him, unless it went directly through his heart. But it’d certainly hurt like hell. Other vampires stood in a semicircle, watching with keen eyes. None of the vamps would mess with Axel. He liked to think it was because he was so tough, but the real reason was that they didn’t want to get banned from Creature Comforts.
“Don’t stake him, Axel,” I called. “Not yet.” My words made the vampire open his eyes and regard me over the director’s neck. His throat pulsed as he swallowed. “Hold still,” I said to the director, “or you’re gonna lose a big chunk of your neck.” He stopped struggling. Either my advice scared him or he was losing strength.
The vampire watched me, his eyes glowing yellow, as I came up to him, real close. I didn’t know this vamp —some out-of-towner. The New Combat Zone attracted PA tourists as well as human ones. I placed my finger and thumb behind his ears and squeezed. It was almost like picking up a kitten by the scruff of its neck. If you’re strong enough, sometimes this move can make a vampire retract his fangs. But this vamp was enjoying his feed too much for that.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Here’s plan A: You let go of this norm’s neck willingly. If that doesn’t happen, we move on to plan B. You wouldn’t like plan B. It involves a silver stake and a very pissed-off bartender.”
I squeezed a little harder. The vampire gasped—a good sign; he’d broken suction. But his fangs still pierced the director’s flesh.
“Axel?” I said. “You ready?”
“Ready.” Axel lifted the stake.
“Mmph, mmph! All right!” The vampire retracted his fangs and pulled back from the director, who collapsed on the floor. I checked his neck wound. Two small punctures, but no tearing. He’d have one hell of a hickey in the morning, but he’d be okay. The zombie, finally pulled off by Kane, hadn’t done much more than fray the hem of the director’s jeans. All told, he was in damn good shape for someone who’d survived a double-monster attack. The cameraman, finally putting down his camera, bent over his boss.
“Bar’s closed,” Axel said. “Everybody out. And you—” He looked at the out-of-town vampire, whose lips were crimson with the director’s blood. “You’d better get out of here now, before the cops arrive. It’d be a really smart idea if you left town within, oh, the next five minutes or so.”
It was the longest speech I’d ever heard Axel make. He must’ve been really angry.
Silently, the vampires dispersed. Juliet brushed my arm. “I’ll see you at home,” she said.
The director had regained consciousness. He sat up woozily, then leaned back against the cameraman. “Cut,” he croaked. Then he smiled as the vampire-saliva high hit.
“Don’t worry, I got the whole thing,” the cameraman said. “Every minute.”
“Hold on,” said Kane. He’d settled the zombies back at the bar and given them a couple of cases of potato chips to munch on. They crunched away happily. “I demand that you give me the tape.”
The drugged-out director squinted at him. “Huh?”
The werewolf cameraman stepped in between them. “No way. I’m selling that tape to the highest bidder. You want to make an offer, fine. You can bid against all the news outlets—and Baldwin’s campaign.”
Kane grabbed the camera, but the cameraman had already removed the tape. He patted his jacket. “Want to fight me for it?” he snarled.
Kane’s hackles rose, and for a minute I thought he’d go for it. Then Axel spoke up. “No werewolf brawls in here tonight. Take it outside if you’re gonna settle things that way.”
“Don’t worry, Axel.” I stepped in front of Kane and smoothed his lapel. Trust me to get between two snarling werewolves. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.”
“Bigger things?” Kane said. “If Baldwin’s camp gets its hands on that tape, it’ll send PA rights back to the Stone Age.” He turned to the director, who was back on his feet and looking blissful, like he could hear choirs of angels singing “Happy Birthday” to him. “I paid both of you to be here tonight,” Kane said. “That tape is legally mine. In fact, I’m going to find a judge and slap an injunction on you so fast—”
“What?” said the werewolf. “My head will spin? Somehow, after what happened tonight, that doesn’t worry me too much. Come on, Joe, let’s get out of here.” He put an arm around the director and helped him across the room.
When they reached the door, the cameraman turned back. “See you on TV.” He sneered and was gone.
What a night. I’d been threatened by a Hellion, questioned by a cop (a hot cop, admittedly), and caught in the middle of a monster-human bar fight. And by tomorrow morning, my blood-smeared face would be all over TV.
13
IT WAS ALMOST THREE IN THE MORNING WHEN KANE AND I walked together along Washington Street in the New Combat Zone. The night was cold and clear. Stars shone overhead, and the waxing moon lit our way. He should’ve had his arm around me, or at least been holding my hand. Instead, we each held hands with a zombie.
Kane led the male, and I towed the female along behind me. Both zombies were exhausted, wiped out by the evening’s excitement. Human blood had that effect on zombies: frenzied bloodlust, followed by extreme torpor. That’s why you didn’t find a whole lot of zombie orderlies in hospital emergency rooms. Left alone, our zombies would’ve sunk down in the street and stayed there until the sun started eating into their skin, so it was up to us to get them home. But guiding this zombie through the streets was about as easy as dragging a refrigerator. I tugged, she took a half-step, then fell forward against me.
“What were you thinking, anyway,” I asked irritably, “putting zombies in a television commercial?”
Kane, trying to lift his zombie in a fireman’s hold, scowled at me. “Don’t call them zombies; it’s insulting. They’re previously deceased humans.” He gave up trying to carry his “previously deceased human” and resumed half-dragging, half-leading the guy. “Previously deceased” was right. A corpse couldn’t be any stiffer than a zonked-out zombie.
“Can the politically correct labels, Counselor,” I said. “I’m not in the mood to have my language policed.”
“They deserve our respect, just like anyone else,” he said, manhandling his zombie off the curb. “Which term do
For a moment, the Goon Squad’s Norden flashed across my mind, the way he’d sneered, calling me just that: a freak. Okay, so it wasn’t my favorite memory. Maybe Kane had a point. Not that I was going to admit it.
“You’re avoiding my question, Kane. Why did you bring these . . . um . . . these two into Creature Comforts?”
“I wanted to show that PAs—not just the previously deceased, but
He dropped his head, his silver hair touched by the moonlight. He looked so despondent that I softened a little. I squeezed his shoulder with my free hand. “That human kid started it. Everything was going fine before he tried to jump you.” And before the monsters gave the concept of bloodlust a whole new meaning. But I didn’t say that part.
Kane’s shoulder rose and fell under my hand in a shrug. “Yeah, but do you think the media’s going to show that? Tomorrow morning, every news channel, every newspaper, every Web site and blog will feature one image: that director with a vampire sucking on his neck and a zombie chomping his ankle.” The fact that Kane had used the word
Well, that werewolf cameraman had been willing to fight Kane for the tape, and probably to the death, knowing werewolves. But I didn’t say that, either. After all, when the opportunity to make a quick buck arises, PAs and norms come out even in the greed stakes.
Up ahead, on the other side of the street, two figures appeared at the corner. They were too far away for me to make out their features, but something about them made me think of my earlier visitors—the ones who’d broken down my door. “Goon Squad!” I hissed in a loud whisper, shoving my zombie sideways into the shadows of a recessed doorway.
The zombie tripped first, going over like a bowling pin. I sprawled on top of her. Underneath us, something groaned and cursed, sounding more sleepy and annoyed than hurt. We’d stumbled over a vampire junkie sleeping it off.
A silhouette loomed over us, features indistinguishable with the moonlight behind. I braced myself, expecting
