Sam Harlan (Book 3): Damned Cold (4 page)

“You try and stop it?” I asked.

Mosley wiped his palms against his shirt, unable to meet my eyes. “I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know about … about
them
. I cried out in the Lord’s name, but it just laughed at me and then…”

“You did your best,” Jameson said.

“I couldn’t help the boy,” Mosley said, the color draining from his face. “His name was Toby Davis. He was only ten years old.” He looked away. “Nobody has seen the boy since. His parents were devastated. They’ll never know what happened to him. It was because of that boy that I found Father Jameson and learned the truth.” His haunted eyes finally met mine. “I can’t even tell the boy’s parents the truth.”

“Are you of the blood?” I asked.

“The what?” Mosley asked.

Jameson licked his lips. “Ethan is not of the blood, nor does he know about it.”

“What does that mean?” Mosley asked. “Of the blood? What blood?”

Before Jameson could stop me, I said, “It’s a lineage dating back, well, a long time. The Sister here is of the blood, and I suspect the Father here is, too. It grants you a little more … protection. Without it, you don’t stand a chance.”

“I couldn’t have stopped it?” Mosley asked Jameson.

“You’re lucky it didn’t rip your damned fool head from your body,” I muttered.

The priests winced. Callie crossed herself and said, “We will help look for this woman.”

Jameson nodded gratefully, but Mosley gave no sign that he had much faith in us. An anger rose inside me, first at the young priest for not understanding what he faced, and then for not being grateful that we were willing to help.

I recognized the anger for what it was and mentally counted to three. “Like the Sister said—we’ll take a look. We’ll see if it’s the thing we do, but if it’s not, you’re on your own.”

* * *

We followed Father Jameson’s blue Nissan through Monticello and south on US-105 to Bement. The town was small and Christmas lights still adorned many of the houses. A cold front had moved in from the west, and the warmth of the farm ground was now heavy with fog, but it thinned out by the time we crossed the railroad tracks in the center of town.

We followed Jameson a few blocks south, turned left by the library, and then left again before coming to a stop in the parking lot of the Catholic church. Jameson and Mosley got out and made their way past a rusted-out Ford Taurus.

“Sam?” Callie asked.

I took a deep breath. “Give me a second.”

Callie nodded in the dim light. I closed my eyes, stretching out with that part of me that was now changed, feeling for the oily black darkness that indicated
vampire
. I could hear Callie’s breathing like the sound of a far-off train, and the whoosh-whooshing of the blood in my veins. Even the smell of our bodies was thick in the air, hints of skin, and soap, and sweat—smells so faint I would never have noticed them before.

I concentrated harder, pushing all that aside. I focused on my own breathing, slow and rhythmic. I let my concerns and anger and hunger fade away until only the darkness within me was left. I embraced it, reaching out, looking for a matching darkness around me.

The darkness was empty.

I opened my eyes and nodded at Callie. “If there’s anything nearby, I can’t feel it.”

“Let’s go inside,” Callie said. “They’re waiting for us.”

We got out of the truck and headed for the back of the church. The Kimber slapped against my armpit, a reassuring weight I found gratifying. If I’d learned anything over the past several months, it was to be cautious.

And to keep my friends close, but the Kimber closer.

Father Mosley’s office was a large room filled with wall-to-wall bookcases, a massive desk, and a comfortable-looking couch against the north wall. The priests had removed their coats, and Father Mosley sat behind the desk across from a young woman who turned to look at me with concern.

“Dawn,” Father Mosley said, “this is our friend.”

I stood there awkwardly while the girl inspected me. Her eyes flickered to Callie, then back to me. She probably wasn’t more than a handful of years younger than me, but she had an innocence about her. She wore gray sweatpants, a heavy blue flannel shirt, worn sneakers, and a heavy brown Carhartt jacket that matched the color of her short, mousy hair. She wasn’t pretty, but she certainly wasn’t ugly, either, with a few pounds of extra weight that filled her out nicely.

In fact, the extra weight did all kinds of things to her chest and hips that I suddenly found intriguing.

Christ. Lewinheim was right.

I calmed myself and focused on the task at hand. “My name is Sam. I’m here to help.”

Jameson nodded approvingly from the couch against the north wall.

The girl finally offered the barest hint of a smile. “I’m Dawn McKie.”

