They Come by Night Read online

  “Have you kept in touch with your friends from high school?”

  “Yeah, but you know how it is, Dad. They’ve got classes and stuff, or work, and with the holidays, everyone’s busy.” Once I was settled in my bungalow, I’d called Jimmy to let him know that instead of going to Disney World, I’d moved to Pritchert. I just didn’t tell him why. He’d said something about driving out to see my place, but his Buick was in the shop more often than it was on the road. Since his mom’s minivan was the only vehicle he could borrow, and since it wasn’t usually available, it didn’t surprise me when he never showed up. “Things’ll fall into place after the New Year.”

  “Sure they will, son.” He didn’t sound as if he believed me.

  I wasn’t sure if I believed me.

  “Check out the radio, Dad. I get Sirius!”

  He reached for the dial and fiddled with the stations, and I listened absently as they switched from the ’60s to the ’70s to the ’80s, from jazz to opera to Broadway show tunes. Finally he settled on a station.

  “Dad?” I risked another glance, quick, surprised. He was staring out the window. “Since when have you been into rap?”

  “Ty, I’m not about to ask if you’re sure you’re on the right road, but is this a shortcut? None of this looks familiar to me.”

  “This is the way.” Was that what had him distracted? Did he think I’d get us lost? Well, I had been known to lose my way coming home from school, but geez, I’d only been six then. “Trust me. See? There’s my house just up ahead.”

  “Oh, my!”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” I looked around proudly. “According to Adam, it’s on a couple of acres. I can make a garden in the spring, and there’re a couple of pear trees and an apple tree.” No peach tree, which I’d have liked, but maybe I’d plant one in the spring. “And a small creek runs through the back of the property.”

  I pressed the remote on the visor and waited while the garage door rolled up, then eased my car forward and parked it.

  “Roomy!”

  “Yeah. It’s a one-and-a-half-car garage.” I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the door. There was enough room that I didn’t have to worry about hitting the wall, and there was even space for a workshop, which I wanted his help in outfitting.

  He took the bakery boxes with the pies in them, I retrieved his case, and we walked out of the garage.

  “Check this out, Dad!” I’d left the remote on the visor, and now I flipped up the lid of the keypad on the jamb, entered the code, and smiled with satisfaction as the door rolled down smoothly. “Awesome, isn’t it? I installed it myself.” After I’d forgotten the remote in the car for about the sixth time.

  “You did?” He blinked and ran gentle fingers over it.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m impressed. And yes, it is awesome.”

  “Cool beans!” I could have wriggled like a happy puppy. “I’ve given you the bedroom. I’ll take the love seat,” I told him before he could question me. I led him to the porch. “Welcome to Chez Small.”

  “No pun intended, Tyrell, but it seems a little… small.”

  “It’s big enough for me, Dad. And it’s just me.” I unlocked the door and threw it open.

  We were greeted by murmuring on the television. “Guess I forgot to shut it off,” I admitted sheepishly as I shut and locked the door.

  “Something smells good.”

  The house was filled with the fragrance of cooking turkey and roasting mickeys. Only I wasn’t making the potatoes that way.

  “Shoot!” I dropped his case, rushed into the kitchen and gave the knob on the oven a twist, and fumbled for the pair of oven mitts.

  “Is it okay, Ty?” Dad asked from the other side of the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room.

  A wash of hot air hit my face as I opened the oven door. The turkey was a dark brown. I took it out of the oven and put it on the butcher-block counter.

  “Yeah, it’s fine.” I hoped. “But the potatoes…. Shoot, they’re ruined.” The water had boiled away, and they were scorched. If it wasn’t so childish, I would have kicked the stove.

  “We can have stuffing instead.”

  “I didn’t buy any.” I dropped the pot into the sink and turned on the water so it could soak, then peeled off the mitts and tossed them aside. After switching on the fan in the range hood, I cracked the windows above the sink and in the adjoining dining room. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “It’s my fault. If you hadn’t had to come get me, this wouldn’t have happened. Now, don’t worry about the stuffing. I’ll make it.”

  I stared at him blankly.

  “You have bread, don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but we don’t have time to let it air dry.”

  “So we’ll stick it in the oven. No, don’t turn it back on. Where are the giblets?”

  “Giblets?”

  “You know. Heart, liver, gizzard.”

  “This turkey didn’t come with them.”

  “Ty, all turkeys come with them!”

  “Well, this one didn’t! I checked the cavity. All that was in there was the neck.”

  “Did you look under the flap of skin above the wishbone?”

  “Huh? Uh… no.” I raised the skin gently, but it still cracked. Sure enough, there was the bag containing the giblets. “Ick.”

  He laughed softly. “It’s okay. The first year we were married, your mom did the same—” His words stopped, and when I turned to look at him, it was to see he’d gone pale.

  “Dad?” He never talked about my mother.

  “Never mind. We can do without stuffing for today.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  He shook his head. “Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for some Stove Top stuffing. Now, the turkey’s going to need to set before you can carve it….”

  Me? That yanked my attention from what he’d been about to say about my mother. “Dad, you always carve the turkey.”

