And those eyes—they were cold, even though they were the color of fiery embers. They were vacant of any emotion. They were locked on hers with an unmatchable strength. He could hold her there forever if he wanted to. He could come over and tear her throat out with his hands and she would not be able to turn away or move an inch.
She heard police sirens coming closer but lacked the presence of mind to even hope for rescue.
He padded lightly into the street, coming closer. He had all the time in the world and he knew it. Unable to break his gaze, she did not see the police car approaching. Focused intently on her, perhaps seeing nothing but the blood in her body, the vampire didn’t see the car either.
Whether or not the driver of the car saw him she didn’t know. He came around the corner at high speed, his tires shrieking on the asphalt (she heard a plaintive cry from far off, that was all), and barreled down the street right into the vampire’s side, knocking him down and dragging him half a block as the car’s brakes howled and smoked.
Instantly the spell was broken. A stale breath burst out of Caxton’s lungs—she’d been holding it in the whole time—and she bent double, nausea and fear wracking her body. She reached into her collar and grabbed the charm there, almost scalding herself on its stored heat. Strength rushed back through her, making her blood surge.
“Is he dead?” someone yelled. “Please tell me he’s dead.”
“Who?” she asked, before realizing the question was not directed at her. She looked up to see two local police officers circling the vampire’s inert body in the street. They had their weapons out but held upward, at a safe ready.
“He’s not moving,” one of them said. They were both male, dressed in identical uniforms. One of them, the one who had last spoken, was broad through the shoulders but no taller than Caxton. He prodded the vampire’s arm with his shoe. The other one, a big wall of a man, stood back to cover his partner.
She knew with a dread familiarity that they would be dead in seconds if she didn’t act. “State Police!”
she shouted, and ran toward them as fast as her body would allow. She felt drained and unsteady. “Get back!”
The taller policeman looked up at her, his mouth forming around a word. The other bent down to take a closer look at the vampire. It happened then all in a flash. The vampire lifted himself up on his elbows and twisted his head to the side. His mouth opened, revealing his sharp, translucent teeth. They dug into the crouching policeman’s leg and bit down hard.
Blood slapped the front of the car, the legs of the standing policeman, the dark surface of the street. The vampire must have bitten right through a major artery. The crouching policeman screamed and tried to bring his gun down to shoot the vampire, but before he got it halfway down he was dead. He slumped backward and his skull smacked the asphalt with a noise that made Caxton wince.
The surviving policeman jumped back, wheeling his pistol around. Caxton came up to the side of the car and grabbed at his arm, pulling him back still farther.
The vampire dragged himself out from under the car. His mouth and most of his chest were covered in gore. His skin looked less luminously white, had in fact taken on a vague pinkish cast. He looked no less wasted and emaciated than before, but Caxton knew that he would be a dozen times stronger with the officer’s blood in him.
The remaining cop bent his knees and grabbed his weapon in both hands. He sighted down the barrel and put a bullet right into the back of the vampire’s bald head. Caxton watched the vampire’s skin buckle and open, saw the skull underneath crack under the bullet’s impact. The wound closed over as quickly and smoothly as if the bullet had been fired into a bucket full of milk. If the vampire even felt the shot, he showed no sign.
“The heart,” Caxton had time to say. “You have to destroy the heart.” Even as she was speaking, though, the vampire turned slowly around to stare at the local cop. The man’s face convulsed in fear and loathing and then suddenly went slack. His body trembled and his arms fell loose at his sides, his gun forgotten in his hand.
It would have been easy for the vampire to kill Caxton and the other officer just then. He might have done it just to keep them from following him—she’d seen vampires do that before. Instead he rushed over to where the coffin lay just outside of the mortuary’s window. He grabbed up the coffin, turned away from them, and dashed across the street and into the campus of the college.
In the distance a siren started to howl with a series of short wavering cries.
“What’s that?” Caxton asked.
