The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

  “You’re unable to vanish? Is that it?” he asked, once I was settled.

  “Guess so.” I was reluctant to admit it and thus make it real.

  “Has this ever happened to you before?”

  It was difficult to think. “That time I got stabbed. And wood does it, too.”

  “What about those shots you took earlier? Would they have this kind of effect on you?”

  “Maybe. Lost some blood then … shook me up bad. It’s never hit as hard as … I’ve been doing too much of the Cheshire cat stuff tonight.” Far too much, I thought unhappily.

  “Perhaps you’ve discovered your limits, after all,” he mused, but he wasn’t trying to be funny.

  I again mopped at the uncharacteristic and disturbing sweat. Its deathsmell remained, clinging to the sleeve of my coat like some perverse perfume. “I feel like a squeezed-out sponge.”

  “You look it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Right, then let’s see about getting out of here for that trip to the Stockyards. I’ve no doubt that you need to replenish your internal supply as quickly as possible.”

  He started knocking on the door to get the guard’s attention. It took forever. Escott kept himself close to the window so the man wouldn’t see me.

  “I say there,” he began loudly to make himself heard. He was putting on his broadest English accent. It was a parody of his normal pattern of speech, different enough to tip me off that he was up to something, but only because I knew him. The other guy didn’t.

  “Yeah? Whatizit?”

  “I’ve been in here for hours, old man, and very much need to relieve myself.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’ll just have to hold it.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing and I won’t last much longer.”

  “Yeah? Well, too bad.”

  “Indeed? I don’t think Miss Paco would be too terribly pleased were I to …”

  The guy laughed. “Okay, okay. But don’t you try nothing.”

  “I assure you that I can barely move with these ribs. I shall make no trouble at all.”

  Outside, the man juggled with whatever they’d fixed up to lock the room and pulled the door open. Escott was still effectively blocking the guard’s view and mine as well so I couldn’t see what was going on. He shuffled forward, his breath straining and his heartbeat high, so it wasn’t all acting. The man kept him in front as they started across the gym.

  My turn. If I could take it; but walking was less tiring than vanishing, and the chance of escape inspired me to throw off some of the weakness. I dragged to my feet and managed to get out. A few steps away was a tempting rack of Indian clubs. I gingerly lifted one out and tiptoed after Escott, who was moving slowly and complaining about his injuries. His talk was enough to cover any small noises I made.

  “Yeah,” said the guy with a minimum of sympathy. It must have been his favorite word. It was also the last thing he said for the time being. I thumped him once with the fat end of the club and once was more than enough. He dropped flat.

  “Good man,” approved Escott. “Now, let’s try that window.” Moving a little faster than before, but still obviously uncomfortable, he bee-lined to the far side of the room.

  I felt marginally better but didn’t want to rely on it lasting and wasted no time in raising the window.

  Somewhere, something that sounded like a continuous telephone bell went off. Escott cursed and tapped at a metal plate set into the windowsill.

  “Burglar alarm. That’s torn it. They’ll be here straightaway.”

  I popped out the copper screening. The drop to the ground was only four feet, nothing to me, but awkward for Escott.

  “I can manage,” he assured me, as though reading my mind, but said it through his teeth as he shifted painfully on the sill to get his legs out. He bit off a strangled noise in his throat when he jolted to the ground, throwing a hand against the house to steady himself.

  “Isham’s waiting over there,” I said, pointing at the clapboard shed across the yard.

  He hugged his aching chest with both arms and shambled ahead. I crawled out after him. The alarm bell seemed louder outside than in; the night air vibrated from it. Behind, somebody called for me to stop. I glanced back and saw Newton fast struggling out with Lester following.

  Isham was ready to cover us. He stepped clear of the shed and waited for Escott to pass his line of sight before taking a potshot at the pursuit. It was purposely wide in order to miss me, but I found myself ducking anyway. Newton growled something obscene and followed it up with a shot of his own. Several shots. With me smack in the middle.

  I dropped and rolled, hoping the dizziness wouldn’t kick up again, but was disappointed. The night world whirled and twisted; earth, sky, and earth. My stomach and head spun with them.

  More gunfire. Over me. Passing me. Then a horn blowing, coming closer.

  I was on my stomach and gulping air. My toes dug into the damp earth. I levered upright. Newton and Lester were ahead of me now, using the shed for cover.

  Horn.

  Coldfield’s Nash tore over the grounds toward Escott and lsham. He swerved around them, the heavy car skidding sloppily as he put it between them and the shooting. He leaned across to open the passenger door for them. They dived in. Escott pointed at me, yelling something. Coldfield was nodding.

  He slammed gears and hit the gas. The engine roared, the wheels slipped, gouged, and caught. He was coming straight for me. I moved more to the right, ready to make a grab for a door handle when it came.

  Lester broke from the shed and began firing at the car. With all its armor he’d have had better luck stopping an elephant with a peashooter. Newton was more on the ball and decided to shoot at me, instead.

  I dodged and staggered to make a more difficult target. He was too damned close.

  Then the car was in front of me. I seized a handle and got a foot on the running board. Coldfield hardly slowed down and I could hear him cursing through the thick glass as he fought with the wheel.

