Chasing Shadows (A Shadow Chronicles Novel) (6 page)

I’d run out of my Coming of Age ceremony in a fit of rage because it was either leave or kill the bastard, and I knew there was no way I could win a fight against him—and believe me, I’d wanted to try. But I’m no fool. At the time he’d already been alive for over five hundred years and I was only fifty, and even though many years had passed since then, his being over half a millennium older than I meant he would be extremely difficult for me to kill. Plus, he
was
my father, and I don’t think that even in the grip of righteous anger I could have committed patricide.

I’d sworn off the vampire world and I’d sworn off human blood, and for twenty years I roamed the world seeking peace—and an escape from the horror that had been revealed to me. Diarmid had followed, had attempted to convince me of his sorrow and his regret. I believed not a word. After I bought my land and set up my farm in 1846, once he saw the lifestyle I was planning to lead he backed off, but he still sent me a gift every year on my birthday and at Christmas, and he would pop up for a visit on occasion—though I hadn’t actually set eyes on my father in almost two years. I had reason to wonder whether he would actually strike at me for being “the betrayer of vampire kind” when I supposedly meant so much to him.

Then again, Diarmid was always trying to make
himself
look good to the Ancients. I could only hope that if he ever found out, his love for me (as twisted as it was) was stronger than his ambition to be one of them.

By the time I finished clearing the indoor pig pen and had cleaned out the chicken coop, it was starting to get dark. Normally I’d have finished long before now, but Vangie and Mark (especially the latter) had proven to be major distractions. I quickly shooed the chickens into the coop for the night, making sure they had water and food inside before latching the door. I then turned my attention to the pigs, and was just
getting the last of them inside when Mark came down from his apartment, followed closely by Angel. I tried not to let my wariness of the dog show on my face, and in truth it wasn’t all that difficult: One look at Mark and I found myself smiling.

I also tried to ignore the singing of my nerves as he drew nearer, but that task wasn’t as easy. “Are you, uh, getting yourself settled in alright up there?” I asked.

Mark smiled at me. “Yeah, getting there, except I forgot to stop and buy some food. I got nothin’ to eat up there and I’m kinda starving.”

“I’m hungry myself,” I admitted as I closed the gate that let the pigs outside and then eased myself out of their indoor pen. “But I’ve got cows and horses to get in yet. I kind of got behind schedule today.”

Mark glanced out at the slowly darkening sky. “Well since I’m probably to blame for that, why don’t you let me help you—I gotta learn how to round ‘em up anyway, right?”

I grinned. “Alright, why don’t you? But I think your dog should stay here in the barn. I’m afraid a strange dog might frighten the horses, and Angus is touchy enough without the added anxiety.”

His eyebrows rose. “Angus?”

I nodded. “My bull,” I said. “All the cattle are Holsteins because they make the best dairy cows. I harvest the girls’ milk when they’ve calved and it lasts me a long while. But bulls of all cattle breeds are notoriously temperamental. He’s not going to like having a stranger out in the pasture as it is, and the dog would just make it worse.”

Mark nodded and we headed out into the paddock, with Angel watching from the open doorway of the barn, where he had told her to stay. We came to the first pasture where the horses were and though they approached warily after I whistled, once they were near and had had a chance to smell Mark, they came quietly along, the two of us taking a halter in each hand and leading the four of them back to the barn. After stowing each away in their stall we made for the second pasture, and I kept my eye on Angus as I walked slowly across the grass to the first of the cows. Mark followed, also keeping his eye on the bull as he approached another. Again we both took a halter in each hand, guiding four of the cows back to their home.

As we were making our last trip into the pasture, Mark asked me, “Should I go for the cow or the bull?”

I looked over at Angus as we approached the gate of the second pasture. Now that four of his girls were gone he was a little more alert, and he lumbered over to the remaining cow’s side as we entered his domain, his eyes on Mark.

“Cow,” I said. “But let me take Angus’ halter first. We’re gonna let him smell your hand just like the others, like the horses.”

