“I’ll call him. I’ll see what he can come up with. Maybe he can do
better,” Greg said.
I took another breath. “Call him. Then go see him. Get as much blood
as he can give you. We’ll meet you back at the house in an hour.” “You don’t have to do this, Abby.” Greg wasn’t quite pleading with the
girl, but he was close.
“Well . . .” The girl looked down at her feet for a second, then back up
at me with a grin. “We are the top of the food chain, right? I guess I should
learn to act like it.”
“Exactly.” I looked at Greg and Sabrina, who looked respectively
disappointed and disturbed.
“Fine, but while you’re off raiding the campus buffet, I’m going to grab
a computer and look up property records on that house you found. We do
have a murder to solve, remember?” Sabrina said.
“I think I’ll remember,” Abby replied. “After all, it’s my murder.” I moved closer to Sabrina, and said quietly, “I’ll see you at our place.
Okay?”
She gave me a long, steady look, but finally nodded.
“Don’t worry. He knows how much this means to you. He’ll take care
of her,” I heard Sabrina say to my partner as they walked to his car. She
looked over her shoulder at me, and I nodded to let her know I’d gotten the
message.
I looked at Abigail, the very image of youth and innocence, and actually
felt a twinge of guilt before I put my conscience back into its lead-lined box
and said, “All right, kiddo. You ready to learn how to be a vampire? The best
thing about a college campus is the variety. It’s like a buffet for vampires, if
you look at it in the right way. You’ve got young, old, boy, girl, all the
ethnicities and dietary preferences. And all of those things affect the taste of
the blood,” I explained in a whisper as we walked. We weren’t even walking
together, more like twenty feet apart but, thanks to our vamp senses, Abigail
had no trouble hearing me. “Personally, I prefer my snacks to be a little on
the heavy side, because they seem to have a shorter recovery time, and over
legal drinking age because I don’t like biting children. I also shoot for the
healthy-looking meals, but nothing that smells like a vegan. I didn’t care
much for carrot juice when I was alive, so it’s not really on my menu
nowadays. Now I’ll feed first, and you can watch how it’s done. Then, it’ll be
your turn.”
“O-okay,” Abigail whispered.
“I usually use a little mojo first. It takes away the normal fight or flight
instinct. It’s really hard to enjoy a meal when your entrée is fighting you
every step of the way. So first we lock eyes with our target and push our will
out at them. You overwhelm their mind with yours, and then you’re in the
driver’s seat.”
I felt the tension coming off of her even from a few yards away. I
thought back to my early days as a vampire. It sure would’ve been nice to
have had somebody with a little experience to show me the ropes, instead of
having to figure it all out with Greg, who only had his Anne Rice library and
a string of bad movies to draw from. There had been a lot of mistakes along
the way, ranging from hilarious to downright terrifying, and I was
determined to make things a little easier on Abby.
I realized with a start that I was beginning to feel protective of her, like
she really was my little sister, even though I was technically old enough to be
her father. I shuddered and pushed that thought way, way down in the dark
recesses of my mind.
I spotted my dinner coming out of the theatre building, one of my
favorite spots on any college campus. The tech students were generally there
until all hours. They usually started off pretty pale and had a predilection for
turtlenecks that made my life a lot simpler. I picked a girl of about twenty
with long, dark hair and blue eyes. She was tapping away on her iPhone
when I stepped out of the shadows. She whipped up her little can of pepper
spray lightning-quick, but locked eyes with me before she started spraying.
That was her last mistake of the night.
“Put that away.” I put the force of my will behind my words. Her eyes
glazed over, and the pepper spray went back into her purse.
“Come with me,” I continued, and she followed me into the woods
between the theatre building and the visitors parking deck.
I led her off the path a couple of yards and had her sit with her back to
a tree. She wasn’t beautiful by any stretch, but had a striking air about her. I
sat next to her and chatted idly about the weather for a moment before I
leaned into her and bit deeply into her carotid artery. Hot blood splashed the
back of my throat, and my eyes rolled back in my head. The coppery taste
was so much better from the source than from a bag, but it was the sensation
of life pouring down my throat that I’d never been able to explain. It was like everything about the person was flowing into me, like I was
drinking their dreams, their hopes, their very soul. It was a better rush than
anything I ever felt while alive. Every time I took a victim, I understood a
little better why some vampires went nuts and did it all the time. But I also
understood why Greg tried so hard to stay off the vein, because it was harder
to go back to the bag after every fresh meal.
I knelt there, letting the visceral pleasure of drinking from the source
wash over me for a couple of seconds before I forced myself back to reality.
I drank for several minutes, taking about three pints from the girl before I
felt like I could sustain myself for a night or two. When finished, I took a
moment to lick the last drops from her neck and watch as the vamp saliva
healed the puncture wounds almost immediately.
