelope Alexis gave her at Dark Sepulcher off to the side of the coffee table.
He sat back, looking defeated. “That girl was so strong. I nailed her and she took the hit like a man.” He winced as he rubbed his red bruise. “Better than a man.”
“That’s because she’s not human. They’re strong, even the newly sired ones.”
“All I saw was a shadow, and then the girl holding you started to bleed everywhere. And then the other girl took off”—he snapped his fingers—”just like that!”
“Murphy”—Veronica leaned toward him—“I’m going to tell you something that you might not believe or want to hear. Just promise me you won’t freak out.”
He nodded.
She took a deep breath and she began to explain the Deamhan.
She talked for over an hour, telling him what she knew; the types of Deamhan, how the city was their haven, how they died, and how they were turned. Yet anything about The Brotherhood she purposely skipped. She told him the real reason why she came back to Minneapolis and how important it was to her to find out what happened to her mother. When she’d finished her spiel, she shrugged, realizing she had nothing left to say. It was now up to him to handle what she just revealed.
She returned to the kitchen for two cups of coffee, giving Murphy a moment alone to process what she’d told him. She filled the sugar bowl from the canister and she watched him stare down at the floor in thought.
When she looked back again, his expression morphed from confusion to concern.
Finally, he turned toward the kitchen. “So those two chicks, were Deamhan?”
“Yeah.”
“And they’re immortal. They live forever?”
“Pretty much.”
“Stakes can kill them?”
“Wood hurts them. They can also die from exposure to sunlight and be beheaded.”
“Like vampires who also live in the city?”
“Yeah.”
“What about garlic?” A look of hope appeared on his face.
“No.” She peeked out from behind the wall separating the two. “Garlic doesn’t work for vampires either.”
“Why not call them vampires?”
“Because they aren’t vampires. They’re Deamhan,” she answered. “They’re different. I mean, I look at them as like distant relatives or cousins of vampires. But they’re different. Even siring a Deamhan is a totally different process than siring a vampire. There used to be tons of them. So many different types. One time, they actually outnumbered vampires.”
“What happened?”
Veronica shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“But there used to be more?” His eyes widened.
She took a deep breath and muttered, “Yes. I heard that there were eight clans in total but now, only four.”
“And they hang out at Dark Sepulcher?”
“Not all of them.”
“And the main reason you came back to Minneapolis is to look for your mother, right?”
“Yeah.” She walked from the kitchen carrying a coffee, sugar, and cream on a tray.
“Oh.” He soaked up the information like a wet towel. “That explains a lot.”
She stood in front of him. “What do you mean?”
“The people I saw at the club doing weird stuff to one another.” A look of confusion returned to his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” She said as she handed the cup to him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe there was a chance.”
“I don’t know.” He sipped the coffee and cradled the cup in his hand. “I guess I’m sorry for what you have to go through.”
Veronica opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly interrupted.
“I always thought this city was a little weird.” He chuckled. “Boring, but weird.”
“Well, every city has its secrets.” She drew a long sip from her mug; the hot, sugary coffee warmed her chest on the way down.
“If you need my help with anything, Veronica, I’m here. Unless you want me to kill one of them and—well, I’d have to sit that one out.”
She watched as doubt clouded his face. “Oh no.” She laughed, and he smiled sheepishly, his eyes crinkling in a way that warmed her as much as the coffee. “I wouldn’t do that. I’m not here to kill them.”
“What if one of them turned your mom?”
Veronica swallowed hard. The thought never crossed her mind. She didn’t have a plan if she found her mother sired. The thought of it made her cringe. It wasn’t possible.
She stared into her mug, watching the cream swirl into the murky darkness. The attack at Dark Sepulcher wasn’t a setback. She still had to move forward, starting with checking out the burned house again to see if it could have been a Deamhan sanctuary, but she couldn’t leave Murphy in her apartment by himself. She looked at him again as he sipped from his cup then stared down into it. How his beautiful eyes lit up when she described the Deamhan to him and the way his tongue had a sexy way of peeking through his teeth when he pronounced the “th” sound.
“You listening to me?”
Veronica flinched. “Y-yes. I’m sorry.”
“You drifted off there. Where did you go? Are you okay?”
She cleared her throat and felt heat rise into her face. “You can sleep on the couch.” She stood up, took a few steps down the hallway, and then stopped. “I was just thinking. I—I have to go somewhere tomorrow. Want to come with?”
“Deamhan search?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. “Something like that.” She chewed her lip then straightened her shoulders. “So you want to go?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Murphy drove his beat up Toyota Corolla down the Hennepin Avenue, heading straight for the ruins in the warehouse district. The car’s left tail light was shattered, and a rope tied to the bumper held the trunk closed.
