Deamhan (5 page)

 “You think so? Who was it? What happened? Were you hurt?” Sean shot questions as fast as pellets fired from a gun.

Veronica sipped from her glass. “I should’ve been more prepared. I should’ve studied the documents you gave me.”

“You didn’t read over them?”

“Yeah I did, but not enough to remember everything.”

“Veronica, you promised me you would.” His voice grew solemn. “You need to be more careful and more prepared.”

“I’m fine.” She heaved a sigh. “But I think I’m going to need some more information.”

“What kind of information?”

“One of them, the Deamhan who accused me, went by the name of Remy. I recognized the name but I was wondering if you could find more information on him.”

“Like his history?”

“Yes, his history, anything you can. I’ll gladly take.”

Sean hesitated. “It’s—it’s not going to be easy. They’re revamping the archives here and moving the majority of the files to a secured location until they’re done.”

The Brotherhood archive was the most impressive part of the San Diego headquarters. It housed old researcher accounts about the Deamhan in the western hemisphere and other relics from past centuries. She reserved to comment, knowing her father used his position as President of the Midwest Region and his influence to keep every information they had secretive and hidden. It boggled her mind. Of course, it wasn’t coincidental that they decided to revamp the library just when she needed access to the information.

“But that’s where you come in, Sean. You can get almost anything.”

“Well, that might change,” his voice softened to a whisper.

“What—what do you mean ‘it might change’?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Let’s see. Remy, right?”

“And Alexis. She’s a vampire.”

“A vampire.” He blew out pent-up breath. “A vampire and a Deamhan at a club together? I thought they couldn’t stand each other.”

“Well, they can’t, from what I saw.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll get started.” Sean’s voice suddenly took on a pleasant, professional tone. She heard more muffled sounds and the muted voice of a man in the background.

“Veronica, I gotta go,” Sean whispered. “Let me in on the inside scoop when you call back. You are going to call me back tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And Veronica,” Sean said softly, “keep your cell on and be careful.”

“I will.”

“You should stay away from that club for a few days at least.”

Veronica glanced at the television. “Yeah, I have some sanctuary hunting to do. Bye for now.” She snapped her cell phone shut and sipped her OJ.

* * * *

“Who was that?”

Sean rolled his brown eyes and he looked away from Kenneth Dearhorn.

Kenneth wasn’t being curious. His actions came off as crude. Sean refused to say Veronica’s name. He knew that Kenneth wasn’t that much of an idiot. Moreover, eventually he’d find out anyway.

Sean replaced his phone in the cradle, turned down the volume on the radio, and leaned back in his leather office chair, a gift from Veronica’s father.

“I came here to tell you to not worry about Rick’s eulogy.” Kenneth leaned against the edge of Sean’s desk and he picked up his electric pencil sharpener, examining it.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m writing it.”

Sean gripped the Styrofoam cup in his hand and brought it to his lips. The coffee had turned lukewarm. His eyes fixed on Kenneth’s tall medium build body and the mischievous smile overshadowing his hazel eyes.

“I want to know how you managed to get Mr. Austin to approve for you to write an eulogy,” Sean asked, “especially since you didn’t even know Rick.”

“No, you can’t know.”

Sean wanted to smack Kenneth’s smile off his face. Scattered papers and desk-memos about the recent increase of Deamhan activity in San Diego, and a report about the recent death of Rick Sorfield littered his large office desk. Rick’s body was found underneath the inner pass of the Interstate 5 freeway in Chula Vista. Large fire ants had eaten away his eyes, and larva filled his ears. His throat had been slashed, and his body was drained of blood. They’d identified him by dental records because his face was unrecognizable.

Sean knew Rick. Unlike majority of researchers, Rick didn’t have family in the organization. After being viciously attacked and nearly killed by a Deamhan, he’d decided to join The Brotherhood. He and Sean had competed for the more lucrative desk position after their formal graduation. Sean had landed the job, and Rick ended up as a field researcher. He’d only been on the job six months before his murder.

