The rising hill boxed me against the north side of the Greek Theatre. I steered for the stairs and railings to my left and bounced down the steps to land in front of the box office.
I crashed through a wire fence and raced in front of the theater. A maintenance worker piled bags next to an open gate at the far end of the concrete walkway.
I opened the throttle. The worker dove clear as I flashed through the gate and got back on the road.
A police car zoomed past. I left the park and entered the neighborhood of northern Hollywood. I ran stop signs and turned randomly from street to street.
I slowed and looked over my shoulders. No one followed. I paused under a cottonwood tree shading the curb. I picked leaves and twigs from my body. Now that I had stopped and the commotion of my escape lifted from my mind, the pain from the silver bullet crashed into me like a runaway railroad car. A wisp of smoke curled from the tear in my shirt. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes for a moment. I imagined the silver wad of metal frying my insides like meat on a skillet.
Blood seeped down my side and soaked my shirt and trousers. The rivulets crusted over and broke into clots of dust.
As huge as Los Angeles was, I found myself only blocks from the spot of Roxy's murder. How ironic if I were to die here.
But I wouldn't die. Not soon.
Where to go? Where to get help? Coyote was dead.
Veronica?
I could hide at her place. She would dig the bullet out of me. I had managed to have sex with her in wild acrobatic positions and still kept my undead identity secret. Guiding her hands and a knife through hypnosis would be tricky, but what other option did I have?
My watch said 4:14 P.M. She'd be at work. I slipped the cell phone from my pocket and called.
"About time," she said, her voice hovering between eagerness and displeasure. "Where have you been?"
"Bad trouble," I replied.
Veronica stayed quiet. Her breath rushed against the phone. "I didn't want to hear that. What kind of trouble? With the police?"
"With everybody."
"You… you don't sound well," she said.
"I'm not. I'm hurt pretty bad."
"You need me to take you to the hospital?" The phone shifted and I was sure she sat taller and more alert.
"No. I just need a place to rest and recuperate. Until tomorrow."
"My place?" She whispered, her tone guarded, as if she's hoping that I'd say no.
"If you could."
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter. Let's meet at your place."
"I'm way over in Riverside. Probably can't get there until seven."
Three hours from now. Could I stand the pain? "I'll wait."
"Should I get anything? I've got bandages and stuff in the bathroom, but would you need something else?"
"Don't worry about it," I said.
"You call to tell me you're hurt bad and you say not to worry?" Her voice cracked. "Oh Felix."
"It's not that bad." It's much worse. "Buy cheese and wine. We'll have a party."
"I gotta go. Seven then," she said and hung up.
The worst was over. All I had to do was survive the next few hours, rest overnight, and go after Cragnow tomorrow.
When I lifted my left leg to set my shoe on the foot peg, a volcano of agony surged up my torso. The pain funneled up my neck and flooded my head. My eyes dimmed. Through sheer force of will, I shoved the fountain of anguish back down.
I rolled the Yamaha from the curb and rode south toward Veronica's apartment.
At every traffic light I thought I'd pass out. I lied to myself to keep going. Hang on for another hour. I'll stop and rest in fifteen minutes. Just one more block,
I reached the street where Veronica lived. I pulled into the driveway and maneuvered the Yamaha against the back cinder block wall close to the Dumpster and recycling barrels. My plan was to break into her apartment and rest inside. Hopefully she'd forgive me.
I peeled myself off the motorcycle. The afternoon sun reflected from the back windows of the buildings and baked me. The heat drained my weakening body. I could barely stand. The breezeway seemed an impossible distance.
I'd wait for Veronica out here. I crawled into the shade between the Dumpster and the cinder block wall. The area reeked of decaying food.
Each minute seemed like an hour. The sun's rays angled lower, and the coolness of evening gathered into the darkening shadows.
Chapter Forty-Seven
VERONICA'S BROWN NISSAN turned into the driveway. My kundalini noir rustled expectantly. The driver's silhouette, with a mane of long hair, was Veronica's. The Nissan halted inches from the Dumpster and my motorcycle propped against the wall.