He parked his car across the street from the ruins and turned down the volume on the car radio. “This it?”
Veronica to get a better look at the burnt ruins. “Yeah.” She opened the door. They exited and walked around to the front of the car.
The strong stench of smoke burned her nostrils. A pile of blackened wood and small patches of scorched grass and earth in the front yard emitted white wisps of smoke. The site wasn’t grand nor was it anything special.
“This place must have burned good.” He examined the area. “So this was a sanctuary?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Suddenly she realized that bringing him along was a bad idea. She couldn’t forgive herself if he got hurt. Most importantly, Sean would never forgive her bringing another person into her mess.
“So what exa
ctly are we looking for?” He glanced up and down the street before slowly approaching the sectioned off area.
“Anything that might prove this was a sanctuary.”
He ducked under the yellow police tape and picked his way forward, observing the ruins.
Veronica remembered the chattering old woman and glanced around to see if they were being watched. She expected to see the nosy neighbors eyeing them through the curtains of their home, but the streets were usually empty at this time of day. She checked her watch. Just past four in the afternoon. They had to be quick and leave in a few hours before sunset, or nosy little ladies would be the least of their worries.
“I don’t know how you can pick out anything in this mess.” He picked up a piece of burnt wood.
She ducked under the police tape. He was right. Besides already knowing the ruins used to be a home, nothing else around them proved it was anything other than that. Nothing stuck out to her; no remnants of a coffin (if the Deamhan even used a coffin). No sign of hidden compartments. Just charred pieces of wood and furniture.
“Be careful. Some of the wood is still hot.” She fanned her blouse as the heat emanating from the ruins warmed her skin.
“What kind of stuff would you find in a sanctuary?” His eyes flitted from the debris to the neighborhood and back again.
“Holding cells, lots of extra beds, maybe coffins. A sanctuary is like a Deamhan safe house.” She stood in the center of the rubble and turned in a circle as she carefully scanned the neighborhood and quiet streets. “If we’re lucky, maybe some remains of their victims.” A lone squirrel ran into the road, paused, stood on its hind legs, and stared at them before it ran and disappeared behind a tree.
Murphy nervously jingled his keys. “The cops don’t know about them?”
“No. The Deamhan keep their lives secret, remember?”
“How do you know then? Your mother?”
The Brotherhood. But Veronica didn’t want to tell him about that. “My mother,” she confirmed, turning to walk back to the car. “Would you’ve believed me if you hadn’t seen for yourself?”
“No.”
At least he was honest.
“This is crazy,” he said. “Like the Men in Black or Roswell. Stuff like that.”
The squealing sound of tires pierced the air. A blue windowless van rounded the corner at breakneck speed, racing down the street. It swerved uncontrollably from left to right before coming to a screeching halt next to Murphy. The van seemed oddly familiar to Veronica. She froze and she locked eyes with the driver, a white male, who glared back from under a black baseball cap.
She rushed back to the car and screamed at Murphy to follow her. The driver obviously wasn’t a Deamhan or a vampire. He didn’t look like a researcher and to her knowledge, there were no Chapters in the city anymore. A minion?
She screamed at him again but her words drowned under the roaring of the van’s engine. She heard the van’s passenger door open and footsteps running around the front of the vehicle. She snapped out of her trance. Instantly, she remembered the last time she’d been at this site. She saw the van before, down the street the other day.
Murphy ran to the car, unlocked it and they jumped in. He started his car, yanked it into gear, and sped off.
Three men in white ski masks and blue sweat suits appeared in front of the van carrying crowbars, chains, and knives.
“Oh my God!” Murphy’s neck craned as he looked over his shoulder, then to the rearview then back over his shoulder. “Who’re they?”
Veronica paced her breathing and finally replied in a short breath. “Minions, I think.”
The old Corolla whined as he maxed out the RPMs before he rounded the corner and changed gears. “Minions?”
“Lackeys, minions. Same thing.” She turned around to see if they were being followed before she spoke. “Human servants of the Deamhan.”
“Human servants? You didn’t mention anything about servants!”
“No, I didn’t.” She leaned her head back against the headrest and exhaled. Her arrival in Minneapolis was no longer a secret. First Dark Sepulcher, now this? It wasn’t a freak coincidence. The Deamhan knew she was in their city.
However, next time she told herself, she wouldn’t run. Next time she’d be ready, armed, with a stake.
CHAPTER NINE
Veronica awoke feeling unsettled and fatigued. She squinted against the bright morning sun and rubbed her head, hoping to erase her awakening thoughts of yesterday’s insanity—and of Murphy. Lord knows, he’d need the rest, after their harrowing night. She felt the need to protect him, to remove him from danger. Not just for his sake, but for her own.
