Shawna lay on the bed. The penumbra of her aura undulated like the surface on a puddle of red water. Her blue eyes gazed at nothing. A bottle of Windex showed more life.
I knelt beside her and scooped her neck in my hand. My fangs extended and I touched the sharp points with the tip of my tongue. Yes, I’d interrogate her, but first, it was time for dinner.
I removed one of her oversize horseshoe earrings and put my nose into the hollow of her neck behind the left ear. My cheek brushed against hair that was broom-bristle stiff with Aquanet. My fangs found their mark on her throat. Her blood spurted into my mouth. The taste of tramps was a flavor I knew too well.
I sucked deliberately, filling my mouth to capacity, and let the heavy mass of blood swirl over my tongue. Type A-negative I was sure. I swallowed and the luxurious warmth flushed through my body.
I gave Shawna only enough of my pleasure enzymes to keep her aura steady while giving a maximum dose of healing and amnesia enzymes. An hour after my fanging, she’d have no souvenir of my feeding except for a blank spot in her memory.
I climbed on the bed to straddle her hips and cradle her head in my hands.
“Shawna,” I whispered. “Talk to me.”
Recognition sparkled in her eyes. Her pupils shrank as the focus in them receded to a point deep within her consciousness. Sparkles of psychic energy collected along the aura around her head and made a halo. Probably the only one she’d ever wear.
“Why did you come on to me?” I asked.
Her pupils alternated between dilating and shrinking.
Let me rephrase the question. “Who sent you?”
“Sal.”
“Last name?”
“Cavagnolo.”
So this rendezvous was a setup.
I massaged the back of her scalp. “What for?”
“Didn’t say.”
I believed her; she had no choice but to tell the truth.
“Cavagnolo told you to approach me at My Final Bender and invite me here?”
“Yes.”
Simple enough plan, though so obvious that a blind drunk would’ve seen it coming. I had told Cavagnolo to stay out of my way and I’d get Gino’s killers. But the old man had his pride and the only way to restore face was to take me down. I expected visitors.
Another question for Shawna: “Do you know anything about the mutilations?”
The smooth sheath of her aura turned into an undulating fuzz. A rash of dark spots betraying anxiety broke out across her penumbra.
“Answer me.”
Her eyes fixed on a spot miles above. She struggled to obey me while her subconscious fought to keep her pain buried. “I…I…I’ve heard.”
“Heard what?”
“About Stanley. Barrett. Now Gino.”
“What about them?”
The dark spots sprouted tendrils that whipped from her aura. Sweat trickled from her forehead and wet her temples. Her eyes became wide concentric circles of white around the blue middles. “People are scared.”
“Why?”
“Because no one knows why folks are disappearing or who’s doing the killings.”
Shawna shut her eyes and milked tears. Wet mascara filled the wrinkles of her cheeks. She looked terrified and suddenly very old.
I’d hit a wall of emotional distress. It wasn’t worth digging through. She’d told me what I wanted to know. I laid her head on the pillow and got off the bed.
Other than confirming that Cavagnolo was still gunning for me, what had I learned? He was more frightened about the killings than he would admit.
But as to who or why? A big goose egg of ignorance hovered over me.
When Shawna came around, she’d want an explanation as to what happened. I dumped the remaining vodka down the bathroom sink. If I told Shawna that she’d passed out from the boozing, I doubt it would be news.
This chase after the zombies was getting murkier by the minute. I had no clue what to do next, so I decided to rest and wait and see if Cavagnolo’s men showed up.
I cleaned my pistol, the magazine, and the bullets. I turned the wicker chair toward the TV on the dresser. Like everything else in the room, the TV looked salvaged from a recycling bin. I sat and picked up the remote but the TV wouldn’t click. I got up to wiggle the wooden dowel sticking out where the power button should be. The TV buzzed and the screen showed the commercial for a public auction of tractors and manure spreaders.
The goddamn psychic signal started. I jerked upright, alert. The echo remained low, almost a hum. Now that I knew Phaedra was responsible for the signal, the mystery to them was gone.
And just like that, the echo stopped.
What did Phaedra want? What was the purpose of the signal? A warning?
I lowered the volume of the TV and turned off the lights. Let’s pretend I’d fallen asleep.
I put my fingers against the door and held still. I collected the faint vibrations from outside, the tiny smells, the whisper-like noises.
Slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, like a cold breath had fallen over them. Danger lurked, that was for sure, but in what form?
Footsteps creaked over the gravel in the parking lot. One set. Two sets. Three sets.
I holstered the.45 into the waist of my jeans and put my boots on.
I didn’t want a gunfight. Not here. The shots would alert too many people and make my hunt for the zombies much more difficult. I only took the gun to keep the odds in my favor.
I’d attack Cavagnolo’s men as a vampire.