Guilty Pleasures - Laurell K. Hamilton [58]
Manny had been the animator who trained me. He taught me how to raise the dead, and how to slay vampires. Though admittedly I had expanded on Manny’s teachings. He was a traditionalist, a stake-and-garlic man. He had carried a gun, but as backup, not as a primary tool. If modern technology will allow me to take out a vampire from a distance, rather than straddling its waist and pounding a stake through its heart, heh, why not?
Two years ago, Rosita, Manny’s wife, had come to me and begged me not to endanger her husband anymore. Fifty-two was too old to hunt vampires, she had said. What would happen to her and the children? Somehow I had gotten all the blame, like a mother whose favorite child had been led astray by the neighborhood ruffians. She had made me swear before God that I would never again ask Manny to join me on a hunt. If she hadn’t cried, I would have held out, refused. Crying was damned unfair in a fight. Once a person started to cry, you couldn’t talk anymore. You suddenly just wanted them to stop crying, stop hurting, stop making you feel like the biggest scum-bucket in the world. Anything to stop the tears.
Ronnie was quiet on the other end of the phone. “All right, but you be careful.”
“Careful as a virgin on her wedding night, I promise.”
She laughed. “You are incorrigible.”
“Everybody tells me that,” I said.
“Watch your back.”
“You do the same.”
“I will.” She hung up. The phone buzzed dead in my hands.
“Good news?” Luther asked.
“Yeah.” Humans Against Vampires had a death squad. Maybe. But maybe was better than what I’d had before. Look, folks, nothing up my sleeves, nothing in my pockets, no idea in hell what I was doing. Just blundering around trying to track down a killer that has taken out two master vampires. If I was on the right track, I’d attract attention soon. Which meant someone might try to kill me. Wouldn’t that be fun?
I would need clothes that showed off my vampire scars and allowed me to hide weapons. It would not be an easy combination to find.
I would have to spend the afternoon shopping. I hate to shop. I consider it one of life’s necessary evils, like brussels sprouts and high-heeled shoes. Of course, it beat the heck out of having my life threatened by vampires. But wait; we could go shopping now and be threatened by vampires in the evening. A perfect way to spend a Saturday night.
23
I TRANSFERRED ALL the smaller bags into one big bag, to leave one hand free for my gun. You’d be amazed what a nice target you make juggling two armloads of shopping bags. First drop the bags—that is, if one of the handles isn’t tangled over your wrist—then reach for your gun, pull, aim, fire. By the time you do all that, the bad guy has shot you twice and is walking away humming Dixie between his teeth.
I had been downright paranoid all afternoon, aware of everyone near me. Was I being followed? Had that man looked too long at me? Was that woman wearing a scarf around her neck because she had bite marks?
By the time I went for the car, my neck and shoulders were knotted into one painful ache. The most frightening thing I’d seen all afternoon had been the prices on the designer clothing.
The world was still bright blue and heat-soaked when I went for my car. It’s easy to forget the passage of time in a mall. It is air conditioned, climate controlled, a private world where nothing real touches you. Disneyland for shopaholics.
I shut my packages in the trunk and watched the sky darken. I knew what fear felt like, a leaden balloon in the pit of your gut. A nice, quiet dread.
I shrugged to loosen my shoulders. Rotated my neck until it popped. Better, but still tight. I needed some aspirin. I had eaten in the mall, something I almost never did. The moment I smelled the food stalls, I had gone for them, starved.
The pizza had tasted like thin cardboard with imitation tomato paste spread over it. The cheese had been rubbery and tasteless. Yum, yum, mall food. Truth is, I love Corn