Blood and Black Suits (Briar's Daughter Book 1)

  BLOOD

  AND

  BLACK SUITS

  Briar’s Daughter - Book 1

  D. M. Nash

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  Catherine’s story continues in:

  Blood and Company

  Briar’s Daughter Book 2

  Available now on Amazon

  © 2016 D. M. Nash & Hardword publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book, except for purposes of review and reasonable, short quotes that clearly source the work. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I understand many of the elements you’ll run into here have existed in other works, but I’ve tried to make the idea of vampire hunters my own, with my own lore, rules, and one very special twist. I do feel like I’d be remiss to not at least mention the TV show “Super-natural,” though. I’ve borrowed their use of the term “hunter” because it’s just too perfect to worry about making up my own. I don’t know if that show was the first to use the term as a catch-all for those who stand against the a wide array of creatures of the night, but “Supernatural” gave the term life and personality, and for that I think they deserve kudos. I hope you enjoy my take on the centuries-old idea of vampire hunters.

  -D. M. N.

  I

  Richard’s hand was not the coldest I’d ever touched, but it was close.

  My sister has cold hands. Touching them is sometimes like grabbing a soda can straight from an ice-cooler, but that’s not how it felt touching Richard.

  He tentatively clasped my fingers with his like he was afraid I was the one who might bite. But, smart kid, he knew there was good reason to be afraid of Catherine Briar, even for someone… like him. Actually, I should say especially for someone like him. As soon as he’d gripped my fingers, he let go, turning his body to look out the driver’s side window.

  He laughed, almost derisively. “I didn’t come here to hold your hand, you know?”

  “I don’t have to go home right away,” I said. “I mean, I can’t stay out all night or anything, but—”

  “I’m sorry if I’m giving you the impression that I’m here for personal reasons.”

  Uh. What?

  I’d first met Richard on Monday, while I was up on the hill at the edge of town where I often ended up while taking evening strolls. He’d popped up out of nowhere, and like the fool I was, I trusted him basically on the spot. Thankfully for me that had never come back to bite me with vampires, pun intended. I seem to have a knack for picking out the good ones.

  He’d seemed pretty “personal” then. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing in Campville, but I did know that I enjoyed hanging out with him. It had been too long since I’d had some good one-on-one time with a creature of the night, so his words stung me now. Not to mention confused me.

  “Then you better tell me what’s up,” I said.

  He grimaced, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “I’m still figuring that out,” he said. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

  “You realize I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, right?”

  “What’s your dad like?” he asked. “The famous Ray Briar…”

  I had to laugh. “Why on earth would you ask me that?”

  “Just answer the question. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  “My dad hates vampires. Hates them.”

  “Well, he is a hunter. So I know—”

  “No you don’t,” I said, finally giving words to the thoughts that had been streaming through my head since we’d first talked. “That’s the thing.” As much as I liked spending time with this guy, I thought it was only fair to give him a warning.

  “I’ve met other guys like him, hunters. Lots of them, actually. When my sister and I were little we used to go to this, well it was kind of like a family reunion, except instead of family it was people who do the same thing my dad’s been doing his whole life.” Richard nodded to show he was listening. “We’d go to this group of cabins at Lake Powell. It was fun. Everyone was nice to us. I got to know the kind of people who do this for a living, and I can tell you none of them hate what you are more than Ray Briar does, okay?”

  He smiled. “You think I don’t know that? He’s got more vamp kills racked up than—”

  “I’m not just talking about his kill count, Richard. What they maybe don’t tell you in Dracula Monthly is that my father is a man of… rage. I don’t know why he’s like that. He’s never offered to tell, and every time I ask he just blows me off. But if he knew I was with you now… well, he wouldn’t be happy with what we’re doing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I would have had an answer to that question just five minutes ago, before he’d said, I’m sorry if I’m giving you the impression that I’m here for personal reasons. The steady light of a streetlamp dissected Richard’s face, so I could only see half of his smug, rueful grin.

  When I didn’t answer, he said, “Then why don’t you hate me?”

  A moment passed.

  It was a good question.

  I opened the car door and got out. “Goodnight, Richard.” Leaning back into the car while gripping the top of the door, I added, “And goodbye. I mean it.”

  “Hopefully that’s true.” He said, and sighed. “But we might run into each other again. And soon.”

  “Either way,” I said. Even as I tried to sound detached—like it really made no difference to me one way or the other—his gaze stabbed into me the way I’m sure his fangs would like to, and that old thrill of fear ran down my spine. And I knew that fear was a big part of why I was out here, talking to him, risking my father’s wrath. It wasn’t just because I thought he was hunky or cool or whatever else.

  He drove away, and there was a longing in me like an open door. But that’s mostly because I’m an idiot.