She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back, and then swung her legs off the bed. The high-pitched voice of the perky morning newswoman caused her to scowl. She’d left the TV on last night, feeling the need for human company, even if it came from an LCD screen.
On unsteady feet, she wobbled toward the TV to silence the bubbly news anchor. No one should be so energetic at this hour, she thought. As she dodged the coffee table, an envelope propped against the remote control reflected the sunlight. A lump swelled in her throat, and the taste of sour bile filled her mouth. With everything that happened, she forgot about the envelope Alexis had given her. Her hands trembled when she picked it up and turned it over. A red wax emblem sealed the flap. She slid a fingernail beneath it to pop the seal. The envelope contained one small square of parchment. She stared at the handwritten words in disbelief:
“11 pm, Saturday. Dark Sepulcher
–Lambert”
Veronica swallowed hard.
Today is Saturday.
Her hand flew to her neck, her fingers fluttering. Finally, she would come face to face with a person—if he was a person—who could help her. And at his request. She felt her heartbeat accelerate.
Hmmm. Wait.
Why would Alexis, a vampire who drained the fluid from her stomach, give her the opportunity? The fact that Alexis didn’t like her kind played fresh in her mind. But then, it probably was Alexis who saved her from the Deamhan twins in the bathroom and again on the street. Now, she’d been invited to go back. Tonight. On the busiest night of the week.
She grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen counter, anxious to speak with Sean.
He answered on the first ring. “Sean, speaking.”
His voice thrilled her. “Sean!” She heard the phone fumble.
“Veronica?” He’d lowered his voice to a whisper. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine. Why are you whispering?”
“You called me on my cell at the office.”
“Oh . . . Are you in a meeting…on a Saturday? Am I interrupting something?”
“Don’t worry about it.” The tension in his voice relaxed. “You sound tired. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” Two close calls with the Deamhan, my search for information is stalling, and now I’ve involved Murphy. Yeah, I’m dandy, all right.
“Are you sure?” He sensed her shaky voice. He knew her better than she knew herself at times. He was always able to read her just by the twitching in her voice.
She yawned and scrunched her nostrils to the smell of morning breath entering her nose. “I guess so. I went to the burnt home yesterday.”
“Did you find anything?” Excitement colored his voice.
“We didn’t find anything that could help me.”
“We? Who did you go with?”
She felt his instant cooling through the phone. “Well,” she said, fidgeting with her nails. Her eyes locked on the broken red seal of the envelope lying on the coffee table. “Oh, no one. It’s not really important.”
“What do you mean, ‘It’s not really important?’”
“Really, it’s not.”
“Veronica, what happened?”
She let out a deep breath and spilled the details, careful to not place Murphy anywhere in her recap. “I took a taxi,” she said,
crossing her fingers behind her back. As she continued her story, the lies compounded; the taxi driver waited while she searched the burned ruins, the blue van never appeared, and the men in black masks never existed.
“So you went with the taxi driver?”
She held her breath. Had he heard anything she’d said after that? “Yeah.” She mouthed a curse and covered her mouth. She hated lying to him, but she didn’t want to listen to his sermon just now. Besides, he really didn’t want to know the truth—not this truth—even if she was in the wrong.
Finally, he broke the silence. “So what happened when you reached Dark Sepulcher?”
She told him about the waitress and the bathroom incident, but lied again when she said she’d been alone when attacked outside of the club. She finished her deluded recap with the note from Alexis. She also decided to keep her protection status a secret, for now.
“Don’t go back there,” he said immediately.
She expected his response, as her encounters always exploited his overprotectiveness.
“You can’t go back there, Veronica. You almost got yourself killed.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Alexis could’ve killed you.”
“But she didn’t. She actually helped me.”
“No vampire or Deamhan ever helps a human. It doesn’t happen, especially now. I warned you about this before you left San Diego.”
“Don’t you think I know that, Sean? But what was I supposed to do? Refuse her help? I could’ve died.”
“Look, they can’t be trusted,” he argued. “Not now. Not since they don’t follow their Dictum and their rules anymore.” He took a deep breath, and she knew he waited for her compliance.
“That’s only a Brotherhood theory,” Veronica contested.
“No, it isn’t. It’s reality. If you don’t believe me, ask Rick’s parents.”
“Rick?”
“Rick Sorfield.”
“What does he have to do with it?”
He sighed. “He was buried the other day.”
“Buried?”
“He was killed by a Deamhan.”
Deamhan Chronicles, Books 1-5: Deamhan, Kei. Family Matters, Dark Curse, Maris. The Brotherhood Files, Ayden. Deamhan Minion Page 6