Dark Promises (Dark 25)

Trixie looked cautiously around her, trying to get her bearings. She'd snuck out of the camping area on the pretext of gathering wood for a fire. She'd just kept going. Her traveling companions were totally whacked. Bonkers. As in insane. They might as well have been bible thumpers who spouted everything but the bible. Seriously whacked.

Teagan was Trixie's. Her special girl. Her sun in the morning and stars at night. No one was going to harm Teagan. Not some horrible stranger who charmed a young, inexperienced girl and probably was trying to marry her to get into the United States, and not the whacked-out vampire hunters who didn't know the difference between a vampire and a human being.

Totally bloodthirsty. Trixie didn't mind whupping ass when it was warranted, but she was discerning. Her traveling companions were not discerning. She scrubbed her hand down her face, trying to fight exhaustion. She'd been hiking most of the day and the sun was about to set. She'd gone up the mountain, not down, because something compelled her to go toward the highest peak and the mist, rather than go back down.

The mist coiled just above her, thick and dense. Things seemed to move in the mist, and she could hear dark voices on the wind. Was Teagan up there? In that? If so, she needed rescuing, and Trixie was there to do just that. She could hear the music of the night. The wind, the trees shifting subtly, the rocks, some gently trickling down the mountainside, even the wolves, all blended together in harmony to make beautiful, breathtaking notes.

She heard music in people. Sometimes soft. Sometimes loud. Joyous. Sad. The music was always there, from the time she could remember as a young child. A part of her. As she'd gotten older she began to discern that the musical notes in people tipped her off to the type of person they were. Meeting her traveling companions at the bottom of the mountain convinced her she was in deep trouble. The notes she heard coming off them as they hiked the trail, as well as the conversations about staking people, made her physically ill.

She looked up at the fog again. Swirling into patterns. Unnatural. She didn't know how she knew it was unnatural, because the music it made was part of the night's song, the notes in the dense veil of gray not jangling, or jarring, but still, the swirling mass of gray vapor was definitely not normal.

Again she felt anxiety pulling at her center. Her feet wanted to follow the path right into the fog and go higher still. She hoped she was tuned to Teagan. She'd always known where her girls were because she felt their music. The path she took held faint notes that were Teagan's but they seemed just out of reach, as if she couldn't quite catch up with her. And what was Teagan doing running around the mountains at night in a foreign country? The moment there was trouble, she should have been on a plane back to the States. And she was in trouble all right. Huge trouble this time. That girl was going to experience a little whup-ass herself.

Trixie was in good shape. She still had her figure. She had curves and none of them were sagging. She looked fine in her really sweet ass-hugging cargo pants that shaped her booty and tucked nicely into her hiking boots. She still had the little tucked-in waist she'd been given from heaven and her hair was as full and as shiny as ever. She liked it long, with tons of braids so she could fix it in intricate do's that made her feel like a woman, not a robot.

Secretly, she had a thing for really nice--and sexy--underwear; of course no one knew about that little vice and she wasn't going to let her traveling companions find out her secret, either. They would if they killed her, and she had the feeling they would kill her when they caught up with her. If you weren't with them, then you were against them. They sounded like bigots--racists--and being black, she'd had enough of that to last more than one lifetime.

She sighed. The mountain path was steep and led straight into the fog. She might be in shape, but she was no spring chicken and she'd been following those faint musical notes all night and now most of the day and she was tired. Very tired. Worse. The very worst was the fact that these men she had set out with were hunting her granddaughter and the man Teagan was with.

Trixie and her traveling companions had met up with a man in the village just below the mountain--a man by the name of Denny Jashari. He claimed that a couple--a man and a woman--had killed his son and nephews up on the mountain. Four of his nephews and his son. So five men. He described Teagan.

Teagan. Her beloved Teagan. As if Teagan could hurt a fly. Trixie had gotten the call from Teagan telling her that she'd met a man and was going to marry him. She'd also said her guide was a serial killer. And a rapist. That guide had been Armend Jashari, Denny Jashari's son. Yep. Trixie was in trouble, but so was Teagan. She had to find her granddaughter first and fast, before the others did, and get her home where she would be safe.

