Spirit Sanguine

by Lou Harper

  When Gabe opened his eyes the next evening, he saw Harvey looming over him.

  “You dreamed of flying above a forest,” Harvey said.

  Gabe rubbed his face and remembered—yes, he did. Fuck. It was a nice dream. “You did too?”

  “I liked it. I’d almost forgotten what dreams are like. Number three on my list of things I miss most from before.”

  The joyful sensation emanating from Harvey went a long way toward dissolving Gabe’s dread. It would be okay; the residual effects of blood-feeding would clear up eventually. Meanwhile, he’d better concentrate on the task ahead.

  Being winter, the sun had gone down early. Gabe had to leave his weaponry behind in Chicago, seeing as they only had carry-on luggage. Airport security would’ve probably thought he’d planned to hijack the plane using sharpened wooden sticks. However, he’d smuggled on a couple of lengths of Vectron ropes disguised as fastenings of a windbreaker he’d bought solely for this purpose. He slipped them out and into the inside pocket of his leather jacket before heading out.

  As first order of business, they checked in with Vamp Con. Fortunately, the organizers took the children-of-the-night bit seriously, scheduling most of their events from evening till midnight. A girl all in black—except for her bright red contact lenses—handed them the badges and bags containing schedules and other printed materials.

  They stopped at Johnny Rockets for dinner. While Gabe wolfed down his burger and onion rings, Harvey studied the conference schedule.

  “The vendor booths are open till midnight. Don’t suppose we’ll get back in time,” he said with a note of disappointment.

  “Probably not. What would you want to buy, anyway? We already got the retractable fangs for me.” Gabe shook his head just thinking of the things. He’d had no idea such stuff existed till Harvey had surprised him with them. The fake fangs looked fairly realistic, and a small lever he could operate with his tongue made them go up and down. Getting them fitted had been a bit of a fuss.

  Harvey observed him head tilted, eyes glinting. He had a way of looking at Gabe that made the tips of Gabe’s ears burn. “You’re a sexy brute, you know,” he said with fondness.

  Gabe quickly cast his eyes back to his onion rings. He never knew how to respond to such open—and not to mention public—declarations of affection, but they worried him. Maybe Augustine should be more concerned about Harvey than him.

  Harvey gave a theatrical sigh. “They’ll be selling all sorts of things, I’m sure. Jewelry, capes, knickknacks, blood-vial pendants like Angelina and Billy Bob used to wear. Stuff. I’m sure there will be T-shirts.”

  “Won’t they be open tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course, but the good stuff will be gone. These vampires are such a ravenous bunch.” He made a wide-eyed expression of mock horror for emphasis.

  Gabe chortled. Unfortunately, he did so while drinking his soda. “You’re killing me,” he said once he was done almost choking.

  Chapter Four

  They found Gun World far away from the strip, on a street lined with stumpy buildings as dull and ordinary as anywhere else in America. The glitter of the Strip didn’t extend this far. They arrived half an hour before store closing time. Leaving Harvey in the car, Gabe went inside. The two guys behind the counter were likewise ordinary, aside from being vampires. Gabe walked up to the closest one.

  “I’d like to talk to Hector,” he said.

  “On what business?” the vamp asked, not particularly friendly.

  “That’s between me and him.”

  The vamp gave him a hard look, then walked to the cash register, where his hand slipped under the counter. Likely there was a switch there, because a minute later, the door behind the counter opened and a third vampire strode out. He was of average height but solidly built, with dark hair and a rough-hewn face. The contours of his cheekbones and nose hinted at a native heritage. Overall, he looked like a guy who wouldn’t be out of place in a biker gang.

  “I’m Hector. What do you want?” His gruff voice fit well with his physique.

  “I’ve been told you can help me.” Gabe held out the black business card he’d gotten from Augustine.

  Hector took it after a cursory glance. He jerked his head. “This way.”

