Wicked is the night

by Catherine Mulvany

  Run.

  And then she heard another sound, heavy footsteps crossing the room on the other side of the door.

  Run!

  And she wanted to, she did. But her feet refused to cooperate. They seemed to be glued to the landing. Or maybe petrified. Solid rock feet.

  The door swung open slowly. Light from inside fanned out across the boards of the landing. And then a long shadow emerged. A man’s shadow. “Who’s there? Nevada, is that you?”

  Oh God. Ethan Faraday.

  Relief turned her legs to overcooked spaghetti. She would have fallen if she hadn’t clutched at the stair railing behind her with both hands. “Ethan. You nearly scared me to death. What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you, of course.”

  “Me?” Suspicion nibbled away at her relief and sharpened her voice.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

  “Look, it’s important. All I need is five minutes of your time.”

  “Five minutes?”

  “That’s it. I promise.”

  “Okay,” she said, moving past him into the apartment. Maybe she should have been a little more wary, but something about Ethan Faraday—those direct gray eyes, maybe, or the square, determined jaw—lulled her suspicions. She didn’t trust him 100 percent, but neither was she frightened of him. In any case, she doubted he presented a danger. After all, he’d already had numerous opportunities to take her out, and yet, here she was, still breathing, albeit a little irregularly.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he apologized. “I probably should have waited outside, but the door was unlocked, and I was cold.”

  She glanced at the wall clock as she took a seat on her lone kitchen chair. “Three thirty-seven in the morning is a weird time to be paying a social call.”

  “This isn’t your typical social call,” he said, making himself at home on the lumpy brown sofa.

  “No?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “I decided I needed to level with you. If I didn’t and you got hurt, I’d never forgive myself.”

  Hur cwidn&rt by whom? she wondered. “So spit it out, whatever it is.”

  “I lied before. I’m not a reporter.”

  “I know. Marcello Googled you. You’re a deputy sheriff—”

  “Former deputy sheriff.”

  She ignored his interruption. “And you’re after whoever killed the waitress and truck driver.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Two dangerous psychopaths who also happen to be blood-sucking fiends.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Vampires,” he said. “Creatures of the night. Dracula wannabes.”

  She stared at him, speechless. Was he serious? He looked serious, but vampires? Who was he kidding?

  “I can tell you think I’m crazy.” He heaved a sigh. “It’s asking a lot, I know, to expect you to buy into this whole weird bloodsucker scenario, but it’s the truth. I swear to God. I didn’t believe it the first time I ran face-to-face with one, either. In fact, I didn’t become a true believer until I saw one go up in flames. It took two of us—me and another deputy—to drag her—”

  “I think this part was in the newspaper account Marcello found.”

  “A sanitized version of it,” he said. “We were arresting the woman for assault. She’d bitten a teenager, coerced him into lying to us.”

  “With some sort of evil mesmerizing spell?”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “It’s fascinating,” she said.

  “And true, damn it.” He frowned. “But to answer your question, no, she didn’t use a spell. She wasn’t a witch, for crying out loud. She used threats to keep the boy in line. He’d witnessed his parents’ fate. Her friends had bled them to death right in front of him. Then she sank her fangs into his throat to give him a hint of what was in store for him if he didn’t cooperate.”

  His story sounded like complete nonsense, but she found it increasingly difficult to discount what he said. His expression was so earnest, his voice so full of conviction.

  “When we tried to arrest her, the vampire fought us every inch of the way. We finally got some cuffs on her and dragged her outside, intending to put her in the back of a squad car, but before we’d gone two steps into the morning light, she burst into flames. Burned the hell out of the hand I had clamped around her arm.” He extended his left hand to show her the scars.

  “Spontaneous human combustion,” she said.

  “That’s one theory.” But the disdainful twist of his lips demonstrated how little credence he put in it. “The deputy assisting me offered another. He swore she’d been struck by lightning, despite the fact there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.”

  “A bolt from the blue,” she said. “I’ve heard of t c;vedivhat.”

