by N M Thorn
Sam nodded. “Got to be hard living like this nowadays?”
Damian shrugged indifferently, staring out the side window, hoping that Sam would stop his interrogation. He didn’t like talking. Even more so, he didn’t like talking about himself. Over the years, he got used to solitude, and the company of others—mundane or supernatural—felt like a burden to him. Needless to say, being in the confines of the metal box humans called a vehicle didn’t help his mood. Feeling drained after the fight with the vampires, all he wanted was a few minutes of silence and privacy.
“So, how old are you, Damian?”
Sam’s voice cut through his train of thoughts, and he winced, turning back to his travel companion.
“Thirty-five,” he replied, suppressing the desire to jump out of the truck and lie down flat on the side of the road.
“Thirty-five plus how many centuries?”
“Let’s leave it at thirty-five, sir,” he said peacefully, stifling a sigh.
“Fine, fine.” Sam raised his hands, but then quickly lowered them to the steering wheel. “You don’t look a day over a hundred, anyway. And that extra piece of décor...” He moved his finger across the left side of his face. “Don’t tell me you slipped in the shower.”
Damian threw a reproachful glance at him, his fingers raking through his hair of their own accord. “A shower is a dangerous place, you know?” he growled without hiding his annoyance. “I think they should stop including them in modern architectural plans.”
“Okay, okay, relax,” muttered Sam, sounding amused. “I got the point—you don’t want to talk.”
“What gave you that idea?” murmured Damian. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
One minute later.
“Just one more question and that’s it.”
Dammit!
Damian threw a scorching gaze at him.
“What’s in Phoenix? Family? Friends? A lover?” asked Sam, ignoring Damian’s grunt of displeasure.
“Clean slate,” replied Damian. “I have no one.”
“A man like you doesn’t have a love life?” Sam turned to him, his eyebrows rising, but then lifted his hand with two fingers extended and added. “No more questions. Scout’s honor. But I do have a proposition for you, though.”
For a moment, Damian considered his options, but since hearing Sam out would mean at least temporary silence after—hopefully—he made a split-moment decision and flicked his wrist, motioning for Sam to continue. “Listening.”
Sam sighed, suddenly serious. “I told you I was going to visit my daughter in Blue Creek.” Damian nodded. “Well, there is a little more to the story.”
Looking troubled, Sam scratched the back of his head, and his hand reached for the cigarette pack. He picked it up, ready to grab a cigarette, but then threw it back and exhaled, pressing his lips into a tight, straight line. Damian observed his moves with curiosity, noticing that the pack was still almost full, only one cigarette missing, but didn’t ask about it.
“My daughter’s husband passed away recently. Three months ago, to be precise. Not long before his death, he had started reconstruction of his family estate. Now that he’s gone, the construction stopped, and my daughter is not in the right state of mind to do anything except...” Sam’s voice wavered, and he glanced at Damian, sorrow shadowing his features. “Anyway, if you’re not set on Phoenix, I wondered if you would mind sticking around Blue Creek for a while. It’s a nice little town, you know. The nature is beautiful, and the folks are friendly. I own a small hardware store there and offer handyman services. Since you know how to fix a garbage disposal, I assume you don’t shy away from hard physical labor and don’t mind getting your hands dirty. I could give you a job and a place to stay. What do you say?”
Damian frowned, staring at Sam, thousands of thoughts crowding his mind. “Sam,” he said calmly. “I don’t mind staying in Blue Creek to help you with the construction, but I must ask you—and please be honest with me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“You’re a hunter, aren’t you?” asked Damian, turning slightly to face him.
Sam smirked, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Obvious. A retired one. So what?”
“Once a hunter always a hunter,” objected Damian dryly. “There is no such thing as a retired hunter. There are only active hunters and dead ones. If you are touched by the World of Magic, there is no way back, and you know it.”
“Yes, so what?”
“Is there anything I need to know?” Damian continued, ignoring the light layer of sarcasm in Sam’s voice. “Do you want me there as a handyman or as a man who can hold his own against the supernatural?”
Sam sighed and stared straight forward, his hands squeezing the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. For a while, he remained silent, and Damian didn’t insist on the answers, giving him a moment to think.
“Both?” he said at length without taking his eyes off the midnight road, and there was no assurance in his voice. Then he slammed his hand on the wheel and shook his head. “To be honest, kid, I have no idea. I’ve lived in Blue Creek for years. My daughter was born there, and I swear, I’d never seen anything remotely close to the supernatural. Not even a random ghost.” He fell silent again, a pensive expression suffusing his features. “It’s just a gut feeling, you know?” He pressed his hand over his chest, making a circular motion. “Maybe I’m totally wrong, but I could use your help with the shop and the construction, anyway. So what do you say?”
“I’ll go with you, but I have two conditions.”
“Which are...”
“I value my privacy. So, you can help me find an apartment to rent or a motel, but I live on my own,” said Damian firmly. “And you leave my past in the past. No more questions.”
“Deal,” Sam agreed, offering him his hand.
“You got yourself a supernatural handyman,” said Damian, squeezing his hand in a tight handshake.