  Except for the handle, I had nothing else to hold. Inside the car, Isham threw himself over the backseat to get to me. He popped up immediately and rolled down the rear window. He got a handful of my coat collar and shouted for me to climb inside.

  It might have worked if I’d had my full strength and if circumstances hadn’t suddenly changed.

  I didn’t hear it so much as feel it, a heavy shock like a drumbeat hitting me from the outside in, going right through me. My bones literally rattled from it. My muscles gave in to it. Dozens of fire-hot bee stings tore at my back. Red dots splashed the car and spotted Isham’s face. Involuntarily, he winced away from it. Blood. My blood. Then Isham wasn’t there anymore, though I had a last impression that he’d made a futile grab for me as I slipped away.

  Hard ground hit me all over. Lights too bright to exist flashed within my brain.

  Silence. The thick, ringing kind you get after something’s deafened you.

  I raised my wobbling head and saw the red taillights of the Nash bump along and close together as the car swung around. Searing white beams from the headlights replaced them. Coldfield was coming back for another try, but I knew it wouldn’t work. I got as far as my knees and frantically waved him off, telling him to get out, to get the hell out. I couldn’t hear myself shout.

  Something arced over my head and bounced toward the car. It was oblong, about the size of a potato. I waved once more, screaming this time.

  The Nash swerved away from it. Coldfield must have known what it was, too. His car wasn’t that heavily armored. I threw myself flat and covered my head the way I’d been taught in the army. Despite the deafness, I heard this one go off. Once more the shock pulverized me. I felt like an ant under a hammer.

  It struck.

  Heavy clods of earth hailed on me.

  Something smashed into my hand.

  Silence.

  I couldn’t see the car anymore. The blast had flipped me right over.
Croggily turning, I was just able to see its lights skimming away. Coldfield was trying to put some distance between us, correction, between himself and them. He couldn’t help it and I wasn’t blaming him for going. That had been the idea behind all the waving and shouting, after all.

  Movement. I followed it.

  Angela Paco darted past me. Her legs flashed below the flowing hem of her dark skirt. She had something heavy in one hand. She stopped, fiddled with it, and drew her arm back. The thing arced high like the others but didn’t fly far. She was small and probably not strong enough to throw it with much safety for herself. As soon as it left her hand, she rushed back.

  Her face was unnaturally bright. Her breath smoked freely from her open mouth. She was laughing as she dropped on the ground not ten feet from me.

  Drumbeat.

  Farther away. Not so bad, but enough to shake us. When I looked up again, Angela was just dragging to her feet, still laughing with childlike delight.

  The last grenade hadn’t landed anywhere near the retreating Nash, which was just as well. Angela had thrown it as a parting gift to keep them moving, or maybe just for the sheer fun of it. Coldfield had taken the hint. The car bolted around the bulk of the house, heading for the front gate. They were gone.

  I sighed and let my head fall back onto the earth. Clouds marred the wide sky, blocking the stars. I shut my eyes miserably against their gray monotony. It would have been nice to see the stars one last time.

  They stood all around me, looking down. Angela was smiling. Newton scowled. Lester slammed another clip purposefully into his gun and chambered a bullet. I had no doubt that he was planning to use it on me.

  The belated realization that my condition had limits shouldn’t have surprised me, but did. Tonight I’d pushed myself too far, used up too much of myself. The raw strength and powers that I’d come to take for granted were either dampened or gone.

  I felt betrayed, by myself, by my changed body.

  I felt hunger. I needed blood.

  With that thought, I could almost taste it again. The smell was all around me. My canines budded. I brought my hand up to cover them.

  Bloodsmell. My own.

  There was a gash on the back of my hand. Precious life that I couldn’t afford to lose seeped out. What would otherwise be a negligible annoyance easily taken care of was now too threatening to ignore. The red stuff, even my own, had its expected effect on me.

  No, don’t let them see.

  They were talking. I could catch a word or two as the deafness slowly faded. Lester held his gun ready, but Angela stopped him with a curt gesture. When he put it away, I felt safe enough to turn over as though to stand up. Better to be on the ground with my back to them than for them to see. Distinct points of pain flared along my back. I’d been hit by shrapnel. It had gone through me, compounding the blood loss from Chaven’s bullets. Not needing to pretend weakness, I rested a moment with my wounded hand right under my month.

  No good. The taste was wrong. Filtered through my body and the changes within that made it so different also made it wrong. I might as well have tried drinking my own sweat to quench a bottomless thirst.

  Hands under my arms, lifting me. I did nothing. They dragged me into the house. Lights. Hall. Doors. Lights burning through me, burning me up.

  Heat lamp. I was in the gym, sprawled on the same massage table where they’d worked on Vic. Doc loomed over me and asked a question. I couldn’t answer. Didn’t dare. He’d see the teeth.

  Angela stood next to him, her big dark eyes interested, but without compassion. Her dress didn’t have much of a collar. I stared at the slender lines of red life rushing beneath the flushed skin of her neck.

  Doc peered and poked, then pressed fingers on my wrist to check the pulse. I jerked my arm away. He shrugged and let it pass.

