Sam Harlan (Book 3): Damned Cold (12 page)

I jerked, coming back to my senses, horrified by my thoughts. I didn’t kill humans. I killed vampires. That made me a good guy. Killing humans would only make me a murdering scumbag.

I can’t let the change take control.

There was a scraping above and I heard two voices speaking quietly, then the old man appeared again at the top of the pit. “We’re gonna talk, Mr. Harlan. Face to face. Don’t you try anything stupid. We have your friend. If you try any funny business, she’s dead. You understand?” The man’s voice was rough, like he wasn’t used to idle chitchat.

“Yes,” I said, trying not to imagine my hands wrapped around his throat.

“Good. Lower it.”

There was more scraping above, then an aluminum extension ladder appeared over the edge and slowly lowered into place. When it touched the bottom, I grabbed it and hauled myself up.

“Slowly, boy. Very slowly.”

I bit my tongue. Literally. The pain focused me, and I climbed until I reached the top, then gingerly climbed over the edge into a room with walls made of yellowed plywood. The old man was tall, with broad shoulders that appeared even broader thanks to his insulated undershirt and navy-blue overalls. Short white hair peeked out from under a DEKALB baseball cap. His skin was tanned and leathered, and I placed him somewhere in his late sixties or early seventies.

He watched me the way one watches a snake, his green eyes taking in my every motion, but I realized the old man was not alone.

The police officer I’d seen in the Subway restaurant was standing next to the old man.

Worse, the cop watched me with hard black eyes, his hand near his service weapon. He squinted at me. “Make a move and your girlfriend dies. That’s the deal. Got it?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I got it. And she’s not my girlfriend.”

“You care ‘bout her,” the old man said. “That’s enough.”

“Where are we?” I asked, finally breaking eye contact with the cop.

“Not far from where we ran you off the road,” the cop said.

“Bobby, here,” the old man said, “is Bement’s police officer.”

I turned back to the cop. “Your name is Bobby Gary?”

The cop scowled. “You got a problem with that?”

I don’t know why I said it. Maybe it was the stress, or the disorientation from the crash, or the change playing havoc with my emotions. Maybe it was just plain dislike.

“No,” I said. “It’s like you have two first names. Bobby Gary. Heh.”

There was a brief moment where I saw his fist moving, and then I felt the meaty crunch as Bobby Gary’s fist smashed into my nose.

I gasped. My vision went black and my eyes teared up. I fell back toward the pit, but somebody grabbed me and then there was a sense of weightlessness before I crashed into something hard.

I gasped for air and wiped at my eyes. When I could finally see again, I found myself on the floor next to the plywood wall, my hand covered in blood from my nose.

Officer Gary was staring at me and rubbing his knuckles. “Keep it up, asshole, and what happens to your girlfriend is gonna be the least of your problems.”

I wiped blood and snot from my nose and cleaned it off on my jeans. My anger had evaporated, and it wasn’t because of the punch to the face.

There was a buzzing against the back of my neck. Officer Bobby Gary was a witch as well as a cop.

I’m in trouble.

* * *

They led me into a hallway. The walls were yellow plywood, the type used in new construction. I glanced up at the open rafters above and realized that I was in a machine shed not unlike my own back in Toledo.

We stopped in front of a massive wooden door and the old man withdrew a skeleton key that hung from a thick silver chain under his shirt. He turned the lock and pushed gently on the door.

Officer Gary gave my shoulder a shove just a little too hard to be considered gentle and said, “Be smart, asshole.”

I turned to glare at him, but he was unmoved. I sighed and stepped through the door.

The room was the same as the room where I’d been kept, but this room had no pit. Callie sat in the middle, bound to an oak chair by black plastic zip ties. A pentagram was inscribed in the concrete, with symbols etched around the circumference.

I took a step forward and slammed into an invisible wall of force.

“Callie!” I shouted, trying to step forward.

It was hopeless. I was rooted in place.

“You can’t reach her,” the old man said. “She’s warded.”

Callie’s head lolled to the side and a smear of dried blood trailed from her nose, over her lips, and down her chin.

My heart thudded in my chest. “What have you done to her?”