  “This is your home. You’re the host, Ty. It’s your privilege.” He handed me the pies, and I put them in the fridge. “Now, we’ve got some time. Suppose you show me the rest of the house?”

  “Okay. You’re in the living room. Adam calls it the great room. Here’s the kitchen, there’s the dining room.”

  “Nice. I like the bay window.” He came around the half wall.

  “Let me have your coat.” I hung it up in the coat closet off the bathroom and hung mine beside it. “And this is the bedroom. I’ve emptied a couple of drawers in the organizer for you, and made some space in the closet.”

  “Good grief! Do you wear all these clothes?”

  I felt myself blushing. “No, but I guess they wanted to make sure I had everything I needed.”

  He didn’t ask who “they” were.

  “You’re so far away from everything. Will you be okay if there’s a bad snowstorm? What will you do if the power goes out?”

  “They’ll take good care of me, Dad.” I rested my hand on his arm, and he stared at me in surprise. That wasn’t usual, but I needed him to know I’d be okay no matter what. “The propane company called to set up a delivery schedule. If bad weather is predicted, they’ll make sure my tanks are topped off. And you saw the fireplace, didn’t you? I’ve got a woodpile off the garage in case I do run out. I’ll be fine. Now let’s go eat. There’s a drumstick calling my name.”

  THANKSGIVING—THANKFULLY—was just a memory I hoped would soon fade, although the rest of the weekend had been fun. We’d spent it at Home Depot and Lowe’s, purchasing all kinds of nifty power tools for the workbench and making a small workshop in the garage, watching college football, and eating leftovers. Even though the turkey had been on the dry side, drowned in plenty of gravy and with the Stove Top stuffing we’d picked up at the supermarket the next day after we’d retrieved Dad’s car, it wasn’t too bad.

  Dad’s idea was I should get a dog to take care of the leftovers, but I’d stared at him in mock horror and
demanded how he thought I could do that to a dumb animal.

  He’d laughed and we’d gone back to hanging icicle lights from the eaves and winding strings of multicolored lights through the shrubs at the front of the house. I wasn’t sure if anyone else would see them—I lived on a quiet street, and my nearest neighbors really weren’t near—but it was what we had always done, and it wouldn’t have felt as if Christmas was on the way without them.

  Now Christmas was just around the corner.

  In the interim no vampyr had come knocking on my door. I assumed it was because they wanted to give me a chance to recuperate—Adam had verified what Uncle Phil had told me, that generally I would have about two months between feedings, unless a vampyr was in desperate straits—but it could just as well have had something to do with the holiday season.

  Did vampyrs celebrate Christmas? Chanukah? Kwanzaa?

  Winter Solstice?

  As far as I knew, there wasn’t any sabor/vampyr rule that said I couldn’t spend the holiday with my father, so that was what I was going to do.

  First, though, I needed to buy presents.

  Well, no, first I needed to call Dad and let him know I was inviting myself over for Christmas.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dad. It’s me.”

  “Hello, me.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “How are you?”

  “Not too shabby. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well. I’ve… er… I’m seeing someone.”

  “You hooked up? Dad, that’s fantastic!” And it was about time he had a lady in his life. He hadn’t had one for as long as I could remember. “Do I know her?”

  “No. That is, maybe you do. Her name is Barb Wilder.”

  “Wilder? I used to go to school with a Mitch Wilder.” Up until he transferred to a private school out of state at the start of my sophomore year. I’d been relieved to see the back of him. He was already six feet tall, and he’d liked nothing better than tormenting me, especially when he realized I didn’t like being touched.

  “He’s—”

  “—a real creep.”

  Dad coughed. “—Barb’s son.”

  Shit.

  “Sorry, Dad.” That was putting my foot in it. I decided my best bet was to change the subject. “I thought I’d come over for Christmas, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Of course it’s okay. Didn’t you have me for Thanksgiving?”

  “Please. I thought we were never going to talk about that.”

  “Okay.” He laughed. “I really shouldn’t tease you. Will you be able to stay for a few days?”

  “Sure.”

  “Uh, Ty… Barb is going to be here too.”

  “I guess I’d better get her a gift as well. Any ideas?”

  “A box of candy?”

  “Lame, Dad.”

  “In that case, maybe a book?”

  That was a much better idea. “Does she have a favorite genre?”

  “I’m sure any of the current best sellers would do.”

  “Okay.” I had the Sunday newspaper in the box where I kept paper and cardboard for recycling. I’d dig up the Leisure section and check it out to see who was on the best-seller list. “And I’ll bring the cannoli.”

  He gave a snort of laughter. “Fine, Ty. Are you sure you’re okay with me seeing someone?”

  “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “It’s been just the two of us for so long.”

  Maybe too long. “I’m fine with it, Dad.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” He blew out a breath. Had he really worried I’d object? “Come for Christmas Eve and we’ll go to Midnight Mass.”

  “Can I?” I was a little worried I’d set foot in the church and spontaneously combust.

  “You’re a sabor, Ty, not a vampyr. You can.”

  “Okay, then. Sounds like a plan. Will we be meeting Mrs. Wilder there, or—”

  “Barb’s not… she won’t be going with us.”

