"One thing nags me," I said. "What does Lara Phillips have to do with any of this? There's a lot of shady business between her boyfriend the reverend and the others in this case. Why would she be involved with a man so close to those who wanted Roxy out of the way?"
"Maybe Lara's trying to find answers of her own?"
"I didn't get that impression," I replied. "In fact, the opposite. She's hiding something."
We drove to Beverly Hills and started the ascent up Coldwater Canyon Drive
. Some homes were brightly lit and cheery, others ensconced in gloom. We passed acres of stately mansions with manicured hedges and postcard-perfect king palms. Mercedes coupes and sedans along the curbs meant that the fancy wheels—Bentleys, Lamborghinis, and Royces—occupied the garages.
The higher we climbed, the smaller the homes became and the closer they crowded the road. Lawns shrank to narrow strips and disappeared altogether. Near the top of the ridge, Coldwater Canyon merged with Mulholland Drive
. At the corner of the next turn, a dirt road led between two rustic stone columns that formed the mouth of a tunnel through the dense overgrowth.
"That's it," I told Coyote. "But don't slow down."
Coldwater Canyon Drive
angled away from Mulholland and down to the San Fernando Valley. We stayed on Mulholland until we found a house with a FOR SALE sign. A month's worth of newspapers littered the front stoop. We pulled into the narrow driveway, parked, and sneaked through the underbrush toward Cragnow's estate.
Coyote and I found a clearing in the scrub, waited, and listened. There was no breeze to rustle the leaves and mask movement. Little red auras darted in and out of the thatched cover. A raccoon crawled along the branches of a gnarled oak. Mice skittered in the grass. An owl hooted. A snake pushed through the dry leaves on the ground.
A Land Rover came up Franklin Canyon Drive
and turned east on Mulholland. Three red auras advertised the human occupants. The Land Rover drove by and left.
Moving as carefully as the little animals of the night, Coyote and I made our way through the dry thicket and rocky ground. I was on the alert for a supernatural presence, but I shouldn't overlook human methods: video cameras, sensor beams, and trip wires. I didn't see any, but again, we were still a quarter mile from his place.
We eased through a cut in the spine of the ridge and continued in an easterly direction until we came across the driveway onto Cragnow's property. We were farther north than expected. The gravel road curved to the left. Through the tunnel of trees I could see the backs of the stone columns marking the entrance. To the right, light splashed onto the driveway and outlined the trees and brush.
Coyote squatted beside me, touched my shoulder, and pointed to a big oak. He whispered. "Aya." Over there. His tapetum lucidum glinted red.
I followed the line of his outstretched finger and noticed, on the branch, a video camera aimed toward the entrance. We were behind the camera and out of view. I scanned the other trees and along the ground, looking for the rectangular outline of a camera or the curve of a cable. Nada.
Only one camera. No guards. Either Cragnow thought he was safe in his mountain enclave or this was a trap. Or maybe Cragnow wasn't here.
I moved along the shoulder of the driveway toward the house. I was used to sneaking up on humans, but the cover of darkness wouldn't hide me from another vampire. If anything, my orange aura would appear even brighter against the inky night.
The driveway opened into a parking area. I counted four vehicles, a pewter gray Hummer, a black Porsche Cayenne SUV, and two black cars—a BMW coupe and a Mercedes sedan. The BMW was identical to the car Dr. Niphe drove, and the Porsche Cayenne looked a lot like Lucky Rosario's.
Coyote hissed excitedly and motioned to the entrance. He scrambled into the brush. The beams from headlights swung across the brush and driveway. I followed Coyote's example and ducked behind a shrub.
I kept low to hide my aura. Tires rumbled nearby. When the vehicle moved past, I lifted my head.
A white stretch limo circled by the other cars. Its taillights flashed, and the limo halted. A couple of doors clicked open. Women chirped like sparrows. Their shoes clattered across wooden planking. Four, five girls, maybe six. If Cragnow wasn't here, he was missing one hell of a party.
Another set of footfalls moved over the wooden boards in solid, deliberate steps.
I had to sneak closer. Coyote glanced at me and I pantomimed to ask if he'd seen anything. He shook his head and waved me forward.
