Guilty Pleasures

“I assure you, Anita, I am quite alone.”

“That I believe. Why didn’t you call out to me?”

“I wanted to see if you were still good. I could have blown you away when you hesitated in front of the door, with your keys jingling so nicely.”

I shut the door behind me and locked it, though truthfully with Edward inside I might have been safer locking myself out rather than in. He was not an imposing man, not frightening, if you didn’t know him. He was five-eight, slender, blond, blue-eyed, charming. But if I was The Executioner, he was Death itself. He was the person I had seen use a flamethrower.

I had worked with him before, and heaven knows you felt safe with him. He carried more firepower than Rambo, but he was a little too careless of i

“I’ve been up all bloody night, Edward. I’m not in the mood for your games.”

“How hurt are you?”

I shrugged and winced. “The hands are sore, bruises mostly. I’m all right.”

“Your night secretary said you were out at a bachelorette party.” He gri

“I ran into a vampire you might know.”

He raised his yellow eyebrows and made a silent “Oh” with his lips.

“Remember the house you nearly roasted down around us?”

“About two years ago. We killed six vampires, and two human servants.”

I walked past him and flopped onto the couch. “We missed one.”

“No, we didn’t.” His voice was very precise. Edward at his most dangerous.

I looked at the carefully cut back of his head. “Trust me on this one, Edward. He damn near killed me tonight.” Which was a partial truth, also known as a lie. If the vampires didn’t want me to tell the police, they certainly didn’t want Death to know. Edward was a whole lot more dangerous to them than the police.

“What one?”

“The one who nearly tore me to pieces. He calls himself Valentine. He’s still wearing the acid scars I gave him.”

“Holy Water?”

“Yeah.”

Edward came to sit beside me on the couch. He kept to one end, a careful distance. “Tell me.” His eyes were intense on my face.

I looked away. “There isn’t much left to tell.”

“You’re lying, Anita. Why?”

I stared at him, anger coming in a rush. I hate to be caught in a lie. “There have been some vampires murdered down along the river. How long have you been in town, Edward?”

He smiled then, though at what I wasn’t sure. “Not long. I heard a rumor that you got to meet the city’s head vampire tonight.”

I couldn’t stop it. My mouth fell open; the surprise was too much to hide. “How the hell do you know that?”

He gave a graceful shrug. “I have my sources.”

“No vampire would talk to you, not willingly.”

Again that shrug that said everything and nothing at all.

“What have you done tonight, Edward?”

“What have you done tonight, Anita?”

Touchй, Mexican standoff, whatever. “Why have you come to me then? What do you want?”

“I want the location of the master vampire. The daytime resting place.”

I had recovered enough so that my face was bland, no surprise here. “How would I know that?”

“Do you know?”

“No.” I stood up. “I’m tired, and I want to go to bed. If there’s nothing else?”

He stood, too, still smiling, like he knew I had lied. “I’ll be in touch. If you do happen to run across the information I need…” He let the sentence trail off and started for the door.

“Edward.”

He half-turned to me.

“Do you have a sawed-off shotgun?”

His eyebrows went up again. “I could get one for you.”

“I’d pay.”

“No, a gift.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“But you do know?”

“Edward…”

“How deep are you in, Anita?”

“Eye level and sinking fast.”

“I could help you.”

“I know.”

“Would helping you allow me to kill more vampires?”

“Maybe.”

He gri

“I enjoy hunting vampires. Let me in on it if you can.”

“I will.”

He paused with a hand on the doorknob. “I hope I have more luck with my other sources than I did with you.”

“What happens if you can’t find the location from someone else?”

“Why, I come back.”

“And?”

“And you will tell me what I want to know. Won’t you?” He was still gri

I swallowed, hard. “Give me a few days, Edward, and I might have your information.”

“Good. I’ll bring the shotgun later today. If you’re not home, I’ll leave it on the kitchen table.”

I didn’t ask how he’d get inside if I wasn’t home. He would only have smiled or laughed. Locks weren’t much of a deterrent to Edward. “Thank you. For the shotgun, I mean.”

“My pleasure, Anita. Until tomorrow.” He stepped out the door, and it closed behind him.

Great. Vampires, now Edward. The day was about fifteen minutes old. Not a very promising begi

I took one more thing to bed with me, a stuffed toy penguin named Sigmund. I don’t sleep with him often, just every once in a while after someone tries to kill me. Everyone has their weaknesses. Some people smoke. I collect stuffed penguins. If you won’t tell, I won’t.

Chapter 16

I stood in the huge stone room where Nikolaos had sat. Only the wooden chair remained, empty, alone. A coffin sat on the floor to one side. Torchlight gleamed off the polished wood. A breeze eased through the room. The torches wavered and threw huge black shadows on the walls. The shadows seemed to move independent of the light. The longer I looked at them, the more I was sure the shadows were too dark, too thick.

I could taste my heart in my throat. My pulse was hammering in my head. I couldn’t breathe. Then I realized I was hearing a second heartbeat, like an echo. “Jean-Claude?” The shadows cried, “Jean-Claude,” in high whining voices.

I knelt by the coffin and gripped the lid. It was all one piece, and raised on smooth oiled hinges. Blood poured down the sides of the coffin. The blood poured over my legs, splashed on my arms. I screamed and stood, covered in blood. It was still warm. “Jean-Claude!”

A pale hand raised out of the blood, spasmed, and collapsed against the side of the coffin. Jean-Claude’s face floated to the top. My hand was reaching out. His heart was fluttering in my head, but he was dead. He was dead! His hand was icy wax. His eyes flew open. The dead hand grabbed my wrist.

“No!” I tried to pull my hand free. I went down on my knees in the cooling blood and screamed, “Let me go!”

He sat up. He was covered in blood. The white shirt dripped with it, like a bloody rag.

“No,”

He pulled my arm closer to him, and pulled me with it. I braced one hand on the coffin. I would not go to him. I would not go! He bent over my arm, mouth wide, fangs reaching. His heart beat against the shadows like thunder. “Jean-Claude, no!”

He looked up at me, just before he struck. “I had no choice.” Blood began to drip down his face from his hair, until his face was a bloody mask. Fangs sank into my arm. I screamed, and woke sitting straight up in bed.