“Glad to meet you, Dawn.” I approached her until I could lean gently against the oak desk, ignoring everyone else in the room. I spoke slowly and confidently so I wouldn’t spook her. I also made sure my trench coat hung loosely but didn’t gape. The last thing I needed was her seeing the Kimber. “Father Moseley tells me you believe your mother is missing. What makes you think that?”

“Mom wouldn’t leave without telling me,” Dawn said. “She
has
to be missing. Where else could she be? Nobody is taking this seriously. Not my husband. Not my aunt. It’s like nobody cares.”

I felt for the young woman. “Tell me about your mother. What does she do?”

Dawn wiped at her eyes. “She’s a teacher at the grade school.”

“Really?” I asked. “What grade?”

“Second,” Dawn said. “She’s great. Everyone loves her.”

“What about your father?” I asked.

“He died when I was nineteen,” Dawn said as tears streamed from her eyes. “Six years ago. It was a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Does your mom have anyone in her life?”

Dawn squinted at me. “You mean like a boyfriend? No, just me and my aunt.”

“Your aunt?” I asked. “Is she your mom’s sister?”

“Yes,” Dawn said. “Aunt Jodie works at the school, too.”

“She’s a teacher?” I asked.

“No. She’s a secretary. Aunt Jodie and Uncle Gene are my mom’s only friends.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes,” she said. “My husband’s name is Jay.”

“Any kids?”

“Not yet,” Dawn said. “We can’t afford it. Soon, though.”

“You and your husband visit your mom?”

She nodded. “We go to her house every Friday for supper. Aunt Jodie and Uncle Gene stop by every Sunday afternoon.”

I smiled. “Sounds like your mom loves her family. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Friday night,” Dawn said. “Like I said, Jay and I went for supper.”

“Anything unusual?”

Dawn shook her head. “Not that I remember. We were talking about our Christmas gifts. Mom bought us a vacuum cleaner and gave us a gift certificate to Kohl’s for new pots and pans.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes again. “I asked if she was trying to tell me something. Like, I needed to cook and clean more. Jay was laughing. We were
all
laughing…”

Callie had stepped close behind me as I questioned Dawn. “You haven’t heard from your mom since Friday?”

Dawn turned to Callie in surprise. “Who are you?”

“Sister Callie Calahane,” I said. “She’s with me.”

Dawn hesitated before shaking her head and tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear. “No, I haven’t heard from Mom since Friday. I tried calling Saturday, but she never answered. I didn’t think anything of it. She goes shopping sometimes…”

“Shopping after Christmas,” I said. “Really?”

Dawn offered a meek smile. “That’s when they have the best sales.”

“Your mom shops a lot?” I asked.

She nodded. “She goes to Decatur or Champaign with Aunt Jodie
all
the time. They mostly walk around and look.”

“So you went there Sunday, but she wasn’t home,” I said. “What about your aunt? You said she goes to your mom’s house every Sunday?”

Dawn nodded. “Mom fixes supper for my aunt and uncle and they…” She cast a sidelong glance at Father Mosley. “They have a few glasses of wine and play dice games.”

“Did you talk with your aunt?” I asked. “When was the last time
she
spoke with your mom?”

Dawn frowned. “Christmas night. After Jay and I left.”

Christmas was the previous Thursday. Dawn’s aunt had spoken to her on Christmas night, and Dawn had been the last person to see her on Friday. “Does your mom take any trips?”

“Trips?” Dawn asked, an edge to her voice. “Teachers don’t make very much. She’s got a little left over from my father’s life insurance, but she can’t afford trips and she would
never
leave without telling me she where she was going.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Just trying to piece it together. What about friends or neighbors? She speak with any of them?”

“Not really,” Dawn said. “She’s … quiet. I think if it weren’t for Aunt Jodie, Mom wouldn’t have anybody besides me in her life.”

“Has there been anybody new around?” I asked. Dawn’s eyes were brown, with rich swirls of amber, and her pupils were slightly dilated. I focused on them until everything else in the room faded away, taking note of her breathing.

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Dawn said. “Why do you ask?”

Her pupils didn’t change. Nor did her breath. If her mind had been messed with, it wasn’t the same thing I had experienced before. “Just thinking out loud,” I said. “You can never be too careful. No homeless drifters in town?”