"I'm too old for this crap," Trixie muttered, and pushed off the rock. Her backpack felt like it weighed a ton and again she was tempted to throw out her vampire-hunting kit, but she might have to use it against human nut cases. Jashari had whipped the men she was with into a killing frenzy, convincing them that Teagan and her man were vampires.

She set her burning feet right back on the path and started up it toward the strange fog. The fog bank looked close, but although she had traveled an hour, it was still a good distance away. She really, really was too old for this. She should have pulled out her stake-gun thingie and just shot them all right there in the old crumbling building where they held their meeting the moment they described Teagan.

Fred Wilson had been her contact in the United States. It had been his wife, Esmeralda, who had first become friends with Trixie. Trixie shook her head. She'd been fooled by that old hag. They'd laughed together and had been snarky online--something they both enjoyed--meeting in chat rooms and becoming fast friends. She'd been such a fool.

She kept moving, picking up speed as she went over the way Esmeralda had pulled her into a web of deceit so smoothly. Trixie knew she was intelligent and she counted on that knowledge, sometimes feeling a little superior when others misjudged her because she didn't have a formal education. She'd educated herself and she'd done very well in the world of business. She'd raised her own daughter and four granddaughters, all of whom were college graduates. She'd done good. Still, she'd been played by Esmeralda.

The woman wasn't her friend. Not at all. She'd somehow known about Trixie's ability to tune to people. No one outside the family knew about it. Well . . . once a few years back she'd gone for psychic testing just for the fun of it. But that was confidential. Or so they had said. Esmeralda had known. She'd made the initial contact online at a site where readers of vampire novels came together to discuss the books. They'd had fun together. Then it wasn't so fun anymore, and it definitely wasn't fun now, not with Esmeralda's husband believing psycho man Jashari about Teagan. Of course they didn't know Teagan was her granddaughter or they probably would have killed her on the spot.

She'd heard them whispering in their tent together. How they would use her to find the vampires and then they'd have to get rid of her because she knew too much and didn't believe in their cause. As if her presence wasn't enough for them. She was fairly certain it was Jashari who wanted her dead. He'd led the discussions and the others deferred to him in all things. She had the feeling he was fairly high up in their organization.

Finally. Finally. She reached the fog bank. Or more correctly, a wall of fog. It appeared solid and impenetrable. Studying it from several different angles, she decided she needed to find a way in. The faint notes she followed were calling to her from inside that cover of thick, gray vapor--so she had to get inside.

Trixie was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them. She flung her pack to the ground, grateful to get it off her back, but not so grateful that she would have to sit on the ground and get her very fine pants dirty. They were cute and she really liked them. It wasn't that easy to find pants that showed off her curves to their full advantage. If she was going to get murdered up there on that mountain, at least they'd find her dead body looking extremely fine.

She tried to dus

t off the dirt and vegetation from around the spot before she sank down gingerly right there in the dirt, staring straight ahead into the fog. The vapor moved, swirling, almost mesmerizing, making patterns, but there was no wind that moved it. An unseen hand maybe, but not the wind. She could feel wind, but it wasn't moving the fog. She closed her eyes, refusing to look into the swirling mist. Instead, she listened carefully, hearing the music inside the fog. The notes of silver and gold sang softly to her.

The notes weren't discordant at all, not like the notes Denny Jashari and his friends gave off. These were warning notes, broadcasting to others to stay away, but rather than being out of tune with nature, they fit perfectly. Harmonious. Definitely a part of the wilderness.

The notes appealed to her as nothing else in her lifetime ever had. Something inside of her responded, matching the rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. She felt her body tune to the notes. Embrace them. Her own symphony played counterpoint and then sang harmony. Whoever or whatever had put those notes in the fog fit with her. Belonged.

