The Scoundrel

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  "Probably."

  I frowned. "And what are you going to be?"

  "A Confederate officer."

  "You get to wear pants," I said.

  "I don't think the dress would fit me."

  I sighed. "It's not that I'm not grateful, Richard, but . . ."

  "Hoop skirts aren't your style?"

  "Not hardly."

  "My offer was grubbies and all the mud we could crawl in. The party was your idea."

  "I'd get out of it if I could."

  "It might be worth all the trouble just to see you dressed up. I get the feeling it's a rarity."

  Larry leaned across the seat, and said, "Can we get a move on? I need a cigarette and some sleep."

  "I'll be right there." I turned back to Richard but suddenly didn't know what to say. "See you later."

  He nodded. "Later."

  I got in the car, and Larry pulled away before I got my seat belt fastened. "What's the rush?"

  "I want to get as far away from this place as I can."

  I looked at him. He still looked pale.

  "You all right?"

  "No, I'm not all right." He looked at me, blue eyes bright with anger. "How can you be so casual after what just happened?"

  "You were calm after last night. You got bitten last night."

  "But that was different," he said. "That woman sucked on the bite. She . . ." His hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly his hands shook.

  "You were hurt worse last night; what makes this tougher?"

  "Last night was violent, but it wasn't . . . perverted. The vampires last night wanted something. The name of the Master. The ones tonight didn't want anything, they were just being . . ."

  "Cruel," I offered.

  "Yes, cruel."

  "They're vampires, Larry. They aren't human. They don't have the same rules."

  "She would have killed me tonight on a whim."

  "Yes, she would have," I said.

  "How can you bear to be around them?"

  I shrugged. "It's my job."

  "And my job, too."

  "It doesn't have to be, Larry. Just refuse to work on vampire cases. Most of the rest of the animators do."

  He shook his head. "No, I won't give up."

  "Why not?" I asked.

  He didn't say anything for a minute. He pulled onto 270 headed south. "How could you talk about a date this afternoon after what just happened?"

  "You have to have a life, Larry. If you let this business eat you alive, you'll never make it." I studied his face. "And you never answered my question."

  "What question?"

  "Why won't you give up the idea of being a vampire executioner?"

  Larry hesitated, concentrating on driving. He suddenly seemed very interested in passing cars. We drove under a railroad bridge, warehouses on either side. Many of the windows were broken or missing. Rust dripped down the bridge overpass.

  "Nice section of town," he said.

  "You're avoiding the question. Why?"

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  "I asked about your family; you said they were all alive. What about friends? You lose a friend to the vamps?"

  He glanced at me. "Why ask that?"

  "I know the signs, Larry. You're determined to kill the monsters because you've got a grudge, don't you?"

  He hunched his shoulders and stared straight ahead. The muscles in his jaws clenched and unclenched.

  "Talk to me, Larry," I said.

  "The town I come from is small, fifteen hundred people. While I was away at college my freshman year, twelve people were murdered by a pack of vampires. I didn't know them, any of them, really. I knew them to say hi to, but that was it."

  "Go on."

  He glanced at me. "I went to the funerals over Christmas break. All those coffins, all those families. My dad was a doctor, but he couldn't help them. Nobody could help them."

  "I remember the case," I said. "Elbert, Wisconsin, three years ago, right?"

  "Yes, how did you know?"

  "Twelve people is a lot for a single vampire kill. It made the papers. Brett Colby was the vampire hunter they got for the job."

  "I never met him, but my parents told me about him. They made him sound like a cowboy riding into town to take down the bad guys. He found and killed five vampires. He helped the town when nobody else could."

  "If you just want to help people, Larry, be a social worker, or a doctor."

  "I'm an animator; I've got a built-in resistance to vampires. I think God meant for me to hunt them."

  "Geez Louise, Larry, don't go on a holy crusade, you'll end up dead."

  "You can teach me."

  I shook my head. "Larry, this isn't personal. It can't be personal. If you let your emotions get in the way, you'll either get killed or go stark raving mad."