  “Hell, if it had been lightning, I’d have felt the electricity. My hair would have stood on end. My heart would have fluttered. Something.”

  “So you don’t buy the lightning scenario, either. In your world, it’s more believable that she was a vampire.”

  “Within seconds, she was gone. Nothing left but a pile of ashes. A lightning strike might have fried her to a crisp. Ditto spontaneous human combustion, but there’d have been something left. A blackened corpse. Charred remains. But in this case, there was nothing but ash.”

  “There must be some logical explanation,” she protested.

  “There is. She was a vampire. When a vampire meets sunlight, the result is ashes on the wind.” He scowled, staring at the faded and peeling wallpaper on the far wall, but focused on some grim vision in his head. “There was a whole gang of vampires in Mammoth County that summer. Most of them died one way or another, but two escaped.”

  “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Your two psychopaths.”

  Those clear gray eyes bored into hers. “I wish I knew how to convince you that this isn’t a joke.”

  “Believe me, I don’t consider psychopaths a joke. They scare the daylights out of me.”

  “They should,” he said grimly, then frowned. “What I haven’t been able to figure out is why they’re following you.”

  “Following me?” She pretended to be shocked. “Where’d you get a crazy idea like that? I suppose you think I’m a vampire, too?”

  He shrugged, doing his best to act casual, but his eyes were intent, watching her closely. “Are you?’

  “No, of course not.” She forced a laugh. “Okay, I realize I’m pale to the point of pallid, but that doesn’t make me a vampire. Come back around noon. I’ll walk out in the sun, and you can check whether or not I burst into flames.”

  “I have it on good authority that sunscreen works pretty well short term.”

  “Okay, so check my mouth for retractable fangs. I dare you. No, wait. I have a better idea. Follow me.” She led the way into the bedroom and, edging around the rumpled bed, stopped in front of the old-fashioned burl oak dresser that took up most of one wall. She pointed at the oval mirror attached to it. “See? I have a reflection.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “That whole vampires-not-casting-a-reflection thing is a myth.”

  Nevada met his gaze in the mirror, then had just a split second to register his mocking expression before the pain of the flash seared her eyes and pierced her head. “My God,” she gasped. “All that blood!”

  Trick paced restlessly back and forth the length of his bedroom. He couldn’t sleep, and for once he couldn’t blame it on the ghost. Blanche had been oddly silent ever since he’d returned to his room.

  bv>

  Click, thump. Click, thump. First one direction and then the other. He was an idiot. What was worse, a frustrated idiot.

  Click, thump. Click, thump. Back and forth, then back and forth again.

  Damn it.

  He stopped at the window and shoved back the heavy shutters. From there, he had a perfect view of the rear of the stables, of Nevada’s apartment.
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  Her light was on, meaning she wasn’t sleeping, either.

  Shit.

  Again, he resumed his pacing, moving even faster now, more recklessly. Small wonder he swung too wide and bashed his bad knee into the armoire door. Not hard enough to damage it. Just hard enough to hurt like hell. “Damn it,” he muttered.

  But damn him was more like it. Damn him for a noble, self-sacrificing fool. She’d wanted him. She’d said as much. And God knew he’d wanted her. Still wanted her.

  But then, just as he’d been about to take what he wanted, chivalry had reared its ugly head. Yes, Nevada deserved a prince, but if she was willing to settle for a second-rate buccaneer, who was he to deny her?

  God, he was such an idiot.

  Doubly an idiot. Because the thing was, he wasn’t the only game in town. Earlier, in the ice-cream parlor, Faraday had made it pretty damn clear he was interested. Trick hadn’t missed those flirtatious sideways glances, the teasing laughter, and he was fairly certain Nevada hadn’t, either, despite her protests about Faraday’s one-track mind.

  Her light was on.

  All he had to do was march himself over there and knock on the door. If she wasn’t interested anymore, well then, all she had to do was say so. On the other hand, if she was interested…

  Trick headed downstairs before he could change his mind.