  Stepping around the counter, Gabe followed him back through the door. From the short hallway, they stepped into an office. Hector pulled out a keychain and unlocked a heavy metal door at the far side of the room, revealing a narrow staircase leading into a basement. Gabe took the stairs on the heels of his host, but not without trepidation. His muscles tensed, ready for a fight.

  The room at the bottom was about half the size of the store upstairs and lit by recessed lighting. Two sides had metal drawers along them, from floor to about waist height. From there to the low ceiling, solid metal shutters covered the walls. A table in one corner was the only piece of furniture. Not a cozy place for sure.

  Hector probably noticed Gabe’s tension. “Relax. You’re under protection. From me anyway. I’ve been told to expect you.”

  Gabe eased up a smidgeon. He reminded himself Augustine knew what he was doing sending him here. “I need weapons.”

  Hector stepped to a security keypad on the wall. His body blocked Gabe’s view, but a second later, one of the shutters rose.

  “Take your pick.” He made a sweeping gesture at the wall.

  “Wow.” Gabe couldn’t hide his surprise seeing the large selection of vampire hunting weaponry revealed to him. Some of them looked old enough to be collector’s items.

  He picked up an intricately engraved old revolver. Out of its six chambers, four held bullets made of silver.

  “Do these even work on vampires?” he asked.

  “A well-aimed shot stings like hell,” Hector said, as if he spoke from experience.

  Gabe didn’t ask if Hector knew anything about the missing bullets. However, he slid one of them out of the cylinder and placed the gun back in its spot.

  “Isn’t it unusual for a vampire to sell weapons specifically made to kill vampires?” he asked.

  “Who said anything about selling them? You’ll be the first one ever to walk out with any of these.” Hector’s gaze rested on Gabe, coolly assessing him, like a butcher sizing up a side of beef. “Strange times we live in. Right, amigo?”

  If he’d meant to mock Gabe by calling him a friend, it befitted their situation. At any rate, Gabe wasn’t going to argue. Turning back to the display, he took his time looking it over. He spotted a couple of nice crossbows he liked much better than the gun. Unfortunately, he had no good excuse to take them. He couldn’t bring anything incriminating back into the hotel, and leaving them in the car wouldn’t be any wiser.

  “I only need a few stakes,” he said.

  “In the drawers.”

  Gabe dug around till he found a handful of sharpened sticks to his liking. He stuck them into the appropriate holders inside his jacket. Hector’s dark eyes tracked his every move. Gabe zipped up.

  “Is that it?” Hector asked.

  “Yes. No.” Gabe took a photo of Joe out of his wallet—it was the same one he’d found on a memory card back in Chicago. “Have you seen this man?”

  Hector squinted at the picture, then at Gabe. “Looks familiar. What do you want from him?”

  “Nothing. He’s dead. I’d like to know what business he had here.”

  “Is this something important for you?”

  “You could say that. Unfinished business.”

  “Leave the picture. I might find something out.”

  “Did you get your sticks?” Harvey asked as Gabe got into the driver’s seat and started up the car.

  Gabe patted his jacket in reply.

  Harvey grimaced. “You should’ve let me go in with you.”

  “Nah, this way you could’ve left a message if I didn’t come out. You remember the number, right?”

  “Of course I do. I still don’t like to let you out of my sight.”

&nbs
p; “You wouldn’t have liked it—Hector has the largest collection of vamp-killing weapons I’ve ever seen. Some of it belongs in a museum. You’re squeamish about that stuff.”

  “I’m not squeamish. I simply didn’t cherish their indiscriminate use. I’m actually curious of what you saw.”

  “Okay.”

  Gabe gave a description of the arsenal, as best he could remember, while they drove to the Lighthouse Hospice.

  Despite its aspiring name, it turned out to be a sad little place with dirty stucco walls, patchy in places where the paint used to cover up graffiti didn’t quite match the original color. They were late for visiting hours, but not so late that trying the front door first would be out of order.

  A harried middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform opened the door. According to the plastic tag on her chest, her given name was Linda.