  "I'll learn, Anita."

  I stared at his profile. He looked so stubborn. "Larry . . ." I stopped. What could I say? What brought any of us into this business? Maybe his reasons were as good as my own, maybe better. It wasn't just love of killing, like with Edward. And heaven knew I needed help. There were getting to be too many vampires for just little ol' me.

  "All right, I'll teach you, but you do what I say, when I say it. No arguments."

  "Anything you say, boss." He grinned at me briefly, then turned back to the road. He looked determined and relieved, and young.

  But we were all young once. It passes, like innocence and a sense of fair play. The only thing left in the end is a good instinct for survival. Could I teach Larry that? Could I teach him how to survive? Please, God, let me teach him, and don't let him die on me.

  38

  Larry, dropped me off in front of my apartment building at 9:05. It was way past my bedtime. I got my gym bag out of the back seat. Didn't want to leave my animating equipment behind. I locked and shut the door, then leaned in the passenger side door. "I'll see you tonight at five o'clock back here, Larry. You're designated driver until I get a new car."

  He nodded.

  "If I'm late getting home, don't let Bert send you out alone, okay?"

  He looked at me then. His face was full of some deep thought that I couldn't read. "You think I can't handle myself?"

  I knew he couldn't handle himself, but I didn't say that out loud. "It's only your second night on the job. Give yourself and me a break. I'll teach you how to hunt vampires, but our primary job is raising the dead. Try to remember that."

  He nodded.

  "Larry, if you have bad dreams, don't worry. I have them too sometimes."

  "Sure," he said. He put the car in gear, and I had to close the door. Guess he didn't want to talk anymore. Nothing we'd seen yet would give me nightmares, but I wanted Larry to be prepared, if mere words could prepare anyone for what we do.

  A family was loading up a grey van with coolers and a picnic hamper. The man smiled. "I don't think we'll get many more days like this."

  "I think you're right." It was that pleasant small talk that you use with people whose names you don't know but whose faces you keep seeing. We were neighbors, so we said hello and good-bye to each other, but nothing else. That was the way I liked it. When I came home, I didn't want someone coming over to borrow a cup of sugar.

  The only exception I made was Mrs. Pringle, and she understood my need for privacy.

  The apartment was warm and quiet inside. I locked the door and leaned against it. Home, ah. I tossed the leather jacket on the back of the couch and smelled perfume. It was flowery and delicate with a powdery undertaste that only the really expensive ones have. It wasn't my brand.

  I pulled the Browning and put my back to the door. A man stepped around the corner from the dining room area. He was tall, thin, with black hair cut short in front, long in back, the latest style. He just stood there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, smiling at me.

  A second man came up from behind the couch, shorter, more muscular, blond, smiling. He sat on the couch, ha
nds where I could see them. Nobody had any weapons, or none that I could see.

  "Who the hell are you?"

  A tall black man came out of the bedroom. He had a neat mustache, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

  The lamia stepped out beside him. She was in human form, in the same red dress as yesterday. She wore scarlet high heels today, but nothing else had changed.

  "We've been waiting for you, Ms. Blake."

  "Who are the men?"

  "My harem."

  "I don't understand."

  "They belong to me." She trailed red nails down the black man's hand hard enough to leave a thin line of blood. He just smiled.

  "What do you want?"

  "Mr. Oliver wants to see you. He sent us to fetch you."

  "I know where the house is. I can drive there on my own."

  "Oh, no, we've had to move," she said, swaying into the room. "Some nasty bounty hunter tried to kill Oliver yesterday."

  "What bounty hunter?" Had it been Edward?

  She waved a hand. "We were never formally introduced. Oliver wouldn't let me kill him, so he escaped, and we had to move."

  It sounded reasonable, but . . . "Where is he now?"

  "We'll take you to him. We've got a car waiting outside."

  "Why didn't Inger come for me?"

  She shrugged. "Oliver gives orders and I follow them." A look passed over her lovely face—hatred.

