the dark hours, part two

Since I began the dark hours, the story has haunted me. Sometimes, it’ll whisper dialogue and plot complications when I’m waking up, or going to get the mail. I love that in a WIP. When I’ve already got a couple other WIPs, I have to just write the notes down and swear to get back to it.

I’ve come back, dark hours. Over the last three days, I’ve written 4,121 words for part two.

Because the new part ended up being longer than I’d originally thought, I’ve decided to cut it in half, post the first half today, and the other next week. I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

Jason could count on one hand the number of places he felt safe in. If he lost a couple fingers, it wouldn’t change a thing.
He slumped back in his chair. The stacks of books before him created a wonderful fortress, but despite the Campbell Library’s best efforts, there was nothing in the books that was new. Vampires hated sunlight. They liked blood.

Flying Spaghetti Monster, tell him something he didn’t already know. If he had his Grandfather’s books . . .
He didn’t. They were back at the house. With Thayer.

Fuck.

Jason picked up another book and opened it. The thin paper whispered dryly against his skin. It was a pleasant touch, cool and familiar and his, but he felt off. He was safe there. His safety was an illusion. His fortress flammable. If any of the librarians knew he was still there–

“Mr. Cavernaugh?”

Damn.

Jason looked up. The circulation librarian, Marisol, offered him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but we closed twenty minutes ago.”

Jason rose. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in my research.”

She glanced at his walls. “I might be able to check out a couple of them for you.”

“Thank you, but no.” He already knew what was in those books. They wouldn’t help him.
Jason slipped his notebook into his satchel and left. On his way to the entrance, he passed two other librarians and a clerk, all of whom smiled and frowned with equal amusement. Him losing himself in a book was well known. His reputation bought him patience.

It wasn’t enough.

Since the fourth of July incident, he’d spent every spare moment in various libraries, looking through old newspapers and memoirs. There was nothing there like the bits his memory teased him about his Grandfather’s journals. Nothing about Thayer. Nothing. After two months, Jason was left with an unpleasant thought.

He would have to go back to the house.

The thought twisted something inside of him. Saliva crept into his mouth, followed by the taste of bile.

Frowning, he swallowed, forcing it back. A few weeks before, he’d hoped to let go of his studio lease and move to the house. It was a couple hours from where he currently called home, but Half Moon Bay was a very pretty coastal town. As a kid, he used to love going up there to get pumpkins. Now, the thought of heading there again made him ill. His parents and therapist had been so certain he imagined the monsters. On the fourth of July, Jason discovered that the monsters were real.

And they had waited for him.

Jason approached the entrance to the library. Despite what had happened, he would have to go back. He had to get into the attic, get the books, and get out before it got dark. While he felt uneasy walking around at night in Campbell, nothing had ever come after him there. In Half Moon Bay? If Detective I-think-you-were-sexually-abused-as-a-child didn’t cite him for being in town, Thayer would . . .

Jason wasn’t certain what Thayer would do. At one time, he would’ve thought Thayer wanted to kill him, but after the Fourth Jason wasn’t certain. Thayer had said he’d waited for him. He probably still was.

The thought made him pause at the entrance.

Then, because he didn’t belong there, Jason forced himself out the door.

Outside, the air was warm. It felt like a faint touch, lightly draping over Jason and making him aware of the bare skin outside of his dark green t-shirt and jeans.

Jason hurried to his car. Here was a secret he hoped to never share; he hated summer days, but the nights, mmm. The warm brush of air felt like a whisper against his skin.

At another time, he would have stripped down to his boxers and lay beneath his window, letting the breeze trace over him. Tonight, like every other night since discovering Thayer, Jason would curl up in his office chair and wait out the dark hours. Night time was not his friend.

The drive home lasted as long as Jason thought he would last in a fight; five minutes. Like he’d done on many other drives, he plotted. In the morning, he would make the hour plus drive and go to the house. Better yet, he would leave while it was still dark, and get there when the sun rose. He would give himself the whole day to get the books out, and then he would celebrate by holing up at home.

Jason pulled into his parking space and then killed the engine. It was a good plan. If it weren’t already dark, he would have wanted to go now.

The sky was an unpleasant black, though. Small shards of light winked across the sky, casting light from worlds that might be dead zillions of miles away. Jason grabbed his satchel and headed for his studio.

After the library, his studio was the second and last place he felt safest in. It was a ground floor unit, which sucked when it came to the possibility of things breaking into it, but also meant he wouldn’t fall to his death if he had to go out a window.

He’d once considered crashing at friends’ houses, but the thought of Thayer finding him there chilled him. So home he went, where there were no friends to endanger and no librarians to chase him out. He had two windows, offering lots of exposure to sunlight, and his neighbors were awake at all hours. If Thayer ever left Half Moon Bay and came there, Jason liked to think he’d be noticed. The thought was no stronger than the walls of his books had been, but it helped Jason sleep at dawn, when he finally gave up his nightly watch.

Small globes of light atop tall posts lined the walkway to his studio. Jason slipped inside and flipped the three locks. If something wanted to break in there, it was going to have to make a lot of noise.

Jason dropped his satchel beside his desk. The light on his answering machine blinked red, so he tapped the talk button.

“Hey, Jason,” his friend Noah said. “Calling to make sure you were coming over on Monday for the barbeque.”

Jason glanced at the clock. It was a little after nine. There was a good chance Noah would still be awake–

A chill breeze lapped over him.

