Dirty Blood (11 page)

When he turned to face me, his expression was clear
of the heavy emotion that had colored his tone before, but he
didn’t move away from the window. “There are a few, from both
races, who still believe in the possibility of it.” He shrugged,
like it was as simple as that.

But I knew it wasn’t that cut and dried. There was
more. I could hear it in his voice when he’d told the story. It had
lingered in his eyes when he’d turned, if only for a second.
Sadness. And pain.

“Let’s go somewhere,” I said, letting the book fall
shut. It made a snapping sound that only crisp, dried paper could
make.

“Go somewhere?”

“Get out of the house, do something fun.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, with what happened
last night. That note-”

“Was vague and non-descript. Besides, I’ll be with
you.”

“So you trust me now?”

I thought about his question, and the many meanings
it could hold. Something about the intense way his dark eyes held
mine told me to choose my answer carefully. “To keep me alive,
yes.”

“Where do you want to go?”

I shrugged and then went to the closet to find my
boots. “I don’t know. Anywhere. What do you like to do for
fun?”

“Fun,” he repeated, the word sounding almost foreign
and unused on his lips. “I don’t know. There’s not a lot of time
for that.”

“There’s time now,” I pointed out, and suddenly I was
determined to do something fun and unimportant with him; if for no
other reason than to see if he was capable.

“What do you like to do?” he asked.

“I like pool,” I said, then cringing when I
remembered what had happened the last time. “But it’s probably not
a good idea to show my face in Moe’s for awhile,” I added.

“I know a place.”

~ 10 ~

The pool hall Wes took me to turned out to be a dive
bar in the middle of nowhere. The crooked sign out front said
Fred’s Place, in dirty letters, and there were only two cars in the
gravel lot besides ours. Both were old enough to be antiques , and
not in the classy, expensive sense of the word . One had a bag
taped over the passenger side window, instead of glass. Wes parked
the car, and I raised my eyebrows at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Is this place safe?”

Wes laughed. “You managed to slay an angry Werewolf
in a dark alley with barely a scratch and you want to know if the
drunks inside Fred’s are going to bother you?”

I didn’t answer.

He sighed. “Safe enough,” he answered. “And out of
the way. Besides, Fred will make sure the regulars leave us
alone.”

I reluctantly got out of the car and followed Wes to
the entrance.

I stopped, just inside, to let my eyes adjust. The
lighting was dim and hazy with smoke so thick you could taste it in
the back of your throat, even with your mouth closed. To my right
was the bar, scarred and chipped. A bald man in a flannel shirt
stood behind it and nodded to Wes before going back to washing
dishes. Two men occupied bar stools, their hands clamped
protectively around half filled glasses. Neither one looked up. One
of them was tapping his foot against the stool, in time with the
static-filled radio that droned with the sounds of country music.
Other than that, the place was empty of patrons, and I remembered
it was noon on a Sunday. To my left were three pool tables spanning
the length of the small lounge area. Wes pointed to the table in
the far corner.

“Meet you over there. I’m going to grab us some
sodas,” he said, wandering up to the bar.

I went to the table, and began to rack. A moment
later, Wes appeared with two drinks. He set them on the table, and
I handed him a stick.

“You break,” I said.

“Ladies first,” he said, pushing the stick back at
me.

I took it and leaned down, lining up to break. The
cue ball hit with a satisfying crack, sending balls spinning in all
four directions. A striped one sank in the far left pocket and I
turned to Wes with a smirk.

“You’re solids,” I said. I turned back to the table
to work out my next shot. Wes slid into a chair nearby and waited.
Neither of us spoke as I lined up and sank two more shots. I missed
the next one by a centimeter and stepped back to let Wes shoot. He
did a lap around the table, eyeing the setup, and then bent over to
line it up. His stick glanced off the side of the cue ball, sending
it spinning in the opposite direction of his target. He
straightened and frowned at the table, before returning to his
chair.

“So, how’d you find this place, anyway?” I asked,
leaning down to line up my shot. The ball glanced off the corner
pocket, barely missing the hole.

