Sam Harlan (Book 3): Damned Cold (10 page)

I had no idea. “A lot?”

Meriwether began fidgeting, rubbing his hands together. “Animating a full-sized golem requires more energy than I possess. I simply can’t believe—”

“It was real,” I said. “It was made of sticks and twigs, with eyeballs and a heart.”

“You have to understand,” Meriwether said, his voice growing louder, “I’m not strong enough to animate a toothpick, let alone a golem. My talents lend themselves to simple charms. I can influence someone into purchasing a more expensive insurance policy if they are so inclined.”

“You’re saying you couldn’t have created the golem,” Callie said.

Meriwether shook his head. “You’ve met Nicholas. My wife became very ill during her pregnancy. I tried to use magic to heal her, but I simply didn’t possess the capability. She died giving birth and Nicholas suffered traumatic brain injuries. I realized then how little magic could accomplish. Like I said, my meager talent can barely sway someone that’s already leaning in my direction.”

I didn’t know what to make of Meriwether. He sounded sensible, honest, and forthright. The more he spoke, the less I could picture him setting the stick man on us. “If you didn’t animate the golem, who did?”

Meriwether frowned, his jaw clenching. “Someone strong. Someone who wanted to make sure you didn’t interfere.”

“Interfere with what?” I asked.

His eyes flitted around the room. “With whatever plans a person who can animate a golem might have, obviously.”

“Could Jodie or Gene animate a golem?”

He squinted at me and I saw his hands shaking. He placed them next to his side. “I’d rather not say.”

“Why not?” Callie asked.

“Because if they
could
,” Meriwether said, “it might make them angry. And if they could animate a golem, there’s no way I can protect myself.” He stood and motioned toward the hallway. “I don’t want to be rude, but I think it’s time you leave. It’s nothing personal, you understand. I have Nicholas. He needs me.”

“I understand,” I said, motioning for Callie to stand. “I know what a father will do to protect his child.”

Relief washed over Meriwether’s face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance. I strongly urge you to leave, before someone tries to harm you again.”

“I can take care of myself,” I said. “What about you?”

Meriwether led us down the hall. “Maybe it’s time Nicholas and I took a vacation. Somewhere warmer, perhaps. I hear Florida is nice this time of year.”

Nicky appeared behind Meriwether. “Are you leaving? We didn’t get to play Ninja Turtles!”

Meriwether turned to his son and his expression softened. “They don’t have time to play, Nicholas.”

We reached the front door and Meriwether opened it for us. He turned to Nicky and said, “I’ll play with you.”

Nicky stomped his sandal against the hardwood floor. “I wanna play with
them
!”

Callie gave the man-child a warm smile. “Next time, Nicky. Would that be okay?”

Nicky’s face fell, but he nodded. “Yeah, okay. We can play
next
time.”

I smiled at him, remembering how much Lilly used to love Dora the Explorer. “We’ll play Ninja Turtles with you. I promise.”

“I
love
Ninja Turtles,” Nicky said, turning to his father. “See, they
wanna
play with me. Can they come back soon? Can they?”

Meriwether smiled in return, but it never made it to his eyes. “We’ll have to see, Nicholas. We’ll just have to see.”

* * *

As we passed the Shopko on the south side of Monticello, Callie asked, “What did you think of Meriwether?”

“He seemed awfully damned normal for a witch. The Rexfords made him out to be a monster. He didn’t strike me as anything but a concerned father. A bit pretentious, maybe…”

Callie sighed. “I agree. What does that mean?”

“It means,” I said, “the Rexfords lied to us.”

Callie stared out the window. The sun had knocked the winter chill back to something approaching comfortable. We passed a few vehicles on the road, mostly dirty farm trucks and the occasional sedan driven by solid-looking men and women. “The one thing the change didn’t give me was a magic lie detector. We don’t even know if Dorothy is alive.”

A thought occurred to me and I grabbed my cell phone and punched in a number.

“Who are you calling?” Callie asked.

“Someone who can tell us if Dorothy is still alive.”

The phone rang and then a voice on the other end said, “I told you not to call me.”

“I need some help, Billy.”

Billy Two-Feather Davenport, a Meskwaki from Tama who had helped us in Marshalltown, sighed. “When you call, it ends up biting me in the ass.”

