Dead of Night (6 page)

That was where we went next, and found stacks of large plastic bins filled with books.

“I've been too busy to sort through these,” Mrs. Frost said, sounding slightly apologetic, “so you have your work cut out for you here.”

I peeked in the bin she had opened. “Wow. Those look really old.”

“Yes, they are. Before you handle any of them, please put on a pair of these.” She pointed to a blue cardboard box with an open top, which contained dozens of pairs of white fabric gloves. “They'll help protect the books and your hands.”

I thought of what Trick had said over breakfast. I didn't see anything crawling around in the sealed bins, but the light may have made them hide. “Could there be any bugs in them?”

“Sometimes I think silverfish and spiders could survive a thermonuclear war, but in this case I seriously doubt it,” she said. “Julian was a tidy, conscientious soul who cherished his collection, and took very good care of every volume in it.”

I didn't feel convinced. “I'm sure he did, ma'am, but what should I do if I find something that got past him?”

“Don't use any sprays, as they'll harm the books,” she advised. “Either step on them, or bring the vacuum in my office closet with you when you work in here.” She hesitated before she added, “I know how tempting it is to be surrounded by books, so you have my permission to borrow anything from the store shelves, as long as you return it in pristine condition. But because Julian's collection is so valuable, I must insist his books remain here.”

“Yes, ma'am.” I could just imagine my brothers' reaction to me coming home with books on demons and witches. “After I've cataloged them, do you want me to move them out to the shelves and add them to the inventory?”

“No, that won't be necessary. I have a private buyer who intends to make an offer as soon as I send the complete list of titles.” She took out a small key ring, and held it out to me. “These are the keys to the all the doors in the shop, and this one”—she separated one that was smaller than the rest—“is for the security alarm system. Let's go out front and I'll show you that next.”

While Mrs. Frost demonstrated how to turn the store's alarm system on and off, I felt an odd sensation, as if someone were watching us, and looked out through the window by the counter. Standing inside the door of her shop, Mrs. Johnson was watching, but she wasn't looking at Mrs. Frost or the alarm box. She was staring at me, with that same hopeless expression she'd had when Mrs. Frost had introduced us. I had to force myself to pay attention to the rest of Mrs. Frost's instruction.

“I think that's everything you need to know,” Mrs. Frost said. “Do you have any questions?”

“No, ma'am.” I checked the window again, but Mrs. Johnson was no longer in sight.

She also looked in that direction. “Was Nancy watching you?” When I nodded, she sighed. “I'm sorry. Don't let her frighten you, she doesn't mean any harm.”

“I'm not afraid of her,” I said. “But why does she stare at me like that?”

“That's right, you said you've never met Sunny.” Mrs. Frost smiled sadly. “She's tall and dark-haired, and has fair skin. From a distance you probably look exactly like her.”

Six

W
hen the airport limousine arrived a half-hour later to pick up Mrs. Frost, I helped her carry her suitcases out to the curb.

“I'll call you every Friday afternoon to check in,” she said as the driver loaded the cases in the back of the van. “If there are any issues with the shop you can call the landlord. The number is on the wall list.”

I frowned. “I thought you owned the building, Mrs. Frost.”

“No, dear, my shop and most of the others in town are leased out by Raven Property Management. If you need anything, just call them.” She gave me a quick hug. “I'll see you in January. Good luck.”

I waved as the taxi drove off, and went back into the store, locking the door. It was hard not to check and see if Mrs. Johnson was staring at me again, but I thought if I pretended everything was normal she'd stop acting so oddly.

Being by myself inside the bookstore felt a little creepy, too. Without Mrs. Frost there it was dead quiet; the only sound came from the café's refrigerator, which hummed, and the air coming through the vents overhead, which sounded exactly like someone whispering. I had a clock radio in my room at home, and I decided I'd bring it with me tomorrow. Because Lost Lake was in the middle of nowhere, it only picked up a few country music stations, but even that would be better than working in the too-loud silence.

I took my bag of sandwiches and water bottles out of my backpack and carried them over to the café's refrigerator. Inside I found a bin filled with soft drinks and a small baker's box with a note on top.

Catlyn, here's something to help you celebrate your first job. Enjoy—Martha Frost.

I took a peek inside the box, which contained a packet of fancy crackers, a bunch of luscious red grapes and an elegant, paper-wrapped wedge of cheese. I didn't care much for sweets, so it was the perfect snack for me. “I like working here already, ma'am.”

Once I put everything in the fridge, I went back to the office to get started. I already knew how I wanted to run the inventory, and how many shelves I'd have to count during one shift in order to be finished before Mrs. Frost returned from her trip. I wanted to allow enough time tonight to look through Julian Hargraves's books and see if he had any about vampires and vampire hunters.