I looked in her eyes, and she stared back at me glassily. I’d drained her just to the brink of unconsciousness and felt a twinge of guilt about that. I’d fed more than usual, but the past couple of nights had taken a lot out of me. I’d had more close calls in twenty-four hours than I usually had in a week, leaving me with a distinct sense that my life wasn’t going to get any less complicated in the near future. “When you wake up, you won’t remember me. You’ll remember drinking too much and lying down here to rest for just a minute. Now sleep.” She obediently rolled onto her side and began to
breathe evenly among the pine needles.
“Will she be okay out here all night?” Abigail asked.
“I checked the weather. It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm
tonight. Lows in the sixties, so yeah, she’ll be fine. No one will notice her out
here, and she’ll wake up in the morning a little dizzy and maybe a touch
embarrassed, but none the worse for wear. Now, let’s find you some
dinner.”
We wandered the campus for almost another hour before Abigail
found somebody she wanted to bite. It was like taking a picky eater to an
all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet and having them order chicken fingers. I
mean, really, what was the point?
She finally found a guy she liked in a parking deck over by the student
center and mojo’d him into the back seat of his Suburban, although I wasn’t
sure if she needed any mojo for that. She
was pretty cute, after all. She even
made out with the guy for a few minutes before he made some comment
about cold hands, and then she bit him. I watched her back stiffen when she
got her first intentional taste of fresh blood, and it was almost like her hair
stood on end. She drank from the guy for a minute or two, before I reached
in and tapped her on the shoulder.
No response. I grabbed her shoulder and shook her. Still nothing. I
leaned into the back seat with a growl and grabbed a fistful of her blonde
hair. I yanked, and she finally came free, glaring at me with fangs bared. “Hungry!” she demanded, voice low and threatening.
“Stupid,” I replied, my own voice very calm and very flat. Either my
word or my tone registered with her, and reason came back into her feral
eyes.
“Is it always like that?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, every time. It gets easier to know when to say when, though.
And sometimes you’ll find someone who ate something that disagrees with
you, but most of the time it’s pretty awesome.”
“So why do you drink out of the bag? That stuff tastes like crap. I can’t
imagine drinking that plastic-tasting junk after what I just had.” “We drink out of the bag because we can’t hunt every night, or even
every couple of nights, and stay hidden. And staying hidden is pretty
important when you’re as allergic to sunlight as we are.” I didn’t go into all
the moral implications with her. It didn’t feel like the right time. “And you’re afraid you’ll like it too much and turn into the monster you
think you are?”
I hated perceptive women, and now fate had dropped another one into
my life. “Something like that. Now clean up and juice him into forgetfulness.
We’ve gotta get home.” I talked her through the process again, and she
mojo’d the guy to sleep.
She wiped the blood off her chin, and then looked around, confused.
“How exactly are we going to do that? You sent Sabrina and Greg off with
the car.”
“You’re in a car, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but he’s out like a light.”
“Then he won’t mind if we borrow it, will he?” I reached into the guy’s
pocket, grabbed his keys and got behind the wheel.
“What about when he wakes up in a cemetery?” Boy, she was just full of
questions.
“I think we might be better off parking at the CVS across the street and
walking a couple of blocks home, don’t you?” I answered her question with
a question, like all my best and most irritating teachers always did to me. “Probably. I guess you’ve kinda got this down, huh?”
“I haven’t stayed undead this long by coasting on my looks, kiddo. Stick
with me and you might learn a thing or two.” I grinned at her as I turned the
monstrous SUV around and headed home.
Chapter 8
It was almost dawn by the time we ditched the car a couple blocks from the cemetery, got home and caught everyone up on the vamp nest I’d found. There was an email waiting from Mike, demanding that we keep him in the loop no matter his upcoming surgery. So I emailed him a summary of the night’s discoveries and asked him to meet us at our place after sundown, figuring if there were a lot of vampires around, a priest and a cop were about the only flavor of humans we were willing to take in with us. Sabrina headed home for a couple hours’ sleep, and the rest of us trundled off to our respective rooms, with the sofa for Abby.
I felt the sun setting as I awoke. The odor of wet dog and cheap cigar filled my room and I lay perfectly still, my senses painting a picture of the room around me. There was only one of them, so I wasn’t too worried. It wasn’t daylight anymore, so my guest was either a really bad vampire hunter, or he didn’t want to kill me. I felt a pressure on my mattress, then smelled gun oil. I felt the barrel press against my temple and heard my intruder take a breath before he spoke.
I didn’t bother opening my eyes, just took a deep breath and said, “You stink. It was bad enough when it was scattered all over a murder scene, but it’s really over the top in my bedroom.”
I finally opened my eyes to see a large hairy man who smelled of cheap cigars holding a pistol to my temple and leaning far too close to my face for comfort.
“Give me one good reason not to splatter your brains all over the comforter, you bloodsucking parasite,” he growled, and I got a much better look at his slightly pointed canines than I needed.
