Rotten Luck, page 5
“I said, stay focused.”
The momentary distraction with Van earned me a shot in the ribs from Chelsey. The next hour, even without his presence to divert my attention, was more of the same— flat on my back with Chelsey pinning me down. She enjoyed winning but grew frustrated with my lack of experience. She threw insults along with her punches, taunted and shoved, doing everything she could to force my natural defense mechanisms to kick in.
The only problem with that— my defense mechanisms had serious limitations. Something she pointed out at every opportunity.
Of which I gave her plenty.
“Why don’t we call it a day?” After knocking me to the mat for what felt like the millionth time, Chelsey offered me a hand up.
Something in her tone made me think what she really meant to say was, why don’t you call it quits. Fat chance of that happening. They’d have to strap me down, forcibly give me the serum, and then toss me out on my ass because I wasn’t going any other way. Of course, that was still a real possibility and fueled my desire for success. I made a vow that Chelsey would be looking up at me from the flat of her back before my trial period ended.
“Same time tomorrow?” Gritting my teeth, I tried to hide the pain in my side from the repeated blows she landed and took her hand.
“Same time tomorrow. If you’re still here tomorrow, that is.” Chuckling to herself, Chelsey headed for the door. She paused at the threshold, her left hand gripping the doorjamb as she looked back over her shoulder. “Oh, and a word to the wise, if you do stick around, the only time you spend chasing Van is on your morning run.”
“I wasn’t... I’m not.” Flustered by her accusation after she’d caught us in what looked like a moment of indiscretion, I struggled to find the right words. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “I’m not interested in Van that way. And I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Besides, he’s not my type. He couldn’t be any more different from the guys I normally date.”
I overshot my attempt to sound convincing and wound up sounding the opposite.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea.” She walked out of the room leaving me more than a little confused by her response.
A threat to take it out on my ass if she had to come looking for me the next day echoed down the hall to the gym. Convinced she’d make good on her end of it, I planned to be early for our next session. Spying a mini fridge stocked with water tucked into an alcove by the barbells, with neatly folded terry-cloth towels on a wire rack above it, I helped myself to one of each.
After mopping the sweat from my brow, I slung the towel over my shoulder and gave the plastic cap a twist, just as my name squawked out over an intercom. Startled, I gripped the water bottle, squeezing its contents out all over me and the floor. “Over by the light switch. Press and hold the button before you reply.” Collin’s voice sounded distant and distorted coming through the old intercom system.
Not bothering to wipe the water off myself, I tossed my towel toward a small puddle to soak up what spilled on the floor and headed for the intercom.
Angler’s Cove was a small backwater town. We may not have had all the latest technology, but we at least had intercoms. Biting back a retort informing Collin of such, I pressed the button and answered his call.
“Yes, sir?” Releasing the button, I waited for his reply; hyper-aware of how weird my life had become in such a short period.
“Please, Collin is fine.” There was a brief but heavy pause before he continued. “Come by my office. After you freshen up, of course. I’d like to talk to you.”
“Sure thing.” Convinced I was about to be handed my walking papers, I left the gym and headed for my room; my shoulders sagged under the weight of my failure.
Chapter Seven
A jar of Epsom salt and a tube of mentholated muscle cream sat outside the door to my room accompanied by an unsigned note that read Thought you might need these. The way my day had gone, and with the possibility of my dismissal looming, it seemed unlikely that any of my housemates would have put them there. Still, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, I grabbed the salts and made a beeline for the bathtub.
After stripping out of my sweat-soaked clothes, I filled the tub with water hot enough to melt the flesh off my bones. Pouring in close to a third of the jar’s contents, I gave the bathwater a stir with my foot to help dissolve the salts before submerging myself up to my neck. In no hurry to meet Collin and officially get the boot, I stayed in the bath until the water cooled and the salts stopped working their magic on my muscles.
Not caring if I smelled like an old folks’ home, I toweled off and slathered myself in the muscle cream before getting dressed. Greaseless my ass. My skin had an unnatural sheen, my clothes looked like I got into a wrestling match with a stick of deodorant and clung to every inch of my body. In other words, I looked every bit the vampire hunter and totally professional.
Not.
Well, you can’t be anyone else, so you might as well be yourself. Joannie’s favorite piece of advice rang in my ears. I used to roll my eyes every time she said it. Of course, it would take her being killed by a vampire for me to listen. I imagined her looking down at me, hands on her hips with a satisfied smirk on her face and an “I told you so” look in her eyes. Thoughts of Joannie, of our friendship, and her conviction my luck would turn, gave me the confidence boost I needed to face Collin— even if my luck was as rotten as usual.
As prepared to be fired as anyone can be, I walked out of my room and shut the door behind me; surprised at how much I was going to miss the frighteningly tacky décor.
***
“Come in,” Collin called out from behind the closed door that led to his office before I had a chance to knock.
Either I wasn’t as light of foot as I thought, or Collin had security cameras. A quick glance at the corners revealed a small camera aimed at the door. High tech and no doubt expensive, the camera was a tenth of the size Mr. Al had installed at the donut shop, and I was willing to wager a bet did not record on VHS tapes. Unable to stall any longer, I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans and opened the door.
