Vampire Uprising

“Sweet!” was all the guys said before stomping upstairs again.

Approaching the bar so he could look over and down at Paige, Wes asked, “What now, Hope?”

“Now you hold your girlfriend down so we can all have a taste.”

“You’ve got enough to feed on already.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but Evan’s right. You’ve been holding out on us. You need to be reminded that we share so that we may all feed. It’s just not fair for you to get your pick when poor Hector needs to scavenge in the dark.”

“Hector always scavenges in the dark,” Wes said with disdain.

“But not the rest of us,” Hope said. “Not anymore.”

Paige struggled to move but was held down. Even though Hector had let go of her ankle, he’d all but crushed it. In fact, the pain flooding from her injuries filled her like water coming in through multiple leaks. Hope’s palm was cool over her mouth. Her strength, unlike Hector’s wild display of force, lay just beneath her surface and asserted itself only when necessary.

A calm brush of her fingernails against Paige’s throat was all it took for Hope to assure her that she could rip it clean away from her spine if the mood struck her. “I doubt we have much time here,” she said. “Bring your girlfriend to me before I come for her myself. If that happens, I’ll snap off pieces of her for each of us to try.”

Whatever battle of wills was going on between Wes and Evan ended with those words. The pain had given Paige’s skin a cold, clammy sheen, and the noises in the room were swirling into a breathy roar. She felt a sense of relief when Tara was laid down beside her, simply because the other girl blocked her view of Amy’s empty body. Before she could feel too guilty about that, Paige was being held down by Evan’s slender, immovable hands. Hope grabbed one of the unconscious jocks, lifted his wrist to her mouth and bit into his veins. The younger guy convulsed but was soon drifting into a more permanent sleep.

The rest of the vampires descended upon Paige and the others behind the bar in a frenzy.

Chapter Thirteen

St. Louis Present day

Vampires. I saw them feed, watched them move, may have seen one of them fly, and I still can’t stop questioning it. I was told to write all of this down as a way to preserve what happened. I hate him for making me do this. I hate them for what they did. Right now, I just hate everyone. With the shit that’s in this world, it’s not like a little more hate will make a difference. Cole closed Paige’s journal and rubbed his eyes. He’d been staring at the scribbled words so intently, it seemed he might have permanently etched some of them into his brain. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“Not quite,” Rico said as he walked up to the couch where Cole was sitting. “But you may still be glad to see me. What do you think?”

Grateful for a reason to set the journal down, Cole marked his spot with a gas receipt from his pocket and set the hound dog notebook on top of the stack. Rico stood beside the couch, holding what looked like a heavy patchwork curtain in front of him. When it was turned around, the curtain became a long leather coat. Although the stitching was similar to the jacket he usually wore, the material was obviously different. It was another kind of leather, with a darker reddish hue. The more Cole studied it, the more the red faded below a sheen of black, as if the bulky garment had been dipped into a vat of flame and charred to perfection.

Cole stood up so the shoulders of the coat were even with his own, and fell at its lowest edge a few inches below his knees. Grommets were sewn into the collar, under the arms, and irregularly spaced along the back. Along the sides, much like Rico’s jacket, leather cords laced almost all the way down.

Turning it around so those could be seen better, the big man explained, “You can adjust the fit whenever you like. Makes it easier to conceal whatever you may be carrying underneath.”

“So this is mine?” Cole asked.

“From what you told me about Henry’s last request, it probably shouldn’t go to anyone else. I don’t know if clothes can be haunted, but I don’t wanna be the one to test the theory.”

Hearing Rico mention the Full Blood who’d lived inside the skin before it had been peeled off his bones, tanned, prepared, and eventually sewn into this coat, disconcerted Cole. The last request wasn’t a joke. Henry had indeed been the one to tell him where to find the leather in Lancroft’s basement. The Full Blood had to know what a Skinner would do with the material, but giving permission for it to happen reminded Cole of the talking space cow from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy that was wheeled around the tables of a restaurant so he could proudly declare how delectable his own steaks were going to be.

“Well,” Rico said expectantly. “Aren’t you gonna try it on?”

Prophet was sitting at a desk checking his e-mails on an outdated PC. Seeing the coat, he said, “If he don’t want it, I’ll take it. That should be good for at least starting some conversations with the right type of woman. Unless that’s real leather.”

“It sure is.”

“Then forget it,” Walter said as he got back to his in-box. “Too good a chance of pissing another type of woman off.”

Moving on as if Walter had never even opened his mouth, Rico said, “This is genuine Full Blood leather. Well, most of it. I had a few strips of some Half Breed to fill in the gaps, and the tops of the shoulders are mostly canvas, but the rest is all the good stuff. Do you know how hard it was to even get a stitch through it?” Gazing down at the coat as if the dead skin was attached to a living, breathing centerfold model, he said, “If I didn’t have access to some of that Blood Blade varnish to treat my tools, I wouldn’t have been able to put the damn thing together. It’s a beaut.”

“So this is stronger than Half Breed armor?” Cole asked.

“Paige uses the tactical harness way too much. That’s good for one, maybe two nights on the town. I tan my own leather, layer by layer, like what I used for my jacket. That’s formed from a Half Breed compound that can stop bullets and a whole mess of claws and fangs before needing to be repaired. This,” he said while helping Cole ease into the sleeves and setting the coat onto his shoulders, “puts all of that to shame. Anything a Full Blood can take, this can take.”

“Have you tested it?”

“We can test it right now. Got a rocket launcher?” Since Cole didn’t share his enthusiasm, Rico shrugged and added, “I shot it a few times. Didn’t leave a dent. Their fur gives them some protection, plus they can heal wounds faster than hell, but they’re also just tough. This hide should protect you a hell of a lot better than that tactical stuff Paige slaps together. It’s more fashionable too.”

From behind the computer, Prophet let out an unmistakably skeptical grunt.

“Where are the pockets?” Cole asked.

“Inside. That way you don’t lose your keys when you sit down. And if something does slip out, it’ll hit your leg so you know what happened. What’s that look about? There’s more to making these things than just lashing shit together!”

The coat was heavy on Cole’s shoulders, but conformed to him like the second skin it was. And the longer he kept it on, the less he felt it. Soon, the weight of the coat simply folded into that of his own body. “What about my spear?” he asked.

“There are loops on the inside, left and right,” Rico said. “Or you could just wear the harness upside down and draw the spear downward instead of up and over the shoulder.”

“You really thought this stuff through. I’m impressed.”

“Hey, a mind tends to wander when you’ve got so much sewing to do.” Sensing another comment from the computer desk, Rico jabbed a finger in that direction and said, “Save it, Walter.”

“Well all right then,” Cole said. “I got the long coat and spear. That only leaves one thing.” After grabbing the Mossberg Tactical Model 12-gauge shotgun propped against one wall, he held the bulky weapon in both hands, put on his best scowl and asked, “Where’s a mirror?”

“Just wait till you put this on,” Rico said as he handed over a pistol wrapped in a holster built to clip onto a belt