Sam Harlan (Book 3): Damned Cold (2 page)

The sun was setting when we cruised into Peoria. The winter solstice was barely a week behind us, and the sky now darkened before peak afternoon rush hour traffic. We parked the truck down the block from the rectory and got out. The air was thick with the smell of bitter car exhaust and the rank, fishy odor from the Illinois River to the south.

An old warhorse of a nun sat behind a wooden desk inside the rectory, reading a book. She wore a brown dress with a matching headdress, and when she glanced up, her mouth puckered like she had sucked on a lemon. Her eyes narrowed and her breath caught in her throat.

I gulped. I had seen that nun handle a massive semiautomatic pistol, and the look on her face suggested she had no problem pulling it again.

Then the nun saw Callie and her expression warmed from subarctic to something almost resembling warmth.

Almost.

“Sister Beulah,” Callie said, stepping forward. “It’s so good to see you.”

The old nun tilted her head ever so slightly. “Sister Callie. Still with the Harlan.”

“Good to see you too, Sister,” I said. Well, that’s what I
meant
to say, but the words that came from my mouth were, “Frighten any children today?”

Callie’s mouth dropped.

I didn’t blame her. I looked from her to Sister Beulah. The old nun’s brown eyes darkened, literally darkened, and there was a whooshing in the room like the air pressure had dropped.

“
What
did you say?” the nun demanded.

I was trying to stammer out an apology, but the unexpected surge of anger came back. The blood rushed to my face and made the tips of my ears burn. “Don’t worry, Sister. It’s okay to look down your nose at me. I’m
just
a Harlan.”

A buzzing ran up my spine and the tension in the room increased. I felt like a very small insect that Sister Beulah was about to smite, and I knew in that instant that the old nun was no longer
just
a woman, the same way I was no longer
just
a man. Whatever Sister Beulah was, it was interwoven with things like faith, and power, and God’s judgment.

The nun spoke softly, but her words hammered me to the hard linoleum. “Hold your tongue in the House of the Lord, boy.”

“Sister!” Callie cried out, raising her hands. “We’re not here to cause trouble. We just want to speak with Father Lewinheim!”

I was sprawled on the floor, panting for breath. It felt like an invisible boulder had landed on me. I strained against it, but it was useless. I couldn’t lift a finger.

And I didn’t
want
to.

I’d felt God’s presence before, and it wasn’t the warm, fuzzy love of a creator who sacrificed his son for our salvation. It was a mind-clawing terror that made my bladder burn and my sphincter tighten. I would give anything, do anything, to make it go away. Tears ran down my face, and I choked out a contrite, “Sorry. I’m
sorry
.”

And, like that, it evaporated, gone as if it had never existed. The nun stood there, her hands on her matronly hips and her piercing eyes focused on me with laser-like intensity.

I stood and tried to apologize, but Sister Beulah turned her attention to Callie. “The boy shall not pass.”

Callie was watching with a horrified expression. “But Father Lewinheim—”

“The Guardian decides who shall pass,” Sister Beulah said, “and I say the boy
stays
. For now.”

* * *

I watched the traffic pass by outside while I waited for Callie to return. Sister Beulah sat at her desk, but I kept my eyes focused on the window.

Me? Scared?

Sure I wasn’t.

The only sound in the room was the rumble of the cars passing outside and the occasional whisper of paper as the Sister flipped a page in her book. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the door to the hallway opened and Callie entered. “Father Lewinheim says to let him pass.”

Sister Beulah closed her book and stared at me for an uncomfortably long time, then grunted and said, “Be on your best behavior, Harlan. Your
best
behavior.”

I didn’t gulp. Nor did I race from the room. “Yes, Sister.”

Callie nodded her approval, then led me through the hallway and up the stairs to Lewinheim’s door. “He wants to speak with you. Alone.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “He’s already spoken with me.”

I knocked softly and waited until the old man’s voice beckoned me in.

The smell of the elderly and the infirm was heavy in the small room. A neatly made bed pressed against the far wall, a stuffed-to-the-brim bookcase against the other. Lewinheim sat on his recliner in the center of the room. He looked tired. His face was a maze of wrinkles and age spots, and the thin ring of white hair on his head was almost gone.