Collin sat in one of the wingback chairs by the bar. One of those rolling room service carts sat between his seat and the one I was obviously supposed to occupy.
“You must be starving. I took the liberty of preparing us lunch. Please, sit.” Taking a white linen napkin, he unfolded it and set it across his lap. “How’s your training going so far? Not what you expected?”
“Nothing is what I expected.” Especially this lunch meeting, but I kept that to myself as I took my seat and placed a napkin across my lap as well.
Instead of the pate or foie gras the expensive china demanded, my last meal with the Benandanti consisted of a turkey sandwich on rye with a dill pickle spear and a handful of chips. A lunch found on every menu back home in Angler’s Cove and no doubt selected to make me feel at ease.
Or ease me back into small-town life before giving me the dreaded serum.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said I couldn’t cook.” Collin crunched on a couple of chips before taking a bite of his turkey on rye. “We eat a lot of sandwiches around here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“What’s to mind? It’s not like I’ll be eating this every day.” Lifting the top slice of bread, I slid the tomatoes off to the side next to the pickle.
“Oh?” Collin set his sandwich down, brushing his fingers on his napkin. “I should have asked about dietary restrictions. My apologies.”
“Dietary restrictions?” My stomach growled, demanding to be fed. Forgetting my manners, I took two huge bites of my sandwich and gulped down half the bottle of water. “What does that matter? I’ll be lucky to remember my name, never mind food allergies after you give me the serum.”
“Serum?” Clearly confused, Collin set his water back down without taking a sip. “Did you think I brought you here to terminate your position with the organization?” He laughed, not waiting for my reply. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t given anyone the serum before they’ve completed their ninety-day trial period. Well, that’s not entirely true. There was... Never mind.” Collin took in my widening eyes and nervousness and quickly changed topics. “I wanted to check in after your initial training sessions. How are you getting along with Chelsey and Van?”
“Umm, I’m not sure you’d call it getting along. Tolerating might be a better word.” Polishing off the last of my turkey sandwich, I immediately regretted not taking more time to chew my food.
“Don’t worry. They’ll get used to you.” Finished with his lunch as well, Collin wiped his hands on his napkin before tossing it on his plate. “The other reason I asked you here was to begin your history lessons.”
“History lessons?” My eyes glazed over like a tray of raised donuts at the mention of book work. Sure, I planned to go to college, but that was for accounting or economics or something, not a bachelor’s in bloodsuckers.
“You have a lot to learn, Lucky. And I mean more than just how to hunt. You need to know what you’re hunting. This is a family business, so to speak, for Van, Chelsey, and me. They come from a long line of hunters and my family, well, we did field research.” Collin stood, hands clasped behind his back, and walked over to a bookshelf behind his desk. After perusing the shelves, he came back with an old leather book, thicker than my grandmother’s bible, with only the letter V on the spine.
“V is for vampire?” Taking the book from Collin, I thumbed through the first few pages.
“Not quite.” He gave me a wink before he rolled the lunch cart away and settled back into the chair across from me. Crossing his legs, he folded his hands on his knee. “Roman numeral five, actually. We can skip the first four volumes. All conjecture really. Five picks up with the most accurate origin theory we’ve compiled.”
“The Kresnik Chronicle?” Flipping through the old parchment pages, something jumped out at me in chapter two. “Archangels, the Garden of Eden? Come on, Collin. I spent my share of Sundays in Sunday School and the A.M.E. church in Angler’s Cove never mentioned any of this.”
“Does that really surprise you? Read Kresnik’s notes in that chapter from the beginning. Out loud.” Collin uncrossed his legs. Resting his elbows on his knees, he propped his head in his hands like an eager kindergartener at the beginning of story time.
My mouth went dry as Collin put me on the spot. After clearing my throat several times, I began reading, stumbling more than once over words that were difficult to make out in the old hand-written script.
“The Clan of Iscariot, or more commonly known, the Children of Judas. After returning the thirty pieces of silver to the priests, the traitorous apostle hung himself from a tree outside the city limits. Or so the Gospel of Matthew has led us to believe. But, according to the priest and what I have confirmed during my review of documents in the archives, that is not the end of Iscariot’s tale. He and his line were cursed by the Almighty to walk the Earth until the Second Coming; the blood of the believers their only sustenance.” I reread the last line again, still unwilling to believe it.
“Fascinating, isn’t it? Riveting. Kresnik’s methods of gathering information were,” Collin paused, searching for the right word, “unconventional when compared to my family’s, but there’s no denying the results.”
“Um, can we back up for a second here? You honestly think God made vampires? Because it looks more like the other guy’s handiwork if you ask me.” Worry that I was one step closer to scrubbing out by sounding like a nonbeliever, I did a little back peddling of my own. “I mean, I’m not saying I don’t believe you, that vampires exist. I can’t deny what I saw with my own eyes. Not anymore. But this is, well, sort of hard to digest.”
“I agree, the whole thing seems outside His domain, but the aversion to silver and use of wooden stakes to kill them substantiates what Kresnik uncovered.” Collin’s enthusiasm would have been contagious had it been any topic other than vampire origins.
