Forsaking (Vampire Assassin League Book 26) (3 page)

It probably looked pretty cool. It didn’t feel it. She grabbed for the boot rail along the bottom of the bar with her free hand, and rolled off the plank. It continued on without her, smacking into a far wall and sounding pretty painful for anyone still aboard. That noise was instantly followed by the strangest whisper. It was accompanied by a slight shimmying sensation of the floor. A sound that resembled a long sigh. And then she could swear she caught the vaguest impression of gears moving.

Marielle peeked around the bar. There was a dark hole in the floor, shadowed and hidden by the bar. She watched it finish assembling into a set of really small, narrow steps. Going down. Explaining Susan’s correct guess of a hollow sound.

Marielle was very aware of things that couldn’t be seen or touched. Her mother had called her ‘fey’. Said it came with the territory of being part Irish. It accompanied her looks. She was one of the ‘black Irish’. Blessed with raven-hair. Pale, porcelain-skin. Vivid blue eyes. Lush dark lashes. And a sixth sense that meant a black hole should be avoided.

That isn’t what happened.

This dark gap intrigued and fascinated. Beckoned. Drew. Almost like it had known she was coming and opened just for her. She set the palette onto the floor with a glance. This was pretty unbelievable. She’d just escaped a major fall without injury...and she hadn’t upset her paint palette? She even had the brush although it had rolled through the paint dabs and was multi-hued now. Upon standing, she smacked at the dust coating her overalls. Coughed. Approached the steps. She wasn’t even hesitating here. That should have raised all kinds of goose bumps.

But before she reached it, the access gears started up again from somewhere deep inside. The space closed. The steps flattened one-after-the-other until it once again settled into place, looking just like a two-by-three foot section of plank flooring. Marielle stood at the edge of what had been a precipice, her work boots touching a seam she could barely identify amidst all the others. Only because she knew where it was.

And she wasn’t telling a soul.

“Isn’t it like, the coolest thing ever!”

“They didn’t find much, Sharon.”

“Oh yeah? You think you’re so smart. Why did they like, put crime tape stuff all over the front door then?”

“Because the lock had been jimmied. That’s why we had to leave, remember?”

“So?”

“You hear...but you never listen. Isn’t that right, Marielle?”

Marielle turned from contemplation of the desert outside the window. Five miles had never seemed to take this long while the twins hadn’t ceased discussing the possible murder at the old Harris Mansion. She now knew the name of the structure. And more. Because that’s all the girls talked of since they’d returned to the Number Eight Saloon. They were still debating it in their van.

The back of the vehicle was walled off from the three bench seats in front. Back here, the windows were covered over with privacy film. The captain-style seats were large and comfy. They rocked, swiveled, and reclined. There was a small table that could be compacted down, a mini-kitchen complete with cooking surface and small refrigerator along the wall behind her. A sound system and television monitor covered the opposite wall. It was all kinds of plush, and beyond luxurious. The entire place probably turned into a sleeping area if needed. It was more proof that the twins got everything they could possibly want. Except attention. They were spoiled. And they were self-absorbed to an amazing degree.

Neither twin had seemed to notice that Marielle was at ground level when they’d returned from the Harris Mansion. Nor that the scaffolding had collapsed. They hadn’t even asked of her welfare.

“I’m sorry,” she replied finally. “What was the question again?”

“Geez. You’d think like, a murder would get your attention.”

“I thought you said they didn’t find anything,” Marielle answered. She wasn’t truly listening. It felt like she’d stepped through a portal of some kind. Things had been altered. Everything was muted. Off-kilter. Slightly out of focus. Everything except the image of that opening in the floor back there in the Number Eight Saloon. The one leading to all kinds of mystery.

She’d never felt so odd in her life.

“We said there wasn’t like, any blood. But they did find a bullet hole in the wall. Doesn’t that count?”

“And don’t forget, there was an anonymous tip that came in.”

“My. Police procedure has certainly changed. Or it wasn’t what I thought,” Marielle commented.

“How so?”

“I’m surprised they’d tell bystanders all this.”

