Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“So it’s gone?”
“It’s gone. And when I looked out, someone was watching me from across the street. Just standing there in the darkness, smoking.”
His posture stiffens again. “Could you identify them?”
“No. Just that it was a man.”
He seems to think that over, his black brows furrowing. “Did you tell anyone else about her diary, aside from me?”
“No. I didn’t tell anyone.” I meet his gaze. “Which means they’ve been watching me closer than I thought and…”
“And they searched your entire apartment while you were sleeping,” he finishes, his expression darkening, which makes a chill run down my spine. “Could that have been possible? Did you notice the floorboards when you first woke up?”
I try to think but I can’t recall. I’d been too spooked by what had been in the hall. “Maybe…maybe Elizabeth told someone else I had the diary.”
“Maybe she did. Either way, not your average burglar.”
“No.” I take a sip of coffee, using the moment to consider how much to reveal. Humans don’t believe in vampires until a vampire tells them the truth themselves. I don’t want to do that with Callahan. I promised my parents and the others that it would always remain a secret. That’s the way it has to be for us. The only way we can live in the world undetected.
And yet I think we might be dealing with something more than a murderer. Something much more dangerous. What I came across tonight couldn’t have been a mere human.
“There was something wrong about the whole thing. The impossible cold. The blood that wasn’t there. It felt…”
“Supernatural?” he suggests when I trail off.
I raise my brows at the use of that word. Most humans, especially practical ones like Callahan, avoid such terms. “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”
Something flickers in his eyes. “Not really. Though I have been going through something that is starting to push my limits of understanding.” He sets his mug down on his desk. “I’m having these blackouts, missing sections of time—sometimes I wake up in places with no memory of going there.” He pauses. “Outside your apartment building, for example.”
My breath catches. “When?”
“Few nights ago.” He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m beginning to recognize as one of his rare displays of uncertainty. “I lost about ten hours. Just gone.”
“That’s concerning,” I say carefully. Very concerning. I wonder if I should tell him what I first thought when I was being followed outside The Lavender Room. That it was him stalking me down the streets. But after tonight I know that’s not possible. Whoever was stalking me is probably the same person who broke into my apartment. Besides, Callahan isn’t a vampire. I would know.
But…he is something, isn’t he?
“Have you seen a doctor?” I ask.
“Not yet.” He shakes his head, picking up his mug and having a sip. “Doctor would probably say it’s stress. Overwork. Not enough sleep.”
“Is that what you think it is?”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring into his coffee, dark arched brows furrowed together. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s finally catching up with me.”
“What is?” I prompt gently.
“The war. Catherine’s death.” His voice remains steady, but I see the tension in his jaw. “Grief does strange things to people. Makes them forget things, lose time. Sneaks up on you when you think you’re safe. So they say.”
“Who is Catherine?” I ask. “Your mother?”
“My wife.”
My heart stills for a moment, not expecting to hear that.
He glances at me and winces slightly. “I was married. She died.”
“Tell me about her,” I say, sensing he needs to talk about this, and I’m genuinely curious about the woman he was married to. “Tell me about Catherine.”
Callahan goes silent for a moment, rubbing his full lips together. “We met before the war, when I was a boxer. She was a nurse at Chicago Memorial where they patched me up after a bad fight.” A faint smile touches his lips. “Told me I was an idiot for getting in the ring in the first place. Naturally, I asked her to dinner.”
“Bold move. I like her.”
“You would. She turned me down the first three times.” The memory seems to soften him. “Catherine was…steady. The kind of person who knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. Never met anyone so certain about everything.”
Must be nice, I can’t help but think.
“You loved that about her,” I observe.
“More that I needed it.” He meets my gaze. “I was all over the place back then. Boxing, school, not sure what I was doing with my life. She anchored me.”
“What happened to her?”
His expression clouds. “Like everyone else, I went to go fight in the war. Got the telegram while I was in France. Pneumonia, they said. Swept through the hospital where she worked.” He swallows hard. “By the time I found out, she’d been buried for weeks. Never got to properly say goodbye.”