“Because I’m a bloodsucking contributing member of society? I mean, really, I pay taxes and everything.”
He growled again, and I heard the cocking of the pistol.
“Okay,” I tried again. “How about because I have a Glock 17 pointed at your testicles and can pull the trigger at least once before you can get a round through my head?”
“Won’t kill me, bloodsucker. Unless you’re packing silver rounds, which I doubt.” He leaned back a little, though, and looked down to see that I did in fact have a pistol aimed straight at his most prized possessions.
“I don’t think I care, pal. You ever had to regrow your balls? I bet it hurts like the devil. And it’s really about the suffering when you’re shooting somebody’s nuts off, anyway. So why don’t you get off me, go wait in the den and I’ll come join you for a beer after I take a leak?”
“You’re awfully calm for somebody with a gun in his face.” He hadn’t moved yet, but I was pretty sure he was about to, which was good, because he was heavy and making me have to pee. And I was really starting to dislike the smell of wet fur.
“That’s because,” came Greg’s voice from the doorway, “he knows I’ve got you covered, and my shotgun is loaded with silver slugs. Now, get up, and let’s go to the den.” The guy got off me, holstered his pistol and left my bedroom under my partner’s watchful eye. I headed to the bathroom thinking about the new security system we were totally going to have to install.
I took care of nature’s rather urgent call and joined Greg and our unexpected guest in the den. They were standing over the couch, looking down at Abigail’s sleeping form. She had her hands folded across her chest in a funereal pose, and a placid expression on her face. “All she’s missing is a lily in her hands,” I said, as I grabbed the back of the couch.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!” I tipped the couch far enough to dump the kid onto the floor. Her pink panty-clad rump with “Tuesday” written on it in purple letters pointed up at the sky for a few seconds before she whirled the blankets around herself and shot into the bathroom at top vamp speed. Laughing, I sat down on the sofa and tossed a beer at our guest.
He raised his monobrow briefly before twisting off the top and plopping down in the armchair. “Thanks,” he grumbled. He was obviously a little put out at my lack of fear, but I wasn’t giving him any answers until he gave me a few first.
Greg took up his post in the game chair and glared at the intruder drinking our best domestic swill. “Okay, now would you like to explain who you are and what you’re doing here?”
“I’d rather not, but that’s probably not an option at this point, is it?” tall, dark and hirsute answered.
“Probably not, furball,” I replied before Greg could get a word in.
That eyebrow shot up again, and he tipped his beer at me. “So you know.”
“I do, but I don’t think Greg does.”
“How?”
“You’re not the only one with a nose that works.”
“Know what?” my behind-the-times partner asked.
“See?” I said.
“I do,” the werewolf in my den answered. “My name is Kyle King. I’m a private investigator working on a series of odd murders all over the Southeastern U.S. I followed
the trail of bodies to Charlotte and picked it up last night at the university. That trail led me to you two, and here I am.”
“Wow,” I pronounced grandly. “That is a true marvel of understatement, Mr. King. Shall I point out just a few of the things that you may have neglected to mention? There was the fact that the trail you followed here didn’t exactly lead to us, but rather to the very mobile young lady in our bathroom. There’s the fact that murders are investigated by the police, you know, people with actual authority and jurisdiction? Then there’s the fact that you didn’t follow our trail by any ordinary means, but rather by your prodigious sniffer. And last, but not least, there’s the fact that you couldn’t come visit us last night because you were too busy scratching fleas and chasing cars under the full moon to focus on anything else. Isn’t that right, Mr. King?”
“I don’t chase cars. And I don’t have fleas, bloodsucker.” He stood up from his chair and stalked over to me. I stood up at the same time and got in his face, while Greg sat in his little purple chair ticking off the new ideas on his fingers. So much for him being the smart one.
“Wait a minute.” Greg bounced up and interposed his gut between King and me. “You’re a werewolf?”
“Yeah,” King muttered, sitting back down.
“That is so cool!” Greg did that annoying thing where he bounced up and down on his heels again, so I took the opportunity to go get another couple of beers. Abigail came out of the bathroom while I was at the fridge, and I waved her back into my bedroom.
“Bite me. I want my pants,” she said in the tone of a pretty girl who was used to all the guys gawking when she walked across the room. I felt an odd anger rising in my chest when I saw the interest in Greg’s eyes, and I felt a sudden urge to punch King right between his furry eyebrows. It was weird, kinda like she was my little sister, or my kid. Note to self, I thought. Get her some more clothes. Like burlap.
As she was pulling on her pants and giving Greg the closest thing to heart palpitations he’d felt in a decade and a half, King looked her up and down one more time, drawing that strange red mist across my vision once more, and asked, “Are you Abigail Lahey?”
“Yep.” She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you. And you are?”
He stood and shook her hand. “Kyle King. I was informed that you were dead. Apparently, someone was mistaken.”
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