The cop looked around him as if he couldn’t remember where he was. “Tornado alarm,” he said. “They wanted to get the people off the streets in a hurry. It’ll just scare the tourists, but the locals will know to get them to shelter.”
Caxton breathed a sigh of relief. The dispatcher had taken her seriously. There was no danger of a real tornado—the sky was clear and full of stars—but the siren would serve its purpose. “That’s good. Now, what we do next is—”
“Oh, God,” the cop said. “Oh, sweet Jesus—Garrity!” He rushed to his fallen partner’s side and grabbed at his wrists, feeling for a pulse. “He’s dead!”
“Yes,” Caxton said, as gently as she could. “We have to get the thing that killed him.”
“Negative,” the cop said. He reached for his radio and called for an ambulance. Then he switched bands and shouted, “Officer down, one-five-five Carlisle!”
“Good, good,” Caxton said. He was following standing orders, she knew. You didn’t just abandon a dead policeman in the street. But unless they hurried they were going to lose the vampire. “Now let’s go.”
He stared up at her. “Garrity’s been my partner for eight years,” he said, apparently thinking that ended the discussion. Under any other circumstances it probably would have.
Caxton knew she couldn’t afford to wait for the ambulance. “Give me the car keys, then, and you stay here,” she insisted. “I’m a state trooper. Come on! He’s getting away!”
The cop stared at her with wondering eyes for far too long. She could almost see the fog of grief and fear and anger swirling in his brain. Finally he reached down into Garrity’s bloodstained trouser pocket and yanked out a set of car keys. He pressed them into her hand without a word.
Caxton turned on her heel and jumped into the open door of the patrol car. She backed away from the horrible scene in the street—one more chilling vision to give her nightmares for years to come, she thought—and wheeled the car around to face the campus. A narrow road ran through a cluster of long, low buildings. She looked between them as she shot by but couldn’t find any sign of the vampire. A few terrified-looking students were milling on the sidewalks, but they paid little attention to her. They were listening to the tornado siren, which was pulsing out its call faster and faster.
Up ahead the road widened. The signs saidCONSTITUTION AVENUE, but that meant little to Caxton. She pressed down on the gas pedal and the cruiser jumped forward, pushing her back in her seat. The vampire could have turned off any of the side streets she passed, but all she could do was trust her luck and hope she caught sight of him. She had only started to despair when she caught a glimpse of a thin white shape bobbing in the darkness ahead of her. Yes, there—the vampire was still carrying the coffin, running right in the middle of the road ahead of her, his feet flashing and pushing him along far faster than any human could run. Caxton poured on as much speed as she could and slowly gained on him. He was so fast—how was it possible? He had to be a hundred and fifty years old, at least.
Vampires that age should be stuck in their coffins, unable to rise, just like Justinia Malvern. It was impossible. Impossible, and yet clearly it was happening.
18.
Bill had bade me not follow him further. Yet what else could I do & call myself his friend?
Through the dark, following still his trail, we gave chase along a narrow track. In time this gave way at a clearing in which stood a house & some outbu
ildings. Of the house there is much to say, so I shall put it aside for the moment, & speak of the outliers. These were tumbledown shacks, & a number of sheds, which flanked the house so close they near leaned on it. They were of the worst construction & looked very shabby, & hurt the house by comparison.
Ah, yes, the house! The house had been painted white once, & perhaps even had looked grand.
Six thick columns fronted it, & it was topped by a generous cupola. The broad windows were of clearest glass & I could see the remains of white curtains beyond. Remains only, for the house had died & was surrendered to corruption.
Is it correct, or even possible to say a HOUSE has DIED? That was my first impression. The paint was peeling from its façade in long pale tongues that revealed worm-eaten wood beneath.
Some half of the windows were broken out, with those of the upper story boarded over in haste.
The cupola dome had partially caved in, & one end of the house entire was lower than the other, as if it had shifted on its foundations, & would soon collapse.