I picked my way through the dry brush. Branches scratched my shirt and trouser legs. I dropped to a crouch and peered through an opening in the shrubs.
Floodlights illuminated Cragnow's house, turning the structure into a collage of vivid colors and shadow. A wooden deck separated the house from the parking area. The floor plan of the split-level house seemed built upon overlapping circles. Picture windows on the curving walls peeked over hedges trimmed low to not spoil the view. A round cupola with a coolie hat tile roof sat atop the tallest part of the house.
To my left, the lawn sloped toward a vista of Beverly Hills and West Los Angeles, a constellation of lights receding toward the distant illuminated haze above Marina Del Rey.
Coyote disappeared into the chaparral behind me.
I crept around until I observed the south side of the house. Two stories of tall windows and another deck overlooked the vista. Light from inside the house washed over the deck. I crawled around a row of barrel cactus marking the perimeter of the lawn.
Framed within the picture windows, Mordecai Niphe and Lucky Rosario sat on plush wing chairs facing the middle of the room. They both smiled and looked relaxed.
A reedy young woman in a silvery halter top with matching microskirt and stiletto heels strutted before them. A braid of brunette hair trailed down her naked back. She swapped highball glasses with Niphe, taking his empty and giving him a full one.
Niphe pulled the woman onto his lap and undid the knot holding up her top. She rolled her head back and let him nuzzle her neck.
Rosario said something. The woman laughed and pulled herself free from Niphe. The halter top fell to the floor. She walked to the right, out of my view. Niphe picked up the halter top, balled it up, sniffed it, and tossed it out of sight.
Their auras glowed a pleasant red. Everyone here expected a good time.
Niphe and Rosario stood. Cragnow appeared, an old-fashioned in one hand. His aura simmered orange. Small tendrils waved along the penumbra, indicating concern. The sleeves of his white shirt were folded to his elbows. His gray hair was combed back, which emphasized his prominent forehead.
As I studied Cragnow, my talons extended and my kundalini noir flexed. I should crash this party and settle the score.
Yet something was wrong. Cragnow had to know I could come after him.
So where were his guards? As clever as I thought I was, this infiltration seemed too easy.
Cragnow faced Niphe and Rosario. They nodded and laughed. What was the joke? Me?
A vampire—his aura gave away his supernatural identity—who looked like a running back entered the scene. He had an African-American complexion and wore a black dinner jacket over black dress trousers. The vampire stood beside Cragnow and whispered into his ear. Cragnow's aura blazed. He turned around and looked right at me through the window.
Chapter Forty
TIME TO SCRAM and find Coyote.
The smell hit me.
Meaty. Musky.
Wolf.
I crawled from between the cactus and retreated deep into the dry brush. The branches and dead leaves crunched beneath me. Where was that wolf? My talons and fangs extended.
A growl came from the left. Another from the right. And another from the parking lot. Not wolf but wolves. Here were Cragnow's bodyguards, vampires transformed into wolves.
I drew my pistol—grateful that I carried silver bullets—and executed a time-honored military maneuver. I turned and ran.
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A wolf lunged from the brush, its aura an orange comet and the eyes twin embers burning with malevolence. The long jaws snapped, the ferocious teeth flashing like a saw.
I jerked my gun toward it when another wolf tackled me from behind. I fell into a mass of bramble, the thorns raking my face and neck.
The wolf's jaws locked on my left shoe, the teeth tearing into my foot. I kicked the wolf's snout and fought to roll over on my back to get a shot with my pistol.
The first wolf clawed through the bramble and snapped at me in a whirlwind of teeth, fur, and blazing eyes.
I let fly two shots. The wolves backed off enough for me to get up and run limping out of the brush and into the parking lot.
One wolf followed me. The other circled around. No more wild shots. I couldn't afford to waste ammunition.
When I reached the gravel lot, the wolf behind me surged forward, snarling. The second wolf lunged from my right side. His jaws clamped on my pistol hand, my wrist feeling like it had been smashed between bricks. I punched the wolf with my left fist.