  Hi, I’m Catherine, and I’m an addict.

  Only I don’t think there’s an AA for what I’m addicted to. Can I help it that I was introduced to fear at such a young age? Growing up with shifters and vampires and worse sometimes literally at our doorstep, chomping at the bit to get their hands (or claws or fangs or… antennae) on Ray Briar and put an end to his reign of terror, I started to associate danger with that exhilarating rush of adrenaline, and I wanted more.

  And as much as I didn’t want to believe I had a thing for bad boys…

  Not that Richard really came across as a bad boy, per se, but I wasn’t about to pretend running around with a vampire was the safest choice for my evening entertainment.

  Our house was three blocks away. Danger junkie or not, I wasn’t stupid enough to have a vampire drop me off at my doorstep. I wasn’t kidding about the whole “vampire rage” thing my dad had going on. I vowed—not for the first time—to get the story out of him someday.

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” I whispered into the bright chill of early Autumn. Even though he’d acted the perfect gentleman every time I’d talked to him, there had been an undercurrent, a hard-edged wildness that I doubted he’d had in life. That was vampires for you; even the good ones were like ticking time bombs. At least… that’s what my dad had told me more times than I could count.

  My breath plumed out around my head, ev
en though it didn’t really feel cold enough for that. I repeated the idea to myself that I didn’t need complication and danger in my life, no matter what my sixteen-year-old brain was telling me.

  Still… walking home the cool night air reminded me of his hands… his crisp hands, and I wondered what tonight might have been like if he’d said something different when I told him I didn’t need to go straight home.

  And anyway, if this was all business like he wanted me to believe, what was up with him holding my hand?

  II

  Back home Dad was doing some frying, and the acrid-pleasant smell of chicken and oil greeted me before I even opened the front door. Our house was a cute little suburban poster-child from the 50’s. It had been kept up well, but it wasn’t like it was going on any magazine covers anytime soon. I liked the house. In fact, it was my favorite of the parade of homes our family had been in over the years. And it helped that we had plenty of room now that my older sister Abby had gone off to college and it was just me and Dad.

  “Hey,” he said, not turning from his cooking, and I could already tell it was going to be a long night. He was in one of his moods.

  “What’s up?” I said, hoping to have whatever was bothering him out in the open (and out of the way) as soon as possible. I wasn’t really worried that he’d somehow found out about the fact that a boy he would consider hellspawn scum had just given me a ride home. Dad didn’t even know who Richard was. And if he had found out, he wouldn’t have greeted me with a moody “hey.” There would have been some real fireworks, fury in dad’s eyes, and a rampage for him to go on.

  For a little while he didn’t speak, but I was pretty well determined not to think of the silence between us as awkward. This was Dad, after all: the closest friend I had since Abby left. And even before she’d moved away the two of us had been drifting apart. I couldn’t let the same thing happen to me and Dad. We might have the daddy-daughter tête-à-tête every now and then, but I liked to think that actually helped us stay close.

  Finally, he said, “It might be almost time.”

  A sickening stone dropped into my belly. I should have known this would be on his mind. I really almost would have rather had him find out about Richard. Trying not to let my emotions show too much on the surface, I said, “Oh, really?”

  If I was going to talk him out of this, it wasn’t going to be by losing my cool. I knew that would only make him more resolved to stay the course with the decision he’d already made, without my consent or ever talking to me about it. Typical Dad.

  “Come on, Catherine,” he said. Frustration was already mounting in his voice. “Don’t try to act like what I’m saying isn’t a big deal. I know you like it here. I know you wanted to stay until graduation, and believe me, I’ve tried to make that happen.”

  I wanted us to be able to have this conversation without it turning into a fight, but I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t turn it that direction.

  “I know you’ve tried,” I said. “I get it.”

  “You don’t get it, Catherine, you really don’t. I’ve passed on jobs, I’ve kept my head as low as I can—”

  “But that’s not very low when you’re Ray Briar, is that it?”

  He took the basket out of the oil, and rolled the chicken onto a waiting stack of paper towels. I was glad (and a little surprised) to see they were perfectly cooked. At least burned chicken wouldn’t be one more thing to add on top of the already tense evening.

  Chicken at his side, he looked at me, leaning back on the counter with both of his broad palms pressed flat against it. My dad could be an imposing man. Ray Briar had kept the muscled figure of his youth and paired it with sharp, battle-sharpened eyes and a short, graying beard.

  “Do you think I want this?” he said.

  “Want what?”

  “To put you in the line of danger all the time? To put us in situations where we even have to move? Of course not.”

  “Well you’ve worked awfully hard to achieve this dream you’ve never really wanted, I must say.”

  “And every day I wonder if it’s worth it.”

