—THE STATEMENT OFALVAGRIEST
21.
Caxton lay back in her hospital bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to get comfortable. She’d been found at dawn crawling around in the military park. The park rangers had at first thought she was blasted on drugs, and had rushed her to Gettysburg’s very modern hospital. The doctors had tested her and found no drugs at all in her system, but they still wanted her to rest. Fat chance. “I thought it was the vampire. Oh, God —I nearly killed Clara because I thought she was the vampire!”
“Yes.” Vesta Polder placed her hands on Caxton’s cheeks. The older woman wore dozens of plain gold rings on her fingers and the metal was cool and welcome against Laura’s burning skin. She left her hands there while she studied Laura’s eyes. “That’s true. But there’s no need to be so dramatic about it.”
Laura licked her dry lips. She felt feverish and drained, like she was coming down from a bad case of the flu. “I could have killed her!”
Vesta Polder shrugged and took her hands away. “You didn’t, though, and life is far too short for us to worry about the evil we
Caxton swallowed. Her throat was thick and scratchy, as if she’d been shouting for hours. “I’ll try,” she promised. She felt like she’d been scolded by an elementary schoolteacher. “Is she okay, though?”
“She’ll be fine. I gave her some tea to soothe her hurt.” Vesta Polder caught Caxton’s look of alarm and shook her head. “Just plain old herbal tea. Much more effective than any potion for what ails her. She’s frightened, of course, but I’ve already explained things to her and she isn’t angry with you. This one,” she said, looking down her sharp nose, “is worth keeping. She’s smart enough and she’s grounded in reality.”
Caxton nodded. A lot of people wouldn’t have described Clara that way, but Vesta saw people the way they truly were, not how they presented themselves. “Am I okay?” she asked.
Vesta Polder straightened up until she loomed over the hospital bed. “You could use a long rest. You should get away from this town, get as far away as possible. I can’t say I like this place myself. Too many vibrations, good and bad. The ether here is sorely clouded. I’ll be heading home now to where I can think properly. You should do the same.” She reached into a pocket of her dress and drew something out. She opened her hand and the spiral pendant tumbled out, dangling on its torn ribbon. “The police found this near where they picked you up. Try to hold on to it better from now on, hmm?”
Caxton promised. She took the amulet gladly and held it tight in her hand. It felt cool like Vesta Polder’s rings, and even more reassuring. The older woman patted her arm and left. As soon as the door of Caxton’s room was open her next visitor entered. Clara sat down heavily in a chair next to the bed and smiled broadly at Caxton without saying a word. She had some red bruises on her throat that Caxton couldn’t stand to look at.
“You scared me, you!” Clara said. “Stop doing that! When I got the call that they’d picked you up I was sure that the vampire’d gotten you. They told me it got that other guy, the local cop.” Clara wore a black T-shirt and jeans—she must have taken the day off. “His family must be so upset right now but I just feel relieved. Does that make me a terrible person? Don’t answer that. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
Caxton opened her mouth to speak, but only a raw creaking sound came out.
Clara’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “Listen, the dogs are fine. I watered and fed them just like you showed me. Fifi doesn’t like me, I think, but that’s just got to mean she doesn’t know me yet, right?
Everybody likes me once they get to know me.”
Laura closed her mouth and nodded against her pillow.
“The doctors say you can go home whenever you’re ready. I put a new quilt on our bed—it was really cold last night, especially when I was all alone—and I saw a place on my way down here selling Macoun apples. Those are my favorite! I thought I’d make you a pie. Would you like that? I’ve never made one before, but…but…”
Clara was staring at her face. Something wet dribbled across the side of Caxton’s mouth. She reached up and found that she was weeping copiously. She tried to apologize, but a wordless sob came out instead.
“Oh, Laura,” Clara said, softly. She climbed out of her chair and into the bed, shoving Laura to the side.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” She pressed her small body against Caxton’s side, her chest. Her perfect soft mouth touched Caxton’s greasy forehead.
She was rocking back and forth slowly, her arms wrapped around Caxton’s limp body, when the door opened again.
“Ahem,” Arkeley said.
Caxton didn’t move. Clara sat up just enough to tell him to go away.
The old crippled Fed didn’t obey her. Instead he came farther into the room to stand at the foot of the bed.
“Get out!” Clara said, louder this time. There was bad blood between her and Arkeley—she’d even threatened to hit him, once, though she’d backed down when she realized it would have cost her her job just to punch a U.S. Marshal.
Caxton closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to see Arkeley. At the very least, though, she owed him an apology. She swallowed heavily and shifted herself upright in the bed.
“My girlfriend and I,” Clara said, “are kind of busy at the moment.”
Arkeley’s face contorted gruesomely, his scars bunching up and turning white. His eyes were shining.
Was he smiling? It looked like it hurt him to do so. “Officer Hsu, why don’t you go wait out in the hall?”
he asked.
“Why don’t you sit and spin?” Clara asked, throwing him the finger.
His smile didn’t shift.
Caxton cleared her throat noisily. The two of them looked at her as if waiting for her to settle the differences between them. She didn’t think she could do that, but at least she could try to take charge of the situation.
“You were right and I was wrong,” she said, finally, looking into Arkeley’s eyes. They didn’t change; he hadn’t come to gloat. “There was, in fact, a vampire in that last coffin. An active one.”
“Yes. I’ve read the report filed by the survivor of last night’s attack.” He looked her up and down as if searching her for wounds. “The other survivor. His prose style was a little too emotional for proper police work, but I got the gist.”
“How are you going to proceed?” she asked.
“Who? Me?” Arkeley’s face went wide with surprise. It again made all his scars turn white. “I can’t fight this vampire.”
“Why not?”
The old man grimaced and looked away from her. “Are you really going to make me say it? I’m a cripple.” His shoulders tensed. How much did it hurt him to admit his weakness, she wondered? How much had it humiliated him when he’d asked her to tie his tie for him? “My body doesn’t work well enough anymore. I can advise you. That’s all. This case is yours.”
Caxton’s mouth opened as if she were about to laugh. But she knew he was quite serious. “I can’t,” she tried.
“If you don’t,” he said, slowly, deliberately, “someone else will have to take your place. Most likely a local cop who has never dealt with a worse villain than a drunk driver. You know exactly what will happen to said cop. He’ll die. He won’t know what he’s up against, he will underestimate the vampire, and he’ll be ripped to shreds the first time he draws down on this monster.”
Caxton thought of a hundred arguments against what Arkeley was saying. There was only one problem with them: He was right. She’d had horrible, perfect proof of that the night before. Arkeley was right—this was going to be her case.