“Someone brought me here,” he finally said.

“Like, on a date?”

His lips curved up in a wry smile. “Not quite.” He
rose, and took a shot, and missed. “I met someone here, on Cause
business, a few times. He had information, but he didn’t want to be
seen giving it to me.”

I looked around the sad little bar. “I guess it’s a
good place to go unnoticed,” I said, wondering what sort of covert
missions went along with being a part of this Cause.

“Your turn,” We said, interrupting my thoughts.

“Oh, right,” I said, sliding out of my chair. I sank
another ball and then missed the next. “I have another question
about Werewolves,” I said, settling back in my chair. “What is your
favorite food?”

The hint of a smile ghosted his features.
“Cheeseburgers.”

“I had a feeling it would be some kind of meat. You
do like them cooked though, right?”

“Funny.” He got up to take his next shot, but I
noticed he was really smiling that time. “What’s yours?” he asked,
returning a minute later after missing, again.

“Sushi,” I said.

“Interesting.”

I took my shot, and the next, and the next, finally
ending the game. “You rack,” I said, sitting back when I was
done.

Wes complied, and we started a new game. “Keeping on
the ‘favorites’ topic, I’ve got one for you,” Wes said. He was
standing at the front of the table, fumbling with the ball
placement in the rack. I tried not to laugh. “Month of the
year?”

“Month of the year? That’s a little off the
wall.”

He used my own argument against me. “You can tell a
lot about someone by their favorite month.”

“Well, then I’d have to say June, for my birthday,
and because it’s finally not cold anymore. You?”

He finished racking and walked back over to the
chair, sliding into his with the swish of leather. His eyes found
mine and instantly, there was a heavy undercurrent of tension
between us. “February,” he said, quietly.

I held his gaze, wanting to ask why he’d chosen the
current month, but within seconds I couldn’t even remember the
conversation. My face began to heat up as I realized I was just
staring at him, wide eyed and open mouthed, with no real sense of
exactly how long I’d been doing that. I looked away and tried to
collect my hazy thoughts.

“Favorite holiday,” I said, finally.

“Thanksgiving. You?”

“New Year’s.”

“Seriously? Why?”

“It’s a fresh start, anything is possible, and
everyone tries to put their best foot forward, you know, with
resolutions and stuff. I think it brings out the best in
people.”

“And you like it better than Christmas? Or your
birthday?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Those are nice, too. But for Christmas,
we usually just go to my Grandma’s, and it’s just the three of us,
so it’s not really that big of a deal. New Year’s is a big deal
–without the pressure of presents- and everyone is different
because of it, at least for a little while.”

“What?” I asked, taking in his slanted brows and
thoughtful expression.

“Nothing,” he finally answered. His gaze flicked to
the pool table behind us. “Is it my turn?”

“No, it’s mine,” I said. I got up and picked my shot,
and missed, which wasn’t like me. But Wes’ eyes had a way of making
my extremities feel like jell-o. Wes took his turn and actually
sunk a ball this time, only it was mine. He returned to his seat,
smiling at his own mistake.

“See, this is what fun looks like,” I said.

By the end of our third game, I couldn’t pretend I
wasn’t totally kicking his butt. “Have you ever played pool
before?” I asked, trying not to sound like I was enjoying myself
too much. It was fun knowing I was actually better than him at
something.

“I’m better at sports,” was his reply.

I gave him an offended look. “Pool is a sport.”

“Whatever.”

“People make a lot of money competing at pool,” I
said, icily.

Wes rolled his eyes. “The potential for making money
doesn’t make it a sport.”

I gave him an evil grin. “You’re being a sore
loser.”

I hopped out of my chair and did a lap around the
table, sizing up my choices. I picked my angle, and leaned over to
line the shot up. As I did, a prickly feeling began on the back of
my neck, raising the hairs there. I jerked and straightened,
already scanning the room.

“Do you see it?” Wes asked, already beside me.

“No.”