He raised a weathered hand and motioned for me to come closer. “Samuel.”

I nodded. “Father.”

The old man eyed me critically. “You’ve changed.”

“How so?”

The old man motioned to the chair at his desk. “Sit. Please.”

I grabbed the chair and approached him, sitting as close as I dared. “What did Callie tell you?”

Lewinheim offered a small smile. “You’ve been busy. Tell me about … Halloween.”

“There’s not much to tell,” I finally said. “There was a vampire. I killed it. People died.”

“Yes,” the old man said, nodding his head. “The Sheriff was there?”

“Henry helped clean up,” I acknowledged.

“You don’t trust him,” the old priest noted.

I barked out a laugh. “Not in the slightest. He’s been … helpful, but he’s an ancient vampire. Sometimes our interests align. He seems to like me, but I don’t know if that matters.”

The old man closed his eyes. “Well spoken. He fights against his nature, but he’s
still
unbelievably dangerous.”

I nodded, even though Lewinheim couldn’t see me.

Henry Hastings was the right-hand man of the Ancients, the twelve oldest vampires on earth. In his role of Sheriff, he kept the vampire world hidden from the public and maintained the status quo. Henry had helped with Jack in Tangier and with Ignacio Santiago in Marshalltown, but he
was
a thousand-year-old vampire.

“What else did Callie tell you?”

The old man opened his eyes and squinted at me. “I would rather hear it in your words.”

“There was a vampire. He was after this family—”

“They were scourged,” the old man said.

I nodded. “We didn’t know. The vampire … got into their heads. The mother and daughter were willing, I think. There was another daughter. Olivia. I saved her, but the rest of the family…” I swallowed hard. “Only the father survived. He’s…”

I paused, waiting for the tightness in my chest to ease, then continued. “The father’s been committed to the state. They say he’s suffering from dementia. There was another family. The Glicks. The father and daughter were murdered by the vampire. I thought I had saved their son…”

As I spoke, I realized how inadequate it sounded. The Mendozas were dead, the Glick family torn apart.

I heard a growling sound and realized it was coming from me.

“You cannot blame yourself,” Lewinheim said. “You tried.”

“I tried—” The words caught in my throat. “I tried and failed. Miserably. I almost got myself killed. I almost got Callie killed. I didn’t think—”

“It would be so difficult?” Lewinheim asked. “You didn’t expect to make decisions that were a matter of life or death? You thought you could take Jack’s place and exact some form of revenge for your family?”

I felt the anger rising again. “I sound like an idiot.”

Lewinheim shook his head. “You are no idiot. You are a troubled young man who thought his grief would somehow make him perfect.”

I rocked back in the chair. “I’m not Jack. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Lewinheim sat quietly, his sad gray eyes full of empathy. “I know what it is like to fight against evil, Samuel. You ask a question I’ve pondered since Jack’s death. I wonder if
I
made a difference. I wonder if the lives lost due to my actions were part of God’s will. I wonder if I did the
right
thing.”

We stared at each other in silence, until I finally asked, “What’s the answer?”

“After many years of prayer, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no
right
answer,” Lewinheim said. “Only
faith
.”

* * *

Callie had joined us in Lewinheim’s room. I offered her my seat, at which she rolled her eyes. Lewinheim watched us with great interest, and it was starting to creep me out. “Father? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Lewinheim shrugged. “You know about the change. You know the effects are … profound.”

Callie turned to stare at me, her face full of concern.

My stomach sank. “What aren’t you telling me?” I asked. It felt like I was moving through a fog. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“What more?” Callie asked. She turned back to Lewinheim. “Father? What don’t we know?”

Lewinheim glanced down at the floor. “You’ve experienced the hunger, but yes, there is more.”

“Why didn’t Jack tell me?” I asked.

Lewinheim raised his head and said, “He probably would have told you—”

“What else?” Callie asked. “What else will Sam endure?”

The Father’s hand trembled as he wiped at his forehand, and I noticed the old man’s hands were covered in even more liver spots than before. “Increased emotions, Callie. He will feel intense anger, greater than he has ever known.”

I realized I was holding my breath. “What else?”

“Fear, of course. Disgust. Sadness. Surprise.” The old man paused. “It’s not
all
bad. You will also feel great happiness.”