I adjusted my sunglasses. I didn't want her to see my eyes until I was ready to hypnotize her.
The driver's door opened and nudged against the Yamaha's handlebar grip. Veronica rose from the Nissan, hitched her purse on one shoulder, and gave my motorcycle a quizzical once-over.
"Veronica," I said.
She turned toward me and bent down. She pulled her sunglasses up and hooked them into her hair. Her expression of puzzlement deepened.
I retrieved my overnight bag, grasped the side of the Dumpster, and dragged myself from the wall.
Veronica gripped my free hand. Helping me stand, she caressed my face and shoulders. "What happened to you? Looks like you wrestled a bear."
"I could've handled a bear." I pressed my hand over the wound.
She tugged at my wrist. "What are you hiding?"
I didn't have the strength to wrench my wrist free.
Veronica touched my shirt around the wound. "Did you get shot? Stabbed?" She leaned close, sniffed, and pulled away in horror. She let go of my wrist. "Is that smoke?"
"Help me inside," I said. "I'll explain."
Her arm clasped my shoulders and I staggered beside her. She led me to the breezeway.
"You got shot, didn't you? Felix, we have to call an ambulance."
"Not yet," I told her. "Take me inside first and help me get fixed up."
"I don't appreciate this," she said. Her voice lost its caring tone and sounded frightened. "Gunshots are supposed to be reported to the police."
"You a doctor?"
"So what? Unless the cops—"
"They didn't do it."
We entered the breezeway. Only another forty feet to the stairs. I looked up to the landing on the second floor. It would be an ordeal, like climbing to the top of a mountain.
"Then who shot you?"
Veronica would have to haul me up the stairs. I could barely stay on my feet, much less work up the energy to fend off her questions.
"Okay," I told her. "I owe you that." I motioned that she bring her face close to mine.
Veronica fixed her eyes on the lenses of my sunglasses. I rallied the strength needed to hypnotize her and dropped the sunglasses from my face.
Chapter Forty-Eight
VERONICA'S EYES DILATED to the size of dimes. Her aura blossomed into a silky crimson.
I clasped her neck and brought her closer, so we stood nose to nose. I wasn't sure of the strength of my flagging powers and concentrated on giving her the maximum dose of hypnotism.
Her aura grew a fuzzy penumbra that vibrated like the cilia of a microscopic creature. It wasn't much of a hold upon her psyche. But enough.
"Help me up the stairs," I said.
Veronica pulled my right arm across her shoulder and trudged upward with the grace of an ox pulling a stubborn plow.
Near the top of the landing, the bullet shifted and an agonizing jolt sawed through me. My legs buckled and I collapsed against the stairs. I dropped my bag. hying still, I wet my lips and waited for the pain to ease.
Veronica stared at me, her face impassive and dull.
I pointed to her door. "Pull me inside."
Veronica moved as if her thoughts swam through molasses. She pulled the keys from her purse and opened her apartmen
t door.
Blood trickled from my torn shirt and splattered on the steps, each drop turning into a poof of dust. My aura trembled as would a burner flame set on low.
I raised my arm. "Take me inside."
I expected her to lift me to my feet. Instead she grabbed my wrist and yanked my supine body up the stairs.
The pain strangled my howl. My head and feet hammered against the steps as she tugged me onto the landing. She backed into her apartment, dragging me in like a rug.
When my feet cleared the threshold I begged her to stop. "Let go. Get my bag then come back and close and lock the door."
Veronica did as I told her.
I didn't like being in the front room. What if at sunrise I was still here? I crawled to the home office, where I knew I would be safe. Veronica followed me, her aura flowing about her like a cloak.
I lay on the floor and motioned her to kneel beside me. I refreshed the hypnosis.
Time for the real pain. "Go wash your hands. Bring towels, bandages, disinfectant, and your sharpest knives."