  “Ma’am we’d like to ask you—”

  She puffed herself up. “I’ve already told you people everything. How many more times do I have to tell you I have no idea what happened to poor Mr. Vega? He was there at lights out, but when I did my rounds at midnight, he was gone like a fart in the wind. Just like that.” She spread her arms wide, and her voice became an octave more irritated. “Maybe aliens took him—though I don’t know what they’d want from a sick old man like that.” Finally, she ran out of breath and stood glaring at them.

  “Could we see Mr. Vega’s chart?” Gabe asked.

  She took another long look at both of them, and her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Are you even cops? I want to see some identification.”

  Harvey stepped forward and gave Linda his unblinking stare. “Linda, why don’t you invite us inside and show us Mr. Vega’s medical chart?”

  She gaped at him like a dazed bird. “Yes, please come inside,” she said.

  Her white shoes squeaked on the scuffed linoleum as she led them to the nurses’ station. She handed Harvey a thick folder.

  “You should sit down. You look tired,” Harvey said in a soothing voice.

  “Yes, I am.” Her eyes glazed over some more.

  “Why don’t you take a little nap,” he suggested.

  Linda’s eyes closed as if their lids were too heavy to stay open.

  “You’re scary,” Gabe said, and he meant it.

  “Yeah, I know,” Harvey murmured, his nose buried in the paperwork. After a minute, he looked up. “Everything’s almost the same as in Chicago.”

  “And he’s gone.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  “We should go before she comes out of it.”

  Harvey put the folder back to its place, and they walked out the way they came.

  “Do you think the fucker kidnapped a dying man to save himself the trouble of coming here every time he needed a fix?” Gabe asked in the car.

  “Taking care of a seriously sick person would be far more trouble. Junkies don’t make good caregivers.”

  “I’m calling this in.”

  Gabe dialed the eight-hundred number.

  A sultry female voice purred into his ear. “Sexy Psychics Hotline. How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to talk to Ruby Rose,” Gabe answered, swallowing his surprise.

  “Just a moment please.”

  The line clicked, and he heard a ring on the other end.

  “Speak,” said another female voice. “Ruby” sounded far more business than pleasure.

  Gabe gave his account of what they found out at the Lighthouse. When he was done, she asked, “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait for instructions.” She hung up.

  “So?” Harvey prodded him.

  “We wait.”

  “Here?”

  “Might as well.”

  They spent at least half an hour staring at the hospice’s droopy façade before Gabe’s phone broke the silence. He picked it up before it could ring a second time.

  “Yes?”

  “Go back to your regular activity till further notice,” was all Ruby said. She didn’t even wait for a reply.

  “She isn’t very chatty for a phone sex psychic,” Gabe grumbled.

  “What do we do next?” Harvey asked.

  “You got your wish. We go shopping.”

  Back at the hotel, Harvey headed straight for the Vamp Con vendors, with Gabe in tow. A multitude of booths and a colorful crowd filled the large hall. Harvey had been right, they sold T-shirts and a lot more. Gabe lacked the shopping gene, so he left Harvey contemplating a coffin-shaped red leather shoulder bag and wandered off. Most attendees were already in costumes, if not fully in character. There were entirely too many smiles and happy faces. Gabe knew from television that vampires were supposed to be brooding and morose—it made them romantic.

  Interestingly, the few real bloodsuckers in the crowd didn’t look much different from their regular human counterparts. Gabe was especially taken by one skinny, spiky-haired vamp tightly wrapped in mesh and studded leather. With his black lips and heavy eye makeup, he looked like an unholy mix of Marilyn Manson and Sid Vicious. He reminded Gabe of his friend Denton a little. Denton was what Gabe called “A.B. Normal” but definitely not a vamp. Gabe wondered what would make a real vampire dress up like a fictional one. This prince of darkness had to be seriously into this stuff, Gabe concluded.

  High-pitched squeals pierced Gabe’s eardrums. He turned around to see two young women wearing velvet-and-lace gothic costumes and lots of mascara hugging and exchanging excited greetings.

