Obsidian Butterfly

"It's not anyone's cup of tea," Bernardo said. "You just get used to it."

"You don't get used to shit like that."

"Like you don't get used to cutting out people's hearts? You did that like an old pro."

I shrugged, "Practice makes perfect."

"This is the street," Bernardo said.

The street had that just past dawn silence. The cars still sat unmoved in their driveways, but there were people standing in their driveways peering out at the marked police car that was sitting in front of Dallas's house. One of the doors was open, filling the quiet neighborhood with the radio squawk. The lights rotated pale and underdone like a child's toy in the heavy morning light.

Professor Dallas's house was a small ranch with those faux adobe walls that everyone was so fond of here. In the earlier morning light it looked almost golden, as if it glowed. Bernardo parked by the road.

"Well?" I asked.

"I'm with you." But before we could draw guns, the two uniforms came out of the house with Dallas in a robe. We sat there staring at her, smiling at the policemen while they apologized for bothering her. She looked up, noticed us. She looked puzzled but waved at us.

"Anita, look at the mailbox," Bernardo said.

Our car was almost right in front of the mailbox. There was a white envelope pi

Edward's car was tall enough to hide it from the neighbors. "Can you help me hide it from the cops?"

"My pleasure."

I got out of the car, leaving the Browning on the seat because I couldn't figure out a way to put it down my pants without the police noticing me doing it, and I didn't have any ID on me. I might be able to fake being a Fed, but then again maybe not. And it's it a federal offense to impersonate a federal agent. Bernardo and I had assaulted a police officer. We didn't need any more charges.

Bernardo pulled the knife out, making the movement look natural. The envelope dropped into my hand, and I walked up to the house hitting my thigh with the envelope, as if I'd carried it from the car.

Neither of the cops yelled, "Halt, thief!" so I kept moving. I didn't know what Bernardo had done with the knife. It had just vanished. "Hi, Dallas, what's up?"

"Someone made a prank phone call about screams coming from my house."

"Who'd do such a dastardly thing?" Bernardo asked.

I frowned at him.

He smiled at me, pleased with himself.

"Did you get a call, too?" she asked.

"I got it," Bernardo said. "They called Edward's cell phone, said you were in danger."

The uniform cops made the same mistake that the hospital staff had made. They introduced themselves by rank and name, and shook hands. I said, "Anita Blake. This is Bernardo Spotted-Horse."

"He's not a … " the policeman looked uncomfortable as soon as he started to say it.

"No, I'm not a federal agent," Bernardo said. There was bitterness in his voice.

"It's the hair," I said. "They've never seen a male agent with long hair."

"Sure, it was the hair."

The uniforms went off, leaving us at Dallas' doorstep in the morning light with her curious neighbors coming out in drips and drabs to see what was happening at an hour past dawn on the quiet street.

"Would you like to come inside? I already started coffee."

"Sure."

Bernardo looked at me, but followed me in.

The kitchen was small, square, and neat like one that wasn't used much. But it was cheerful in a blaze of morning sunlight. "What's really going on, Anita?"

I sat down at her table and opened the envelope with my name on it. It was written in block letters.

ANITA,

I KNEW THAT MOMENT IN THE CAVE THAT YOU WOULD THINK AS I DID. I FELT THAT YOU WOULD KNOW WHERE I WOULD GO TO HUNT. NOW HERE YOU ARE. I AM NEARBY.

That made me look up. "He says he's nearby."

Bernardo drew his gun. He stood and began to watch the windows.

I went back to the note.

I HAVE WATCHED YOU COME TO THE GOOD PROFESSOR'S RESCUE. I WATCHED YOU TAKE THE ENVELOPE, AND I KNOW YOU ARE READING IT NOW. I BELITTLED EDWARD WHEN HE SPOKE OF SOUL MATES. I OWE HIM AN APOLOGY. WHEN I SAW YOU TAKE HIS HEART, SO PRACTICED, I KNEW THAT YOU WERE AS I AM. HOW MANY HAVE YOU KILLED? HOW MANY HEARTS HAVE YOU RIPPED OUT? HOW MANY HEADS HAVE YOU TAKEN? YOU'LL ARGUE WITH YOURSELF THAT YOU ARE NOT AS I AM. MAYBE YOU DON'T TAKE TROPHIES, BUT YOU STILL LIVE FOR THE KILL, ANITA. YOU WOULD WITHER AND DIE WITHOUT THE VIOLENCE. WHAT TRICK OF FATE HAS MADE YOU PHYSICALLY THE WOMAN I KILL OVER AND OVER AGAIN, AND YET PUT INSIDE THAT TINY BODY THE OTHER HALF OF MY SOUL? ARE MOST OF THE VAMPIRES YOU KILL MEN? DO YOU HAVE YOUR VICTIM PREFERENCE, ANITA?

I WOULD LOVE TO HUNT WITH YOU AT MY SIDE. I WOULD HUNT YOUR VICTIMS BECAUSE I KNOW YOU WILL NOT HUNT MINE. BUT WE WOULD STILL KILL TOGETHER AND CUT THE BODIES UP, AND THAT WOULD BE MORE THAN I EVER DREAMED OF SHARING WITH A WOMAN.

The note wasn't signed. Big surprise there, since I might have given it to the police.

"You look pale," Dallas said.

"What does the note say?" Bernardo asked.

I handed it to him. "I don't think he's out there to kill us or even her."

"Who are you talking about?" she asked.

I told her, and she laughed at me. "You know I'm a vampire executioner."

"Yes."

"I killed another vamp last night. One I think that Itzpapalotl wanted me to kill. She helped me do it. That's the heart that I took."

Bernardo read faster than I would have thought, "Jesus, Anita, Olaf has a crush on you."

"A crush," I said, "a crush. God, there's got to be another word for it."

Dallas asked, "Can I read it?"

"I think you should because he didn't wait just to catch a glimpse of me. He waited because if I hadn't shown up, he'd have come in here and butchered you."

She tried to laugh it off, but there must have been something in my face that choked the laughter and made her reach a shaking hand out for the letter. She read it and said, "Who is this?"

"Olaf," I said.

"But he was so nice."

Bernardo made a harsh sound.

"Trust me on this, Dallas. Olaf is not nice."

She looked from one to the other of us. "You're not kidding, are you?"

"He's a serial killer. I just don't think he's ever killed in this country."

"You should turn him in to the police," she said.

"I don't have any proof of what he's done."

"Besides," Bernardo said, "what if he was one of the vamps?"

"What do you mean?" Dallas asked.

"He means wouldn't you protect one of the vamps from the police because you'd know that the vamps would take care of it," I said.

"Well, yes, I guess."

"And we'll take care of this," Bernardo said.

She looked from one to the other of us, and for the first time she looked afraid.

"Will he be back?"

"For you, I don't think so," Bernardo said. He looked at me. "But I bet he'll find a reason to come to St. Louis."

I'd have liked to say he was wrong, but the cold tight feeling in my stomach agreed with Bernardo. I'd be seeing Olaf again. I just had to decide what I'd do when I met him. He hadn't done anything wrong on this trip. Not only couldn't I prove he was a serial killer, he hadn't done anything worse than I'd done this time round. Who was I to throw stones? Yet, yet, I hoped he stayed away from me. For more reasons than I wanted to admit, maybe. Maybe for the same reasons that I'd kill him if he came. Because maybe there was some truth to what he wrote. I had over fifty kills. What really separated me from people like Olaf? Motive, method? If those were the only differences, then Olaf was right, and I couldn't let him be right. I just could not accept that. Growing up to be Edward was a problem. Growing up to be Olaf was a nightmare.