The last time he saw Rick, he was wiping coffee stains off his white shirt and cursing under his breath. The Deamhan could smell a human from half a mile away, and the smell of coffee mixed with his human scent increased Rick’s chances of being discovered. Sean had patted him on his shoulder, joked about how the coffee stain matched the brown stripes on his white tennis shoes, and told him not to worry; at least he wasn’t holding up a sign with “Researcher Here” in bold letters.

Rick had joined in on the laugh.

Now, Sean blinked hard and blew air through his pursed lips. Rick didn’t deserve to die like that and this asshole has no right to write Rick’s eulogy. Still, it was better than being turned into a Deamhan for the organization to research.

Sean breathed heavily. “Congratulations, I guess.”

“I came here to see if you have any ideas on what should be in Rick’s eulogy.”

Sean’s eyes darted to Kenneth. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Rick was Brotherhood. He was family.” Kenneth stood up and he walked around to the other side of Sean’s desk. “I might not have known him as good as you may have. However, I want to do my best in representing his legacy, if you know what I mean.”

Sean exhaled. There wasn’t anything he could do except agree. Kenneth held the lead researcher and he was the personal favorite of the President of the Western Division, Kurt Luzier. Disagreeing or failing to participate meant disobeying Mr. Luzier’s orders and nothing was worse than working in the backroom, filing paperwork and handing out mail for the remaining of his career. He had to play along, for now.

He forced himself to smile. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” Kenneth placed his hands on his hips. “Also, after the funeral, Mr. Luzier has advised me that you’re to stay. Mr. Austin has asked to speak to you privately.”

“Me?”

Kenneth nodded. “So be on your best behavior, Sean.” He leaned over and whispered, “I know you were talking to Mr. Austin’s daughter.”

Sean placed his fingers on the back of his head and he leaned back in his chair. “Now, why would she call me, Kenneth?”

Kenneth laughed. “Why wouldn’t she call you? You’re her best friend. You know I’m going to find out anyway so you might as well tell me now . . . Sean.”

“Tell you what?” Kenneth stood his ground.

“What would Mr. Austin think if he knew you were helping his daughter?” Kenneth straightened his jacket. “Come to think about it. What would Mr. Luzier think about you disobeying your Brotherhood oath by helping Mr. Austin’s daughter?” Kenneth smiled and he gracefully walked out of the room.

Sean rested his head on his desk. He tried to clear his mind. He knew the way Kenneth worked. He’d already told his superiors about Sean’s involvement and that message was sent to Mr. Austin. After Rick’s funeral, he would be reprimanded and relieved of his duties. Still, it couldn’t be that bad. Wherever he ended up wouldn’t get in his way of getting the information Veronica needed. “Remy” wasn’t a name he’d heard frequently, but The Brotherhood’s Deamhan Database was always adding new additions.

Damn.

He wished he had the courage to be there with Veronica, in the mix, delving into hands-on research, coming face-to-face with a Deamhan. He yearned for the experience but his fear of the environment dampened his desire.

Veronica had confided in him about her dissatisfaction with her father over her mother’s disappearance. Sean knew there’d been a strong effort to sweep the unusual circumstances under the rug—to bury it—and so he’d called Mrs. Austin’s disappearance one of the risks that researchers took when they agreed to work in the field. Sean made sure he’d been there to back Veronica when the rumors flared up about her mother’s disappearance battering Veronica’s memories. Now he found himself becoming the coward he hated, and this hatred ran deep and festered inside his soul. Nevertheless, Rick’s death and Mrs. Austin’s disappearance caused Sean to worry about Veronica, his little sister. He couldn’t bear the same thing happening to her.

Better Rick than Veronica.

Sean turned up his radio, catching the intro of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb.” He could relate. From his office window, he watched the cars rushing down the freeway below. However, the sun had escaped the horizon and the moon sat visible and high in the sky. Sean raked his fingers through his dark hair and huffed. “She’d better call me back,” he muttered to the empty room.

The sun’s rays blinded his eyes. Another California day, gone.

CHAPTER THREE

After straightening her cluttered apartment, Veronica scoured the bottom of her duffel bag and pulled out a framed picture of her mother.

She tenderly ran her fingers across the photo like she’d done a thousand times, noticing its yellowing edges. The picture of her mother sat in her purse for years and, afraid she was going to lose it on her trip to Minneapolis, she had it framed before leaving San Diego. She kissed her mother’s likeness and placed it in a position of honor on her dresser.