The wolf wrenched its head, wrestling to knock me off balance. The other wolf snatched my belt and pulled the other way.
An orange blur streaked from the woods and crashed into the wolf clutching my hand. The wolf let go and spun about, its jaws snapping at empty air.
The blur settled into the shape of a coyote, its jaws a flailing set of teeth.
The wolf hunched its shoulders, the hair on its neck bristling. It lunged forward.
The coyote was in front of the wolf one instant, then beside it the next. The coyote clamped onto the wolf's throat. The two of them snagged forelimbs and rolled into a ball of fur and orange auras.
The other wolf tugged at my waist and nearly pitched me over. I leveled my pistol and squeezed one shot.
The bullet grazed the wolf's flank. It let go, backed off a couple of steps, then reared on its hind legs to spring for my face.
I fired once into its torso.
The wolf stopped, its front paws waving through the air. The fury in its eyes was replaced by a dimming sadness. Its aura tightened around the furry body.
I held the pistol in a two-hand grip. My next shot thumped low in the wolf's sternum, right where the kundalini noir should be.
The wolf's limbs twisted and elongated. Fur disappeared into smooth white skin. The snout retreated into a grotesque face, as wolf transformed into dying vampire. I recognized the ragged sandy hair on his big head. Kacy. The vampire who tried to run me over with a Jaguar convertible and later missed again when he shot at me in Trixie's Bistro.
Kacy stood naked, his unfocused eyes staring into oblivion. Smoke curled from the holes my bullets had punched into him. His mouth opened and a gasp escaped. His orange aura shrank around him, becoming a weak glow frail as a tiny candle flame. The glow flickered out. Kacy the vampire was no more.
He was a newly converted vampire, so instead of dissolving into dust, his corpse remained whole—until sunlight hit it. His body toppled backward, leaving the stench of his burning undead flesh lingering in the air.
What about Coyote?
He stood beside the fallen corpse of the other wolf, now writhing as it transformed into a vampire. Coyote panted and acted worn out. Shiny mats of blood spotted his disheveled fur. Coyote glanced from the man to me, giving a look that said, Where you been?
Heavy steps stormed over the wooden deck of Cragnow's house, accompanied by the metallic click of weapons being readied.
Time to go.
I ran limping across the parking area, Coyote loping by my side. We headed for the entrance onto Cragnow's property, into the dark tunnel formed by the overlapping branches of the trees.
There had been three wolves. We killed two. Where was the other one?
I glanced over my shoulder back toward Cragnow's house. Red auras surrounded the men carrying guns. Good. They were human and so couldn't see our auras. That made our escape easier.
A growl turned my attention to the front.
A wolf guarded the mouth into the tunnel. Its orange aura roiled like fire. The two eyes glowed bright as heated iron.
Good show, but this wolf hadn't been paying attention to current events. So far the score was: our side, two; wolves, zero. And I still had bullets in my pistol.
I fired once.
The wolf yelped and jumped.
I fired again.
The wolf's front legs folded, and the animal collapsed, hindquarters and rump sticking into the air. The orange aura vanished, as if blown out.
Coyote and I ran through the tunnel past the dead wolf as it turned into the trim shape of a female vampire. Tattoos encircled the arms. It was Rachel, the human receptionist from Gomorrah Video who later, as a vampire, drove the limo that shuttled me to Petale Venin. I had warned her.
Men jogged through the parking area. Red laser pointers crisscrossed the ground like feelers.
Coyote crashed through the brush ahead of me, and I lost him. I headed west in the scrub parallel to Mulholland Drive
. The dense woods and terrain swallowed the noise coming from Cragnow's estate.
Coyote and I had knocked off the primary guard force, the wolves. Smart tactic for Cragnow, if it would've worked. I had expected vampire lookouts and technical surveillance, not furry undead killers.
I loaded a fresh magazine into my pistol.
An orange glow outlined the scrub branches. I raised my pistol.
"Don't shoot, vato," whispered Coyote.
He stepped though a gap in the scrub, a skinny old-man frame—naked, save for the tennis shoes on his feet. He carried his clothes wadded under one arm.
"You can get dressed," I said.