  “Shoot me now,” he murmured under his breath.

  “Pow!” Harvey replied, appearing out of nowhere. He jabbed a finger between Gabe’s ribs. A black paper bag hung from his other hand.

  “Good shopping?” Gabe asked.

  “Excellent! I got you something.”

  His eyes sparkled with excitement, and it made Gabe wonder. Surely, they didn’t sell sex toys at Vamp Con?

  Harvey carefully took a rather ornate brass wristband out of the bag. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Gabe took it. He had to admit it was an intricately crafted piece, with an elaborate, antique-style brass-and-silver filigree design surrounding a small watch face. “Very nice.”

  “It’ll go great with your costume.” Harvey took it back, taking care not to touch the silver parts. “Come, I want to check out that stall over there.”

  Gabe was about to object, but his phone rang. He answered it.

  “Hello, amigo,” said the male voice.

  Gabe immediately identified it as Hector’s, but thought it better not to say the name out loud. “Hi.”

  “I have information for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Not on the phone. I know where you are. There are elevators nearby, right?”

  It was no surprise Hector could track him so easily, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. “Yes, right down the hall.”

  “Go up to the fifth floor and take the short hallway. Around the corner you’ll find the service elevators.” Hector ended the call without formalities.

  Harvey looked at Gabe with all the nonchalance of an average out of town pretend vampire, but the twitch of the eyebrow conveyed an unspoken question. Gabe replied with a barely perceptible nod.

  “We should change. Everyone else is dressed up,” he said.

  “I was gonna say the same thing,” Harvey agreed.

  Following Hector’s instructions, they were soon on the fifth floor.

  “There’s supposed to be a service elevator here somewhere,” Gabe whispered, although they were alone.

  “That must be it,” Harvey said, pointing at a double metal door.

  Gabe sensed Hector on the other side. Almost immediately the door opened, and they quickly stepped inside. The space was markedly different from the public areas of the hotel. The walls were dirty, paint scratched off in several places. A couple of fold-up beds peeked out of an alcove.

  “Who are you?” Hector asked, staring at Harvey.

  “He’s my pa
rtner. We come as a package,” Gabe explained.

  Hector studied them both for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. You’re looking for someone.”

  “Yes. A vamp. He calls himself James Hill. Do you know him?” Gabe had been playing his cards close to the chest, not quite trusting anyone, but now they needed help.

  Hector squinted. “Un-fucking-fortunately.”

  “You know where we can find him?”

  “Yeah, he hangs out in Crow Bar when he’s not—” Hector clamped his mouth shut.

  “Crow Bar with two words?” asked Harvey, taking his phone out. No doubt he’d have the directions to get there in seconds.

  “Yes. Watch yourselves there. It’s a real dive.”

  “A man disappeared last night,” Gabe said, fixing Hector in his sight.

  “Yes, people do that on occasion,” Hector answered.

  Gabe had a hunch Hector was hedging. Maybe it was Gabe’s own senses, maybe Hector’s body language—the way his jaw muscles tightened or how he wouldn’t look Gabe directly in the eyes.

  “This was a sick old man who simply vanished from a nursing home. Quite unusual, don’t you think? He had a connection to James Hill.”

  “He’s probably not the first person gone missing who had a connection to that fucker.”

  “He’s allowed to get away with it? Who’s the boss around here?” Harvey asked.

  “That would be Aleksi Radek, but you’d be better off not filing a complaint. Aleksi wouldn’t look kindly at a tourist and his pet poking their noses into his business.”

  “A pet?” Harvey sputtered.

  “He means me, Arlie.” Gabe gave Harvey a warning look.

  “Anything else would be just unnatural, right?” Hector smirked. “You’re right, though—disappearances are trouble. Nobody kicks up much fuss as long as they’re a couple of hookers or drifters, or a penniless old man, half dead already, but you have a handful of regular tourists go missing, and soon you got the FBI on your neck. So good luck finding Mr. Hill. Adios, amigos.”