“Enough,” she whispered. Turning from her bedroom, she gathered the bag of kitchen trash, stuffed it into a nest of cardboard boxes, and headed out the door for the dumpster. After she locked the door behind her, a creaking noise coming across the hall startled her, and she turned to see a brown-eyed man in his 30s toting his own bag of trash.

“Must be trash time for everyone,” he said, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He wore a red shirt and faded, ripped blue jeans, and when he turned to lock his door, Veronica noticed he sported a short black ponytail.  

“Yeah, I guess so,” she answered.

“Did you just move in? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Yeah.” Veronica nodded. “Just a few days ago.”

He dropped the bag of garbage near his feet, wiped his hands on the front of his jeans, and extended a smooth palm. “I’m Murphy Norton.”

“Veronica Austin.” She accepted his handshake, taking note of his firm grip and muscular forearm.

“Welcome to Palm Oaks.”

Brilliant, even teeth. Nope! Not a Ramanga nor a vampire. And he is f-i-n-e, fine! “Thank you.”

Murphy Norton nodded toward the boxes. “You finished unpacking, Veronica?”

“Yeah, finally.” A giggle burbled from her lips, and heat rose in her face. Quit acting like a little schoolgirl. He’s gonna think you’re desperate!

She shifted the box of garbage to her hip and stared at the floor, feeling oddly nervous. The only time a man had ever made her feel this way had been when she was a teenager. That man was Sean.

She remembered how Sean commented on her furious blush when they first met. At the time, he’d been dating a cheerleader from public school in Mission Valley. The cheerleader often visited, flaunting her personal assets in tight-fitting shirts and short skirts. She’d popped her gum when she talked, and when she’d first met Veronica, she’d patted the top of her head like a dog.

To make matters worse, Sean had introduced Veronica as his “little sister.” From that moment on, everyone in their neighborhood considered her as such. His words proved prophetic, and soon their relationship had taken on the loving, platonic vibe of brother and sister.

“Well, like I said, welcome. I think you’ll like it here. It’s a nice building.”

“Thanks.”

“You in college?”

“No. Are you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I go to the Minneapolis Tech College down the street. Thought maybe I’d see you around campus.”

 “No, I just moved to Minnesota,” she said.

He scratched the back of his neck and tightened his ponytail. “Where from?”

“California.”

“I’m new to Minnesota, too. I’m from Florida. But I’ve always wanted to go to California.”

There’s that smile again. Veronica felt herself grow warmer.

Murphy awkwardly stepped forward. “Hey, sorry. Do you need help with that?”

A gentleman too!  Veronica shifted the heavy box again. “Yeah, thanks.”

He took the box from Veronica’s arms as easily as if it were stuffed with feathers. “Trade ya.” He nodded toward the small bag of garbage he’d dropped by his door. “Mine’s light.”

“It’s a deal.” Veronica picked up the white kitchen bag and followed Murphy down the hallway.

“Say, I’m having a get-together tonight. Small group, just a few friends. You’re welcome to stop by.”

“Oh, um, I’m going to a club tonight—but thanks.”

“Really? Which one?”

“Dark Sepulcher,” she answered. “Have you been there?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “No, I’ve never been, but I hear it’s wild. Maybe I’ll check it out sometime.”

“It’s not all that great,” she said, trying to sway him, “I think it’s overrated.” Veronica couldn’t help but notice the way his well-worn jeans fit the curve of his ass and thighs. The muscles in his upper back flexed as he shifted the box into one arm and turned, again extending his hand in her direction.

“I can take the rest from here.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve got it.” Besides, I like the view from back here.

He reached for the bag. “Really, I’ll get it. I’m going to the store any way and I’m parked out back.” He grabbed the bag and flipped it over his shoulder like Santa carrying his pack. “If you change your mind, just come on over. People should start arriving around eight or nine.”

Veronica quickly stepped around him and held open the door.

“Ya know, that’s college student time.” He laughed when Veronica’s forehead wrinkled.  “You know, when you say something starts at seven, and people don’t get there until later? They’re my friends and they also go to college, so . . . . ”