Chapter 3
~ Damian Blake ~
Blue Creek was a tiny town in the middle of the Sonoran Desert just outside Phoenix. The sign on the border stated, “Welcome to Blue Creek, Arizona, population twenty-four thousand”, but some joker—no doubt a future guest of the local correctional system—had crossed out three zeros with white paint, leaving only the number twenty-four.
Following the bumpy two-lane road for another ten miles—rising, falling and curving among the tall Saguaro cacti and other spiky representatives of the desert flora—the truck finally rolled into the town. The place had been built in the mid-eighteen-hundreds by some adventurous but not very bright gold miners. Impacted hard by the second wave of the Spanish influenza pandemic, the mines closed in late 1918. Since there was no evidence that any gold had ever been found in this area, it was a miracle the place survived without turning into one of the famous Arizona Ghost towns.
However, the locals, proud of their history, restored some buildings to their original glory. Now, downtown looked like something from a Western movie, including an old church, small shops, a saloon-looking restaurant and even a brothel, which wasn’t active, of course, and was used as a tourist attraction.
By the time Sam drove the truck through downtown toward the other end of town, it was late evening. The deep-ultramarine sky was spangled with millions of bright stars, and the air was fresh with that particular cool crispness of a late evening in the desert. He parked in front of a small, two-story hotel with a flickering neon sign stating, “Night Owl Inn” and pointed at it.
“This hotel is about a five-minute walk from my daughter’s house and about fifteen minutes from my shop,” he said, waving back toward downtown. Reaching into his pocket, he brought up his wallet and pulled out a credit card, offering it to Damian. “Here you go. You can pay for a month ahead and get yourself something to eat. There are a few diners and fast-food joints in the area.” He shrugged with his kindhearted smile. “The town is small. Almost everything is within walking distance.”
>
Damian smiled uncomfortably but didn’t take the card, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Thank you, sir. I have money.”
Sam gave him a look full of doubt but put the credit card away. “As you wish, son. Get some rest tonight, though. God knows you look like you need it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven in the morning so we can get started.”
Damian grabbed his backpack and umbrella and walked toward the motel door while taking in every detail of the building and the surrounding areas. It looked like it had seen better days, its paint peeling in places, and a thin web of tiny fractures ran from the main entrance all the way to the red roof. He pulled the door open and walked inside.
The small lobby was dimly illuminated by a table light standing on the counter. A young woman, no older than sixteen, sat behind the counter with a focused expression on her round, freckled face. Her eyes were glued to the cellphone she held in her hands, and large headphones wrapped tightly around her head.
Damian approached the counter, and when she didn’t react, he rapped his knuckles on the scratched wooden counter. “I need a room, please.”
Without taking her eyes off the screen of her phone, she mumbled, “I have two rooms available on the second floor.” She reached into a drawer with her left hand and shuffled through the contents without looking.
Sometimes, I hate the power of Earth... Damian sighed. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but do you have anything on the ground level?”
“I don’t think so.” She put away her phone and finally looked up at him, taking her headphones off. “We have a group of—” As she met his eyes, she cut herself off and froze, staring with her mouth open. Then she turned toward the back door and yelled, “Mom! We have a visitor here who needs a room on the first floor.”
An older woman walked into the room almost immediately, wiping her hands on a small towel. She glanced at Damian, her deep brown eyes alight with interest, but quickly looked away, staring at the computer screen over her daughter’s shoulder.
“I have two rooms on the second floor,” she confirmed, shaking her head. “We have a big group of tourists who pre-registered almost every room on the first floor.” She typed in something, and a winning smile lit up her face. “It’s your lucky day, sir. I found one for you. It was reserved for someone else, but I know this person won’t mind taking a room on the second floor.” She straightened up and asked, “How many nights?”
“Let’s start with one week,” he replied. “But I may need to extend my stay.”
“Sounds good.” She reached into the drawer and pulled out a key with a red plastic disk attached to it, placing it next to the computer. “Your ID, please.”
Damian reached for his wallet and produced his driver’s license. As he passed it to the woman, she glanced at him with a renewed interest. Typing quickly, she entered all the information.
“That would be four hundred fifty-five dollars,” she announced, picking up the key from the counter.
He paid for his stay, and the woman offered him the key. “Room One-thirteen A,” she said, pointing to the exit door. “Through this door and all the way to the left. It’ll be the corner room on this side of the building.”
Thanking the woman and her daughter, Damian walked out of the lobby and headed toward the other end of the hotel. He found the room easily and put a do-not-disturb sign on the door handle before walking in. Inside, the room was a little bit bigger than he expected it to be. A large, queen-size bed took most of the real estate, but there was still enough space left for a bedstand and a table with a small TV on it.
He threw his backpack and the umbrella on the floor by the bed and approached the window. Sliding the heavy curtains open, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the window wasn’t sealed. He turned the lock and pushed the window open, enjoying the freshness of the night air barging into the room. He loved sleeping under the open sky with the earth beneath his back, energizing him and recharging his magic. Nowadays, more often than not, it wasn’t an option, so sleeping with the window open was his best choice.