“They didn’t. The goons asked. And cops talk to other cops, or guys who used to be cops...or whatever. We know because we eavesdropped. Or...I did. I don’t know what Sharon was doing.”

“I listened, too. And there’s like, probably a body out there somewhere! The desert is like, a big place, you know.”

Yes. It certainly was
.

Desert landscape loomed larger with every passing second. The land around Dobb Lake was vast. Desolate. Lonely. What the heck? She was feeling something akin to sadness here? Well. There was only one thing to do. Return. Open that aperture. Explore. The moment she could. It wouldn’t be easy. But it wasn’t that difficult, either. It was about five miles to Dobbin Creek. She didn’t dare take a cab, or anything that might alert anyone. She’d have to get her ten-speed bicycle out of storage. Dress for a night trip. Pack a few things.

“You want to sneak back?” Susan asked.

Marielle jerked slightly. “What?”

“Well...I was thinking...if we told Dad that we were with you tonight—”

“No.” Marielle interrupted her.

“Oh. I think he would.”

“No,” Marielle repeated.

“Oh, come on. Dad is all kinds of interested in you. I can tell. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you to marry him yet.”

“Really? That would be so like, cool! You’d be like our new step-mom!”

Both girls were smiling. Marielle looked down before either could read her expression. As if they knew how to do that. Or cared enough to learn. That’s when she made her next life decision. She was filling her backpack. Calling the employee line to get a few days off. She didn’t have vacation or sick pay, but it didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t have to be near the twins or their father, she was good to go. And with that, she started padding her story.

“Um. Ladies? Tonight is not a good night.”

“So....he
has
asked you? Is that what you’re saying?”

Marielle pondered Susan’s question. And her tone. The girl was fairly observant at times. She was going to need that skill. Marielle looked back up.

“I...really don’t feel well.”

“You don’t?”

“The scaffolding broke earlier. I fell.”

“You did?”

Both girls looked surprised. Which proved they weren’t devious. Just unobservant. And self-centered. And extremely spoiled. Sharon spoke first.

“Did you get like...hurt?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean. Nothing is broken. Oh. Look. We’re here.” The van pulled up to her complex gate. Not a second too soon, either. Marielle didn’t wait for someone to open her door. She jumped to the curb and dashed through the security gate, and that’s the last time she thought of either Sharon or Susan.

Or their father.

An hour and a half later she was pedaling, each move shedding the stress of what had become her everyday existence. She hadn’t thought through her actions. It felt like someone else was in charge. They’d taken over. And they had a mission. She could barely remember selecting and shoving items into a small backpack, dumping anything perishable into the multiplex trash-bin, unlocking and fetching her bike. She’d swapped her painter togs for spandex leggings, a moisture- wicking sports bra, and track shoes. Her hair was loose, held back by a sweatband on her forehead, and she wore a bandana atop that. It was perfect attire for exercise. She was getting quite a workout in what felt like a hotbox. But southern Nevada wasn’t known for cool temps. More than once, sweat stung her eyes before she wiped at it.

And for some reason, she barely noticed any of it.

The lights of Dobb Lake faded as she rounded the hill shielding Dobbin Creek. The old town wasn’t large. It had a wide main avenue, a couple of arterial streets containing bare spots here and there. Some were even outlined with fences. They’d once contained houses. Or tents. Dobbin Creek had been a boomtown during the mining days.

This was all that survived.

It looked eerie and ghostly. She should have been frightened. That was the farthest thing from her mind. If she considered it, the sensation filling her contained a hint of freedom, a breath of excitement, and a taste of thrill. The combination was intoxicating. Exhilarating. The sun was sinking, sending spectacular hues along with lengthy shadows onto the view. If she wasn’t still dealing with the weird muted sensation, she might have stopped for a moment and looked things over. Breathed deeply, and committed it to memory. So she could paint it later.

She wasn’t doing that, either.

The dirt road was at a slight downhill grade the last half mile. She pedaled it, anyway. And then she was there. In the front of the Number Eight Saloon. She propped her bike against the wreckage of the scaffolding before reconsidering. She couldn’t disappear for a bit if she left markers. She ran it along to the back.

