Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [507]
“I knew the part about longest dead,” he said. “So a master vampire that is two years dead can wake up before a vampire that is five years dead, but not a master?”
“Yeah, though some vamps don’t accumulate enough power in five hundred years to rival masters I’ve met that were under five years.”
“That’d be a bummer. A flunkie for all eternity.”
I nodded. “Yeah.” I felt that instant spark inside the room. It hit me almost like a punch to the stomach, or lower. Once I could only sense vamps that I had a connection to, to this degree, and once it was just a small quiver of recognition. Apparently, I’d gone up a power level or two.
“You okay?” Zerbrowski asked.
“Yeah, just, yeah. Now you can use the doorbell.”
He gave me a look.
“I was concentrating too hard when he woke up, okay? My bad.”
I don’t know if he really understood the comment, or was just used to me being weird, but whatever, he pushed the button. We heard the strident sound inside the room beyond. So many people think that being a vampire automatically gets you the big house on the hill, or a coffin in a dungeon somewhere, but most of the vamps I knew had apartments, houses, and lived pretty much like everyone else. Vampires living in a central location surrounding their master, the way Jean-Claude had it, was becoming a thing of the past.
I missed it. Not nostalgia. If I had to kill a bunch of vamps, having them spread miles apart made my job harder. But we weren’t here to kill anybody, not yet. Of course, that could change. All we needed was proof, or, depending on the judge, strong suspicion. Once I’d been okay with that. Now, it bothered me. To my knowledge, I’d never killed vamps that hadn’t done the crime, but I had to admit that at the beginning of my career, I hadn’t checked as carefully as I did now. They were just walking corpses to me once, and making them lie down and be still hadn’t felt like murder to me. My job had been easier then, fewer conflicts. Nothing helps you sleep at night so much as being absolutely certain that you’re right, and everyone else is evil.
The door opened, and the vampire stood blinking at us. His blond hair was tousled from sleep, and he’d thrown jeans over his boxers, or maybe slept in both. They were wrinkled enough. He squinted at us, and it took me a second to realize the squint was permanent, like someone who’d worked outdoors all their life, and not worn sunglasses. His eyes were pale and washed almost colorless. He looked tanned, but he was five years dead, and it couldn’t be a tan. Artificial tan was starting to be big business among the recently dead. The ones who hadn’t gotten accustomed to that paler than pale look. His looked better than most, a professional job, not homegrown.
“Jack Benchely?” Zerbrowski made it a question.
“Who wants to know?”
He flashed his badge, and I flashed mine. “Sergeant Zerbrowski of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team.”
“Federal Marshal Anita Blake.”
Jack Benchely blinked harder, like he was really trying to wake up. “Shit, what did I do to get the Spook Squad and the excecutioner at my door just after sundown?”
“Let’s go inside and talk about that,” Zerbrowski said with a smile.
The vampire seemed to think about that for a second. “You got a warrant?”
“We don’t want to search your place, Mr. Benchely. We want to ask you some questions, that’s all.” Zerbrowski was still smiling. The smile didn’t even look strained.
I wasn’t trying to smile, I didn’t feel like it.
“What kind of questions?” he asked.
I said, “The kind about you being across the river at a strip club, when I know for a damned fact that Malcolm has ordered you all to stay away from shit like that.” Now I was smiling, but it was a smile the way a flash of teeth is a smile. Sometimes it’s a smile and sometimes it’s not. Put your hand close to the dog’s mouth and find out.
Benchely didn’t look like he wanted to find out. He looked