“That’s the spirit,” I said. “There’s a missing woman.”

“There’s
always
a missing woman,” Billy said. “That’s none of my business.”

“Still going to meetings?” I asked.

There was a long pause. “That’s a dirty thing to do.”

“I take it that’s a yes?”

“Yes,” Billy said. “I just got my thirty-day chip.”

“Only thirty days?”

“I … had a bad time around Thanksgiving.”

“Ah. Is that an Indian thing?”

“No, jackass, that’s a lonely alcoholic thing. Why did you call?”

“The missing woman. Her name is Dorothy Hamm. I need to know if she’s still alive.”

“A spirit walk isn’t a phone book, Sam. I can’t just step through the veil and call her.”

I’d seen Billy do amazing things in Marshalltown. I also knew that he was more powerful than he let on. “It’s important, Billy.”

“I’ll give it a try,” Billy said, then hung up the phone.

Callie raised an eyebrow. “Will he help?”

“I think,” I said.

My belly rumbled and Callie frowned. “Hungry?”

“I wish I could say no.”

She rummaged around behind the seat for the paper sack of jerky and passed it to me. I took out a piece, tore the plastic corner open with my teeth and popped the desiccated meat in my mouth. It wasn’t as good as a rare steak or hamburger, but it quieted the hunger. “If the Rexfords lied, then what happened to Dorothy?” I asked between bites.

“Do you think they did something to her?”

“Does Jodie seem the type to hurt her own sister?”

“She seems proud,” Callie mused, “and perhaps a bit arrogant.”

“I’ll give you that, but I don’t sense that she’d hurt her own sister.”

We had made it to Bement, and I turned left on Bodman and headed east.

Callie finally said, “We must be careful. We don’t understand their motivations.”

I tended to agree. My hometown of Arcanum was much like Bement, and I knew the kind of small-town intrigue and backbiting that could lurk under every corner.

All we need is to get involved in family politics.

Gene led us
past the living room and into their kitchen. I resisted the urge to sigh in relief. The idea of sitting at their dining room table with all the creepy dolls made my skin crawl.

Their kitchen was small, with a plain maple table that barely offered enough room for the chairs around it. Jodie was waiting for us, and she stood when we entered. “Did you find my sister?” she asked. I didn’t speak, and her face fell. “You didn’t find her.”

I grunted. “I don’t know what you were expecting—”

Jodie started to speak, but Gene cleared his throat. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the table. “I think my wife wants to offer you an apology.”

“For
what
?” Jodie asked, glaring at her husband.

“For assuming that Mr. Harlan and his friend would miraculously find Dorothy,” Gene said. “Please, have a seat.”

We took seats at the table while Jodie looked flustered. Finally, she spat out, “You saw him, didn’t you? You spoke with Carlton?”

“We did,” I said. “He admitted to being a witch. He said he doesn’t know where your sister is.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “If you knew him like I know him, you would understand. Carlton is a liar.”

“We don’t have any proof of that,” I said.

“Mrs. Rexford?” Callie asked. “We aren’t … qualified to resolve disputes—”

“But—”

“—and that’s what this looks like,” I finished. “

Gene leaned back in his chair and asked, “What did Carlton say to you?”

I hesitated. “He told us Jodie hasn’t liked him since he dated her sister. He said he doesn’t have enough magic to animate a toothpick. All he cares about is his son.”

“Nicky?” Jodie asked in disbelief. “Nicky is … a bad seed.”

“Come on. He’s mentally handicapped,” I said. “He’s just a child trapped in a man’s body.”

Jodie squinted at me. “Carlton spun a yarn and you bought it.”

“He didn’t seem—”

“Like the Devil?” Jodie said. “Did he tell you about his talent?”

“He said it was charms … that he could barely influence someone—”

“He told you his talent was charming people
while
he was charming you.” Her voice was full of disgust.

I gave Callie a sidelong glance. She was frowning and I could tell she was as disturbed by the conversation as I was.

Meriwether had sounded so reasonable. Had he charmed us?

“There must be
something
you can do to help find Dorothy,” Gene said. “I’m sure you can help.” He glanced down at the table as if he was too embarrassed to speak.

“What?” I asked.

Jodie rolled her eyes. “Tell him.”

Gene coughed uncomfortably into his hand. “What do you know of the Tarot?”

