Thorn by Fred Saberhagen (reading like a writer TXT) 📕

      “Don’t be defensive, Judy, I’m trying to help.”

      “I know you are, Joe.”

      “Have you seen him, since you’ve been out there? Have you heard anything from him? It could be very important.”

      It certainly could, to me. “Why? Are the Phoenix police after him?”

      “Not in that sense. At least I don’t know that they are. They’re naturally trying to find out where he is, after his car blew up, and a young woman who must have been sitting in it was killed. There could be some possible connection with that Seabright murder and kidnapping case out there a few months ago. You’ve heard of that.”

      “I’ve heard of that. And about What’s-his-name Seabright’s missing painting just the other day. They haven’t found the aircraft yet. But I haven’t heard from the man you’re talking about.”

      “Good. I didn’t have any reason to think you might have, just a hunch. For your sake, Judy, I just don’t want you to get involved in any way.”

      “I see.” Why was she so angry? Joe meant well.

      “Now if he does contact you, for any reason, will you please for God’s sake just give me a call?”

      “I suppose I could do that.” She could hear her own voice still chilly and upset. She was really angry with herself, Judy supposed, because she had almost missed completely being aware of how much trouble he was in. Might he be badly hurt? She couldn’t tell. Once before when he was hurt, to the point of death, she had been able to help. Now … the contact between them had evidently faded, without her being aware of it

      Phoenix. But at the moment she had no feeling for where he was.

      Bill still fidgeted in the doorway, watching her. Good. Maybe she would need some help from someone. She smiled at him.

      Joe’s voice said: “I didn’t tell Kate I was going to call you on this. And of course I didn’t tell your folks.”

      “Of course.” Judy’s parents and brother had no idea of the truth shared by Joe and Kate—that vampires existed, and that Judy had had one as a lover.

      “I just thought it was my duty to make sure that you don’t get involved in this. You being out there in the same part of the country and all.”

      “Oh, damn it, Joe!” Judy never swore. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to drive a stake through his heart if I get the chance?” Only after the words were out did she remember Billy listening. But Billy would take them as metaphor of some kind; odd, how easy it was for some kinds of truth to remain hidden.

      “Judy, Goddam, Judy.” Joe on the other hand tended to swear a fair amount. The phone now made his anger tiny. “I’m just trying to look out for your own best—”

      “It seems to me that he once let himself get involved in some pretty serious trouble that we were having.”

      For a few moments the long-distance buzz had the line to itself. Joe’s voice when it came back was decently troubled. “I know, we owe him a lot. After what he did for Kate and me, I’ll stick my neck out. But how do we know what he’s involved in? I’m just trying to get you to stay clear, kid, for your own good. This other young lady who was blown up and killed in his car was probably on good terms with him too, and—”

      “Thank you.” Judy got the two words out in an acceptable voice, and then quickly hung up the phone. She hoped Joe heard them and really appreciated that she understood and was grateful for his desire to help. Joe really did mean well. It was just that right now Judy was too mad to talk to him any longer.

      Billy was still in the doorway, with concern for Judy’s troubles written all over him. She smiled at him again. She didn’t want to involve anyone else in anything dangerous. But she would, if necessary.

      Her hand still on the cradled phone, Judy closed her eyes. Feeling guilt, and love, she tried for contact. As soon as she really tried, it came. The man called Thorn was still alive, she was completely sure of that. Somewhere to the west and south of her, at some considerable distance.

      She thought that he was now asleep. But even in the sunny log room she trembled. She was frightened at her perception of his pain and rage.

Chapter Fourteen

      The servant whose howls had wakened me was a weepy old woman, her past scarred, as I now suppose, with tragedy of one kind or another that must have driven her half mad. She was diligent about the house, but given at times to supernatural fantasies. Her cries continued in the middle distance as I sat there in my bed, I know not for how long, looking at that dagger on the pillow and fatalistically pondering its meaning. I did not require the noise of the ancient seeress to convince me of disaster.

      The only logical conclusion I was able to reach regarding the dagger was that Helen had considered killing me with it before she fled—already, somehow, I had no doubt that she was gone—but had then for whatever reason decided against my murder. Still, she wished me to realize that the topic had been under consideration, and she had left the dagger so aimed to symbolize the fact.

      Besides this vaguely humiliating and cryptic communication, no message from my departing wife could be discovered. As matters turned out, the old woman was screaming for no more occult reason than having been told of her mistress’s defection by one of the grooms. This unusually unintelligent lad, while about his morning chores an hour or two earlier, had chanced to see Helen leaving. He reportedly belatedly how she had ridden off into the predawn mists on her white palfrey, a thin roll of clothing with a few other belongings tied up behind her