The Number Eight Saloon was backed by another building. If she remembered right, it had been a hotel. And despite what she’d told the girls earlier, rumor had it underground tunnels connected most of the structures together. The space between the buildings wasn’t large. And there was a lot of stuff back here. Old planks. A large spool that might have held wire at some point. The remains of a barrel. A lot of dirt. Marielle shoved her bike into the midst of a mass of weeds nobody had tended in decades. Wow. Nobody had cared much about the backs of these buildings. Back here, the plank walls weren’t even fitted. The evening was airless. Not a breath of wind stirred a speck of dust. Marielle peered into the saloon through the cracks. The last bit of daylight percolated through the windows, lighting the inside of the saloon. She caught a breath. It should have been creepy. It was instead, incredibly beautiful.

The space looked forlorn. Lonely. Sad. The only thing in that span was the length of bar with a huge square of wood behind it that might have held a mirror at some point. Or a bawdy painting. Even if the bar wasn’t affixed to the floor, hiding access to the tunnel system, it would have been difficult to move. It looked to be marble topped. The rest was a lot of wood. Heavily carved. They’d even fashioned the corners into spiral pillars that held the boot rail she’d grabbed earlier. The plank she’d been on was shoved against the wall. It looked like it belonged. All told, this would make a fantastic painting.

The sun set. Shadows that had been threatening took over, enveloping the entire area. Darkening. Obscuring. The moisture on her skin chilled in place, sending shivers in its wake. Whispers that resembled words rushed past her ear. The sound of creaking footsteps started emanating from just about everywhere. She heard more than one long sigh that ended with a groan. All of it raised hairs at the back of her neck. She’d forgotten this was a ghost town.

And then she told herself to cease the stupidity. There was no such thing as a ghost. The sounds were merely insects stirring. The sound of old buildings settling as the wood rapidly cooled from another day of desert heat.

But she really shouldn’t be here. This was crazy.

She shuffled through her backpack for her headlamp. Strapped it around her forehead. Turned it on. It wasn’t the best, and it needed fresh batteries, but it would do.

The saloon looked pretty scary as she slid through the opened side of the door, and stood against the wall for a moment to get her bearings. And wonder anew at her sanity. What was she doing here? Was she seriously considering leaving her job? Again? She kept making bad life choices. That’s why she reaped bad results. That’s what the counselor had told her. It must be true. But she’d never have guessed her new choice would be a mysterious hole in the floor of a ghost town saloon.

This was beyond idiotic.

She’d left a poverty-level job at an art gallery in Phoenix for this chance. Mister Stimson had come by during a show. He’d been accompanied by his fourth or fifth wife at the time, surrounded by other billionaires. Marielle had thought she’d reached the big time with his employment offer. She’d thought he was interested in her artistic talents.

Okay.

Maybe it was beyond idiotic. She should leave. Go back to her apartment. She could come back tomorrow. In daylight. When she came to paint. Marielle actually tried to turn back, but something stopped her. Something that contained an absurd sense of alertness. Enticement. Temptation.

And that got her feet moving.

The boot rail was in good working condition, although she had to press on several spots before she got the right one. It didn’t even squeak as the metal moved. She was around the bar and watching as the space opened, assembling into steps that disappeared into blackness beyond her headlamp range. She pondered that ladder-like access for a bit as dust particles sifted through her light.

Uh oh
.

A fine film of dust covered everything. She was going to leave footprints. She probably left a clear trail, starting at the front steps. Marielle turned her head, aiming the light at her path. Nothing looked disturbed at all. The floor started trembling slightly, while the soft sigh of moving gears whispered through the area. The steps closed. Marielle turned back to them and a few seconds later it was just another chunk of floor, covered with a film of dust that matched the surroundings. The conceptual artist part of her wondered at the perfection. The technical part checked on the why. She squatted and touched a fingertip to the dirt, scraping a nail along a hard surface. Nothing moved. Somebody had painted the surface to always look undisturbed?

She really should alert the authorities. Contact someone. Do anything other than go back around the bar, push the boot rail, and this time descend the steps.

Anything.