Talking about my own death was really weird. I didn’t know how to respond to that so I just looked out the window. All I saw was the reflection of the dash lights because it was completely dark outside, except for the occasional porch light here and there.
“And what of Devan? How is your aunt? Last I heard of her, she had gone out to California to live. She had a boy. He must be close to your age by now. How old are you, Gabriel?”
“Twenty-five,” It was close enough to the age I’d become a vampire that it was believable. I rubbed the tops of my knees, which were pretty much up against the dash.
Silvia explained that the hospital was big for the area, but it was because it served people for a hundred miles around. I took in the three stories. The building was a pleasant sand color, like some kid had fashioned it on the shoreline and it would be washed away by the next wave. It made me think of a Hendrix song and I hummed it softly under my breath as we trudged through the parking lot, blasted intermittently by the cold night desert wind.
Silvia probably knew half the people that worked there. I could tell they cared about her too, because we were stopped a couple of times for a member of the staff to offer condolences. Silvia stayed strong in their friendly embraces, but sagged visibly once we retreated to the elevator to ride it down to the basement.
“You okay?” I put a hand on her shoulder and she twitched.
“I’ll be fine.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
The doors split to a semi-darkened hallway, sparing us the need for further conversation. A lone bulb at the far end of the corridor flickered over the morgue sign jutting from the ceiling. Our footsteps sounded flat in that wide hallway as we walked to the double doors. A sign to the right was pinned above the doorbell: Ring for service. I pushed the button before Silvia did and a few seconds passed before a young, dark-skinned fellow peeped out at us through thick glasses.
“Hey, Silvia, how are you?” He smiled normally enough, despite his chosen profession. They rattled off in Navajo while I pretended to find the wall interesting. Nope, I didn’t understand the language.
“Oh, excuse me, Noel, this is Gabriel. He is not from here.” She turned to me and the young guy took my hand in a surprisingly firm grip for his small stature. His teeth were perfectly straight and white.
“Gabriel, this is Noel.”
I nodded once and muttered a greeting. Noel backed up to open the door wider to admit us.
“We still haven’t come up with much of anything else.” He led us to an open mint-green tiled room lined with sinks, bottles of fluid and an empty stainless steel table. The smell of formaldehyde was nearly overpowering. I just stopped breathing unless I needed to talk. We stood there while he disappeared deeper into the morgue, a heavier set of doors closing us off in almost perfect quiet, save for the constant hum of machinery. Silvia yawned and looked at her watch before glancing up at me. I shifted my weight and crossed my arms over my chest. A clock ticked off seconds, minutes then the doors opened slowly on automatic hydraulics, kind of like the ones on public buildings for handicapped people.
Noel pushed a gurney in front of him with a long black rubber bag on it about five feet in length. It dawned on me that Heather was in that bag. The zipper had a tag on it marked EVIDENCE. Hell, even people could be evidence. He tugged the zipper down for what seemed like the longest ziiip in history. Silvia looked away but I was there to see it. To see Heather, dead in that body bag. Her eyes were closed, like she was sleeping, but that’s where her resemblance to the living ended. Her face was the color of bleached bone, her lips a bluer shade of violet. Her dark hair was tangled around her head, with some sticking to her neck and shoulders. I circled the body, purposely ignoring the cut-meat look of the Y-incision that started between her naked breasts and extended down to her pubic bone, which thankfully the zipper hadn’t opened far enough to reveal.
“We’ve done a partial autopsy.” Noel was talking to Silvia. “It wasn’t her heart. In fact she had a healthy heart.” He watched me as I approached the corpse, despite every fiber of my vampire self being absolutely disgusted at the thing. It wasn’t Heather anymore. It was dead meat. The left side of her neck was mauled, close to her shoulder. It looked like a standard bite, but like the fangs were ripped away from her flesh. Maybe she fought the thing, but it was definitely a vampire’s work.
“Anything you might know would be helpful.” Noel looked to me for permission to zip the body bag closed again and I nodded once. I was still having difficulty placing Heather as that dead thing, and the formaldehyde was murder on my senses.
