Chapter Twenty

Old Writings

I’m feeling more than a little drained after the battle.

Talking with Dusk only made me feel even more tired. Out in the backyard, with the television going loud in the living room—Thanks, Tammy—I filled my brother in on a basic overview of my life that he missed. He knows that this ancient evil bitch sent a vampire to turn me one night, and the resulting supernatural fallout turned my former husband into a bastard. I suppose you could say that a man doesn’t just become a bastard. Adversity brings out the real person hiding underneath. Danny seemed so normal up until that point. Whenever I’m feeling charitable toward him, I like to think he maybe was a decent guy and he just cracked.

Between finding out that the world of the supernatural was real and his convincing himself the ‘real Samantha’ died and he was sharing a house with a creature similar to these things I’ve been turning into ash piles here… he lost his mind and spiraled out of control.

I shared my theory that because of our magical bloodline whatever Elizabeth wanted from me, she almost certainly tried to get from Mom first… and failed. Considering how old Elizabeth wa s, I probably have other ancestors who somehow managed to fend her off before she got lucky with me.

Dusk now also understands the difference between blood vampires and psychic ones. I didn’t bother going into massive detail about how I ended up changing and becoming technically alive again… since I really don’t perfectly understand it myself. Not complaining, though. Hated blood.

We know something happened with Mom, likely around the time I was three or younger. What memories my brother has of Mom being normal are very fleeting. Few people have clear memories of anything that happened when they’re that young. Personally, memories of anything in my life earlier than around age six are pretty much gone.

So, now Dusk is up to speed and the last thing he says to me before we go back inside is to demand that I make that ‘son of a bitch’ pay for what he did to Mom. Not a difficult thing to agree to. After all, my plan is to take this Hans guy out, anyway.

Sleep is fitful.

I don’t feel any sense of danger. No, my restlessness comes mostly from adrenaline… oh, and having recently fed in Hawaii.

I’ll explain.

Like I said, the fight was draining. Whenever I tap into superhuman strength or speed, it burns energy that I need to replenish. Since I don’t want to ‘feed’ off my family, I do the only reasonable thing and teleport to Hawaii since downtown Klamath would’ve been a ghost town and I need a fairly energetic crowd. So, I arrived at a resort I’m somewhat familiar with. Though it was a little after nine at night, there was still plenty of activity going on. I found a nice little beach party and lurked in the background, siphoning mental energy from a group of party-goers big enough that no one noticed the occasional ‘drunk’ falling on his or her face .

Now wired from the recent feeding and post-fight-adrenaline, I stare at my childhood bedroom ceiling until sunrise.

I get out of bed early enough not to be in conflict with anyone for the bathroom. My super-fast cleanup yesterday left me wanting a real shower. I lock the door, strip down… and get interrupted by my bladder.

I’m not sitting on the toilet for a full minute before a man’s voice comes out of thin air right next to me, “Sam?”

Somehow, I manage not to jump and scream. I rapidly look around while doing my best to cover myself with my hands. There’s no one here. I’m totally alone in the bathroom. But it doesn’t feel like a ghost is invading my personal space. Am I losing my mind?

“Sam? Is this working? Can you hear me? Just talk and I should be able to hear you,” repeats the familiar-sounding man.

Now that the suddenness of the voice is no longer startling me, my brain processes it enough to recognize who it is: Max.

I’m probably blushing as hard as I’ve ever blushed in my life. There I am, stark naked and sitting on the toilet and it sounds like Max is standing next to me. Oh, I really hope this is not Facetime magic.

“Umm,” I say in a low tone so no one else can hear me. “Yeah. I can hear you.”

“Excellent. Haven’t tried this trick in a few decades.” He chuckles. “You’re out of cellular reception, so I’m trying the orb.”

“The orb?”

“Pearl orb,” says Max. “It is an ancient communication device.”

I close my eyes, tensing up. “Can you see me?”

“No. Only hear you.”

Whew. I relax, slouching forward. Okay. Shower can wait a minute. He’d hear the water and be all sorts of embarrassed. “What’s up, dude? ”

“I was poring over a collection of old writings and found some things you might find interesting.”

“How old is this book?”

He gives a quick chuckle. “It is not a book. I’m talking about stone slabs with etchings.”

“Wow, that’s going back a bit.” I whistle in awe, quietly.