  SIX

  What’s wrong?” Ethan Faraday’s reflection mirrored his concern. “Did you cut yourself on something?” he asked Nevada.

  “Cut myself?” Her voice sounded as shaky as her knees felt.

  “You said something about blood.”

  “Because I saw it, a room covered in it.” Her voice rose shrilly. “But it was your memory, not mine.” Nevada’s mind felt numb, her legs weak. She sat down abruptly on the end of the bed. It wasn’t just her legs that were quivering now; she was shaking all over. And cold. So cold.

  She tugged the quilt free and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  Faraday disappeared into the other room and returned a short time later with a glass of apple juice. “Drink this,” he ordered, then sat down next to her and draped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said. &l fdqudquo;It’s going to be okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay. All that blood. She shuddered.

  “What the hell did you do to her?” A harsh voice. Demanding, almost threatening.

  Nevada glanced up, startled. Trick Granger stood in the doorway, and he didn’t look happy. He looked…What did you get when you crossed a marauding pirate with an avenging angel?

  “Look at her,” Trick snapped. “She’s practically catatonic. What did you do to her, you bastard?” He advanced on Faraday, jerking the other man to his feet.

  Nevada lost her grip on the apple juice. The glass hit the floor and shattered. Juice splattered everywhere.

  Trick hauled Faraday’s face within inches of his own. “What was your plan? Did you think forcing booze down her throat would make it easier to take advantage of her?”

  “Booze?” Faraday said blankly. “It was apple juice.”

  “Apple juice,” she repeated, feeling oddly removed from the scene.

  Trick’s sharp gaze raked Faraday’s face, as if searching for the truth. Slowly the fury faded from his expression. He frowned, looking more confused than angry. “Apple juice?”

  “She had a dizzy spell. I thought maybe she’d feel better if she got a little sugar in her system.”

  Trick released his grip on Faraday’s shirt front, and Faraday took a step back out of range. He glanced from Trick to her and then back to Trick, as if he couldn’t figure out which one of them was the bigger nutcase.

  “I had a psychic flash,” she told Trick, “after I dragged him in here—”

  “Into your bedroom?” Trick said in a low, dangerous voice.

  “—so he’d see my reflection and realize I’m not a vampire.”

  “He thinks you’re a vampire?” Trick said in an oh-please-get-real tone of voice.

  “No,” Faraday said. “I don’t think she’s a vampire, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s an escaped lunatic.”

  Nevada’s breath caught in her throat. Neither she nor Trick spoke a word for a full five count.

  “Chill out,” Faraday said. “I’m joking. Why don’t we all take a deep breath, then go back into the living room and get this sorted out.”

  “Good idea,” Trick said.

  But Nevada wasn’t so sure, not if sorting things out meant she’d have to explain to Ethan Faraday, former lawman Ethan Faraday, that she was an escapee from a research facility who didn’t have a clue who she really was.

  Nevada took the wooden chair, leaving the sofa for the two men, who settled at opposite ends, as far from each other as possible. Trick leaned his cane against the arm of the couch and propped his bad leg on the rickety coffee table.

  kht=ean

  Faraday shot her a searching look. “Explain the blood comment.”

  “I’m psychic,” she said, “but I have no power over my gift. It’s totally unpredictable. Sometimes—and I never know when it’s going to happen—I’ll catch a glimpse of someone’s reflection and see something else. Something beyond what’s really reflected there.”

  “Something like blood?” Faraday said. “I don’t get it.”

  “Blood, violence. It’s always something traumatic, something from the person’s past, a memory.”

  “So the blood was my memory?” He looked confused, not guilty.

  Nevada was pretty sure that was a good thing.

  “Was there anything else that you remember? Some indication of time or place maybe?” he asked. “Because this blood thing is pretty generic. I was a cop, remember?”