The front door stood open or perhaps was missing. That entrance was no more than a black rectangle leading into mystery; splintered bullet holes around the jamb explained little. It was through that portal I was certain Bill had run & I made to follow, my musket & my haversack bouncing on my shoulders & back, my breath ragged in my throat.
—THE STATEMENT OFALVAGRIEST
19.
The vampire’s white back glowed in her headlights. He looked behind him now and again but never slowed down. Caxton had her foot on the accelerator, but even as parking lots and tree-studded quads flashed by her on either side he was nearly keeping pace on foot.
Her best bet, she decided, was to run him down with the car. If she could get it on top of him, pin him underneath it, she might be able to hold him in place long enough to summon reinforcements. The idea of taking him on by herself was suicidal, especially since she’d left her weapon in her own car. She spared a single glance down and saw a riot shotgun bolted to the dashboard. That was something, though shotguns were almost useless against a vampire who had already fed. It might slow him down, and that was all she could hope for.
She roared after the vampire as fast as she could. Constitution Avenue swung north around the far edge of the campus, and she lost some ground as she had to turn to match the curve. Ahead of her the vampire lifted up his stolen coffin in both hands and then pivoted to sling it at her. She tried to veer out of the way as the massive wooden missile filled up her windshield. Shrieking, she stamped on the brake as the glass in front of her cracked and buckled on impact. The car rocked on its suspension and spun out, whirling around and nearly going up on its side. One of the tires, then another burst with a noise like gunshots, and the car fell back down onto the rims, listing hard to the side. The air bag deployed with a screeching hiss, then almost instantly collapsed though the car was still moving. Caxton was thrown sideways, colliding painfully with her door. Her seat belt yanked her back down into her seat as the car bounced to an unsteady stop.
Through the starred windshield she could see a big football stadium ahead of her. She had slalomed into its parking lot—fitting enough, since the car wasn’t going anywhere else that night.
She fought to get her equilibrium back. There was no time to check herself for whiplash or other injuries—she had to move. The vampire was still close by and she still had some slim chance of catching him. She grabbed the shotgun from its rack, checked to make sure it was loaded, then pushed open her door and stumbled out onto the concrete. She staggered to her feet and looked around but couldn’t see the vampire.
This monster’s behavior puzzled her somewhat. She’d never seen a vampire run away from a fight before, especially after he’d fed. A normal vampire should have been more than a match for the meager police response. Yet she’d never seen a vampire so starved-looking before, either, at least not one that could stand up straight.
The shotgun cradled in her arms, she dashed back toward the road—then turned as she caught a flash of movement to her side. Yes, there, she saw a pale shadow flitting between trees on the far side of the stadium. She would never catch up with him on foot if he could run as fast as he had while she’d pursued him in the car. She couldn’t just give up, though. Her legs burned as she pounded toward the side of the stadium. She reached for her cell phone, but it was gone, and now she recalled dropping it while he had her hypnotized. She hadn’t thought to pick it back up. She was on her own.
Beyond the stadium lay a practice field. She could see the vampire streaking across the close-clipped grass. Beyond that lay trees and green hills lit only by the stars. That was part of the national military park, she thought, part of the battlefield that contained nothing but marble obelisks and heavy monuments to fallen soldiers. It would get dark out there pretty fast between the trees, and she didn’t have a flashlight.
She kept running.
She stopped at the top of the hill and tried to catch her breath. She knew she should turn back. There was no question. Let the vampire go, let him get away. It would disappoint Arkeley. Once that had meant something to her, but she had a life now. She had Clara to think of, and the dogs. If she were killed here—
She didn’t get a chance to finish the thought. As Caxton turned around to head back to the campus behind her, the vampire was there. He stood perfectly still behind her, as if he’d been watching the back of her head the whole time. His eyes burned in their sockets like the glowing ends of two lit cigarettes.
Caxton pried her own gaze away from those eyes and grabbed at the amulet around her neck. She tried to bring the shotgun up, thinking only to blast those damned eyes right out of his head. With an easy, swooping motion he closed the distance between them and knocked the weapon out of her hand, sending it spiraling down the side of the hill. It slid away on the wet grass.