In spite of the danger to her granddaughter, in spite of the very real danger to herself, for the first time in her life, she relaxed completely. She couldn't remember ever feeling relaxed. She was too busy. She had too much responsibility. She worked nonstop. She took care of children and their educations. She made a home for them. She didn't take time out to see to her own needs. Her family was her life. Everything. She didn't relax.

She found herself simply breathing, letting the notes fill her up. Revive her when she'd been so exhausted. She wanted to laugh. To cry. She felt safe wrapped up in that song. It was wild. Untamed. At the same time there was elegance there. Refinement. Things just out of her reach. She'd given them to her granddaughters, but she'd never had them for herself. Sitting there in the dirt, she sang back to the notes, feeling, for the first time in her life, elegance and refinement. Feeling safe.

It took a few minutes--or maybe it was hours--to realize she was wrapped up in the fog. She hadn't seen it move, but then she wasn't looking. She was feeling. She felt for her pack because the fog was too dense for sight to penetrate. It was there, right beside her, so she hadn't moved. Just the fog had.

Still, she wasn't afraid. It was impossible to feel fear when everything inside you felt transformed. Golden. Perfect. She'd never had that before and she wasn't going to give it up. She was tempted to sit right in that exact spot forever, but she knew she had to find Teagan. She still wasn't certain she was on Teagan's trail. Clearly, she'd been in the same fog. Trixie heard echoes of Teagan's song, but the notes were still very faint, as if she wasn't any closer to her.

Strangely it was the notes in the fog that called to her. They grew stronger, more insistent, and everything she was responded to the mysterious and beautiful notes. She stood up and caught up her backpack, shrugging into it, almost not even feeling the weight of it because the notes were so consuming, they made her light.

She followed the notes, uncaring that she couldn't see into the fog. She could have been blindfolded for all she cared. It wouldn't have mattered. The musical notes simply grew louder as she followed them. Her feet naturally found the path, if there truly was one. She didn't run into a single obstacle. Not one. She knew the sun was close to setting, and she should try to find shelter. The fog was wet and when she touched it, or turned her face up to it, she felt the cool dampness, like tiny drops of water on her skin, yet as she walked through it, she didn't get wet at all. She felt wrapped in a shawl of protection.

Trixie halted when tall, thick gates loomed over her. Her breath caught in her throat. She'd dreamt of a monastery at the very top of a mountain. Now it was all familiar to her. In her dreams the monastery was always enshrouded in fog and mystery. She sometimes saw things in her dreams, and they turned out to be real, but this was frightening. In her dream, inside the monastery, behind those gates, was something so terrifying to her, she'd never been able to face it. She'd forced herself to wake up. She'd been certain it was a vampire waiting to drain her dry of blood.

Her heart pounded. Hard. Urgently. Still, in spite of her fear, her hand went to the gate, her palm touching gently. Like a caress. The moment she touched the gate, she felt the notes there. Much louder. Summoning her. Reaching inside her to a place that had always, always, been alone. The middle of the night alone, when her girls were safely sleeping in the beds she'd provided for them. The best money could buy. Inside the home she'd bought for them. She'd been alone.

She'd pushed her own needs down in order to care for those she loved. And she did it happily with no regrets. None. She would choose the same path every time, but that didn't mean, in the middle of the night, loneliness didn't call, and she lay awake keeping her mind blank so she wouldn't feel an aching hole that would never be filled inside of her. She knew she made that choice and what she got in return was wonderful. Her girls filled her life with laughter and love. She didn't need anything more. Still, that emptiness rose up at times to haunt her.

The golden notes meshed with the notes inside of her. Sang to her. Called to her notes, so she sang back. She harmonized and the emptiness in her filled with beautiful music. Music she'd never expected. There in the gate, she heard the notes swelling in volume, singing a soft, whispery song that beckoned her forward. She could see the notes now, dancing in the air, and her notes joined those, silver and gold, twining around one another.