I shook my head. “I don’t see
that
happening.”

“There’s more,” Callie said, “isn’t there? I could always tell when you weren’t completely honest.”

The old priest’s head jerked and his lips twitched. Finally, he said, “He will have … strong appetites.”

Strong appetites?
“That doesn’t sound that bad. I’m getting used to the hunger.”

The priest glanced from Callie to me. “Appetites, Sam. Longings.”

Callie blinked.

I managed to say, “Uh—”

“You mean … sexual urges,” Callie said.

The Father nodded. “It’s difficult for me to speak of. Jack mentioned it, but only briefly and never in detail. I didn’t pry, of course. I preferred not to hear the salacious details.”

Callie’s eyes found mine, eyes that were so much like her sister’s. “Have you been having feelings like that?”

“I’m not comfortable talking about this,” I said. “Not with you.” I hitched my thumb at Lewinheim. “Not with him, either. No offense, Father.”

“I’m a sister,” Callie said patiently, “not a robot. I understand how sex works.”

“Callie,” I said, “I don’t care if you were Jesus Christ himself, I’m
not
discussing it.”

“Sam!” Callie said, clearly upset by my blasphemy.

“Leave the boy alone,” Lewinheim said. “He hasn’t recovered from losing his wife. He doesn’t want to speak of it.”

Callie bit her lip. “I respect you, Sam, but I also
live
with you.”

“Damn it!” I barked. “Of all the things to be worried about, that’s what bothers you? Not the vampires? Not that we could die at any moment? Or that we keep making mistakes?”

“Calm down,” Lewinheim said. His tired old eyes blinked furiously. “This is the anger I was talking about.”

I growled in frustration. “Father, people depended on me. They trusted me. I promised them I would keep them safe and I …
didn’t
.”

Callie started to speak, but I fixed her with a stare and said, “C’mon, Callie. You know it’s true. I tried my best, but it wasn’t good enough. I almost got you killed in Marshalltown. You saved us, not me.”

“That’s
not
true,” Callie said. Her eyes were full of emotion. “You did your best. I know you blame yourself, but if not for you, Santiago would be alive, and Olivia would have received the gift. Juan and Franco and Elias would still be dead. Colden, too.”

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to scream at the Father. Instead, I just laughed until I felt tears streaming down my face. “Yeah. Maybe. But what about Duane and Carrie Glick? What about Angie Bent? Twenty-four years old and her head torn from her body like so much useless meat. Carrie wasn’t even seventeen, for God’s sake. Seventeen!”

I stood and paced around the room. I wanted to move, to walk or run, to do something physical to relieve the tension boiling inside me.

Callie and Father Lewinheim just watched in silence.

I must have made two circuits of the Father’s small room before taking my seat again. “Father? I know God exists.” I nodded at Callie. “I’ve seen His wrath. What I don’t understand is why He allows evil to exist. Why do vampires get to roam this earth?” My voice rose, sounding almost panicked. “Why doesn’t He
do
something about it!”

The Father shook his head sadly. “Sam, you may not take comfort in my words, but I
do
understand. I was like you, a long time ago. I wanted to do the right thing. The Christian thing. Without Jack’s help, I would have died.” He paused, his breath rattling around in his chest. “I asked many of the same questions. My faith almost deserted me. I was full of anger. I wondered how God could leave us to the monsters. Then I realized…”

Callie turned to the Father, her mouth open. “What did you realize?”

The old man turned his gaze upon me. “That perhaps God
had
done something. Perhaps God had sent me Jack Harlan.”

* * *

Callie was speaking quietly with Lewinheim, but I wasn’t listening. I was leaning back in the old chair, and although I tried to focus on their conversation, a part of me wondered if the Father was right. I wondered if God had led Jack to a young Edmund Lewinheim, and if fate was a real thing, manipulated by a powerful divinity. Was I part of it?

Did God allow Stacie and Lilly to die so that I might do His bidding?

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I almost missed Lewinheim’s comment about Father Jameson. “What was that?”

Lewinheim glanced up in surprise. “I was telling Callie about my first meeting with Patrick. He was quite skeptical of vampires. You know that many in the Church are kept unaware of their existence—”