  "How long has he been your master?"

  "Too long," she said.

  I stared at them all, gun still out but not pointed at anyone. They hadn't offered to hurt me. So why didn't I want to put the gun up? Because I'd seen what the lamia changed into, and it had scared me.

  "Why does Oliver need to see me so soon?"

  "He wants your answer."

  "I haven't decided yet whether to give him the Master of the City."

  "All I know is that I was told to bring you. If I don't, he'll be angry. I don't want to be punished, Ms. Blake; please come with us."

  How do you punish a lamia? Only one way to find out. "How does he punish you?"

  The lamia stared at me. "That is a very personal question."

  "I didn't mean it to be."

  "Forget it." She swayed towards me. "Shall we go?" She had stopped just in front of me, close enough to touch.

  I was beginning to feel silly with the gun out, so I put it up. Nobody was threatening me. A novel approach.

  Normally, I still would have offered to follow them in my car, but my car was dead. So . . . if I wanted to meet Oliver, I had to go with them.

  I wanted to meet Oliver. I wasn't willing to give him Jean-Claude, but I was willing to give him Alejandro. Or at least enlist his aid against Alejandro. I also wanted to know if it was Edward who had tried to kill him. There weren't that many of us in the business. Who else could it be?

  "All right, let's go," I said. I got my leather jacket from the couch and opened the door. I motioned them all out the door. The men went without a word, the lamia last.

  I locked the door behind us. They waited politely out in the hall for me. The lamia took the tall black man's arm. She smiled. "Boys, one of you offer the lady your arm."

  Blondie and black-hair turned to look at me. Black-hair smiled. I hadn't been with this many smiling people since I bought my last used car.

  They both offered me their arms, like in some late movie. "Sorry, guys, I don't need an escort."

  "I've trained them to be gentlemen, Ms. Blake; take advantage of it. There are precious few gentlemen around these days."

  I couldn't argue with that, but I also didn't need help down the stairs. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine."

  "As you like, Ms. Blake." She turned to the two men. "You two are to take special care of Ms. Blake." She turned back to me. "A woman should always have more than one man."

  I fought the urge to shrug. "Anything you say."

  She gave a brilliant smile and strutted down the hall on her man's arm. The two men sort of fell in beside me. The lamia spoke back over her shoulder, "Ronald here is my special beau. I don't share him; sorry."

  I had to smile. "That's fine, I'm not greedy."

  She laughed, a high-pitched delighted sound with an edge of giggle to it. "Not greedy; oh, that's very good, Ms. Blake, or may I call you Anita?"

  "Anita's fine."

  "Then you must call me Melanie."

  "Sure," I said. I followed her and Ronald down the hall. Blondie and Smiley hovered on either side of me, lest I trip and stub my toe. We'd never get down the stairs without one of us falling.

  I turned to Blondie. "I believe I will take your arm." I smiled back at Smiley. "Could we have a little room here?"

  He frowned, but he stepped back. I slipped my left hand through Blondie's waiting arm. His forearm swelled under my hand. I couldn't tell if he was flexing or was just that musclebound. But we all made it down the stairs safely with lonely Smiley bringing up the rear.

  The lamia and Ronald were waiting by a large black Lincoln Continental. Ronald held the door for the lamia, then slid into the driver's seat.

  Smiley rushed forward to open the door for me. How had I known he would? Usually I complain about things like that, but the whole thing was too strange. If the worst thing that happened to me today was having overzealous men open doors for me, I'd be doing fine.

  Blondie slid into the seat next to me, sliding me to the middle of the seat. The other one had run around and was getting in the other side. I was going to end up sandwiched between them. No big surprise.

  The lamia named Melanie turned around in her seat, propping her chin on her arm. "Feel free to make out on the way. They're both very good."

  I stared into her cheerful eyes. She seemed to be serious. Smiley put his arm across the back of the seat, brushing my shoulders. Blondie tried to take my hand, but I eluded him. He settled for touching my knee. Not an improvement.