There was a click and the gate swung inward, the notes sliding inside the open gate. Trixie didn't hesitate to follow. She stepped around the barely opened gate, following the dancing music into a courtyard. Behind her, the gate swung closed. She glanced over her shoulder at it, mainly because it sounded loud, and heavy, and final.

With the fog so thick, she couldn't tell if the sun was setting, but it felt cold all of a sudden. She shivered and half turned. She couldn't see how to open the gate. As far as she could make out, there were several small buildings scattered inside a very high fence. The barricade surrounding the buildings was high and thick and took in a good deal of space. In fact, it was clearly a fortress.

Looking around, she was fairly certain it was a deserted fortress. There was nothing to indicate anyone lived there, and if they had once lived there it was a very long time ago. She couldn't see anything that would indicate the existence of a human being. She took two steps toward the center of the fortress.

The buildings were old, but they were solid and made of great stones. The musical notes drew her attention back to them. The notes danced in the air all around the building closest to the gates. It was a beautiful sight and she moved closer. The music increased in volume. Not Teagan's music, but much more masculine. Wild. Sexy. Elegant. Over-the-top masculine. How the song could be all of those things, Trixie didn't know, but it was and it was beautiful.

She went right up to the building, her heart pounding hard in her chest. Her mouth went dry. She didn't know what to expect, but the beautiful, perfect song surrounded her and filled in the missing notes of her song. She felt compelled to move forward and knew if she tried to stop herself she wouldn't be able to. She had to find the owner of that song.

Her fingers wrapped around the crudely carved door handle. There was no lock. The door was heavy but it swung open easily when she jerked on it, stepped inside and stopped. She let go of the door in shock, and behind her, it swung closed. The musical notes filled the room, dancing, playing all around her, but there was nothing inside those four walls but dirt. A dirt floor. An undisturbed dirt floor.

She didn't know why she wanted to cry, but she did. She was tired. Exhausted. She'd been like a child hunting the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and she felt cheated. She dropped her pack to the floor and sank down. Her legs were trembling so much she couldn't stand.

Trixie shook her head, refusing to let the sudden tears in her eyes fall. What had she been thinking? She was well past her prime. She'd lost her shot at any kind of . . . what? She didn't want a man. She was set in her ways. Snarky. She spoke

her mind and often was sarcastic and nasty when she was crossed. Men liked sweet, and that wasn't her. Life had been good to her, bringing her granddaughters to her, but it had also taken a lot. She had her life the way she liked it now. She wouldn't give one moment of it up for a man.

She straightened her shoulders because, really, she had been in some kind of mesmerizing spell and maybe, just maybe, that teenage girl who had gotten pregnant and thought her man loved her and would stand by her had come to the front out of nowhere, dreaming again. She had to find her steel spine and her sense of humor, no matter that she was alone. She couldn't afford to dream. She'd given up on dreams for herself a good fifty years earlier. Her dreams were for her girls. And they were living the dream and that was good enough for her.

Trixie looked around her. At least she had shelter. She was tired and needed to sleep. She was fairly certain the men who would be chasing her couldn't make their way through the dense fog. In any case, they couldn't see to track her once they hit the fog. She'd had the musical notes to guide her and they didn't.

She opened her pack and pulled out her sleeping bag. She'd sleep right there in the empty building with the musical notes playing all around her. And she wouldn't dream. She wouldn't be lonely. She would just go to sleep. Being a careful type of woman and always believing in being prepared, she pulled her vampire-hunting box out of her pack and set it beside her.

Looking at it, she felt a little better. There was a vial of holy water and a bible. There were all kinds of other things as well, but she really liked the little gun that shot the small, sharpened stakes. They weren't as big as she would have liked. Not at all. She frowned as she examined them. If she had designed a kit, she would have gotten rid of most of the junk in it and would have concentrated on making some big-ass stakes. The kind that would make a serious hole in a vampire's heart so he'd never rise again. It was a point-and-shoot kind of gun and she liked that about it. She put it beside her sleeping bag with the little board of extra stakes.