Jason stilled. Had he left the fan on that morning? He didn’t remember, but it had been warm that morning.

He turned. The fan stood in the corner. Still.

Jason frowned. Where was the breeze coming from? He hadn’t turned the AC on since last month, when the electric bill–

The curtain in the kitchenette shifted. Beside it, the screen slouched against the wall.

Fuck.

Jason ran toward the door. He’d been wrong. Thayer had decided to leave the sleepy little coastal town and–

A shadow bled over him.

Jason spun, moving out of the way. A large shape darted past, hitting the wall a moment later.

The shape turned, revealing a tall man in black. His skin was pale, his fingertips long and ending in claws. He lashed at Jason.

Jason jerked back. Cool air whispered past his neck.

“You’re fast,” the man said. His voice was deep. Angry. “He didn’t say you’d be fast.”

Relief flooded Jason. It wasn’t Thayer.

Then, he actually heard what the man had said, and his relief died.

Jason ran for the door. In his twisting and moving, he’d ended back near his desk.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and then the claws were coming down, and pain bit into his left arm.

Cold sank into his flesh, yanking him back.

Jason turned, grabbing at his desk. His fingers slipped past the phone, knocking it to the ground.

He touched his pen jar. He grabbed and then dropped a feather quill, a mechanical pencil-

And cold metal.

Flying Spaghetti Monster. It was Excalibur. Not the real, straight-from-a-lake, one but an iron, straight-from-a-gift-shop-outside-of-London replica.

The man slammed him against the wall.

Blackness swam around Jason. He blinked, focusing-

On the man standing before him. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, allowing a hint of jagged teeth to peek out. Vampire. Not very strong. He could withstand a little daylight but-

How the hell did he know that?

A tremor snaked through him, ending in the hand holding the blade.

The man frowned. “You’re still awake. You shouldn’t-”

Jason slashed out, sending his blade arcing out across the man’s neck.

The man stumbled back, clutching his throat. Dark blood crept out beneath his fingers.

“You,” he whispered. “I know you. I know what you are.”

What?

“Thayer–”

The man trembled, and then his flesh shriveled and he burst out, sending a chaos of blue-silver dust over Jason, his desk, and the carpet.

Jason drew back along the wall. What . . . how . . .

A memory teased him. Something about him, standing in his backyard. He was holding something. Something broken, with a sharp end and . . .

He had broken the end off his mother’s broom. One end was jagged, but that was fine; the monster’s teeth had been jagged as well. Pumpkin smiles, candle eyes. He staked it and then watched the remains fade into the night air.

The memory faded.

Jason stared at the fading dust and then at the letter opener in his hand. It glinted silver. Its edges were dull. Its tip blunt.

And yet, it had killed that man. That vampire.

Jason turned it over in his hand. He’d gotten the thing a year before, when his advance on his last novel allowed him to go to England for a couple weeks. The research trip to end all research trips, he’d called it on his tax forms. The short sword had cost twenty pounds, which had seemed like a lot for a knick knack, but it was beautiful and had felt right in his hand. Looking at it now, he wondered if it was enchanted.

And, remembering how familiar the sight of the dying vampire had been, he wondered if he was.

And then, because the studio was quiet, he wondered if the vampire had been alone.

Jason grabbed his satchel. He’d hoped Thayer wouldn’t find him there; Thayer had found him. Fuck. He better get out.

He slipped the small sword inside his book bag, grabbed his laptop and thumb drives. Vampires were supposed to only be killed by wooden stakes, beheading, and fire. Either someone forgot to add knick knacks to the mythology or–

I’ve waited for you.

I know you. I know what you are.

Jason wondered if he had ever known what he was.

It was an odd thought. Jason was tempted to shrug it off as vampire head games, but there was still something strange about the situation. About him.

While the vampire had been very open chatty about the subject, the man was dead, and if he’d known that Jason was curious, he probably would have shut up. And Thayer . . . Jason would rather not ask him.

If no one was going to tell him, then he was left . . . pretty much where he began, needing his Grandfather’s books.

He sighed. Sometimes, life circled around like that.

Jason locked the door behind himself, remembered the window, and then felt goofy. He’d call Noah in the morning and ask him–

Noah had called him. Jason might not feel safe at the studio, but if he told his friend there’d been a break in and asked if he could crash at his place, Noah would let him. Noah might not believe in vampires of magical knick knacks, but he’d been in the Navy. Maybe Jason would be safe there.

Maybe.

And if not, he could introduce Noah to Thayer.

Never mind.

Jason unlocked his car, checked the back seat for unwelcome passengers, and then slumped behind the wheel. His safe places had been reduced, leaving him in the last place he felt safe.

His car.

While not the most easily defensible of locations, it had one advantage: it was paid for. Make that two advantages: it could get him the hell out of there.

Jason started the engine. Leaving was a temporary plan. He was going to need a place to hole up with, preferably one that wouldn’t kill his meager savings or endanger his friends. Nothing came to mind.

Frowning, he pulled out of his space. Later, he decided. Later, when he was somewhere between the studio and the other house, he would pull to the side of the road and brood. And plot. And, if he felt safe, sleep. Right now, he had to get out of there before another of Thayer’s friends found him.

Written by Luisa Prieto

Dark fantasy writer by day, dark fantasy writer by night. I'm charmingly dull that way ;)
Visit The Author's Website