Damian walked into the washroom and quickly undressed, wincing as his every muscle responded with soreness. Fighting a few vampires had never been a problem for him. However, it was a first for him to get into a confrontation with such a large group of undead, and he couldn’t help but wonder why so many of them had gathered in a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Where was the King of Texas, anyway, and did he even know about it?
Most of the vampires, lycanthropes, demons and other common supernatural beings were regulated by the Demonic rulers of the state where they resided. The Demonic Kings and Queens preferred to lie low, keeping the supernatural world away from humans. Exposing the World of Magic to mundanes was considered one of the greatest offenses, and none of the supernatural sovereigns wanted to deal with the consequences.
However, there were always rogue groups of vampires or packs of werewolves who didn’t care about staying within the boundaries of the law, hunting and killing like they used to from the time of creation. This is where the human hunters came into play. There weren’t enough of them to take care of all the supernatural violence occurrences, and they operated outside of human law, which presented a serious problem for them, making their job so much harder and more dangerous.
I’ve never seen so many rogue vamps in one place... Why?
Damian rubbed his forehead with a low groan. All these unanswered questions were giving him a headache. Or maybe he was just tired. He glanced in the mirror and cringed inwardly at the thick, black stubble covering his cheeks and the gray circles under his eyes. He tucked his hair behind his ear and sighed, running his fingers over the old scar that disfigured the left side of his face. He hated this scar. Not because it ruined his looks—he didn’t care about that. He hated it because it was a constant reminder of the fight he had lost centuries ago, and the terrible price he had paid for his failure.
“I’ll shave in the morning,” he promised himself and hopped into the shower without waiting for the cold streams of water to warm up.
He woke up with a start fifteen minutes before the alarm went off and sat up, staring around the dark room. Something wasn’t right. While he wasn’t new to night terrors, he was sure it hadn’t been a nightmare that woke him up this morning. Channeling his power toward his eyes, he looked around but found nothing suspicious on the inside.
“Dammit. Sometimes, I really wish I still had my other sight,” he muttered under his breath, lowering his feet to the cold floor. He got up, headed toward the door and carefully opened it, soundlessly stepping outside barefooted. The cold morning air enveloped him, and he inhaled deeply, reveling in the close presence of his element.
Quickly surveying the surroundings, Damian made sure there were no humans anywhere in close proximity. When he channeled his power, his eyes always lit up with a bright, orange light, and he didn’t need any attention from either human or the supernatural members of this community.
Even through the prism of his power, he didn’t notice anything unusual. He closed his eyes and relaxed his mind, allowing the energy of Earth to flow freely through him, gently directing it toward his hands. Intertwining it with his magic, he moved his hand in a wide arch and whispered a short spell, “Latentius revelare.”
The world around him shimmered, and now, he could see the flow of magical energy. His vision wasn’t as clear as it would have been if he could use the second sight, but it was enough for him to register slight fluctuations and spikes of dark magical energy in the distance. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end with the expectation of trouble, and he frowned.
So much for a peaceful little town where there isn’t even a random ghost, he thought, considering his next step, but the loud ring of the alarm clock in his room made the decision for him. He waved his hand again, releasing his magic, and then returned to his room. He had less than an hour to get ready before Sam would come to pick him up.
He made it to the main entr
ance of the hotel five minutes before seven, but Sam was already there, waiting for him, leaning his shoulder against an old, black Ford F-150 pickup truck. As soon as Sam noticed him, he pushed away from the truck and opened the passenger door, gesturing for him to get in.
“Good morning,” said Sam, starting the truck. “Did you get some rest? I hope it’s okay to ask you this question.”
Damian slammed his door shut and smirked. “I’m fine. Thanks.” He relaxed in his seat, folding his arms on his lap. “Where to?”
“Nowhere until you put your seatbelt on,” said Sam, giving him a pointed stare.
“I’m a Child of Earth. Something as trivial as a car crash can’t kill me,” murmured Damian with a half-shrug.
“Isn’t that swell,” muttered Sam, driving the truck out of the hotel’s parking lot. “But a very trivial cop can give me a not so trivial ticket for you not wearing a seatbelt. My truck, my rules. Besides, I’m your boss anyway, so buckle up, kid.” He winked, making a right turn onto the main road. “I mean it.”
Sam wasn’t kidding when he said his daughter’s house was within five minutes’ walk from the hotel. What Damian didn’t expect was the way her house looked. He expected a standard three bedrooms, two baths single-family home with a few cacti planted in the front yard and a pathway paved with small, reddish pebbles. Instead, Sam drove his truck through a wrought iron dual swing gate with an old-style sign above it stating “Paradise Manor” and parked it in the circular driveway in front of a large mansion.
Built in the adobe style, the house had two large wings, and there was no doubt the building was as old as this town. The original look and feel had been well preserved, while some modern adjustments had been made to ensure the structural integrity and comfort of this large home. The front yard was designed in a traditional desert landscape style, but it felt as if no one had been maintaining it for a while.