Guilty Pleasures

Edward was coming to get me tomorrow evening. I either gave him Nikolaos or he took a piece of my hide. Knowing Edward, it would be a painful piece to lose. Maybe I could just give him the vampire. Just tell him what he wanted to know. And he fails to kill her, and she comes and gets me. The one thing I wanted to avoid, almost more than anything else, was Nikolaos coming to get me.

I dried off, ran a brush through my hair, and had to get something to eat. I tried to tell myself I was too tired to eat. My stomach didn’t believe me.

It was four before I fell into bed. My cross was safely around my neck. The gun in its holster behind the head board. And, just for pure panic’s sake, I slipped a knife between the mattress and box springs. I’d never get to it in time to do any good, but…Well, you never know.

I dreamed about Jean-Claude again. He was sitting at a table eating blackberries.

“Vampires don’t eat solid food,” I said.

“Exactly.” He smiled and pushed the bowl of fruit towards me.

“I hate blackberries,” I said.

“They were always my favorite. I hadn’t tasted them in centuries.” His face looked wistful.

I picked up the bowl. It was cool, almost cold. The blackberries were floating in blood. The bowl fell from my hands, slow, spilling blood on the table, more than it could ever have held. Blood dripped down the tabletop, onto the floor.

Jean-Claude stared at me over the bleeding table. His words came like a warm wind. “Nikolaos will kill us both. We must strike first, ma petite.”

“What’s this ‘we’ crap?”

He cupped pale hands in the flowing blood and held them out to me, like a cup. Blood dripped out from between his fingers. “Drink. It will make you strong.”

I woke staring up into the darkness. “Damn you, Jean-Claude,” I whispered. “What have you done to me?”

There was no answer from the dark, empty room. Thank goodness for small favors. The clock read six-oh-three a.m. I rolled over and snuggled back into the covers. The whir of air conditioning couldn’t hide the sounds of one of my neighbors ru

I don’t know if it was Mozart or I was just too tired; whatever, I went back to sleep. If I dreamed, I didn’t remember it.

Chapter 32

The alarm shrieked through my sleep. It sounded like a car alarm, hideously loud. I smashed my palm on the buttons. Mercifully, it shut off. I blinked at the clock through half-slit eyes. Nine a.m. Damn. I had forgotten to unset the alarm. I had time to get dressed and make church. I did not want to get up. I did not want to go to church. Surely, God would forgive me just this once.

Of course, I did need all the help I could get right now. Maybe I’d even have a revelation, and everything would fall into place. Don’t laugh; it had happened before. Divine aid is not something I rely on, but every once in a while I think better at church.

When the world is full of vampires and bad guys, and a blessed cross may be all that stands between you and death, it puts church in a different light. So to speak.

I crawled out of bed, groaning. The phone rang. I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the answering machine to pick up. It did. “Anita, this is Sergeant Storr. We got another vampire murder.”

I picked up the receiver. “Hi, Dolph.”

“Good. Glad I caught you before church.”

“Is it another dead vampire?”

“Mmhuh.”

“Just like the others?” I asked.

“Seems to be. Need you to come down and take a look.”

I nodded, realized he couldn’t see it, and said, “Sure, when?”

“Right now.”

I sighed. So much for church. They couldn’t hold the body until noon, or after, just for little ol’ me. “Give me the location. Wait, let me get a pen that works.” I kept a notepad by the bed, but the pen had died without my knowing it. “Okay, shoot.”

The location was only about a block from Circus of the Damned. “That’s on the fringe of the District. None of the other murders have been that far away from the Riverfront.”

“True,” he said.

“What else is different about this one?”

“You’ll see it when you get here.”

Mr. Information. “Fine, I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“See you then.” The phone went dead.

“Well, good morning to you to, Dolph,” I said to the receiver. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person either.

My hands were healing. I had taken the Band-Aids off last night because they were covered with goat blood. The scrapes were scabbing nicely, so I didn’t bother with more Band-Aids.

One fat bandage covered the knife wound on my arm. I couldn’t hurt my left arm anymore. I had run out of room. The bite mark on my neck was begi

I put a red polo shirt on, tucked into jeans. My Nikes, and a shoulder harness for my gun, and I was all set. My shoulder rig has a little pouch for extra ammo. I put fresh clips in it. Twenty-six bullets. Watch out, bad guys. Truth was, most firefights were finished before the first eight shots were gone. But there was always a first time.

I carried a bright yellow windbreaker over my arm. I’d put it on just in case the gun started making people nervous. I would be working with the police. They’d have their guns out in plain sight. Why couldn’t I? Besides, I was tired of games. Let the bastards know I was armed and willing.

There are always too many people at a murder scene. Not the gawkers, the people who come to watch; you expect that. There is always something fascinating about someone else’s death. But the place always swarms with police, mostly detectives with a sprinkling of uniforms. So many cops for one little murder.

There was even a news van, with a huge satellite ante

Vampire murders, gee whiz, sensationalism at its best. You don’t even have to add anything to make it bizarre.

I kept the crowd between myself and the cameraman. A reporter with short blond hair and a stylish business suit was shoving a microphone in Dolph’s face. As long as I stayed near the gruesome remains, I was safe. They might get me on film, but they wouldn’t be able to show it on television. Good taste and all, you know.

I had a little plastic-enclosed card, complete with picture, that gave me access to police areas. I always felt like a junior G-man when I clipped it to my collar.

I was stopped at the yellow police ba

I stood, hands at my sides, trying to look harmless. I’m actually very good at that. I can look downright cute. The uniform raised the tape and let me through. I resisted an urge to say, “Atta boy.” I did say, “Thank you.”

The body lay near a lamp pole. Legs were spreadeagled. One arm twisted under the body, probably broken. The center of the back was missing, as if someone had shoved a hand through the body and just scooped out the center. The heart would be gone, just like all the others.

Detective Clive Perry was standing by the body. He was a tall, slender, black man, and most recent member of the spook squad. He always seemed so soft-spoken and pleasant. I could never imagine Perry doing anything rude enough to piss someone off, but you didn’t get assigned to the squad without a reason.