I unbuttoned my shirt and removed it and my undershirt. I lay bare-chested on my right side, the wound a jagged mouth drooling blood. Smoke drifted from the lipless opening.
Veronica returned with two terry cloth bath towels, a spool of white adhesive tape, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a fistful of kitchen knives, and a sanitary napkin. She sat and arrayed the items on the floor between us.
I inspected the napkin. The label said it was for heavy-flow days.
I pushed aside the butcher knives—too big—and selected a paring knife with a four-inch blade. I ran my thumb along the edge, and the blade cut like a fresh razor. A drop of blood seeped from my thumb.
"Push the towels along my back," I said.
She unfolded both towels and shoved them between my right side and the floor to catch my blood.
I handed Veronica the knife.
"Here," I said, pointing into the wound. "Feel in there for a bullet and cut it out." I'd risk an infection. That bullet would kill me before any germ could.
Veronica's gaze fixed mechanically upon the wound.
I wound my undershirt into a roll that I inserted into my mouth.
She extended the fingers of her left hand and inserted them into the hole.
The agony was like getting split open. I clamped hard on the undershirt, and if I could've wept, the wooden planks of the floor would have been soaked with tears.
Veronica's fingers wiggled inside, touching organs and rib bone. Her eyes gazed at nothing. In this trance, and oblivious to the torture wracking my poor undead body, she continued to probe.
My kundalini noir stiffened into near rigor mortis.
Veronica angled the knife and slid it into my side.
Her movements escalated the pain. I doubt I could've been in more agony had she ripped the flesh from my bones.
Her hands withdrew, stained with my blood. Pinched between her left thumb and index finger was the smoking clump of silver.
My kundalini noir relaxed. I spit out the undershirt and gasped. "Good job. Now clean the wound."
She uncapped the bottle and splashed hydrogen peroxide over the ripped flesh. The hole bubbled. I squeezed the towel until the pain eased.
"Now cover the wound."
Veronica tore open the sanitary napkin's package and centered the napkin over the hole. She unrolled lengths of tape and secured the napkin against my side.
The gobs of blood on my skin crumbled into tiny flakes. I could wash the towels and clean the floor with a whisk broom. Evidence from vampires was easy to dispose of.
Now to recuperate.
I told her to pull the curtains tight and close the door. Then I said, "Veronica, come lie next to me."
She crawled around me, my blood peeling from her hands. She unfolded her body parallel to mine.
"Loosen your blouse."
Veronica's fingers glided down the buttons of her blouse to her pants, revealing a lilac-colored bra. I only needed the top buttons unfastened, but the view refreshed me.
I rolled onto my belly and pulled myself against her. Her scalp smelled of that familiar apricot shampoo and her ever delicious perspiration.
Fatigue dulled the excitement. I wanted only to feed and rest. The points of my fangs dragged along her throat. I eased into position and bit.
Chapter Forty-Nine
MY SNORING WOKE me. I lay with my head resting on Veronica's belly. Her aura glowed tranquil and calm.
My muscles ached and my joints creaked as I sat up. My head felt numb. I smacked my lips. Her blood left a pleasing aftertaste.
My wound?
I peeled away the bandage. A mustache of dried blood clung to a scar that looked like a thumbprint pressed into my flesh. I traced my finger over the depression.
No pain, but I was still tired as hell.
Sunlight illuminated the curtains. I checked my watch. Time, 4:47 P.M. We had slept all day.
Moving stiffly, I stood and shuffled into the bathroom. I'm sure my face was a frightful mask. I got my bag, washed up, and applied makeup.
I put in my contacts and returned to Veronica. Her aura remained smooth. I carried Veronica to her bed. With a towel soaked in warm water, I cleaned the dried blood on her neck.
My fang wounds had had all night and day to heal, and even I couldn't find them. I buttoned her blouse.
Veronica would question the gaps in her memory. One moment we were outside, the next, she's in her bedroom and it's afternoon the next day. I didn't know what I could tell her. Relationships with women were difficult enough; try factoring in being undead.
