Vampire Forgotten-Chapter One

“Do you think this is the wisest thing to do, Grandfather?” With a worried look on her face, the brunette peered in through the window of the bathroom.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure throwing her on Rhad’s step is going to make him trust her.”

She shrugged. “It was the only thing I could think to do under pressure.”

“Perhaps you should have considered leaving her some clothes.”

“I didn’t have a lot of time. She was in the middle of changing clothes when the tranquilizer took effect. You know I can’t maintain corporeal form very long. I did what I could in the little amount of time I had. I just hope it works.”

“Tis all we can do, my child.” The deep timbre of the old man’s voice never ceased to reassure her. Even in death he guided her, protected her, and interceded on her behalf when the Spirit Council grew weary of her antics.

She straightened and summoned up a smile to offer her own bit of reassurance. “Then this is how it shall be. We’ll just hope that Mischa can convince Rhad to assist her with her mission.”

“Oh, she shall. I’ve never doubted her for one moment.” With a wink, he took hold of her arm and disappeared into the thinning mist.

Damnit! How hard could it be to find one old man? He’d been looking for the geezer for over a month now, and yet, no one seemed to know anything about where he might have gone.  Even his precious granddaughter had feigned ignorance. He though taking out his knife would scare the truth out of her, but she’d proven to be tougher than she looked.

Scratching the back of his neck, Hamrick dropped down onto the damp ground and drew his knees up close to his chest. She’d been the only person who might have known where the shaman had disappeared to, but no matter how much pain Hamrick had inflicted, the girl wouldn’t talk. Then he’d reached the point of no return. She’d become a witness, and he couldn’t risk the police catching up with him.

He bit off a piece of jerky and chewed. His head tipped back to let the rain slash against his face, washing away days of dirt and sweat. Odds were good he was on a fool’s journey, but his father swore the shaman existed, that his great-grandfather had seen the man perform miracles. Hamrick had his doubts, but he didn’t have much to lose.

A sick chill settled in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed the nausea. He’d come too far to go back now. Not that he would make it home without the shaman anyway. Life had dealt him one hell of a hand, and, if the old man really could do all the things his father said, the shaman would be his only chance for survival. 

With the tumor in his brain growing larger each day, he’d be dead in a month, if he could last that long. All the money he had meant nothing now. No doctor could help him, and he’d been to at least twelve. They all said the same thing. Inoperable tumor. Death imminent. Get your affairs in order.

What kind of bullshit line was that? He’d never been the type to let life walk all over him. In his world, he called the shots, held the power, and he’d be damned if he’d let some tumor shorten his life span. Not when there was another way out.

For the past three weeks, Hamrick’s team had been trying to pinpoint a location for the shaman, but little evidence could be found that the man even existed. No driver’s license. No social security number. His secretary had managed to provide him with the only break so far, having discovered information on the internet about a legend dating back to the 17th century. Using genealogy charts, she’d tracked down the shaman’s ancestors.

And Hamrick had allowed his anger to overrule his common sense when he killed the girl.  He’d been kicking his own ass ever since. He did have one more opportunity, and he couldn’t blow this one.