“Just a bit. These… creatures you have encountered are a… shall we say ‘less advanced’ kind of vampire. I believe they are monsters without a soul to redeem. Effectively, the person they were in life has died and their souls got the boot. Something else is inhabiting their corporeal remains. If this is accurate, they are likely not immortal like ordinary vampires and will progressively decompose over time until they collapse. My guess is in about sixty years. There is some mention of a need to consume flesh as well as blood, which may allow them to repair their bodies and exist longer, fighting off the decomposition.”

I’m done with the toilet, but I dare not flush or he’ll hear it, so I just keep sitting there. “Max, my brother said these things had like a tangled up combination of two different auras. I think maybe the victim’s soul is still trapped, but has no control.”

“Possible, yes. These ancient tablets aren’t very detailed. I doubt the author could see auras, so they would have documented only what they observed with behavior.”

“On the positive side, you do not need to feel any guilt when destroying them. Pretty sure the victim trapped inside wants to die. Who wants their body controlled by someone else?”

I knew I sure as hell didn’t, which is why I did all I could to keep Elizabeth at bay back in the day.

Anyway, I’m not going to tell him I already figured that part out and hadn’t been feeling bad at all about dusting these monsters. Seeing Mack’s evicted ghost proved to me that destroying them is doing a good deed. He seemed so relieved to be finally be free.

“According to this tablet, these creatures cannot feed without killing, Sam. And they are extremely vulnerable to sunlight. If even one fingertip makes contact with sunlight, the fire would crawl up their arm and consume them in a matter of seconds.”

“Good to know. Not sure if I’ll be able to use that, but good to know we’re safe in the daytime.” I exhale. “Any idea if these guys have any crazy powers? So far, they’ve been pretty much claws, fangs, and not much else. Strong and fast like you’d expect… but I have a feeling I’m encountering the weakest of them so far. Something worse is probably waiting for us.”

“Not entirely sure, Samantha.” Max pauses. “The stone tablet was only 200 pounds. It didn’t go into great detail. I would imagine that anything you may have heard somewhere in folkloric tales of vampires is likely to be true with them.”

“Great.” I rest my chin in my hands, elbows on my knees, and stare at the wall in front of me. Really appreciate the effort he put in, but Max hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already figure out or could assume. “Max, one more question.”

“Fire away.”

“Have you ever heard of an artifact called the Eye of Anubis?”

“Sounds familiar. Give me a few minutes.”

Dammit. I can’t sit here in the bathroom all morning. “Okay, fine. Gonna shower then. Just start talking when you’re ready.”

“All right.”

I hop in the shower. He’s got the fortunate timing to start talking after the functional ‘washing’ part of the shower is done, and I’m merely luxuriating in the warm water.

“The Eye of Anubis is supposedly an artifact with connections to the realm of the dead,” says Max.

I stand there, letting the water cascade over my head and run down my body. The only thing that would make showering more perfect is if Kingsley was in here with me, though he likely wouldn’t fit, the big oaf. “Okay. So, if someone had their hands on this thing… could they maybe use it to do something like, oh… create an army of these weird vampires?”

“Hmm. I suppose. If it is involved in your present situation, my guess is someone is using it to create these pseudo-vampires. They are effectively summoned minions, temporarily animated by magic… even if ‘temporary’ in this case means six or more decades. Without studying the Eye myself, anything I say would be conjecture and guesswork. There are stories about the Eye being used to summon an army of tomb guardians. The writing is unclear exactly what ‘tomb guardian’ means. Implications are somewhere between mummies and… I suppose the sort of creatures you’re running into.”

I let my head lean back against the wall. “Well, I do know that normal vampires don’t turn people into those things. Was wondering if that’s maybe happening because all the dark masters are on holiday now.”

Max laughs. “No, Samantha… I fear they are still out there. They are rather difficult to destroy permanently. My feeling is this Eye of Anubis is playing a part in what’s going on. It theoretically has vast power over the dead. You should be exceptionally wary.”

“Good thing I’m not dead anymore.”

“You’re gonna be if you don’t get out of that bathroom soon!” shouts Ellie Mae from the hall.

I blink and raise my voice a little. “Excuse me, young lady?”

“Oh crap! Sorry! Thought you were Ruby playing one of her weird role-playing games. She does that with her weird friends sometimes. Eye this, ring that. Mummies and vampires and tombs. Sorry, Auntie Sam! But I do really have to go!”