He grabbed her head in both of his hands and brought his face within inches of her own. She could smell the blood of the dead policeman on his breath. His eyes went wide and his stare bored right into her, but with the charm in her hand he couldn’t quite connect. With a grunt of disgust he let go of her.
“I am a gentleman, Miss, and I was taught to never raise my hand against a lady’s person.” His voice was steely beneath the mushy growl that distorted every vampire’s voice. Steely and brittle. He frowned around his sharp teeth. “I do not know what the etiquette books would say about a lady dressed in a man’s attire.”
Maybe he wasn’t going to kill her, at least not right away. Caxton was too stunned to really comprehend what that meant. She glanced down and saw her white shirt and her tie. “This is my uniform,” she said.
“I’m with the state police.”
“I’ve killed once tonight, and that’s all I want, I think,” he said. “But I warn you to leave me be. I’ll not show mercy again, if our paths continue to cross.” Then he threw her through the air, through darkness.
She felt wet grass smack the side of her face as hard as a concrete wall, and then she felt nothing at all.
The darkness enveloped her as if she were enclosed inside a giant clenched fist. Then light burst into her world again and she convulsed violently.
“No!” she screamed, her eyes flicking open. The light had changed. The air was warmer. Where was she? Where was—who was in front of her? Was it the vampire? Her hands shot out and she grabbed for the thing in front of her, grabbed for its throat, not caring if it would prove as hard as stone, and then she had it, she had her hands around its windpipe and it was solid, solid flesh, solid warm flesh—
“Oh, God, no,” Laura shrieked, letting go instantly. The woman in front of her had black hair that fell in cute bangs across her eyebrows. Her eyes were a rich brown, wet eyes that reflected Laura’s own screaming face.
It was Clara she had attacked. Clara who was coughing and sputtering for breath.
20.
Before I could enter said house, a shot called out, and buried itself between my
feet. I stood stock-still, as if paralyzed, and thought my number must be up. The shootist who waved at me from a nearby tree, however, proved to be no Johnny Reb. Instead he was dressed in dark green with black rubber buttons. His weapon lay draped over a thick limb of the tree & it appeared to me as a mechanical python almost. It was a custom-made target rifle, a weapon I’d seen only once at a beef shoot before the commencement of hostilities. It looked like a good length of octagonal pipe with a batwing stock & a spyglass mounted on the top for good measure. I knew that rifle could have punched a hole right through me, especially at such proximity, & I also knew its master had been aiming to warn & not wound me. His strange uniform was meant to help him blend into the foliage, & I recognized it as the habiliments of the U.S. Sharpshooters. He was a Unionist, then, & good thing or I would have already been dead. He had a fringe of hair around the sides of his face & skin the color of walnut shells. What he was doing up in that tree I did not hazard to guess.
“My friend is in there!” I called back to him, but my voice faltered as he shushed me.
With his free hand he beckoned me closer to his position, then made me lie down in the tall grass there. “Rebs comin’,” he hissed. Despite my furor I was still a soldier & I still understood what that meant. I made myself as discreet as possible.
—THE STATEMENT OFALVAGRIEST
21.
Caxton lay back in her hospital bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to get comfortable. She’d been found at dawn crawling around in the military park. The park rangers had at first thought she was blasted on drugs, and had rushed her to Gettysburg’s very modern hospital. The doctors had tested her and found no drugs at all in her system, but they still wanted her to rest. Fat chance. “I thought it was the vampire. Oh, God—I nearly killed Clara because I thought she was the vampire!”
“Yes.” Vesta Polder placed her hands on Caxton’s cheeks. The older woman wore dozens of plain gold rings on her fingers and the metal was cool and welcome against Laura’s burning skin. She left her hands there while she studied Laura’s eyes. “That’s true. But there’s no need to be so dramatic about it.”
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