The Laughing Corpse - Laurell K. Hamilton [47]
“You want me to walk you to your car?” Dave asked.
I stared into his brown eyes and smiled. “Thanks, Dave, I’ll remember the offer, but I’m a big girl.” Truth was a lot of the vampires didn’t like Dave feeding information to the enemy. I was the Executioner. If a vampire stepped over the line, they sent for me. There was no such thing as a life sentence for a vamp. Death or nothing. No prison can hold a vampire.
California tried, but one master vampire got loose. He killed twenty-five people in a one-night bloodbath. He didn’t feed, he just killed. Guess he was pissed about being locked up. They’d put crosses over the doors and on the guards. Crosses don’t work unless you believe in them. And they certainly don’t work once a master vampire has convinced you to take them off.
I was the vampire’s equivalent of an electric chair. They didn’t like me much. Surprise, surprise.
“I’ll be with her,” Irving said. He put money down on the bar and stood up. I had the bulky file under my arm. I guess he wasn’t going to let it out of his sight. Great.
“She’ll probably have to protect you, too,” Dave said.
Irving started to say something, then thought better of it. He could say, but I’m a lycanthrope, except he didn’t want people to know. He worked very, very hard at appearing human.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked. One more chance for a vampire guard to my car.
He was offering to protect me from the Master. Dave hadn’t been dead ten years. He wasn’t good enough. “Nice to know you care, Dave.”
“Go on, get outta here,” he said.
“Watch yourself, girl,” Luther said.
I smiled brightly at both of them, then turned and walked out of the near silent bar. The crowd couldn’t have overheard much, if any, of the conversation, but I could feel them staring at my back. I resisted an urge to whirl around and go “boo.” I bet somebody would have screamed.
It’s the cross-shaped scar on my arm. Only vampires have them, right? A cross shoved into unclean flesh. Mine had been a branding iron specially made. A now dead master vampire had ordered it. Thought it would be funny. Hardy-har.
Or maybe it was just Dave. Maybe they hadn’t noticed the scar. Maybe I was overly sensitive. Make friendly with a nice law-abiding vampire, and people get suspicious. Have a few funny scars and people wonder if you’re human. But that’s okay. Suspicion is healthy. It’ll keep you alive.
13
THE SWELTERING DARKNESS closed around me like a hot, sticky fist. A streetlight formed a puddle of brilliance on the sidewalk, as if the light had melted. All the streetlights are reproductions of turn-of-the-century gas lamps. They rise black and graceful, but not quite authentic. Like a Halloween costume. It looks good but is too comfortable to be real.
The night sky was like a dark presence over the tall brick buildings, but the streetlights held the darkness back. Like a black tent held up by sticks of light. You had the sense of darkness without the reality.
I started walking for the parking garage just off First Street. Parking on the Riverfront is damn near impossible. The tourists have only made the problem worse.
The hard soles of Irving’s dress shoes made a loud, echoing noise on the stone of the street. Real cobblestones. Streets meant for horses, not cars. It made parking a bitch, but it was . . . charming.
My Nike Airs made almost no sound on the street. Irving was like a clattery puppy beside me. Most lycanthropes I’ve met have been stealthy. Irving may have been a werewolf but he was more dog. A big, fun-loving dog.
Couples and small groups passed us, laughing, talking, voices too shrill. They had come to see vampires. Real-live vampires, or was that real-dead vampires? Tourists, all of them. Amateurs. Voyeurs. I had seen more undead than any of them. I’d lay money on that. The fascination escaped me.
It was full dark now. Dolph and the gang would be awaiting me at Burrell Cemetery. I needed to get over there. What about the file on Gaynor? And what was I going to do with Irving? Sometimes my life is too