Will you have any time left for me?

I think I can spare you a few minutes.
Hearing Jesse's thoughts made me smile for an instant before I recalled what Mrs. Frost had said just before leaving.
You didn't mention that your parents own this building.

My parents own most of the town, Catlyn.

Yes, but …
I wasn't sure why I still felt suspicious, only that I did.
Did you do something to Mrs. Frost to convince her to hire me?

The only thing I could compel Mrs. Frost to do is tell me that you applied for the job
, he assured me.
Or I might make her forget that you did. That is all.

I felt a little better—and suddenly ashamed of myself.
I'm sorry.

Don't be. I would rather have your honesty than your suspicions.

I felt a wonderful, warm sensation inside me before his thoughts ebbed away. It was difficult for us to share thoughts during daylight hours. He had told me that he spent the entire day underground, in rooms built under his parents' mansion on Raven Island to protect them from the sun's lethal rays. I knew he didn't have to sleep the entire time he was there, but until nightfall his powers were weaker and much more limited.

Mine aren't.
But I was only half vampire, and like the Ravens my father hadn't changed completely. My other half was human, like my mother, and she'd passed along to me her Van Helsing ability.

As I picked up a stack of tally sheets, I wondered for the first time what specific ability my mother had inherited from her parents. In her love letters to Dad she had mentioned being a “finder,” the same thing I'd once heard Trick call Grayson. Jesse's father knew a lot about the Van Helsings, but I couldn't exactly call him and ask for more information. Like my brothers, he still thought I had amnesia.

I didn't like to think about whatever I was supposed to be. My ability to control cats and use them like bodyguards and hunting dogs already troubled me. If I wanted to, I could summon every feline in the area and use them like an army to attack whoever I wanted. Jesse's father had practically accused me of being a vampire killer.

I'm not a killer. I'm … an inventory clerk.

I walked out to the shelves and got started on the count. I stopped only once after finishing the first shelf to retrieve a feather duster from Mrs. Frost's office—some of the books had sat undisturbed long enough to breed baby dust bunnies—but otherwise kept going until I had finished counting the entire section.

As Mrs. Frost had predicted, a few books were out of order, but I didn't find any missing. Counting the books on the lowest shelves was a little awkward, as I had to kneel on the floor, but other than that it seemed like a breeze.

I took out Gray's pocket watch. Surprised to see it was already seven-thirty, I left the clipboard on the stepladder and went to retrieve my sandwiches and Mrs. Frost's snack from the fridge. I took everything back to the office so I could call home and let my brothers know I had survived the first four hours unscathed.

Trick answered it on the first ring. “Youngblood Ranch, Patrick speaking.”

“What happened to ‘Hello'?” I asked before I took a bite of my sandwich. “And why are we a ranch? I thought you were going with ‘farm.'”

“I kept getting too many cold calls from tractor salesmen.” He sounded amused. “How are things at the job?”

“Lots of dust bunnies and shelf shuffling, but the good news is, I still know my ABC's and can count past twenty.” I reached for my water bottle. “”How did you manage with dinner?”

“According to Gray, the scorched tomato soup was slightly better than my blackened grilled cheese,” he said. “He also made me promise to defrost something you made for tomorrow night.”

I grinned. “I recommend the lasagna.”

“I'll be waiting at the bus stop,” he reminded me before he said good-bye and hung up.

Once I finished eating, I tidied up the desk and carried my trash to the big can outside the restroom, where I went to wash up. I still had to enter my counts into the computer, but I wanted to take another look at the Hargraves collection.

The overhead light in the storeroom was bright enough to work by, but the stacks of bins left hardly any space to work. When I began cataloging the collection I'd have to carry a bin out to the office, or out to one of the tables in the café.

I put on a pair of gloves before I took down the topmost bin on one stack and placed it on the floor. The lid, held tightly in place by two hinged clamps on either end, came off with a faint pop when I released them. A musty odor rose from the books inside and made me wrinkle my nose.

Whoever had packed the bin had put the books inside carefully, arranging them in two layers with the heavier volumes on the bottom. All of the books were hard covers, although some were bound in leather and others in cloth-covered end boards. When I crouched down beside the bin, I could still read some of the titles and authors' names where they had been embossed or stamped on the spines.

“
Pagan Rituals of the Fourteenth Century
,
”
I murmured.
“
Alchemists of France
.
Medieval Manifestations
.”
After I inspected the rest but found nothing about vampires, I sat back on my heels. “Of course
How to Cure Vampirism
wouldn't be in the first one.”

“No one before you has ever wished to cure us.”

I swung around and nearly fell over, but Jesse caught me and helped me to my feet. “How did you get in here?”