I tried to see through the haze in the air. The two
men were still at the bar, looking bored and half drunk. The
bartender was wiping glasses with a towel, not paying attention to
the rest of the room. I dismissed all three of them as the source.
They’d been here the entire time, but the creepy crawlies had just
started.

As I scanned, I realized there were two places I
couldn’t fully see from where I stood. A door behind the bar,
leading to what must be the kitchen and a hallway, to my left, with
a faded sign for restroom hanging on the wall above it.
Instinctively, I took a step towards the hallway and felt Wes’ hand
on my arm, pulling me back. I turned to snap at him to let go but
his expression stopped me. His gaze was fixed on the back hallway,
too, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

I nodded, glad he hadn’t told me to wait here, and we
made our way towards the darkened hallway. The tingling grew
stronger as we got closer, raising goose bumps on my arms and legs.
When we reached the opening, a door slammed at the other end, from
around the corner. Wes took off towards it, and I ran after him. I
rounded the corner and was out the door a split second behind Wes.
I blinked into the sudden glaring light of the afternoon sun, and
stared at the empty gravel lot we stood in. It was empty. And the
creepy-crawlies were gone.

“It’s gone,” Wes said, turning back to me.

“Who do you think it was?”

“I don’t know, but we should assume it wasn’t
friendly. Are you okay?” He looked down at me, brows creasing with
worry.

“I’m fine,” I said, before turning to head back
inside.

He grabbed me by the elbow and stopped me. “You’re
sure? I mean, I would understand if you’re shaken up.” His eyes
seemed to be searching for something, and it took me a minute to
realize what it was.

“I’m not going to freak out,” I said, in a firm,
slightly frosty voice. I removed my elbow from his grip and headed
for the door. “But I’m definitely ready to go.” Two pool halls
ruined. That sucked.

“Give me a second, okay?” He pulled out his phone,
without waiting for an answer, and pushed a button. I stopped and
waited, tapping my foot against gravel. It wasn’t that I was that
impatient, but I felt like I should do everything possible to prove
I wasn’t going to have another nervous breakdown. Which was
obviously what he kept expecting. It irritated me.

A minute later I heard a faint male voice answer on
the other end of the phone and then, “Jack, its Wes. Listen, I need
a favor.” They talked for less than a minute. Wes filled him in on
our unidentified visitor and then listened while Jack responded and
then they disconnected. “Okay, let’s go,” he said to me, sliding
his phone back into his pocket.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Jack’s going to come here and look around, try and
get a trail, so I can get you out of here.”

We passed back into the bar and no one even glanced
up. Apparently the entire episode had gone unnoticed. Our jackets
were still on the hook by the door, and I pulled mine on quickly
and followed Wes out to the car.

We were backing out of the lot when I felt a buzzing
in my jeans. I jumped, sure I was tingling again, but it was just
my phone. I pulled it out and checked the screen. It was my mother.
Crap. I motioned for Wes to be quiet with a finger to my lips and
then pressed the talk button.

“Hello?”

“Tara?” My mother’s voice was strained. It sounded
like she was close to tears.

My anxiety kicked in, and I gripped the phone
tighter. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“I just got a call from Julie’s father. She was
camping last night.” My mother paused to take a deep breath, to
brace herself for what she was about to tell me. “She and her
boyfriend. They were attacked by an animal. She’s dead.” Her voice
cracked on the last word.

“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I said, my eyes blurring with
tears. The article, the dead college kids. That had been Julie?
“Are you okay?”

She sniffled. “I think so. There’s nothing to be
done, really. I’m going to stay and do inventory, anyway. It’ll
keep my mind off… things. I just wanted you to know because they
haven’t caught the animal responsible, and I want you to be
careful. No going into the woods. And keep the alarm on, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed. I was already wondering why she
thought the alarm would help if it was some wild animal, assumedly
without opposable thumbs. But, I didn’t ask. I was starting to
think mom knew more than she was letting on, and I just couldn’t
handle that conversation right now. Mostly, I just didn’t want to
bring it up and then find out I was wrong. That would be hard to
talk my way out of; A one-way trip to a padded room.