“It seems you need to go,” Max chuckles. “Be careful and call me if you have any more questions.”

“Thanks, Max.”

I twist around and cut the water. The faucet squeaks and the pipes rattle in the walls… just like they always have. Did I mention the first oh, ten or so years of my life we didn’t have working interior plumbing? The contractor Dad got to install this worked cheap. But hey, rattling pipes beats showering outside under a hose any day of the week.

Much the way I used to do as a kid when bathroom time was at a premium, I wrap myself up in a towel from armpit to knees and hurry across the hall to my room, intending to get dressed in my bedroom. Ellie Mae darts into the bathroom and practically slams the door.

I don’t feel too selfish at being in there so long. How could I have known she’d wake up this early? Guess the second bathroom—which is only a toilet room—is occupied.

Oops. One thing that is much different than when I was a teenager: I didn’t have an Anthony sleeping on my bedroom floor. Easy enough fix. I grab clothes and head across the hallway to the unused room where Emerson spent the night. Nothing in there but Dad’s cardboard boxes. Good enough for a quick change in privacy.

In all the years I lived here, it never really occurred to me to wonder what, exactly my father was storing in here. He’s got boxes and boxes of stuff. Once I finish getting dressed, curiosity gets the better of me and I open a few to peek inside. None are sealed with anything more than the cardboard flaps being woven together. No tape or anything.

Much to my non-surprise, I find several boxes of kitsch. Little figurines, touristy mugs, snow globes, that sort of thing. Guessing whenever Dad went on the road to a new town, either with his minor league baseball team or his sales job, he’d pick up some small memento. None of it is valuable, or even remotely expensive.

Another box has some old spare baseball uniforms. Several contain three-ring binders with thick ‘books’. Looks like reference material for the machine parts he used to sell. I’m about to give up and declare all of it little more than sentimental junk he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of when I open the last box in the room and find books.

Not more binders, actual books.

The first spine I look at bears the title ‘The Netherworld Atlas.’

Huh. That’s kinda weird. Dad’s not much of a reader. I mean that in the sense of him not being the sort of person who reads for entertainment. After removing that book from the box, I flip it over and wonder what sort of blurb it’s going to have. Except… the back cover is blank. The book feels a bit strange, too. Bound in actual leather… might even be handmade.

I gingerly open it and skim a few pages. Looks like whoever wrote it was attempting to create a reference book for various phenomena that supposedly exists in a realm beyond life. There seem to be chapters on different types of spirits as well as ‘natural formations’ that occur there. No idea what I’m looking at… a ransom picture of a ‘plant’ looks like a cluster of big mushy black spheres with multiple vines sticking up from the middle and draped over like tentacles. Tubes sticking out from between the spheres appear to be emitting vapor of some kind. It’s a super creepy illustration.

The author refers to this thing as a ‘soul font’. Apparently, it’s neither plant nor creature but more akin to a geological formation that gives off raw spirit energy. Whoa. Okay. Damn. Whoever wrote this was either on the ‘good stuff’ or they saw ‘ some things’.

And what the heck is Dad doing with a book like this?

I put the book back where I found it and notice the rest of the books in there all have occult or spiritualist themes. What on Earth? The sound of someone approaching down the hallway makes me look up in time not to be startled when Mary Lou pokes her head in.

“Hey, Sam. We’re ready to go.”

“Yeah.” I fold the cardboard flaps closed over the books, baffled by their presence.

Dad never read for fun, which means he would have been reading these books for a specific purpose. They might have been Mom’s, though. If she was, in fact, a witch, it makes sense why she might have them. But why are they here with Dad’s stuff? So weird.

I walk after my sister and toss the pajamas back into my room, then follow her outside where everyone else is already climbing into Rick’s Excursion and into the Momvan.

It almost feels like the rug of understanding has been pulled out from under me. For so long, I’d thought of Dad as this pothead former baseball player turned salesman who’d been permanently stuck in a 1960s mindset. More and more, it sounds like my mother might have been practicing… or at least aware of magic. How much of that did Dad know? Did she keep it secret from him, or were the two of them part of the supernatural world without telling us kids?

I can’t help but think about how Dad kept asking when Mom was going to be there despite her sitting right next to him. Is he aware that her soul is missing? With those ghost books… could my father have spent the past thirty years trying to find a way to ‘fix’ Mom?

My head is still spinning when we arrive at the hospital.