Vampire$

as if that part of Felix, that killing part, had been kept under the surface. Or in his dreams. Or something.

He rolled over on his side and scrunched his pillow better. He loved these pillows. Not the usual hard-as-a- rock hotel pillows. Made to last a lifetime and probably float until help came. “Ladies and gentlemen, should we experience turbulence and the hotel begin to sink, your flotation device is found under your bedspread…”

Ha. Yep, Felix was the right move. Silver bullets was the right move. And for the first time he was able to think back to the night of the massacre with something less than bone-grinding anguish, something more than impotent horror. Now it was something like: Gotcha, bastards. Gotcha! Right where I — And then he remembered for the first time… No, not the first time. He’d always remembered that. But he’d never thought of it, never really seen it, but it had happened, not once but three times. God! Three times it had done it. Three times! Three times!

The fiend roaring out of the motel and them jammed in the sheriff’s truck — Three times…

And hauling ass down the highway leaving David and Anthony and the priest and the slaughtered whores and it had come down the highway after them — Three times..

And it had caught them, actually caught them, and leapt onto the goddamned truck and then had done it again before it smashed through the back windshield and he’d blown that hole in its face.

Three times.

The vampire had called his name three times.

Jack Crow sat up in bed and his face was pale in the dark and he trembled and sweated and was as scared as he’d ever been in his life.

The vampire had known his name.

It had known him.

It knew me. Hell! It… It.

It knows me. It’s still alive!

His eyes darted to the curtained window.

Does it know where I am?

And he sat there, for hours, trying to think how such a thing could be and what it meant and… and.

And I don’t even have my crossbow. It’s at the house.

But even if I did, what difference would it make? It’s night.

It’s night and dark and you can’t kill them at night anyway.

At least, no one ever has.

But what if it comes for me right now? What if it comes for all of us? Cat! And Annabelle! Oh, God! Annabelle.

He started to get up and race into the other rooms and gather everyone up and they could run, get out of the hotel and — And what? And go where? With what plan? He lay back down in the bed and did an amazing thing, something only one of his breed could have done. He thought: I’m tired and drunk and I will not think about this now. Fuck it.

Then he rolled back over on his side and went to sleep.

And the next morning, right on cue, the phone finally rang.

Chapter 11

Cat was having a very weird day.

He sat there in the bishop’s office between Father Adam and Jack and decided their new client, who was a Mrs. Tammy Hughes and who was also the mayor of Cleburne, Texas, was just a little too cheerful for this tale she had to tell.

And that was pretty weird.

Then there was the tale itself, all about half-formed goons (they couldn’t be full vampires yet from her peeling-cheek description) stomping around the downtown Cleburne square chewing on people. The local police had tried to help, emptying magnum after magnum into those decomposing husks, and the goons had noticed it — roaring and spinning in pain — but had not stopped feeding. The only injuries were to the victims, who were dragged brutally away into an abandoned department store warehouse across from the county courthouse. The cops had cordoned the area off.

And that was pretty weird, too. Cat had never heard of ’em being that obvious before. And besides, where was the master vampire during all of this? It was almost as if they were trying to advertise.

Naw. That was too weird.

And then of course there was Jack, who looked like hell and acted worse. Cat thought he hadn’t slept the night before, and knew damn well something was bothering him, but when he tried to get to it, Jack told him to leave him alone.

And that was weirdest of all.

Cat glanced casually to his side and eyed Jack once more. He really looks awful sitting there with his neck crammed down in his shoulders and his throat pulsing hard. He looks like… I dunno. Like he’s…

Scared.

Holy shit! What’s going down here?

All Adam felt was admiration at Jack’s full and complete concentration. He didn’t read Jack’s fear, couldn’t have through the haze of his own.

Here I go at last, he thought.

Jack listened to the rest and then got them out of there and back to the suite at the Adolphus. He didn’t speak during the drive and didn’t answer questions. He glanced occasionally at the rest of the team while Cat relayed what had happened in the bishop’s office but he looked away when they looked back.

It was a trap. And he didn’t know how to tell them. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t…

He didn’t know.

He excused himself about the time they got down to making plans for the job in Cleburne the next morning. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t face them. He went to the bathroom and closed the door and lit a cigarette and just sat there and feared.

Three years at this. Three years and eighteen straight pits wiped clean. All of it dangerous. All of it bloody. All of it awful. And certain death hanging around all along.

But now it’s not a matter of blowing up buildings in broad daylight. Now it’s a matter of staying alive through the next night anywhere in the world.

Because if they know me, they can find me.

Shit.

And if they know me and find me they can set me up tn Cleburne, Texas, and that’s exactly what they’ve done and there’s not one thing in the world I can do about it.

Because we still have to go. It’s what we do. It’s where the vampires are.

I wonder if—

There was a tap-tap-tap on the bathroom door and be heard Cat’s voice saying it was the mayor on the phone and did Jack want to take the call? Jack frowned. Hell, he didn’t even know the mayor. What was his name? Goldblatt, or something? And then he realized the mayor Cat meant. Her, that Cleburne mayor. Calling him. Knowing where to call.

He got up and dropped his cigarette in the bowl and flushed it because he didn’t want the rest of them to know he was only in there to be a chickenshit and then he strolled into the main living room of the suite with all eyes on him and picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Crow?” asked that same too-country voice.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Crow, I hate to disturb you at home. Or at your hotel, I mean. Or do you live there?”