“Animal bite maybe.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, unwilling to touch anything in that place that suddenly seemed too small.
“That’s what we are going to put on the death certificate.” His dark gaze flicked to Silvia. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be more helpful. I know you are eager to pay your last respects.” He pulled the zipper closed and stood at the foot of the gurney. “I should get back to work.”
Silvia nodded. ‘Thank you, Noel. Tell your mother hello for me.”
“Hagoonee, Silvia and Gabriel.”
Silvia nudged me with her elbow in the ribs and offered Noel a warm smile. “Goodbye.”
“Nice...meeting you,” I mumbled and turned to follow Silvia out. In the corridor she paused mid-step and covered her face with her hands, her big black purse dangling off her elbow. I put my arm around her and led her to the elevator. I pushed the Up button.
“I had hoped for something more,” she said quietly. “Now my sister will be recorded as a death from an animal bite.” She looked up at me. “I don’t know why you’re here, or even how trustworthy you are, but if you can make anything of this, I will be grateful.”
“Listen.” I drew her into my arms. She smelled like smoke and herbs. “I’m here to help. Just show me where it happened. I promise you, I’ll do whatever I can to figure it out.”
She stared up at me with deep dark eyes, the lines fading a little from her face. “I don’t know why, but I believe you will.”
The elevator arrived with a ding and we stepped into the waiting cab as soon as the doors opened.
I wished I could tell Silvia what I was–who I was. I shouldn’t have even told Tabby. Serv’s murderers were out there running loose and anyone that knew me, well the Xan me, was at risk. It was some seriously messed-up shit. It was fucked up to be tossed in the same category as that thing Freddie’d loosed. I knew what I was. I respected humans as much as I could, considering they were also potential dinner. They could be irresistible sometimes and wherever my interests went, my fangs were sure to follow.
We walked back out to the Willys in silence. Silvia just wasn’t much of a talker and neither was I. Yet, it was a comfortable quiet, like we were supposed to be respectful of one another’s internal thought processes. It was really getting cold outside so Silvia switched on the heater and pulled out of the parking lot. There was a thing about humans and heaters. Heat expanded those sweet little veins in their bodies and increased blood flow to the extremities. Kind of like a scratch-and-sniff sticker. Trapped in that truck, I could smell her blood and hear her pulse. I tried not to snap into vamp mode but I hadn’t had blood since Scott.
“You seem bothered.” She had a soft, flat voice.
I licked my lips and trained my attention out the window, conscious of her subtle shifts in the superimposed reflection on the glass. “I’m good.”
“Do you need to eat something?”
Yeah, she could’ve said that. “Really, I’m fine.”
“I’ll stop somewhere and get us some supper.” She pulled to the side of the road to turn on her blinker and waited for passing traffic before busting a U-turn to drive back the way we’d come. “You look like you’re starved.”
I grumbled under my breath and ground my teeth, painfully aware of my fangs. The vamp mode was getting insistent. I needed to get out of the fucking truck, away from her, and I needed to do it as soon as possible.
“Okay.” I fidgeted in my seat.
“What do you normally eat?”
I almost laughed out loud.
Oh, I dunno, not much, just y’know...people.
“Whatever you want.”
“Mason’s has good soups and sweet corn.”
“Sweet corn?”
“Just something we eat around here.”
“Sounds fantastic,” I said through tightly clenched fangs and focused breathing through my mouth. Slowly. In. Out. In. It usually worked as a temporary solution, but I was getting frantic for an escape. “What about there?” I pointed across her line of vision out her window.
“That’s a tavern. They only serve bar foods there.”
“Fabulous,” I interrupted her with far too much enthusiasm. “Let’s go there. I could eat a horse about now.”
I had the door opened before she came to a stop and hopped out. Thankful to be out of the truck so I could find my real dinner, I beelined to the glass front door. It was one of those lodge-looking places, stereotypical southwestern, with false adobe walls and probably replica Navajo blankets and drums high above. Neon glared from behind the short bar and there were only two waitresses, who by the looks of them were busy as hell. I gave the menu a cursory glance and ordered the cheapest appetizer on the menu–fried pickles. We made small talk but I didn’t leave the table. I had to work the hunger down to a more manageable level. If I was frantic and went hunting, I’d probably hurt someone more than I intended.
