Bloody Bones

"You can't know that."

I stared at him. "I do know that, and so do you. If we stake her before she can rise from the dead, it's murder."

"Not according to the law."

"I am not going to take out the head and heart of a seventeen-year-old girl just because her parents don't like the lifestyle she's chosen."

"She's dead, Miss Blake."

"It's Ms. Blake, and I know she's dead. I know what she'll become. Probably better than you do."

"Then you understand why they want it done."

I looked at him. I did understand. There was a time when I could have done it and felt good about it. Felt like I was helping the family, freeing her soul. Now, I just wasn't sure anymore.

"Let her parents think about it for twenty-four hours. Trust me on this. They're horrified right now, and grief-stricken; are they really in a position to decide what happens to her?"

"They're her parents."

"Yeah, and two days from now would they rather have her on her feet, talking to them, or dead in a box?"

"She'll be a monster," he said.

"Maybe, probably, but I think we should hold off for just a little while until they've had some time. I think the immediate problem is the blood-sucker that did this."

"I agree, we find him and kill him."

"We can't kill him without a court order of execution," I said.

"I know the local judge. I can get you a court order."

"I bet you can."

"What's the matter with you? Don't you want to kill him?"

I looked at the girl. If he'd really wanted her to rise as a vampire, he'd have taken the body with him. He'd have hidden her until she rose to keep her safe from people like me. If he cared for her. "Yeah, I'll kill him for you."

"Alright, what can we do?"

"Well, first, the killing took place just after dark, so his daytime resting place had to be very near here. Are there any old houses, caves, some place where you could hide a coffin?"

"There's an old homestead about a mile from here, and I know there's a cave down along the stream. I used to go there when I was little. We all did."

"Here's the deal, Sheriff. If we go out into the dark after him now, he'll probably kill some of us. But if we don't try it tonight, he'll move his coffin. We might not find him again."

"We'll look for him tonight. Now."

"How long have you and your wife been married?" I asked.

"Five years; why?"

"You love her?"

"Yes, we were high school sweethearts. What kind of question is that?"

"If you go out after the vampire, you may never see her again. If you've never hunted one out there at night in its own territory, you don't know what we're up against, and nothing I can tell you will prepare you for it. But think about never seeing Beth again. Never holding her hand. Never hearing her voice. We can go out in the morning. The vampire may not move its coffin tonight, or it might move from the cave to the homestead, or vice versa. We might catch it tomorrow without risking anybody's life."

"Do you think it won't move tonight?"

I took a deep breath and wanted to lie. God knows I wanted to lie. "No, I think it'll leave the immediate area tonight. That's probably why he came just after full dark. It gives him all night to run."

"Then we go after him."

I nodded. "Okay, but we have to have some ground rules here. I'm in charge. I've done this before and I'm still alive; that makes me an expert. If you do everything I say, maybe, just maybe, we can all live until morning."

"Except for the vampire," St. John said.

"Yeah, sure." It had been a long time since I had gone up against a vampire at night in the open. My vampire kit was at home in my closet. It was illegal to carry it with me without a specific court order of execution. I had the cross I was wearing, the two handguns, the two knives, and that was it. No holy water, no extra crosses, no shotgun. Hell, no stake and mallet.

"Do you have silver bullets?"

"I can get some."

"Do it, and find me a shotgun and silver ammo for that too. Is there a Catholic or Episcopalian church around here?"

"Of course," he said.

"We need some holy water and holy wafer, the host."

"I know you can throw the holy water on the vampire, but I didn't know you could throw the host."

I had to smile. "They aren't like little holy grenades. I want the host to give to the Quinlans so they can put one at every windowsill, every doorsill."

"You think it'll come for them?"

"No, but the girl invited it in, only she can revoke the invitation, and she's dead. Until we get the bastard, better safe than sorry."

He hesitated, then nodded. "I'll go to the church. I'll see what I can do." He went for the door.

"And, Sheriff?"

He stopped and turned to me.

"I want that court order in my hands before we leave. I'm not going to be up on murder charges."

He nodded, sort of nervously, head bobbing like one of those dogs you see in the backs of cars. "You'll have it, Ms. Blake." He left, closing the door behind him.

I was left alone with the dead girl. She lay there pale and unmoving, growing colder, deader. If her parents had their way, it would be permanent. And it would be my job to make it happen. There were schoolbooks scattered beside the bed, as if she had been studying in bed before he came. I pushed one of the book covers closed with my toe, careful not to rearrange it. Calculus. She'd been studying calculus before she put on her makeup and black teddy. Shit.

12

While we waited for the court order, I talked to the family. Not my favorite thing to do, but necessary. This hadn't been a random attack, which meant they probably knew the vampire, or had known him before he died.

The living room continued the pastel theme, blue predominating. Beth St. John had made coffee. She'd shanghaied Larry into carrying up a tray. I guess she didn't want to see the body again. Couldn't say I blamed her. I'd seen bloodier murder scenes, a lot bloodier, but each death has its own peculiar poignancy. There was something very piteous about Ellie Quinlan stretched across her pink candy sheets, and I hadn't known her. Beth St. John had. Made it hard.

The family sat huddled on the white sofa. The man was broad, not fat, but square like a linebacker. He had short black hair that was going nicely grey at the sideburns. Very distinguished. His complexion was ruddy, not ta

His arm was around his wife's shoulders. She leaned into him crying softly, eyes closed as if that would make it better. Her eye makeup had smeared in long, multicolored streaks like an oil slick down her cheeks. She had thick black hair done in some short, complicated style that looked too stiff to touch. She wore a long-sleeved, button-down blouse with a delicate flower pattern on it, pink predominating. Her slacks were a matching pink. Her feet were bare except for dark hose. A delicate gold cross and wedding rings were her only jewelry.

The boy was only about my height and slender as a willow. He hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, and it made him look younger than he was. His face had that soft, perfect skin that said he'd never had a pimple and shaving was a distant dream. If the girl was seventeen, he had to be at least fifteen, maybe sixteen. He could have passed for twelve. A perfect victim, except for his eyes and the way he held himself. Even in the midst of grief with the lines of tears drying on his face, he looked sure of himself, self-possessed. His eyes held a quick intelligence and a rage that would hold the bullies at bay.