“You’redelivering a message but you don’t know where? What are you talkingabout?”
Iwatched the back-and-forth, wide-eyed and intrigued. “Cormac. Maybeyou’d better start at the beginning.”
Hescowled, paced a couple of steps, then seemed to come to a decision.“Yeah. Okay,” he said, glancing sidelong at an impatient Rick. ThenCormac told a story.
He’dbeen hired for a job, he said. An easy job, and he should have knownbetter. If you had to call a job easy it meant there was a catch. Forthe amount of cash he was offered, he figured he could deal with acatch.
Themorning after accepting the job, he found a box outside his apartmentdoor. Inside the box was a padded envelope the size of a magazine,labeled with an address but no name. The address was in Ft. Morgan, asmall town about an hour northeast of Denver.
Hefound the spot on a lane off a dirt county road, and Cormac figuredeven getting this far was enough to earn his pay. He was careful, hekept a watch out. The job might be easy—feeding sharks was easy—but hedidn’t trust it’d be safe. All he found at the end of the lane were acouple of sprawling cottonwood trees and an old plank board farmhousethat had fallen in on itself decades before. Noone was here to deliver the message to. He couldn’t find a mailbox toput it in.
Maybehe shouldn’t have assumed the job would be easy.
Cormacstudied his maps to see if maybe he’d come to the wrong place. He’dhave sent a message to his client to ask for more details, but hecouldn’t get a phone connection. The address on the envelope wasspecific. This was the right spot. He hunted around for some clue,maybe a forwarding address. Except clearly no one had lived here foryears.
Finally,he found a note on the front door. Had to dig for it around a collapsedwall and splintered shingles. It was as if someone had tacked the notethere before the house collapsed, which seemed weird and unlikely.Maybe the note had been put here to protect it from the weather.
Onthe outside of the folded page, the same address had been written inthe same handwriting as on the envelope. He unpinned the note, unfoldedit, read.
“Talkto the vampire.
Iknow this isn’t expected, but it’s necessary.”
Whatthe hell was this about?
Weare in the middle of something strange here, Cormac, Ameliaobserved. He’d met Amelia in prison, where she had been wrongfullyhanged for murder more than a hundred years ago. She’d also beensomething of a wizard and had managed to preserve her consciousnessinside the prison walls. They’d made a bargain: he’d carry her backinto the world, and he would get her powers. In the meantime, they hadbecome something like friends.
Wasit weird that he immediately thought of talking to Rick, the Master ofDenver? He was used to hunting and staking vampires, not talking tothem. He could call Kitty, she was friends with the guy, and maybe he’dknow what this was about.
Somuch trouble over such an innocuous envelope. He thought aboutripping it open, looking inside it for some sort of clue about where itwas supposed to go.
Thatwould be rather unethical, Amelia thought at him.
“Ifthey really wanted this delivered, they should have made it easier,” hegrumbled.
Ifit had been easy they would have done it themselves. I’m telling you,this is odd. I want to know more.
He’dgotten the job via email. He didn’t know anything about whohad hired him. It had seemed so simple.
“Iguess we have to go talk to the vampire, then,” he said, searchingthe ruined homestead as if someone might pop out of the broken timbersand explain everything.
Really,it won’t be so bad, will it? Master Rick is a gentleman.
Hecalled Kitty.
“Iknow it sounds crazy, but here I am. I don’t know if you’re the rightvampire, but I had to start somewhere,” Cormac said and handed the notefrom the farmhouse to Rick, shrugging like he was surrendering allresponsibility for their current situation. Cormac was a patient guy,but I’d never known him to like puzzles.
Rickread the page. His gaze narrowed. Then he read it again, and glanced atCormac, his brow furrowed. Finally he handed the note back. “Wait herea minute.”
Hevanished. In actuality, he moved so quickly he seemed to fly down thesteps in a blur, his vampiric speed and power disguising him. Returningafter just a couple of minutes, Rick walked up the steps at normalspeed, holding a small item in his hand. A key.
“Ithink you need this,” he said. The key wasn’t old, but it wasn’t new.The size of his thumb, steel maybe. Small, simple, for luggage or astrong box. He held it out. Seemingly in a daze, Cormac took it fromhim, studied it. Rick explained, “Fifty years ago, I was asked to keepthis safe. I was told that I would know who to give it to when thetime was right, and that I would be told, ‘I know this isn’t expected,but it’s necessary.’”
Cormaclifted his sunglasses to study the key more closely, vampire or no.“Fifty years ago?” Rick nodded solemnly.
“Who?”I burst in. “Who does that? Who keeps something safe for a stranger forfifty years?”
“Vampires,”Cormac and Rick said at the same time. Cormac scowled, but Rick quirkeda smile.
Isaid. “So, fifty years ago, some stranger came to you out of the blueand said, ‘Hey, take this for me,’ and you were like, ‘Yeah, sure’?”
Rickadded, “You’ll have to trust me when I say this isn’t the strangestthing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Oh,I trust you,” I said. “The person who gave this to you—were they human?Mortal?”
“Atthe time I thought he was perfectly normal. White guy, short hair,about this tall. Seemed intense. But now, I’m not sure. My memoryisn’t perfect.”
“Cormac,what’s your client look like?”
“Don’tknow, they set up the job overemail.”
“Soit could be the same person,” Rick said. “But why?”
Ipointed at Cormac’s hand. “I want to know what that key opens.”
Cormacblew out a breath. “This is starting to be more trouble than it’sworth.”
“Youcan’t quit, not now. I want to know what that opens, who that messageis for, why—”
“No,”Cormac said. “You should stay out of this.”
“Ohno,” I said, crossing my arms. “You asked for help. I’m