“You’re the boss,” Mark replied quietly, his eyes on Angus. I shook my head as it occurred to me to think that they were having a typical testosterone-induced staring contest, each wondering which man would look away first.

I approached the bull as slowly as I always did with my hands in plain sight, my voice low and soothing as I spoke to him. His gaze flickered between me and Mark and he stamped his feet a few times, but thankfully Angus didn’t make any aggressive moves. I reached him and put my hand on his halter, still talking soothingly, as I
gestured for Mark to approach.

My new employee came over slowly, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed he was mimicking my hands-out approach. “Hey there, Angus,” Mark said when he reached my side.

“Give me your hand,” I said, and with one hand on the bull’s halter, I reached for Mark’s and held it under Angus’ nose. “Always approach Angus slowly—if you run at him he may believe you’re an aggressor and he’ll most likely charge. Obviously not a situation you want to be in. Talk to him in a calm voice when you come close and try not to show any fear. If you’re around long enough he’ll get used to you, but it’s always wise to be cautious around a bull.”

“I’m a Marine, Ms. Caldwell,” Mark said as he carefully turned his hand to scratch Angus lightly on the nose. “Fear is not a word in my vocabulary.”

“Hmph,” was my only reply. I then gestured for him to take the cow’s halter so we could get the animals inside.

Once the last of the animals were tucked away in their stalls and I had made sure—with Mark’s help—that they all had food and water, I turned to him and said, “Thank you for your help.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome. But didn’t you say something about brushing them down once they were inside?”

“Well, aren’t you an avid listener?” I mused. “Yes, Mr. Singleton, indeed I did. Why don’t we do that, and then we can close up for the night and each of us get our dinner.”

I went into the tack room and retrieved two curry brushes. When I came out, I tossed one to Mark as I walked toward Hasufeld’s stall. He caught the brush and walked over to Brego’s, who was right next to his brother. The two yearlings were a rare pair of twins, though they were fraternal as most equine twins were. After watching me work for a moment or two, Mark started running the comb along the young stallion’s neck.

“By the way,” Mark said, “I was wondering…you want to have dinner with me? I wouldn’t mind buying the boss some dinner my first night on the job.”

I was so surprised by the offer that for a moment I went still,
then
found myself grinning foolishly. To hide it, I made sure to keep my face turned away as I moved on to Hadhafang.

“Sure, I’d like to have dinner together. But why don’t you just let me cook something?” I offered. “I have fresh eggs from the chickens and I promise I make a mean omelet.”

Chancing a glance in his direction, I found him with his eyes on me, his expression curious—challenging even.

“Is that so?” he mused, patting Brego’s neck and then moving over to Herugrim. He looked the aging stallion in the eyes before he set to work with the brush. When he had finished he leaned against the gate to Herugrim’s stall and crossed his arms over his chest. “I do like a good omelet, Ms. Caldwell, but no one’s has ever compared to my mother’s. Be hard to even come close to that. Top it? Not a chance.”

“Well now, Mr. Singleton, I do think them are fightin’ words,” I said casually as I gave Hadhafang a pat on the neck and stepped out of her stall, adding silently,
Guess no
one ever told you never to challenge a vampire, kid
.

After returning the brushes to the tack room, I closed the back doors of the barn. I then walked with Mark to the front end of the barn and after turning the lights off, shut those doors as well. Angel followed us as she had been throughout the last half hour or so, watching and staying out of the way—though a couple of times she had come close and Mark had had to shoo her away. This was all for the sake of keeping up appearances, of course. She had to keep acting like a dog would act or Mark would get suspicious. I suppose I had to give her points for the incredible performance—after all, she’d been at this for a year, so she had to have the act down pat to fool a trained soldier.

As we approached the house, I walked over to the kennel where Moe and Cissy were penned up and let them out. They immediately ran over to Angel and started dancing around her and barking, playing the dominance game. Despite knowing that Angel wasn’t really a dog, I couldn’t help thinking the display was rather cute; the tiny, three-pound Chihuahuas were hopping around her, one on either side, and the Siberian shapeshifter was yelping lightly in return, her head down on the ground on top of her forelegs, her hindquarters in the air and her tail waving madly.