“She was knocked out in the crash,” Officer Gary said. “She’ll live. I checked her myself. She’s gonna hurt something fierce when she wakes up, but she’ll be fine.”

“We’re gonna keep her unconscious,” the old man said from behind me.

He placed his hand on my shoulder and yanked me back. When he did, I felt the force holding me give way. I was finally able to take a step backward, then another, until I was free of whatever magic protected Callie. I spun around and glared at the old man and Officer Gary. “Why did you do this?”

“You are gonna kill Carlton for me,” the old man said. “You’re going to do it, or your friend will remain asleep.”

My anger finally boiled over. I pointed at Officer Gary. “You think this goon will protect you?”

Officer Gary took a step back. His hand, which rested on the butt of his gun, twitched. “You better—”

“
Please
,” I said. “
Threaten
me. Even with a splitting headache, I will take that gun away from you and beat you to death with it before you even move.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

I felt my lips curl into a smile. “I’m fast, faster than you can imagine. How good are you with magic? You think you can voodoo me before I kill him and move on to you?” My smile widened. “I’d break your fingers like popsicle sticks. Let Callie go or you’re going to learn about regret, and not the sort you feel over picking the wrong flavored coffee or burning the toast, but the kind of regret you get when you’re taking your last breath and wondering what you should have done differently with your life.”

Although Officer Gary appeared defiant, there was a hint of fear in his eyes as he finally recognized that I might be more dangerous than they’d bargained for.

“I can’t release her, boy,” the old man said wearily. “Your friend is well and truly bound. You ain’t gonna free her. She will stay in that chair until she dies.”

I started to speak, but the old man pointed to the writing on the floor and said, “That is our coven’s work. Nothing you can do will break it. Your friend has minor injuries, but she’ll live, at least for three days. That’s how long it takes to die from dehydration.”

“What if I
make
you release her?” I growled, my hands rising in front of me.

The old man stood his ground. “You don’t understand, boy. Only our coven working together can release the binding. You can threaten us, boy, but you can’t bend our will. Not all of us. You got to kill Carlton, or your friend dies.”

* * *

“Who are you?” I asked. “Why are you doing this?”

A door slammed and footsteps echoed, then Jodie Rexford entered. Her face was pale, her eyes full of concern. “By the Goddess, Randy, what have you done?”

“You stay out of this, girl. Something’s got to be done.”

“I apologize for this, Mr. Harlan. Randy forgot his place. I’m the leader of this coven.”

Randy chewed at his lip, then said softly, “You get to be in charge because I
let
you be in charge. Your talent is strong, but you didn’t get near as much as your momma, and you sure didn’t get near as much as me.”

Jodie sucked in her breath. “You can’t treat me like a child. Not anymore.”

“If you weren’t family,” the old man said quietly, “I’d tell you to get the Hell off my property.”

“You’re related?” I asked.

The old man turned to me and there was a buzzing against the back of my neck. His eyes, already a vivid green, deepened as he stared at me. I tried to catch my breath, but it was like my lungs were empty.

“My niece doesn’t have my talent,” the old man said, every word carrying an electric sense of power, “and she doesn’t got the stomach to do what needs to be done. I can see you, boy. I see the goodness in you. I see the other thing, too. I
hate
asking you to do this, but we’re all in danger.”

Bobby Gary was glancing between the two, clearly torn between the old farmer and Jodie Rexford. “I don’t think this is—”

“Shut up,” the old man said, his eyes never leaving Jodie.

“You put me in charge,” Jodie said. “You don’t get to pick and choose which decisions to follow. I may not have your talent, but I’m level-headed. That’s why Janice supports me.”

The old man took a deep breath, then relaxed. “That’s a dirty thing to do, and you know it.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Officer Gary said, “before the prisoner does something stupid.”

“Prisoner?” Jodie asked, arching an eyebrow.

Before I could speak, the old man nodded. They led me from the machine shed to a run-down two-story farmhouse fifty feet to the north. Jodie’s Prius was parked behind Officer Gary’s patrol car. Next to them was the same Ford pickup that had run us off the road.

I paused for a moment and searched for my truck, but a shove from Officer Gary sent me stumbling forward. We reached the side door to the farmhouse and I hesitated at the steps.