“It’s a little thin, but I see the connection. The thirty pieces of silver, blood money, and the wood because Judas hung himself from a tree.” I scanned a few more pages detailing the anatomy of a vampire, which according to the grotesque diagrams remained the same as ours.
“No, not because of the manner of his suicide. The cross, Lucky. It’s the power of the cross. Aspen wood is thought to be best, at least according to Kresnik’s records, but oak or pine will do. Especially since they are readily available.” Collin stood, rubbing his hands together. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. We’ll go over the history of weapons later. For now, I want you to study volume five, Kresnik’s origin theory. We’ll discuss it more tomorrow over lunch.”
“Will there be a pop quiz, Professor?” The subject matter of my assigned studies was literally and figuratively heavy. Volume five was larger than any of my college textbooks.
“Perhaps.” Collin smiled, dismissing me with a wave. “Same time tomorrow.”
I left Collin’s office, my mind on overload after my first theory lesson. More than a little distracted, I didn’t even notice Van walking down the hall until he steered me off to one side with a hand on my shoulder.
“Watch where you’re going, Jones.” Van caught a glimpse of the book I was carrying. “Volume five?”
Shaking his head, the hunter continued on his path muttering about Collin’s obsession with the past, while I walked back to my room, relieved the only abrasive hunter whose company I was forced to endure for the remainder of the day was long since dead.
Chapter Eight
“Desmona.”
There may have been more than one knock preceding my name. It was difficult to tell, given they were timed to a throbbing headache behind my eyes. At some point in my studies, I passed out, only to be awoken several times throughout the night from dreams plagued with vampires and Kresnik, the hunter— who, at some point, began to look an awful lot like Van.
“Jones.” The voice, no longer muffled by the separation of my bedroom door, boomed over my sleep prone body.
Jolting awake, my arms flailed out, smacking into an irritated Van.
“This is your last wake up call.” Pointing to the clock sitting unused on my nightstand, Van stormed out into the hall. “That thing collecting dust next to your lamp is called an alarm. People have been using it to wake up for centuries. Meet me outside. You’ve got five minutes, Jones.”
“It’s called a clock. The alarm is just a function.” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
“Pretty witty for someone who was dead to the world a second ago. Four minutes.” Van slammed the door on his way out.
While I doubted the invention of an alarm clock was centuries old, I did not doubt the level of Van’s irritation with me. After jumping out of bed, I put my clothes on, brushed my teeth and threw my hair up in a ponytail in record time. Still, even running through the house and across the yard to the rendezvous point with Van, I wouldn’t make it in under four minutes. Certain the hunter intended to break my pattern of tardiness with an extended run or some other grueling exercise, I hauled ass outside.
“You’re late.” Van tapped the face of the watch strapped to his wrist. “Late could cost someone their life out in the field, Jones. If I can’t trust you to wake up and show up for something as simple as daily cardio, how am I supposed to trust you to show up when it matters? When lives are on the line?”
“Sorry.” Rubbing the stitch that had already formed in my side, I avoided Van’s gaze and focused on the smudge of dirt on my sneaker.
My inadequacies and the looming threat of failure became more apparent, stirring up thoughts and fears I didn’t have time for when faced with an agitated Van and a brutal trek through the woods ahead of me. Shoving the negative emotions down, I dropped into a lunge and began stretching.
“What are you doing?” Van pinched the bridge of his nose, grappling for control on his patience.
“What do you think I’m doing? Limbering up.” My calf muscles burned as I tried to work out the knots and kinks from my first training session.
“Should have thought about that before you decided to sleep in.” Van took off, leaving me alone at the entrance to the trail.
“Shit.” Clapping my hands together, I gave myself a quick pep talk. “You can do this, Lucky. You have to do this.”
Knowing I had a lot to prove and a long way to go to make up for my missteps, I sprinted after Van, pushing myself harder than I ever had before.
The effort paid off.
Van’s backside came into view and while I appreciated that as much as the next girl, the goal was not to come in second place two days in a row. Spotting what I thought was a shortcut, I dashed to the left and tried to loop in front of my running coach.
“I wouldn’t go that way.” Van heard the leaves crunching underfoot as I pounded my way around him. “Aww, too late.”
“Why? What’s so funny?” Panting out the questions, I didn’t have enough oxygen to talk let alone laugh.
“Poison ivy. You’re running through a massive patch of it.” Van broke stride to point out the numerous plants I came in contact with.
“Son of a...” One look at Van and the profanity died on my lips. Determined to knock that smirk off his face and not be the girl who not only managed to get covered in poison ivy, but also failed to keep up two days in a row, I leaped back onto the path and took off; leaving a bewildered hunter in my wake.
Highly allergic to the poisonous plant, I could practically feel the blisters popping up along my skin. The mere thought of the itch I knew was coming had my fingers poised to scratch my skin raw, but I kept running. And running, until the end of the trail came into sight. Van had been steadily gaining since my attempt to ditch him at the poison ivy patch. His breath on my neck caused goosebumps to break out along my arms. I dug deep and gave the last few feet my all with one last burst of energy, out of the woods and ahead of Van.