Mark chuckled. “Think this means they like each other?” he queried from beside me.

“Moe and Cissy are making sure Angel knows that this is
their
yard—she’s just a guest here. And I’m sure that somewhere in all that dog-speak they’re telling her that they can and will fight her to the death if she threatens me or the animals.” I looked over to find an incredulous expression on his face. “If you don’t believe me, just try making a threatening move. I guarantee you’ll have Chihuahua teeth in your ankle faster than you can spit.”

Mark laughed, and followed me as I turned to head into the house. As soon as I had opened the door, Moe and Cissy abandoned their new companion and made a beeline for the house. Angel stood and gazed at us curiously, a small whine escaping her throat.

“Can she come inside?” Mark asked. “I’m afraid she’ll tear up your door trying to get in if we leave her out here. Angel’s as protective of me as Moe and Cissy are of you.”

Protective, hmm?
I wondered. Nodding, I said, “Any protector of my employee is welcome in my house.”

Turning, I walked into the house and retrieved the basket of eggs from the fridge, setting them on the counter next to the sink. “Come over here and wash your hands, Mr. Singleton,” I directed my companion, gesturing toward the faucet. “Then you can make yourself useful by cutting some potatoes.”

“I thought you were making dinner?” he chided, though he complied with my order and appeared next to me at the sink, where he dutifully washed his hands.

“I said I make a mean omelet,” I corrected him with a grin, washing my own hands as Mark dried his. “I didn’t say you weren’t going to help with the rest.”

Mark laughed. “Touché, Ms. Caldwell,” he said, and my response was preempted by a snarl from Moe. I glanced down and saw that Angel had wandered over to the dogs’ water dish.

“Moe, you stop that,” I scolded the little dog. “Let her have some of that water.”

Moe looked up at me, then back at Angel. Reluctantly, he moved aside and allowed her access to the water, which she took just a few laps from before trotting over to Mark’s side.

Mark nudged her with his leg. “Go lay down over by the door, girl,” he told her, and with a last look between the two of us, his shapeshifting companion did as she was told.

“Where are the potatoes, and how would you like me to slice them?” he then asked me.

“In that bin over there that says ‘Taters’ on it,” I said over my shoulder, reaching into a cabinet for the frying pans we would use. “Cut ‘em however you want.”

As we worked, Mark and I made lighthearted conversation. I felt so comfortable in his presence already, and I knew that I was flirting even though I wasn’t intentionally doing so—or at least not consciously. I wanted him to like me, sure, but if we were truly soulmates, wasn’t that already guaranteed? For the first time in a long time, I began to wish I knew more about the world my father lived in. I knew some of the myths and legends, but not all of them—my Coming of Age ceremony had been interrupted before I could learn everything I was meant to learn. I felt a little lost with this man whom I already felt I knew, yet also knew that I did not know at all, and I supposed it made sense that in my nervousness I was acting like a teenage girl with a crush.

It pleased me that I didn’t seem to be the only one. Mark, too, seemed to be openly yet subtly flirting, returning each of my sarcastic barbs with one of his own. He matched me joke for joke, smile for smile, and once or twice when our skin touched—when that electrical current raced through my veins and I drew my breath in surprise—I do believe he did the same.

Once we had sat down at the table with our cheese-and-pepper omelets and fried potatoes, Mt. Dew to drink again because Mark didn’t drink orange juice except in the morning, I was a little startled to see him bow his head to say grace. Pleased even. I bowed my head as well and said a silent prayer of thanks that he had at long last been brought into my life, and I asked for the guidance to handle our unique situation with tact and delicacy—and for a sign that would tell me when it was time to tell him the truth about me. I also asked for a calm temperament when I confronted Angel, which I hoped would be soon so that I could have the unpleasant business taken care of.