  “Oh.” We weren’t what you’d call super religious—in fact, we weren’t religious at all—but we always went to church for Christmas and Easter.

  “She’ll be visiting her family, but she promised to come over on Saturday or Sunday. She’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Me too.” What else could I say?

  “Listen, son. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later in the week.”

  “Okay. Take care of yourself, Dad.”

  “You, too, Ty.”

  We hung up, and I sat back and stared out the window at the trees with their bare branches. I had plenty of time to shop, but I didn’t feel like playing Halo 3 or watching television.

  Maybe I’d drive over to the mall. I could pick up the gift for Mrs. Wilder, maybe have a pretzel and a Coke at Auntie Anne’s, and then go looking for a Christmas tree.

  I’d need a crèche too. Dad and I had bought the lights and decorations and tinsel garlands and a star for the top of the tree on Black Friday, but I hadn’t found a nativity scene that day that called to me.

  It was a Saturday, but there were a couple of weeks until Christmas; the mall shouldn’t be too crowded.

  WRONG.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  The mall parking lot was jammed, and I was tempted to forget about the whole shopping idea.

  Still, I was already here.

  It was a good thing I wasn’t one of those shoppers who insisted on parking close to the entrance and so drove around and drove around, wasting a tank of gas trying to find a spot. As it turned out, I had to park way the hell and gone.

  It took a good five minutes to hike to the entrance of the mall, but the weather was cool and I didn’t mind the exercise.

  I’d discovered Knox Mall a week or so after Adam had first brought me to my bungalow, and even then it had been decorated for Christmas, with bells and candlesticks shaped from tinsel on the light poles in the parking lot and on the columns that supported the second floor of the mall.

  Inside, pine garlands swagged from the second-floor railings, scenting the air with the genuine article, and huge ornaments dangled from the ceiling. The fountain at the center of the mall had been drained and filled with mounds of “snow,” and made to look like the North Pole. Mrs. Claus was twirling on the ice, and Santa was sledding down the hill. At the door to his workshop, a couple of elves shook their fists, irritated the boss and his wife were out having fun and not inside making toys, while other elves slipped away, skates over their shoulders or dragging sleds behind them.

  It was pretty.

  And playing in a constant loop were Christmas songs from the last sixty years—from “White Christmas” to “Cheater, Cheater,” which wasn’t really a holiday song, but they threw in some ho, ho, ho’s and seemed to feel that did the trick. They were fun to listen to, and even after five straight weeks I was still enjoying them.

  I went to Not Just Books and checked out the shelves with the best sellers. Dad hadn’t given me much to go on, so I decided to get the latest books by Nicholas Sparks, Dan Brown, and Nora Roberts.

  Humming along absently with “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” I stopped short when the male chorus suddenly incorporated the music from “Africa,” the song by Toto.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” I turned to face the bookseller. “Who’s singing—”

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t small Ty Small. Although you’re not so small.”

  “Hello, Mitch.” Dammit. He was the last person I wanted—expected—to see. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  “Hardly in town.”

  “No, I guess not.” Knoxville was about a hundred miles from home. I wasn’t going to show any fear of him. For one thing, I was almost his height now, and for another… well, when you’ve had a vampyr feed off you, there wasn’t much that could scare you.

  “No, you’re sure not small anymore.” His gaze ran over me appreciatively, and in spite of myself, I stepped back. “How have you bee
n?”

  “Fine.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I gave you a lot of shit back in the day, didn’t I? I was so fucked up. Suppose I buy you a coffee?” He gestured toward the café that was attached to the bookstore.

  “Why?” I gave him the fisheye.

  “It’s by way of apologizing for being such a prick to you. There are no strings, I promise. What do you say?” He sounded hopeful. This was a serious change from the old Mitch Wilder who didn’t have much consideration for anyone. “I… uh… I belong to NA. Narcotics Anonymous.”

  Got it. He was doing that twelve-step thing. “All right. Apology accepted.”

  “Thanks. So, can you hang out awhile? Or is there somewhere you need to be?”

  “I was just doing some Christmas shopping. I have to get something for my dad. And then I want to get a tree.”

  “A live one?” His eyes lit up. “I wish we could have one too, but my… roommate is allergic.”

  “To pine trees?” I’d never heard of that, but—

  “No. To Christmas.”

  “That’s sad.”

  He shrugged and smiled wryly. “When you’re friends with someone, you put up with a lot.”

  “I guess.” I’d never had a roommate, but I had Dad, and if something bothered him, I would have bent over backward to set it right and not begrudge it a bit. “What about you? What are your plans for Christmas? Or will you be working?”

  “No, we’re closed. I was going to drive down to see my mom. I don’t know, though.” He gave a bitter laugh. “She’s seeing somebody, and the last thing she needs is the prodigal son coming home.”

  Did he know who she was seeing? And if he did, was he going to say something to me? But if he didn’t, should I say something to him?

  Before I could sort out my thoughts, he continued, “And I’m sure the soap opera my life has become is the last thing you want to hear about.” He checked out the books I was holding, his eyebrow rising over the Nora Roberts. “Interesting choice. So, are these for you, or are you getting them for someone?”