  Nevada didn’t want to think about the flash, though every detail was burned into her brain in digital highdef. “I’m not sure where it was geographically because all I saw was an interior, a cheap motel room, I think, very ugly and generic even if it hadn’t been for all the gore. There was blood everywhere—the bed, the carpet, the walls. An ocean of blood.” She shivered.

  “A motel room. An ocean of blood.” He looked a little sick. “The Oasis. Unit seven. I thought at first the blood was just splashed around for shock value, to make us worry about the hostage’s safety.” He frowned. “Later it turned out the blood had belonged to the couple who owned the motel. The vampire gang slaughtered them, literally ripped them to pieces.”

  “Again with the vampires,” Trick said. “Just so we’re clear on this, you didn’t participate in the slaughter, right? You’re not a mass murderer.”

  “Hell no!” Faraday said, but he seemed more startled than angry.

  “Okay, then.” Trick nodded. “That explains why Nevada looked so pale and upset, why you brought her a glass of juice, even why you had your fricking arm around her, but it still doesn’t explain what the hell you’re doing in her apartment in the middle of the night.”

  “Jealous?” Faraday asked.

  Taunting Trick was not a smart move. Nevada didn’t miss the tightening of his jaw, the dangerous narrowing of his eye, even if Faraday did.

  “Jealous?” Trick said. “Of you?”

  “Because that’s how you’re acting.”

  “Stop!” she said. “Both of you, just stop.”

  “Okay,” Trick said through gritted teeth. “So what are you doing here?”

  “Confessing that I’m not really a tabloid reporter.”

  “Yeah, we had that one figured.”

  “I’m a demon hunter,” Faraday said.

  The ensuing silence was thick enough to cut with a chainsaw.

  A full minute passed before Trick said, “Excuse me?”

  “Like Buffy,” Nevada said.

  “Not like Buffy.” Faraday shot her a disgusted look. “First of all, Buffy was a fictional character. Second, she was a girl. And third, she was a slayer. I’m a hunter. It’s a whole different thing.”

  “You just track them down. You don’t
kill them,” Nevada said.

  “Well…” Faraday looked uncomfortable.

  “You do kill them,” Trick said.

  “Sometimes I have no choice,” Faraday explained. “I staked one back in February, yes, but only because he attacked me. It was self-defense.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Trick said. “Vampires? Blood-soaked motel rooms? Staking? None of this is real. I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

  “I wish,” Faraday said. “But it’s the absolute truth—all of it. I came here to warn Nevada. I think the two vamps I’m pursuing have been following her. I’m not sure why, though you probably know, don’t you, Nevada?”

  She didn’t say anything, but she suspected her flushed cheeks were a dead giveaway.

  Two vertical lines appeared between Trick’s eyebrows. “What makes you think they’re looking for Nevada?”

  Faraday shrugged. “Fairly obvious deduction. They showed up here in Midas Lake the same day she did.”

  “Yes, but that could be purely coincidental,” Trick pointed out.

  “They spoke to several people at the truck stop—not just the waitress who turned up dead. And everyone I interviewed told the same story. The two vamps asked if anyone had seen a girl. They had a photograph. Now I didn’t see the photograph, but I’m betting if we take Nevada over to the Stop ’N Go and talk to those same witnesses, they’ll recognize her from the picture. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re smarter than you look,” Trick said.

  Faraday grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He angled toward Nevada and his expression turned grim. “I don’t know where Sarge and Billy have gone—”

  “Sacramento,” Trick said. “Marcello and I told them she’d hitched a ride to Sacramento.”

  “And they bought that?” Faraday asked, sounding skeptical.

  “Sacramento was like a magic word,” Trick said. “They didn’t question it for a second, just took off.”

  “Sacramento?” Faraday said. “What’s so special about Sacramento?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should go check it out,” Trick suggested.

  “Maybe I will,” Faraday said.

  “Faraday’s gone,” Marcello announced at lunch the next day, and for someone who wasn’t interested in Britt Petersen, Trick thought, he seemed pretty damned pleased to be rid of the competition.