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Two people hiking through the woods with flashlights would seem suspicious if we were seen from the road, so we had to rely on Cal’s considerable night vision. I’d never hiked at night before. The leaves were a silvery ashen green, fluttering in a warm breeze like verdant lace. The night sounds—crickets chirping, birds calling—quieted as we passed, the animals sensing a predator coming close. It was also very dark. I had to hold on to his arm to stay upright on a couple of occasions.
There was no trail, but I hadn’t thought there would be. Mom and I used to just wander, keeping mindful of private fence lines and hunting stands. We were always careful not to go out during peak deer and turkey seasons, because that would be an embarrassing way to die.
Just ask Jane.
The site we were looking for was about three miles from the road. We stayed quiet, moving as quickly as we could. Cal seemed tense, constantly scanning the horizon, tracking every noise. I knew we’d both been through a lot, but I doubted that the poisoner was lurking behind a tree somewhere just in case we happened to wander by.
I kept my eyes on the ground, watching for the distinctive leaf patterns. This meant that I didn’t see Cal stop short, and I plowed into his back.
“Ow,” I grumbled, rubbing my bruised nose. “Stupid vampire stealth. Why’d you stop?”
Cal pointed to an oddly inorganic shape, nestled in a little clearing among tall pines. The prefabricated metal walls reflected dull grayish mint green in the light of the full moon, covered with an artfully shredded green tarp, made up to look like leaves. This was a new building, well maintained. And judging by the closely trimmed grass surrounding the concrete pad, it had been visited recently. In fact, most of the ground in the surrounding area was cleared. It had been harvested. Something had grown there in neatly furrowed rows. I couldn’t estimate the size of the plot, because of the darkness, but it had been sizable.
“That …” I said, squinting at the heavily draped outbuilding. “Seems out of place.”
I checked our exact coordinates. “We’re just a few degrees off of the location Mom and I found before.” I pulled out my county map to determine our location in reference to roads. “And we’re about twenty miles from the nearest house. This could be a hunting shack. Some guys around here lease a plot in the middle of a farm or old homesteads so they can hunt in peace.”
He gestured to the windowless little cube, which lacked the charming little touches hunters used to mark their territory. License plates from long-defunct trucks, wind chimes made of beer tabs, deer skulls sporting sunglasses and trucker hats. “Does that look like a hunting shack to you?”
“No. You don’t have to wait for a warrant or anything, do you?” I asked as we circled to the nondescript metal door. “Just in case we find something?”
He snorted, dropping to his knee to examine the door. It was fitted with a standard Master Lock, which Cal ripped off like it was some cheap papier-mâché decoration. “Ophelia’s more of a ‘solve the problem by any means necessary, and we’ll worry about paperwork later’ sort of administrator. You watch too much Law and Order.”
I grasped the door handle, and Cal grabbed my wrist.
“It could be rigged.”
“What sort of moron would rig a booby trap on the inside of the building where he couldn’t reach it when he needed to open the only door?”
“Good point,” he admitted.
“You watch too much Burn Notice,” I told him primly as I pulled the door open. Since we did not, in fact, blow up, I stepped inside to find drying racks, planting tables stocked with terra-cotta pots, organized shelves of pruning shears, spades, plant-food mixers—all the tools needed to run a remote operation like this. Unfortunately for us, there was no helpful sign on the wall saying, “This evil botanical lair belongs to …”
“I need pictures,” Cal said, taking out his digital camera. “Could you look around, see if you spot anything unusual or particularly interesting?”
“Well, the fact that this guy isn’t growing weed is pretty interesting,” I retorted as I studied the peat pots sprouting tiny seedlings.
Cal gave me an amused look, which I took as a prompt to continue.
“Why do you think our green-thumbed friend took so much time to camouflage this building? The chances of someone stumbling here on foot are pretty slim, but the state police do regular helicopter circuits, checking for marijuana patches. Growers who aren’t sophisticated enough to buy grow lights and hydroponic sets will sneak out at night and put in plants in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes farmers have a quarter acre of pot growing in some remote corner of their property and have no clue.”
“How do you know so much about the habits of marijuana farmers?” he asked.
I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Misspent youth.”
“Really?”
“No, I watch the news. I thought you were supposed to be a truth seeker. Dork.”
“I offer her the world, and she calls me a dork,” he muttered.
“I don’t recall being offered—”
The door slid shut behind us, an internal mechanism locking with a resounding snick.
We both turned toward the noise. Cal hissed, his fangs bared as he threw me behind him and crouched defensively. A metallic pinging, the sound of another padlock being looped through the outside brackets.
We could hear footsteps outside, shuffling. A vent opened over the door, above our heads. I could hear the faint electric whir of a fan. Air-conditioning seemed like a strangely thoughtful gesture for someone who was locking me into a small enclosed space with a vampire.