The old man held out his hand, and there was an excruciating pain in my chest. Liquid fire poured through my heart. I screamed and dropped to my knees, collapsing onto the welcome mat at the bottom of the farmhouse stoop.

“
Randy
,” Jodie hissed.

And, like that, the pain was gone, the fire a distant memory. The old man regarded me coolly. “Sorry ‘bout that, boy. I don’t like to hurt folk, but you got to learn who’s in charge.”

A woman appeared behind him. She was also in her late sixties, with vibrant blue eyes and steel-gray hair in a small bun. Her face was makeup-free, and she had deep creases around her eyes and mouth. Unlike the man, she wore a colorful red sweater and faded denim jeans. “Don’t be cruel,” she said to the man. “It isn’t necessary.”

The old man turned to the woman. “We’re deep in the ditch, hon. We ain’t got time for manners.”

“Wait,” I said quickly, holding up my hands. “I don’t understand. Can’t you just—”

From behind me, Jodie cleared her throat. “There’s no time for this.”

The woman shook her head. “There’s always time for manners, Jodie.” She beckoned me inside. “Come in, Mr. Harlan. Please.”

“Well,” I said. “Since you asked so nicely…”

The man held the door and I followed the woman inside and into a surprisingly well-maintained kitchen.

The ceiling was at least ten feet tall, the way old farmhouses used to be, but the walls were painted a bright white. The cabinets were white, the countertop was white, hell, everything in the room was blindingly, spotlessly white—everything except for the ancient oak table in the center of the room. It was scarred, and cracked, and weather-beaten, and looked like it belonged on the set of a western movie.

The old man pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit, boy.”

I sat.

Everyone else took a seat, but before I could speak, the old woman said, “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Janice Korman and this is my husband, Randy.”

I blinked. “I would say it’s nice to meet you…”

“These are trying times,” Janice said, frowning. “Carlton has us all on edge.”

“Your husband almost killed me,” I blurted out. “You’ve got my friend held in some kind of magic … I don’t know what. You think
you’re
on edge?”

Randy Korman sat up straight and stomped a heavy boot against the floor. “Pay attention, boy,” he said.

“We just want my sister back,” Jodie said. “I’m sorry for all of this.”

“It’s too late for that,” Randy said. “Things have gotten outta hand. We got to take measures.”

Jodie’s face darkened. “Randy—”

“Don’t, girl. If your momma was still alive—”

“Well,” Jodie said sharply, “she’s not.
I’m
in charge. We’re going to focus on getting Dorothy back.”

“Then let Callie go,” I said. “As a good faith measure.”

Jodie opened her mouth to speak, but she paused, then said, “I’m afraid that if we let your friend go, you’ll leave without helping us.”

Damned right, I will.
“I wouldn’t do that.”

Randy snorted. “You ain’t a very good liar, boy.”

“I’m afraid I can’t release her,” Jodie said. “She’s the only leverage we have. Just help us find Dorothy. That’s all we’re asking.”

“Please, Mr. Harlan,” Janice implored, glaring at Jodie, “help us get Dorothy back. Surely you can see that she
belongs
here with her family.”

I wanted to say that holding Callie hostage wasn’t the way to win me over. I wanted to tell them that I no longer cared about saving Dorothy. I wanted to stand up and tell them that their problems were just that—
their
problems.

Then I remembered Callie, slumped over in the chair, and the bloodstains on her face.

Randy and Janice Korman seemed like the people I knew in Arcanum—rock-solid farmers, salt-of-the-earth folks, the kind who gave you the shirt off their backs if they knew you were in trouble.

But Randy possessed power, and I felt a little buzz coming from Janice, too. Jodie certainly possessed enough magical ability to give me pause.

The simple truth was that I didn’t have the strength to fight them, and if what Randy said was true, I couldn’t free Callie without the coven’s agreement. I didn’t know how many people were in Jodie’s coven, but if Randy and Janice were indicative of their power level, I couldn’t
force
them to release her.

The anger rose again, burning in the back of my throat, but there was nothing I could do about it.

They had me and they
knew
it.

I bottled the anger up and shoved it down deep inside. “If you can tell me where Dorothy is, I’ll make sure she gets home safe and sound.”