Dead Reckoning - Charlaine Harris [90]
I was trying hard to think—that would be a good thing—but I seemed to be possessed by a rabbit mentality. Run and hide, run and hide. If I was being abducted by Weres, it was all over, because they could track me through the woods in a jiffy even if they were in human form, though the weather might slow them down.
Couldn’t be vampires, the sun hadn’t set.
Fairies would have been much more subtle.
Humans, then. I dashed around the edges of the cemetery, since I’d be so easy to spot on the open ground.
I heard noise in the woods behind me, and I headed for the only other sanctuary that might offer me a good hiding place. Bill’s house. I didn’t have enough time to climb a tree. It seemed I’d leaped out of my car an hour ago. My purse, my phone! Why hadn’t I grabbed my phone? I could picture my purse sitting on the car seat. Crap.
Now I was running uphill, so I was close. I paused at the huge old oak, about ten yards from the front porch, and peered around it. There was Bill’s house, dark and silent in the pouring rain. When Judith had been in residence, I’d left my copy of Bill’s key in his mailbox one day. It had only seemed right. But that night he’d left a message on my answering machine telling me where the spare key was. We’d never said a word to each other about that.
I pelted up onto the porch, found the key taped under the armrest of the wooden outdoor chair, and unlocked the front door. My hands were so tremulous it was amazing I didn’t drop the key and that I got it into the lock correctly the first time. I was about to step in when I thought, Footprints. I’d leave wet footprints everywhere I went in the house. I’d advertise my location like a blue light Kmart special. Crouching down by the railing around the porch, I pulled off my clothes and shoes, and dropped them behind the thick azalea bushes surrounding the house. I squeezed out my ponytail. I shook myself briskly like a dog, to rid myself of as much water as I could. Then I stepped into the quiet dimness of the old Compton house. Though I didn’t have time to mull it over, it felt decidedly weird to be standing in the foyer naked.
I looked down at my feet. One splash of water. I rubbed my foot over it and took a big step onto the worn runner lying in the hall that led back to the kitchen. I didn’t even glance into the living room (which Bill sometimes called the parlor) or venture into the dining room.
Bill had never told me exactly where he slept during the day. I understood that such a piece of knowledge was a huge vampire secret. But I’m reasonably alert, and I’d had a while to figure it out while we were dating. Though I was sure there was more than one such secret place, one lay somewhere off the pantry in the kitchen. He’d remodeled the kitchen and installed a hot tub to create sort of a spa area rather than a place to cook—which he didn’t need—but he’d left a small separate room intact. I didn’t know if it had been a pantry or a butler’s room. I opened the new louvered door and stepped in, shutting it behind me. Today the oddly high shelves contained only a few six-packs of bottled blood and a screwdriver. I knocked on the floor, on the wall. In my panic, and the noise of the storm outside, I couldn’t detect any difference in the sound. I said, “Bill, let me in. Wherever you are, let me in,” like a character in a grim ghost story.
I didn’t hear a thing, naturally, though I listened for a few seconds in utter stillness. We hadn’t shared blood in a long time, and it was still daylight, though it wouldn’t be for long.
Crapola, I thought. Then I spied a thin line in the boards, right by the doorsill. I looked very carefully and realized the thin line continued around the sides. I didn’t have the time to examine any closer. My heart thudding, out of