  “Don’t say that,” I said, and couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “You sound like Abby.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Whatever else you want to say, whatever else you want to fight about tonight, don’t freaking lie to me. Don’t try tell to me you’re thinking about quitting hunting, when you know you never, never would.” Suddenly, I was so angry I felt like my bones were on fire. And so, I took it too far. “Even if it cost you me or Abby, or both of us, I don’t think you’d stop.”

  He leveled me with a gaze. Of course, there was another person in this conversation. She wasn’t actually here, but that was only because she’d been dead for seven years. I’ve long suspected my mom had been killed as collateral damage for what my dad did for a living, but I’ve never gotten a straight answer. I’ve asked, but never really demanded to know.

  Dad shook his head, as if breaking a spell, and said, “We might be getting off topic here. I’m telling you that we need to leave town. And soon. I’m not saying this for no reason.”

  That meant something to me. A lot of times when we moved it was because of nothing but a whim or a hunch that things might be getting too dangerous. I said, “You mean this isn’t just I felt it in my bones, Cath old girl? There’s a specific threat?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I think so.”

  “You’re not sure? You’re going to rip me out of the first town I actually have friends in because you—”

  “It’s not like that. I have good reason to believe there’s something out there that I might not be able to handle. At least, not while I’m worried about your well-being at the same time.”

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “You know, you’ve gotten real good at barking out orders these last couple of years. Not tonight, honey. I need to learn a bit more about it first.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “Set the table, okay?”

  III

  After dinner I didn’t stick around to continue the argument. I just went to my room. There was nothing I could do. Almighty Dad had decided it was no longer safe for us to stay here, felt so sure any minute now a vampire or worse would come busting through the door hell-bent on rape and murder that no argument was going to change his mind. We’d been through this fight before, and the result was always the same. When Dad said it was time to move, we moved.

  The difference was, I actually liked it in Campville. I liked going to CHS. For the first time in longer than I could remember there were actually people who would notice when I was gone. In the past, when crap like this came up, I’d never wanted to move, but I could usually convince myself that the cons of sticking around outweighed the pros, and I’d go along with things.

  Not this time.

  I looked around my room. My room. My room. It was more my own space than anything I’d had in years. A K. C. Green “Gunshow” poster hung on my wall next to Jesse Lacey from Brand New. I had a rack of kind-of-creepy, antique dolls I’d collected over the many, many moves. My mysteries—both books and movies—were lined up in the order in which I’d read or watched them. My little window where I could lay down and just barely make out the lights of the high school, taller than anything else around.

  This was my place.

  Before I could really think about what I was doing, I found myself packing— underwear, shirts, socks, a second pair of shoes. I grabbed my wallet and my brush and a few other odds and ends. Looking in the mirror, I made sure my rage wasn’t too prevalent on my face.

  And actually I looked… oddly serene. Maybe because I’d made up my mind to actually do something. My straight, smooth black hair framed my pale, slightly oval face.

  I still had on a small lace choker I’d put on before meeting Richard. It’s true that I feel a little self-conscious when I wear things like this, but I like the way the gothic flair gives me kind of a dangerous edge, and I think it makes me prettier, t
oo. I try to not worry too much about if people think I’m being a try-hard.

  Okay, my style also makes me kind of look like some of the vampires I’ve met, one in particular named Victoria. And yes, I have to admit, I spend a little bit of time on Tumblr. What can I say? I like the look.

  When I turned sixteen last January, I decided I was just going to wear what I like, even though it might be annoying to some people. It wasn’t easy, especially at school, but I fought the urge to run home and change every day, and I think people were getting used to it. I mean, ten months into the year, and still no one had really said anything rude about it, so that was good.

  In addition to the choker, I was wearing a light gray dress with bows at the bottom of the skirt and tights with a vine pattern. I didn’t look crazy weird, but it was still pretty unique, especially in small-town Northern Arizona.

  With a little foresight I stuffed a pair of jeans in my bag, too, but I was just too mad to take the time to change my whole outfit. Mad… and maybe just a little scared I’d change my mind about doing something different this time.

  But I remembered something my mom used to say. Well, I wasn’t old enough when she died to really remember her saying it, but according to Abby this was one of her favorite sayings: “You always do what you always did, you’ll always get what you always got.”

  “Not tonight,” I whispered to myself on the way out the door. “Sorry, Dad.”

  IV

  I didn’t really think “running away” was going to change things, but it was the only way I could think of to show Dad I meant business this time. Words weren’t going to do it.

  I started walking toward Becca’s place. Nowhere in Campville is very far from anywhere else in Campville, so it wasn’t going to take long. The night had turned just a little too chilly for a dress and tights, but thankfully being pissed off seemed to help keep the cold at bay.