I waited in her kitchen.
The door to Veronica's bedroom creaked. She entered the kitchen, a robe cinched tight over her clothes. Her hair hung in moplike strands. She clutched the lapels of her robe together. She blinked at me. "Last I remember you were… shot."
I patted my side. "Much better today."
"But how?" Her gaze swung around the room, as if searching for something to explain her confusion. Her eyes fixed back on me.
This was the problem when feeding from a "friend." Fang a stranger and you could leave them anywhere and let them figure it out. But someone you're close to?
"Last I remember, I was walking you to the stairs…" Veronica's head turned to the bedroom. "And I woke up in there."
"Nothing happened." Nothing sexual, anyway. I stepped toward her.
Veronica raised her free hand. "Stop. Something did happen. What?"
The question burned me like another silver bullet. I had no answer. I had been stupid for thinking I could keep fooling Veronica.
What could I say? Tell her the truth, and then what? I faced this dilemma the first time I was here and now I had to resolve it. If I revealed myself as a vampire I could either convert Veronica into one of the undead or offer her the chance to be a chalice. If she refused, I had to kill her.
But there was another way.
I could leave.
"I'm sorry, Veronica." I raised my hand to my eyes.
She tightened her grip on the lapel of her robe. "What are you doing?"
I removed my contacts and zapped Veronica. Her aura blushed with a crimson luminescence.
I had many powers as a supernatural. What I couldn't do was love Veronica as a man loves a woman. A great sadness poured into me, and I felt the curse of being a vampire.
I carried Veronica back to her bed. She would awaken with the same questions about the missing time. Only I wouldn't be here to answer them. I collected my belongings and left.
I had no heart and no soul. Then why did leaving Veronica hurt so much?
I rode my motorcycle to Sunset Boulevard. What if something happened to Veronica? Cragnow, Venin, and Paxton were still out there looking for me. If anything bad happened to Veronica, I had myself to blame.
I stopped in an Internet café and checked my email. No news from my Internet hacker.
I thought about another woman in my u
ndead life. Lara Phillips. Why would she meet with Cragnow? She should hate him for trying to ruin Journey.
I wrote names on a scrap of paper and drew circles around them. Cragnow, Venin, and Paxton in the circle of the nidus. Venin, Niphe, and Journey in the circle of the church. Katz, Roxy, and Cragnow in the porn circle. Lara and Roxy in the sister circle. Katz and Roxy in the dead circle.
A circle around Cragnow, Journey, and Lara. Circle labeled what?
I ordered coffee that I didn't drink. I kept thinking about circles when my email Web site refreshed itself. A message waited from my hacker. The email contained two columns, one listing Katz Meow's cell phone calls, and the other Roxy Bronze's. On each column the last call was from the same number.
I didn't know when Katz had been murdered, but the call came in at 3:41 P.M. on the day she went missing.
The call to Roxy's number came at 1:02 AM., about the time of her death.
Who had called? I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and dialed the number.
The voice on the message recording belonged to Lara Phillips.
Chapter Fifty
I STARED AT the number on my cell phone and compared it to the numbers listed in the email.
I compared the numbers again. And again. The last calls to Katz and Roxy before they were killed had come from Lara Phillips.
Was each call a warning? Or a setup?
I looked back to the circles I had drawn around the names. What was the relationship between Lara and Katz? Lara knew Katz, but did Katz know Lara? Had she known Lara was Roxy's sister? If yes, wouldn't Katz have mentioned that to me?
Katz couldn't tell me. She was dead. But Lara could.
I deleted the email, logged off, and went into the night.
I took a detour on my way to Lara's house. I cruised by Veronica's apartment. The light shone through her front windows.
I slowed the motorcycle and throttled back to coast quietly down the street.
I caught a whiff of something familiar. Meaty. Spicy. Rancid.
Rat chorizo.
X-Rated Blood Suckers Page 25