She made me eat one of the pickles even though I knew better than to try to.
“Did you want a beer?” She looked around for the waitress.
“Whiskey,” I mumbled around a bite of tasteless, greasy and breaded dill pickle. “A bottle.” The squishy mess stuck to the roof of my mouth. Sure, I could chew and swallow food, but the taste’d been lost to me for a quarter of a century. Sad, sure, but that’s what happened after I was changed. Food still smelled good, but I’d never again be able to savor the flavor of a flame-kissed steak. Or anything else.
Silvia humored me even though her stoic expression was broken by a raised brow. “You need to eat more, Gabriel. Less drink.”
The alcohol would help keep me from being all...bitey. On the other hand, eating food was the last thing I needed. My stomach gave the first signs of being royally pissed off. Our waitress returned my request.
She set a bottle on the table. I frowned at it. “This is Wild Turkey.”
She shrugged. “Sorry, it’s the closest thing we’ve got unless you’re into Seagram’s or Crown.”
“Uh, no. Leave it, I’ll deal. Where’s the bathroom?” She pointed me to the bathroom and I cut through the idle diners headed for the door marked men. Locked. I tried the ladies’ room. Also locked. My stomach lurched in warning and I knocked on the men’s room door. My gut threatened to spill right there in the little hallway. It wasn’t really painful, more of a seasick queasy, making the floor sway under my feet. But it would draw attention, and as usual, that wasn’t what I was looking for. If I could just barf and get some real sustenance, I’d be fine.
“Just a minute.”
“Hurry.” I thumped my head against the wall dividing the two doors. “Please,” I added as an afterthought. As many people as I’ve seen who think nothing of taking a messy shit then walking straight out the door without bothering to wash their hands, this had to be the clean one. The sink ran. It ran and ran and ran. I pressed my face against the wood grain of the wall, fighting the urge to tear a door off its hinges. An eternity later, it popped open.
Mr. Considerate was a younger Navajo, a clean-cut, pleasant guy that let out a yelp of surprise as I clamped a hand over his face and shoved him back into the bathroom.
“Stand there, and don’t make a fucking sound,” I growled. I locked the door just as the first bite of food came back up. I spewed right into the trash.
“Are you sick?” He’d stepped forward, concerned but kept his distance. I heaved into the garbage can again. I’d taken three bites. The third yarf was indeed the charm, so I rinsed my face and mouth out before returning my attention to my captive. He backed away from me until he bumped into the opposite wall. I was on him in an instant, too fast for him to even deflect my attack. Sweet, hot blood flooded my mouth when I pierced his neck with my fangs. I moaned into the bite as the effects overtook my body, streaming my entire circulatory system with a rush of delicious, invigorating blood. Navajo blood? Good shit, man.
I didn’t kill him. I took a few deep gulps off his vein and let him go. He gave me a wild stare and laid a hand on my cheek, fingers smoothing over the fangs concealed behind my lips. His mouth struggled to form the word for what I was.
“It’s gonna be all right.” I let go of him and he slid to the floor in a faint. I crouched beside him and did my little cover-up trick to get rid of my mark on his throat. He didn’t stir as I stepped over him to exit the bathroom and return to the table.
Silvia’d finished her food. I picked up the bottle of Wild Turkey and handed it to her. “Put this in your bag so I’m not seen walking out with it.”
Silvia gave a small sigh but complied. I leaned to speak in her ear. “I’m ready to go now.” My body was humming with energy from my little snack in the bathroom. “I’m not feeling so hot.”
Silvia slid out of the booth and stood beside me. Our waitress picked up on the signal and brought over the check. We walked to the door with it and Silvia paid for the food. I paid for the bottle of Wild Turkey with my own money. No use in her footing the bill for my habit.