Dawn smiled and cast a sidelong glance at Father Mosley. “He’s never been here before, has he? We don’t have things like that here. This is a small town and we … don’t like outsiders. A stranger stands out like a sore thumb.”

Father Mosley cleared his throat. “She’s right, Mr. Harlan. Very little happens here.”

Father Jameson leaned forward on the couch and nodded his agreement.

No strangers—none that she remembered, anyway. “Anything weird happen lately?” I asked. “Any missing time?”

Dawn leaned back in the chair, her face puzzled. “Missing time? You mean, like, time got away from me or something?”

“Or something,” I said. “Any episodes where you can’t remember how you got somewhere? Maybe you found it was time for supper with no recollection of what happened in the afternoon?”

She shook her head and turned to Father Mosley. “What does this have to do with Mom? I don’t understand what he’s asking. I thought you said you could help.”

“Have you gone to the police?” I asked.

Dawn frowned. “What?”

“The police,” I said. “Have you talked to them?”

“I talked to Bob,” Dawn said, “but he didn’t take it seriously. He said to give it a few days, and if Mom wasn’t back by then, I should file a missing person report.”

“Bob Gary is our town police officer,” Mosley offered.

I squinted at him. “Uh-huh. Nobody but Dawn seems to miss Dorothy, and no one filed a missing person report. Nobody saw her leave, and nobody knows where she went. She doesn’t have many friends and her neighbors aren’t particularly close to her.”

Dawn’s face reddened. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you should have demanded to file a police report,” I said. “I’m not sure what’s happened to your mom, but when someone goes missing, you go to the police.”

Dawn turned to me and glared, her jaw clenched, then the waterworks started again as she choked back sobs.

Damn it.

It wasn’t Dawn’s fault, and I didn’t know why I was taking it out on her.

Probably more of what Lewinheim warned me about
.

It might not be anything more than a mom taking a vacation without telling her daughter. Dorothy could be in Vegas, playing the slots, or maybe she’d found a man her daughter didn’t know about. Either way, Dawn was clearly struggling with her mom’s disappearance. “Look, I’m going to talk to your Aunt Jodie, if that’s okay. Can you give me her address?”

Father Mosley spoke up. “I know where she lives. I can introduce you to her.”

Dawn’s sobs were becoming louder. “You really—really think I should file a police report?”

Behind Dawn, Father Jameson shook his head.

“Let me talk to your aunt,” I said, “and I’ll get back to you.” I patted her awkwardly on the arm. “Everything will be okay.”

Dawn sniffled, rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her coat. “You think so?”

I honestly had no idea. If a vampire
had
taken her mom, the last thing I needed was Dawn filing a police report while I was hunting it. That way led to nothing but trouble for everyone involved. “Yes, I’m sure of it.” I gave her the biggest, fakest smile I could muster. “Go home. We’ll have this straightened out in no time.”

* * *

Father Jameson, Callie, and I spoke quietly in the front of the church while Mosley comforted Dawn in the rear office.

“You really think this is something more than an old woman who ran off?” I asked.

Jameson frowned. “Dorothy
isn’t
an old woman, and yes, I believe that Ethan felt a vampire’s presence.”

I walked down the aisle, passing rows of oaken pews, my boots scuffing the worn red carpet. The smell of incense lingered in the air, almost masking a musty smell that made me want to sneeze. I stopped halfway to the front door and said, “I’m not seeing it. Dawn doesn’t have any of the signs.”

“Sam—” Callie began.

“You believe there’s a vampire here?” I asked Callie.

She pursed her lips, then nodded. “I do.”

I turned to stare at the wooden Jesus hanging from the cross behind the podium. “We’re supposed to trust Mosley’s feelings? Excuse me, but Father Mosley’s feelings don’t seem that reliable.”

“Why do you remain unconvinced?” Jameson asked. “Ethan is a good man and a good priest. Trust his instincts.”

“Trust?” I said, whirling to face the priest. “Sorry, Father, but I’m all out of trust.”

“Sam?” Callie said softly. “I know things have been hard, but you have to trust
somebody
.”

“With all that I’ve seen?” I asked. “With all that
we’ve
seen? I
won’t
make the same mistakes. People won’t die because I trusted the wrong person.”