Chapter Nineteen
Samantha, in the passenger seat, looked over and was impressed by how Sam handled the car. Not bad for someone his age. She was surprised by how well he handled the stick, and she forgave him his initial grinding of gears. He was actually pretty good once he got past third. She liked his aggression, especially when the speedometer hit 120. He had spirit, she had to give him that.
She leaned back, relaxing and enjoying the ride. It was a lot slower than flying, but not bad for human travel. She thought of the man who'd owned this car, that real estate broker - her morning meal - and smiled. His blood still ran through her veins, and it felt good. She was sated.
She didn't need to let the kid drive, but she figured his days were numbered anyway, so why not let him enjoy them, go out with a bang? It would only be a matter of hours now until she'd meet his father, and find out where that sword was. After that, she could dispose of them both.
But something gnawed at her. She was actually starting to like this kid. And that bothered her more than anything else. She couldn't remember liking a human in hundreds of years. Much less a stupid teenager. But, she had to admit, there was something about him. Some kind of kindred spirit, something she recognized. Even at his young age, she could tell he had been kicked around. He had a quality of recklessness, of not caring about the world, of knowing his days were numbered, of being ready to go out in style. And she liked that. It reminded her of an affair she'd had once with a young prince in Bulgaria, in the 1300s. . .
Maybe she didn't need to kill him right away. Maybe she could keep him alive a bit longer. Take him along for the ride. Maybe, even, keep him alive after she found the sword. She could enslave him. He could be a plaything, to do with as she wished. Maybe even. . .
She stopped her line of thought, mad at herself. Was she getting soft?
She had to focus on the task ahead. His father. They would be there shortly, within the hour. If he was one of hers, was of the vampire race, she might be in for a fight, as he would sense her presence immediately. She had to be on guard as they pulled up.
She would do whatever it took, fight to the death if need be. This vampire was the key to the sword, the key to her coven's victory. She would go to heaven or hell to make sure they got it.
*
As Sam drove, getting closer, letting the car's navigation system direct him to his Dad's address, he was confused. He had pictured his father living in a upscale town, off of a cool road, on a huge property in an awesome house.
But as the GPS announced that they were close, within a mile or so, Sam felt like something must be wrong. They were driving through a dump of a town - not even a town, really, but just a stretch of dumpy country road, with small, ranch trailers spread out here and there.
When the GPS announced that this was their last turn, Sam couldn't believe his eyes. They drove under a huge sign that read: "Homestead Trailer Park. "
This was where his dad lived. In a trailer park.
As he slowly drove down the dirt road, past the spread out trailers, each one looking worse than the next, Sam began to feel a pit in his stomach, the familiar feeling of his dreams about to get crushed. He had been so stupid to get his hopes up. What an idiot he'd been.
The further he got, the more spread out the trailers were, and as he reached the end of a dead end, he saw the number on a light-blue, vinyl trailer, and realized he'd found it. The tiny mobile home was dilapidated. The screen door was crooked on its hinges, the small stairs were cracked, and the lawn was overgrown with knee-high weeds. The home was set back, and hidden from the others by a large clump of bushes. It was private. But not the kind of privacy Sam had imagined.
Sam felt embarrassed. He was so embarrassed to have brought Samantha to this place, and to be introducing her to his Dad. He wished he could just take off, or just curl up and die.
He parked, and killed the engine, and they both sat there. They kind of looked at each other. Sam checked the navigation system for the tenth time to make sure it was the right address. It was.
"Are we getting out?" Samantha finally asked.
Sam didn't really know what to do. What kind of man could live in such a place? What kind of Dad did he come from?
He wanted to just turn the engine, step on the gas, and keep going. But he couldn't.
Sam swallowed hard, opened the door and got out, and Samantha followed.
The two of them approached the house. They took two steps up, the rotted wood stairs sinking, and he pulled back the creaking screen door.
Sam took a deep breath, reached up, and knocked.
There came a bang, and then a rustling inside. Seconds later, the door opened.
And there, across from him, stood his father.