She turned to me. “Where do you want to go?”
“Back to my room, I guess. If that’s all right.”
She nodded slowly. I held the door open for her to walk outside ahead of me. She hugged herself as we stepped through the parking lot back to her truck.
“You didn’t eat much,” she said quietly as she unlocked my door. She went around on her side and did the same. Fuck, I never had that cigarette. She talked a little, and my mind wandered to how that guy’d tasted. So right. So good. I’d heard shit from the other vampires that nothing tasted quite as good as my own people. Something about genetics and blood-matching.
I’d have to be careful of getting used to that. The little bit I’d taken felt like I’d drained him instead. I felt really good and not hungry.
Silvia turned the Jeep around in the lot and up onto the main road. I stared out the window and thought of home: my guitar, my car, Charlie and the guys at Pale Rider. Well, this was home here, but I mean home. Serv’s last words, mixed in with the appalling memory of Heather’s sewn-up naked corpse, swam around in my mind. I felt disgusted. I’d done the same act but left my victim alive to die another day. Silvia coughed and the rattle in her lungs made me frown. It didn’t sound too good.
“What is Crooked Fang?”
I blinked and glanced at her. “What?”
“Crooked Fang. I saw the tattoo when you took off your jacket.” She reached over and circled a fingertip over the leather in the approximate location of the blue logo tattoo with the name of my band surrounding it.
“My band back in Colorado.”
“Your father was a musician, you know. He played the guitar long ago.”
“I know,” I said, “I still have that guitar.”
“You still have what guitar?” Silvia glanced at me hard for a moment before shifting her attention back to the road.
“My guitar. His guitar.” I floundered. “It’s hot in here.” I rolled the window down all the way and drummed my fingertips on the sill, listening to the window jiggle in its track. I closed my eyes.
“You can smoke in here if you want.” Her offer was reinforced by the flick of a lighter. Smoke whisked past my nose out the open window.
“All right.” I slipped a cigarette between my lips, and dug in my pocket for my own lighter. She poked me with the butt of hers. It was blue and plastic. I grunted in thanks and rolled my window up partway to cut out the wind, droppin
g it again once I was done. I wasn’t really hot. I just wanted the conversation–especially the questions–to stop.
Lake Maloya was about twenty minutes away, so it would be an easy drive. Silvia said Heather was found at a campsite. The campers she had gone to help were still missing. Judging by the bite on Heather, I figured the campers had met an even more unfortunate ending than she. Our conversation was cut short as I recognized the blue neon zees of the Snooze-Inn.
“There’s my place.” I pointed through the windshield. Silvia turned the Willys into the parking lot and pulled to a stop to drop me off.
“Tomorrow night. Lake Maloya. Remember, I sleep days.” I got out and patted the door of her Willys. Silvia smirked, an expression I remembered from the sassy undergraduate long ago. She took no shit off anybody. Now she was a park ranger and quiet. People sure could change.
“See you.” I pulled out another cigarette and glanced up at my room as she drove away.
Silvia was way more observant than most people, and I wasn’t sure why she cared. Maybe it was a mothering instinct. Maybe there could’ve been more back then. I guess it would’ve helped if I’d slept with her, but I had been wrapped up in her sister. In truth, I was grateful to not have to see Heather alive because it would be really weird. The extent of her aging wasn’t too evident in her dead frozen body but to have to masquerade in front of someone that knew far more personal things about me than say, her sister? Yeah, it would’ve been risky. Pinecliffe wasn’t a really big deal because I had no history with the residents there. As long as I steered clear of Denver and kept moving around every so often, I could stay remotely safe.
Chapter 7
I dropped the smoldering butt to the ground and stamped on it. My room was up on the second floor. I climbed the stairs in silence, thinking about Heather and Silvia. My door opened just as I reached the head of the stairs. I froze and pressed against the wall in a shadow as the relatively small, dark figure slipped out of my room and walked toward the stairs, and me. He seemed unhurried, dressed in a black sweat jacket and cargo pants tucked into boots. A thief? Spy?
Crooked Fang Page 17
