Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [116]
“Can any vampire have a servant?”
“No, only a master vampire, and not even all of them. I’ve never heard of Malcolm having one, but he could if he wanted to. Ask the faithful, though I think if he had one, the servant would be yelling louder than the rest. It’s still worth a shot. If you solve it before I get there, call. Dolph says there’s plenty of other shit to go around.”
“He’s not kidding. The city is going nuts. So far we’ve managed to contain the fires to just a few buildings, but if the crazies keep this up, it’s going to get out of hand. There’s no telling how much of the city could go up.”
“We need to know who’s behind this,” I said.
“Yes, we do,” Pete said. “Get here as soon as you can.” He sounded so sure I could help. I wished I was as certain. I wasn’t sure I could do shit in broad daylight. I’d been told once that the only reason I couldn’t raise the dead at high noon was that I thought I couldn’t. I was about to put it to the test. I still didn’t think I could do it. Doubt is the greatest enemy of any magic or psychic ability. Self-doubt is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Great. I won’t lie. I’m relieved that somebody with vampire experience is going to be on-site. The cops are starting to get some training on how to handle the preternatural, but no one trains firemen for this kind of shit.”
It had never occurred to me that firemen have to deal with the monsters almost as much as the police. They don’t hunt them down, but they enter their houses. That can be just as dangerous, depending on if the monster in question realizes you’re there to help or not.
“I’ll be there, Pete.”
“We’ll be waiting. See ya.”
“Bye, Pete.”
We hung up. I went for my shoulder holster and a different shirt. The shoulder holster would chafe with just a tank top on.
35
I CHANGED INTO a navy polo shirt and didn’t run into Richard. The water had stopped running, but he hadn’t come out. I did not want to see him again, especially not half naked. I wanted away from him. Lucky for me the shit had hit the fan, professionally speaking. Police work, lots of it, maybe enough to keep me out of the house all day. Fine with me. The ambulance arrived, and Zane was loaded in. Cherry went with him. I felt guilty not going with him, but she could do more good than I could. The police had still not shown up for the corpse. I hated leaving the others to talk to the cops without me, but I had to go. The fact that I was relieved to go caused me a few moments of guilt, but not much.
Ronnie had gone back to sitting on the couch. She asked just before I walked out the door, “Am I going to jail tonight?”
I knelt in front of her, taking her strangely cold hands in mine. “Ronnie, you didn’t kill him.”
“I shot the top of his head off. What kind of ammo do you have in that gun of yours anyway?”
“I shot him twice in the chest. There isn’t enough left of his heart to scrape up with a spoon,” I said.
She closed her eyes. “His brains are leaking out all over the porch. Don’t tell me that wouldn’t have killed him all by itself.”
I sighed and patted her hands. “Please, Ronnie, you did what you had to do. Maybe it will take a medical examiner to decide which bullet did him in, but when the cops get here, make sure you don’t take credit.”
“I’ve been here before, Anita, remember. I know what to say and what not to say.” She looked at me and it wasn’t an entirely friendly look.
I released her hands and stood. “I’m sorry, Ronnie.”
“I’ve only shot two people and both times I was with you.”
“Both times you did it to save my life,” I said.
She looked up at me with bleak eyes. “I know.”
I touched her face and wanted to pat her on the head or something, comfort her the way you’d comfort a child, but she wasn’t a child. “I am sorry this happened, Ronnie. Truly, but what else could you have done?”
“Nothing,” she said, “and that makes me wonder if I’m in the right business.”
Something inside