Chapter 22
Ipour the holy water in the bowl, arranging the stakes so they get saturated.
It’s early afternoon, hours from sunset, and I’m more anxious than ever for the guys to wake up.
There’s no way the nurse at the clinic was a vampire.
It’s the middle of the day. There are other reasons someone can smell like sulfur.
Old tap water can, for example. Maybe he washed his clothes in it?
Or maybe he’s not a vampire but spends a lot of time with them.
I roll my eyes at myself. He looked at me funny…he smelled like sulfur…and, most of all, I got a bad feeling around him. But it can’t be possible. Vampires sleep during the day, just like my gargoyles.
“Right, guys?” I ask, looking through the living room in their direction.
I grab the grimoire and Jacques’s notes and sit at the kitchen table.
The book doesn’t seem to be written in any order, with supernatural information and spells mixed in together.
Jacques’s theory was the original sorcerer wrote things as he or she learned them, and the book had been copied in the same order.
The first spell Jacques translated is for protection during birth.
It’s intricate and complicated, making me thankful I’ll have modern medicine to rely on as well if I ever have children.
The next few pages are filled with notes from the original author, written casually almost like a diary, summing up a spell performed during the spring equinox.
He’d gotten halfway through translating a full moon blessing spell before he had to retire to the roof for sunrise.
I close my eyes, going with my gut, and open to a random page.
Like everything else, it’s written in Latin, but this one has a crude painting of a person.
The color has faded over the years, and the ink is smeared, but there’s no denying the person is holding up a hand engulfed in flames.
I scan the page and the word “ignis” jumps out at me.
It’s not a direct translation, but Jac told me it means fire.
With a surge of excitement, I get up and get my phone, using Google to translate as much of the text as I can. I have to fill in the blanks in more than a few spots, and some of the words don’t even come up in the Latin-to-English dictionary.
“Well, I don’t have crystals, sage, or whatever this is,” I say out loud to myself, tapping my pen on the notebook.
I’m not entirely sure what to do, either, but I think the spell is calling to boil the herbs in a cauldron, add the crystal, and then hold it for extra power? Or maybe you drink it like tea?
Not wanting to accidentally turn anyone into a frog, I close the book and go upstairs to change into my workout clothes.
After warming up and stretching, I put in my earbuds and take off down the gravel road.
I haven’t been past the estate, and those kids I caught creeping said they lived nearby.
It’d be nice to know who’s around me, though I’m not getting neighborly enough to say hi, introduce myself, and invite them over for pie.
I make it a good mile down the road before the trees on either side begin to clear, and a neatly manicured lawn butts up to the rural road.
A small white ranch-style house sits behind perfectly trimmed rosebushes, and an elderly woman reading a book waves to me from a rocking chair on the covered porch.
The house next to it is just as nice. It’s a little bigger, with a basketball hoop in the driveway and chalk drawings on the sidewalk.
There are five houses total in this little stretch, all nice and neat, and they don’t look to be over ten years old.
I turn up my music and push through another half mile before coming to any more houses.
It’s interesting how the estate stayed so isolated for years and years. There’s no way it’s by chance.
Hot and sweaty, I slow to a walk, stretching my arms over my head.
I turn around and keep walking until my breathing steadies out, then stop to stretch my legs.
A car comes down the road, going way too fast at first. It slows down to only five miles over the speed limit when the driver sees me, and I pick up my pace to a jog, raising my hand in a friendly wave to thank the asshole for not running me over.
I turn to get a view of the plates, not expecting to see brake lights. The black Toyota already passed me. Why is it stopping now? As a cop, I’ve seen enough to make me view everyone as guilty until proven innocent. As a woman jogging alone on a rural road, my feelings are amplified tenfold.
I turn down my music but leave the earbuds in, turning to take another look at the car and to commit the plate to memory.
The tinted passenger side window rolls down halfway and I get a glimpse of a blonde woman in the seat.
She’s wearing a floppy hat and big sunglasses, looking classically beautiful.
But something about her makes me want to pick up my pace.
I hold steady in my jog, my eyes darting along the road, looking for anything I can use as a weapon.
Gravel crunches and the car takes off, tires spinning in its haste to get away.
Inhaling a lungful of humid air, I push forward, getting more and more eager to get back to the estate.
I don’t get ominous feelings. I believe in intuition in certain, specific situations, but don’t think anyone can “feel” a universal warning.
But that’s exactly what I’m feeling right now. Something bad is coming. And I’m not at all prepared.
Loose stone crunches under my feet and my body itches to break into a sprint, not stopping until I’m in the house with my gun on my hip and a wooden stake in my hand.
Though it’s not fear that’s making me run.
It’s the overwhelming need to get ready for a battle, because, for some strange-as-fuck reason, I know it’s coming.
Calm your tits, Ace, I tell myself. There’s no way to know that, and of course something bad will happen.
Even before the gargoyles and vampires, bad things happening were a part of life.
Hell, I’d be out of a job if bad things didn’t happen.
I wipe sweat off my brow, slowing for a few paces when I get to the little collection of houses that look like they were taken right off Wisteria Lane.
The garage door opens to the house with the basketball hoop, and Jared, the kid with the camera, steps outside, holding keys.
An older man I guess to be his father is behind him, and Jared freezes when he sees me, face going white.
