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He kept the crossbow raised. “I won’t let you trick me again. You hear?”
Jess stepped out into the clearing. “Dad, what’s going on?”
“It’s really you?”
She frowned. “Of course it is. What are you doing out here? Who are you talking to?”
He glanced back into the trees. “Her. She’s out there somewhere.”
“Who, Dad?”
“The girl. The vampyr.”
“A vampyr?”
Jess flicked her phone light back on, aiming it into the trees around them.
“She must have gone, Dad. And you shouldn’t have come out here on your own.”
He glared at her. “She came to my house last night. Disguised herself as your mother. I almost let her in, but she revealed herself.” He turned and spat on the ground. “And then she sent bats, Jess. To scare me.”
Jess thought about the bat she had shot, feeling uneasy. There were stories about vampyrs taking the form of bats. But everyone knew they were just folklore. Vampyrs might be Satan’s spawn, but they were still flesh and blood. More likely the bats had been nesting in the chimney. Her dad had always been dismissive of such superstitious stuff. But recently, Jess hated to admit, he hadn’t seemed his usual self. He had been distracted, irritable, drinking more than he should.
“It’s morning now, Dad,” she said. “What have you been doing all night? The living room, it’s trashed…”
For a moment, he looked confused. Then he shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep so I came back out here looking for her.”
“Well, we should get you home,” she said. “And then call that detective. She needs to know about this. A vampyr trying to get into your house. That’s a violation of the law. They’re not supposed to encroach upon towns.”
But her dad wasn’t listening. His eyes searched the trees around them. “She wants revenge, Jess. That’s what this is all about.”
“Revenge? For what happened with the Danes boy?”
“Not just that.”
“Then what?”
Her dad’s lips pursed. He looked suddenly old. His eyes had grown vacant, misty, like he was dwelling in another time, somewhere she wasn’t a part of. Jess had seen it happen before, when he was talking about Mom. Her dad’s mind was usually sharp, but occasionally, it slipped—from now to then. She shivered. It was freezing out. And her dad wasn’t dressed for it.
“Okay,” she said more firmly. “Let’s talk at the house. You need to warm up.”
She took her dad’s arm. She felt him stiffen, and then, reluctantly, he allowed himself to be led back through the woods. They pushed through the undergrowth in silence, Jess praying that she was heading in the right direction. After what was probably a few minutes but felt much longer, the trees started to thin—Thank you, Lord—and she could see her dad’s house. They crossed the yard, she pushed open the back door and they stepped into the kitchen.
“I’ll make us some coffee,” Jess said. “And then—” She paused. There was blood on her dad’s collar. She remembered the drops outside. “Dad, did you hurt yourself?”
He raised a hand to his neck. “I’m fine. Just a scrape from a branch.”
“You sure? I could—”
“I said I’m fine.” He pushed past her and walked down the hall and into the living room.
Jess followed him. “You need to sit down and rest.”
“Rest?” He turned and stared at her. “They won’t rest. They won’t ever be done tormenting us.” He pointed to the heads on the wall. “She took him, Jess. She took the boy.”
Jess glanced at the trophies. She had never really liked them. Not that she had a problem with anyone killing those fuckers, but she’d never felt comfortable sharing a home with them either. Mom had made Dad keep them in his workshop out back. The only thing Dad had changed about the house after she died was to bring the heads back in and mount them above the fireplace. Now, Jess noticed, one was missing. The boy. Aaron.
“You know why I keep ’em there,” her dad said. “A reminder that they’re animals. They’ll always be animals.”