“The cards?” I asked, trying not to laugh. “That doesn’t work, does it?”

“Sam,” Callie said. “The Tarot isn’t—”

“It’s
real
,” Jodie said, nodding at her husband. “Gene’s readings have been all over the place lately, but one card keeps coming up. Death.”

“That sounds … ominous,” I said.

Gene shook his head. “Death represents change, and my readings have continually shown that card in play. There have been a few other cards, including the reversed Magician.”

It was like he was speaking in another language. “The what?”

“You are the reversed Magician. I believe
you
are a manipulator.”

I felt my anger rising. “I’m not some … some manipulator—”

“It’s not what you think,” Gene said hastily. “It means that you are the main driver behind our fates.”

“Whose fates?” I asked, trying to contain my disbelief.

“Ours,” Jodie said. “And Dorothy’s.”

Gene said, “There’s also the Hermit—”

Jodie raised her hand and shushed him. “The important thing is that you are vital to finding my sister.”

* * *

“What are you going to do next?” Mosley asked.

We were sitting in Mosley’s office as I recounted how I’d met with Meriwether and given Jodie my findings. Jameson was sitting on the couch, and I’d taken Mosley’s seat at his desk. Callie and Mosley sat across from me, waiting for me to answer. I sighed. “What else can I do? I told you, I don’t do missing women.”

Mosley started to protest. “But—”

“I only talked to Meriwether because I thought he might have sent the golem to kill us,” I said.

Jameson raised his hand. “We understand,” he said, even though it looked like Mosley didn’t understand at all. “But you can’t just abandon Dorothy.”

“Abandon her?” I asked. “I’m here for a vampire, remember?”

“You also want to find out who attacked us,” Callie pointed out.

“Yeah, well, for all I know it was the Rexfords.”

Callie frowned. “Why attack us?”

“Maybe they’re protecting the vampire,” I said. “Or working for it. Or maybe it has nothing to do with a vampire. Maybe it’s because we started poking around in their business. Maybe they don’t
really
want us looking into Dorothy’s disappearance.”

“That … doesn’t seem likely,” Jameson said. He stood and paced the room. “I suspect they truly want Dorothy back.”

I watched as the older priest paced back and forth. “You seem awfully upset.”

Jameson turned to me and opened his mouth, paused for a moment, then finally said, “We should all be upset. A woman is missing. Ethan has sensed a vampire’s presence. Witches are active in this community. None of this bodes well.”

“Sounds like another day at the office,” I murmured.

“Sam,” Callie began.

“Don’t Sam me,” I said. “Bad stuff happens everywhere, every day, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I
can
do something about vampires.”

Jameson shook his head. “Magic is dangerous, Sam, perhaps even more dangerous than vampires.”

“Hah. Nothing is more dangerous than vampires.”

“They’re playing with the Tarot,” Jameson said. “Oracles like the Tarot and the I Ching aren’t just toys. They can be … deadly.”

Callie turned to look at Jameson. “I know that you think—”

“I don’t just think,” Jameson said. “I
know
. Oracles don’t tell the truth. They present possibilities. Which, by the way, are open to interpretation. Trying to assign meaning to them can cause the very event you’re trying to avoid.”

“So I’m not the Manipulator?” I asked. “Great. I don’t really want to be the driver of fate.”

Callie sighed. “Should we go back to the hotel?”

“What?” I asked. “Why?”

“Those trees to the south,” she said. “They must have been watching us from there. Maybe they left a clue.”

“A clue?” My stomach tightened. I took a deep breath and held it until the surge of anger faded. “We’re not the police. We don’t have any training. How are we supposed to find clues? And, if we do find a clue, what are we supposed to do with it?”

She turned to me and her eyes were shiny and hard. “Do you have any better ideas?”

She’s got me there. Maybe she’s the smart one and I’m just the dumb sidekick.

My stomach growled loud enough for everyone to hear. “Fine,” I said. “We’ll go back to the hotel, but I’m going to stop and get something to eat. Didn’t I see a Subway in this town?”

Mosley nodded. “Right after the railroad tracks.”

“Great.” I nodded to Callie. “We get an early lunch, and then we go back to the hotel. Fathers, do you want to join us?”

Mosley started to nod, but Jameson shook his head. “No,” Jameson said. “I think the four of us traipsing around makes too much of a display.”