I smile and raise my hand in a friendly wave, overdoing the neighbor shit this time just to see the panic rise on Jared’s face.
His father’s eyes widen and he waves back, quickly walking to the end of the driveway. I slow to a walk, welcoming the misty rain that’s starting to fall.
“Sorry to interrupt your run,” he says. For an older man, he’s not bad-looking. Not at all. “But I thought you came from the old brick mansion up the road.”
“I did,” I say, brushing loose strands of hair away from my sweaty face.
“We thought we saw lights on the other night. It shocked me, that’s all.” He smiles and his eyes lighten. “I’m Richard, by the way. And this is my son Jared.”
“Hi, Jared,” I say sweetly. “And I’m Acelina, but everyone calls me Ace.”
“Nice to meet you, Ace. Did you move in? I didn’t think the house was move-in ready?”
“It’s not quite. I’m working on it.”
“I’ve admired that house for years. The architecture on it is stunning. Do you know the history behind it?”
“Dad,” Jared scoffs.
“Sorry.” Richard laughs. “I’m a history professor at Drexel and I find anything local particularly intriguing.”
“Oh, neat. I don’t know much. I inherited the house recently.”
A car coming down the road gets all our attention. It’s the black sedan again. It speeds past us. The windows are tinted darker than what’s legal, giving me a reason to have it pulled over.
“That’s the car I told you about, Dad,” Jared says. “It’s been up and down the road three times in the last hour.”
“Really?” I ask. “You’re sure it’s the same car?” The hair on the back of my neck isn’t prickling or anything…nope. Not at all.
“I think it is,” Richard agrees. “It’s gone by too fast each time to see the license number.”
“Have you seen it before?” I ask.
“No. There aren’t too many houses out here, and it’s faster to get to the neighborhood down the road if you come from 500 South, not from our road, so something like this sticks out,” Richard answers.
“I thought maybe they were looking for land for sale—we get that a lot. People want a piece of the pie out here. But three, now four, times in an hour is unsettling.”
“It is,” I agree. “Have you seen anything else out of the ordinary?”
Richard shakes his head. “I hope this doesn’t scare you off. We’re normally peaceful around here and everyone in this little neighborhood feels quite safe. That’s why we moved out here. The wife and I wanted a safer environment for the children.”
“Right. Safety is important, so if you see it again, I need you to call me,” I start, looking at his house. There’s a security camera above the porch and near the garage. “I’m a cop.”
Richard’s eyes flick over my body. I get that reaction a lot, actually. I’m tall and slender, athletic but not buff. My physical strength gets questioned every time I tell someone what I do for a living.
He smiles. “It’s nice having an officer of the law on our road.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “What division are you in? I have a buddy who’s on the force.”
“Homicide. I’m a detective,” I say, and give him my number. Jared crosses his arms, looking uncomfortable. The kid believes in gargoyles. I bet he believes in vampires, too, and I don’t want him going out looking for something that will rip him to shreds.
“Don’t go outside alone at night,” I say, eyes going right to Jared. “We’ve had a lot of calls lately about cars driving by houses with children after dark. Better safe than sorry, right? Best to stay inside and lock the doors.”
“I agree with you there. We’re headed out to pick up dinner and I think it’ll be a quiet night in for us.”
“Yay,” Jared says sarcastically, and rolls his eyes again.
“Be careful,” I direct to him. “And it was nice meeting you.”
“You, too. And if you ever need help with the house, I’m more than willing to lend a hand.” Richard smiles. “The time when your house was built is my area of expertise and I’d jump on any opportunity to help preserve the history of a structure so magnificent.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, and take a few steps back.
Keeping my music off and my vigilance high, I start to my house again, running harder and faster than I should, and am out of breath and hotter than before by the time my feet hit the cobblestone path leading to the front door.
Not wanting to get achy muscles from stopping too suddenly, I walk around the house and look at the yard.
The misty rain brings on fog, and with sunset quickly approaching, mutes the evening light.
There’s a shed behind the house. It’s newer, put in by the last occupant of the house, according to the records I got at the bank.
The dilapidated pile of splintering wood and shingles was the original barn to this place, and it looks like it’s been in a rotting heap for years.
The chicken coop isn’t in bad shape, not that I’d ever have anything to do with it.
I like to eat chicken, and I can’t eat an animal I’ve had in a little house in the backyard.
I roll my neck and stretch. My back is tight from stress, and I put one foot up on the step going to the back porch to try and stretch it out.
It takes a while to get the knot to loosen enough to not be painful, and it’ll be good as new with a back rub.
I subconsciously smile and feel a tingle between my legs when I think of the last massage I got.
“Is it sunset yet?” I ask, looking up at the roof. From this angle, I can only see the tips of Hasan’s wings. I walk backwards, keeping my eyes on my gargoyle, until I can see his face, twisted into something monstrous and set in stone.
Bending over to touch my toes in a final stretch before going inside to shower, I feel eyes on me.
I snap up and turn around, suddenly unnerved.
Taking a deep breath, I walk around to the front of the house.
The fog is rolling in, getting thicker and thicker and harder to see through as the sun sinks lower in the sky.
“Hey, guys,” I say to Thomas and Gilbert, rounding the house and coming up to the front porch. I pull my key from the pocket on the back of my sports bra and stick it in the deadbolt.
And then I notice the scratches on the door frame and know right away what they’re from. Someone tried to break into the house.