  "I'm really not into public sex," I said. I moved Blondie's hand back to his own lap.

  Smiley's hand slid around my shoulder. I moved up in the seat away from both of them. "Call them off," I said.

  "Boys, she's not interested."

  The men scooted back from me, as close to their sides of the car as they could get. Their legs still gently touched mine, but at least nothing else was touching.

  "Thank you," I said.

  "If you change your mind during the drive, just tell them. They love taking orders, don't you, boys?"

  The two men nodded, smiling. My, weren't we a happy little bunch? "I don't think I'll change my mind."

  The lamia shrugged. "As you like, Anita, but the boys will be sorely disappointed if you don't at least give them a good-bye kiss."

  This was getting weird; cancel that, weirder. "I never kiss on the first date."

  She laughed. "Oh, I like it. Don't we, boys?" All three men made appreciative sounds. I had the feeling they'd have sat up and begged if she'd told them to. Arf, arf. Gag me with a spoon.

  39

  We drove south on 270. Steep, grassy ditches and small trees lined the road. Identical houses sat up on the hills, fences separating the small yards from the next small yard. Tall trees took up many yards. Two-seventy was the major highway that ran through St. Louis, but there was almost always a feeling of green nature, open spaces; the gentle roll of the land was never completely lost.

  We took 70 West heading towards St. Charles. The land opened up on either side to long, flat fields. Corn stretched tall and golden, ready to be harvested. Behind the field was a modern glass building that advertised pianos and an indoor golf range. An abandoned SAM's Wholesale and a used-car lot led up to the Blanchette bridge.

  The left side of the road was crisscrossed by water-filled dikes to keep the land from flooding. Industry had moved in with tall glass buildings. An Omni Hotel complete with fountain was nearest the road.

  A stand of woods that still flooded too often to be torn down and turned into buildings bordered the left-hand side of the road u
ntil the trees met the Missouri River. Trees continued on the other bank as we entered St. Charles.

  St. Charles didn't flood, so there were apartment buildings, strip malls, a deluxe pet supermarket, a movie theater, Drug Emporium, Old Country Buffet, and Appleby's. The land vanished behind billboards and Red Roof Inns. It was hard to remember that the Missouri River was just behind you. and this had once been forest. Hard to see the land for the buildings.

  Sitting in the warm car with only the sound of wheels on pavement and the murmur of voices from the front seat, I realized how tired I was. Even stuck between the two men, I was ready for a nap. I yawned.

  "How much farther?" I asked.

  The lamia turned in her seat. "Bored?"

  "I haven't been to sleep yet. I just want to know how much longer the ride is going to take."

  "So sorry to inconvenience you," she said. "It isn't much farther, is it, Ronald?"

  He shook his head. He hadn't said a word since I'd met him. Could he talk?

  "Exactly where are we going?" They didn't seem to want to answer the question, but maybe if I phrased it differently.

  "About forty-five minutes outside of St. Peters."

  "Near Wentzville?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  An hour to get there and nearly two hours back. Which would make it around 1:00 when I got home. Two hours of sleep. Great.

  We left St. Charles behind, and the land reappeared—fields on either side behind well-tended barbed-wire fences. Cattle grazed on the low, rolling hills. The only sign of civilization was a gas station close to the highway. There was a large house set far back from the road with a perfect expanse of grass stretching to the road. Horses moved gracefully over the grass. I kept waiting for us to pull into one of the gracious estates, but we passed them all by.

  We finally turned onto a narrow road with a street sign that was so rusted and bent, that I couldn't read it. The road was narrow and instant rustic. Ditches crowded in on either side. Grass, weeds, the year's last goldenrod, grew head-high and gave the road a wild look. A field of beans gone dry and yellow waited to be harvested. Narrow gravel driveways appeared out of the weeds with rusted mailboxes that showed that there were houses. But most of the houses were just glimpses through the trees. Barn swallows dipped and dived over the road. The pavement ended abruptly, spilling the car onto gravel.