His mouth curved as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I know I should have waited, but I couldn't. Not knowing you were so close.”

I couldn't help slipping my arms around him and resting my cheek against his heart. “Where did you tell your parents you were going?”

“Fishing on the lake. They believe it's my newest hobby.” He kissed the top of my head before he drew me out of the storeroom. “Show me what you're doing.”

I couldn't take him out into the front of the shop, where anyone walking past would see us together, but I took him into the office, and turned on the computer as I described what I'd accomplished so far.

“I've got to enter some numbers into the inventory program, but after that we can start looking through Julian Hargraves's books.” I frowned as he sat down in Mrs. Frost's chair. “What are you doing?”

“If I help you, we'll have more time to look through the collection.” He opened the inventory program, picked up the clipboard with my tally sheets and, after glancing over both, began entering numbers.

I almost protested, until I saw his fingers blur over the number pad on the keyboard. “Vampire show-off.”

“Jealous mortal.” A minute later he finished and handed the clipboard back to me as he stood. “Come and check, I know you want to.”

I came around the desk and compared the tally sheets to the figures he'd put into the program. They matched perfectly, of course. “The next time I get ten pages of calculus homework, I'm making you do it.”

“You'll never learn anything that way,” he chided. His smile faded as he looked at me. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” I made a face. “It's just … Trick always says the same thing.” I ducked my head. “He loves me, you know.”

Jesse nodded slowly.

“And I hate him,” I said flatly. “All this pretending, and scheming, and sneaking around behind his back, everything we have to go through just to have a little time together. It's not right. You don't do this to someone you love.”

Jesse held out his hand. “Take a walk with me. Only for a few minutes,” he added.

I scowled. “We can't go anywhere. Someone might see us together.”

“Not if we go the way I came in.” His eyes gleamed. “Come and I'll show you another of our secrets.”

Jesse led me to the shop's back door, but instead of opening it he bent down and pressed his fingers against what looked a knot in the hardwood floor panel. The knot sank about an inch, and then he pressed two more, which did the same. As the third sank down, a four-foot square section of the floor popped up. He caught one side and pulled it up like a hatch, revealing a short ladder that led down into darkness.

“Get out of town.” I could hardly believe my eyes. “You have a secret tunnel under the bookstore?”

“The bookstore, and almost every other building in Lost Lake. My parents had our people install them for us after we settled here. We stopped using them after we moved to the island. Or, at least, my parents did.” He climbed halfway down the ladder, and then glanced up at me. “It's all right, don't be afraid.”

“I'm not.” As I climbed down onto the ladder, I felt as if I'd stepped into my favorite Nancy Drew novel, though. “How many more secrets do you have?”

“Only a few.”

Jesse waited at the bottom of the ladder, and helped me down as I reached it. We stood in what appeared to be an empty cellar made of brick, although there were no windows and only three old oak doors, one set in the center of each wall. When he climbed back up to close the hatch, the darkness swallowed us for a moment, and then eerie blue lights flickered on.

“The lights switch off when any entrance to the passages is opened,” he explained as he climbed back down. “James just installed them for me, in the event I was caught away from the island again before sunrise.”

Now the lack of windows made sense. “These are vaults to protect you from sunlight.”

“Vaults, storage rooms, tunnels.” He gestured toward the door across from us. “I use that one to go to James's house. It leads up into his den.”

“I don't want to go there,” I assured him.

“That would probably be best.” He took my arm to guide me through the door on the right, which opened into a tall, narrow brick passage.

The sound of dripping water and some puddles on the floor beneath our feet made me frown. “Is this place leaking?”

“The water table is high, but James runs pumps to keep most of it out,” he said, and then added, “The only time the passages have flooded was in 2004.”

“That was when the four hurricanes hit Florida, I remember.” At the time I'd only been eight years old, but my school had collected bottled water and canned goods to send to the victims. “What did you and your parents do?”

“We stayed on the island during the storms, and then came to town at night to help James clear the roads. Prince and I spent weeks herding cattle that had strayed through broken fences.” At the end of the passage he opened another old door, but stopped me from walking through it. “This may seem somewhat bizarre to you.”

I lifted my brows. “More bizarre than secret hatches, hidden passages and underground vaults?”

“Perhaps.”

He actually seemed worried. “Jesse, you don't have to hide anything. You can trust me with any secret.”

He nodded, and then pushed the door open wider.

This vault was not empty like the one under the bookstore, but had been made into a real room. Shelves of books and magazines flanked an enormous antique roll-top desk, which held old-fashioned quill pens and an inkwell. On the top ledge of the desk two bronze bookends shaped like rearing horses held a long row of leather-bound books.