"Later, ese. The night air feels good." He continued for his truck, the muscles of his scrawny ass cheeks flexing and relaxing as he strode along. Blood trickled from the scratches on his neck and shoulders.
"You okay?" I asked. I massaged the bite on my wrist, feeling the torn flesh mend itself. "You're bleeding."
Coyote wiped the blood from his skin. "A la Madre. It's mine. Next time, vato, I'll let you handle all the chingasos."
We did the usual drill with his beater Ford. I pushed it out into the street and pushed again to start the rusted jalopy. I was getting too much practice at this.
Coyote drove the long way back to Boyle Heights, taking Mulholland to Beverly Glen Boulevard
, Sunset, then the 405 and finally the Santa Monica Freeway.
At every intersection and turn I expected the police to ambush us. After all, Cragnow only need jerk the chain of his buddy, Deputy Police Chief Julius Paxton. I kept my pistol handy. I didn't want to kill any human cops if they were doing their jobs and had no idea of this vampire insurrection. But my fellow undead were fair game.
So far, no cops. No one chasing us. No helicopters. "This is too easy," I said.
Coyote's forehead wrinkled and the ends of his mustache quivered. "You crazy? We barely escaped."
"Cragnow expected only me, so three wolves would've been enough, even with my gun," I said. "He underestimated me, or rather, us. Next time, he won't."
Chapter Forty-One
WE ARRIVED AT Coyote's house, passing delivery trucks bringing newspapers and fresh bread to convenience stores and markets.
Coyote let his truck roll to the bottom of the dip and turned his heap around so it faced the right way when it was time to leave.
A cerulean band of sky appeared above the mountains of the Angeles National Forest. Dawn approached, and my kundalini noir coiled in fear of the morning light.
No suspicious auras lurked in the neighborhood. No cops. The neighborhood was as quiet and serene as a crypt.
On the way into his house, Coyote gathered a handful of sticks. He broke them into pieces the length of a pencil. Coyote paced the perimeter of his yard and worked a stick into the ground every few paces.
"What's that for?" I asked.
"My alarm system. Anybody or anything crosses those
sticks"—Coyote snapped his fingers—"I'm awake."
"Where did you learn this?"
"Un guajiro Tarahumara." A shaman from the Tarahumara Indians.
"Does it work?"
"Like magic."
"Like the same magic that starts your truck?" Hope not. With Coyote's "high-tech" security system protecting us, I headed downstairs to rest and escape the morning's rays.
Water dripped from the ceiling where it leaked from the wet kitchen floor. I lay in the coffin and counted the drips splashing against the lid until I fell asleep.
By midafternoon we were up. I inspected the circle of sticks, looking for evidence of tampering or unusual footprints. "Nothing happened."
"Are you surprised, ese? Nothing bad can happen to us inside the circle. It worked."
"Just because you put in those sticks and nothing happened," I said, "is like saying a drink of whiskey is good medicine to prevent snakebites."
"It's not?"
"We're going to need more than superstitions to protect us."
"Vato, listen to yourself. A vampire who doesn't believe in superstitions? It's a cosmic contradiction."
Coyote made coffee and stirred blood into a pot of posole. I cleaned up and shaved.
"Let's go have a talk with Dr. Niphe." I sat at the table and sprinkled Cholula hot sauce over a bowl of the posole. "What was he doing up there partying with Cragnow and those hookers? On a school night, no less." I pulled a tortilla from the stack kept warm under a towel.
Coyote tore a piece of tortilla and scooped it into his bowl. "Do we surprise him?"
"Of course we surprise him. This time we'll come in through the roof and pull him out of surgery if we have to."
We finished our meal. I gathered a few of my things into my overnight bag, in case we got delayed. Roxy's file and my laptop remained downstairs, next to the coffin. I topped off my pistol magazines.
Coyote climbed into his truck. I set the overnight bag on the sidewalk. I braced my shoulder against the tailgate of the truck and pushed.
The truck moved up the hill, gaining speed as I advanced from a trot to a run. The truck lurched when the engine caught. I let go. Coyote waved his arm for me to jump aboard.
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