  “Just a little stunned,” he pronounced, his voice distant as though coming through a wall. “Still got some fight in him, though. Should be all right after he cleans up.”

  So much for his medical expertise. If I closed my eyes and kept very quiet, he might declare me fit for a six-day bicycle race.

  “Good,” said Angela. “We can use him.”

  “And just what the hell were you thinking lobbing grenades all over the place, girl? This isn’t the Fourth of July by a long shot.”

  “I had them, so why not use them? That car had more steel than a battleship, or couldn’t either of you figure that out?” She looked expectantly at Newton and Lester.

  Both shrugged. “Not our fault,” said Newton. “Things were jumping too fast. I think it’s a good thing you came in when you did.”

  “Uh-huh.” She saw through the flattery, but in a good-natured way. “All right, get things put back together here. Lock that window shut and set the alarm again. I don’t want them creeping back on us.”

  “There’s still a hole in the works somewhere,” Doc said. He nodded at me. “How else could he have gotten through?”

  ”Okay. Check the rest of the house, too. What I’d like to know is how he got out last night.”

  “Maybe your daddy put a secret passage in the steam room,” he deadpanned, pulling out a sizable drinking flask. He drank deeply. I watched with a terrible envy.

  “Don’t be an ass. Go check on Mac. See if he’s okay.”

  He pocketed the flask. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She crossed her arms, studying me narrowly. “How did you get out?”

  I barely opened my mouth. “Wasn’t easy.”

  “How?”

  “Waited ’til no one was looking.” It was the truth, more or less. I studied her in turn, drawn by her brown velvet eyes and cupid’s-bow lips. Drawn by her … no … I can’t do that again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just … you’re very beautiful.” I squeezed my lids shut and tried not to breathe in her scent.

  “Oh, ho,” she said. “At death’s door and still able to flirt. You guys are all crazy.”

  “Yeah. I’m crazy. Go away.”

  “When I’m ready, Fleming. You’ve cost me, so there’s going to have to be a payoff and you’re it.”

  “Only part of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Opal’s the other part. She’s what matters. You don’t need me to make a trade for your father.”

  Her voice lowered and sharpened. “What do you know about him? Kyler’s had a lid on the whole business from the start. Tell me.”

  “Wasn’t on that tight. He’s got your father—you want him back. You first figured to trade me and Vic for him.”

  “But then you got away.”

  “Vic’s not important enough to trade?”

  “Vic makes the arrangements. He thinks he’ll be traded. He’ll be lucky if he survives another day, the lousy, two-faced rat.”

  “Used to work for you, huh?”

  “That’s the problem, he decided not to—” She caught herself. “Why are you so interested?”

  “I just want to get out of here alive, Miss Paco.”

  She smiled, offered a short laugh, and turned to check Doc’s progress with Mac. The latter was sitting up, head between his knees. Doc probed at the damage and got a moan of outrage from his patient.

  “He’ll be all right. Just needs an ice bag. What’ll you do with that one, Angela?” Doc gestured at me.

  “Same as the other. Put him away until we set a deal with Kyler.”

  “You think he’ll be interested in dealing after what you did to Red and the others?”

  “He can buy more soldiers. And he’ll deal. Opal is one of a kind for him. He doesn’t dare let her go.”

  “Or maybe let you get away with it. It’s one thing to trade somebody he wants dead for your daddy, but another to grab one of his own people. He might not be very forgiving.”

  “Once Daddy’s back and safe, I’ll be able to fix that.”

  “Go easy, girl.”

  “Ha.”

  Lester returned just
then. “Telephone, Angela.”

  “Is it Kyler?”

  He shrugged. “Won’t say who he is.”

  She pushed past him to see for herself. Doc watched her leave with a fond smile, which he turned on me.

  “You need anything, kid?”

  “A blood transfusion?” My teeth were safely retracted by now, but I was still weak and impossibly hollow inside.

  He shook his head. “Fresh out. Better luck next time. ’Course you had some luck tonight or you wouldn’t be talking now.”

  “And how long will that last? She doesn’t need me to get her father back.”

  “True, but Angela and I have an arrangement: I don’t try to run things and she doesn’t practice medicine.”

  “She might listen to you.”

  “Don’t count on it.” He went away to another room for a moment, returning with a damp towel, which he used to clean up my face. “You are quite a mess, boy, you know that?”

  “Mm.”

  “Now let’s see what the rest of the damage is. You’ve got more holes than a sweater full of moths.”

  I waved him off. “I’m all right.”

  But he was evidently used to protesting patients and Lester was there to back him up. I couldn’t fight them both. The shrapnel hits in my back were closed up by now. The metal had been moving too fast and gone right through, presumably to bounce off the car’s body. I hoped the stuff had missed Isham. Doc compared the holes and stains on my clothes to the unmarked skin below and asked me an obvious question about the discrepancy. I made an uncooperative grunt to indicate that I had no answer. Thankfully, he shrugged it off for the moment. I silently blessed his lack of medical skill and the booze dulling his brain.

  Doc washed off the gash in my hand. It had stopped bleeding, but still looked nasty and raw. Perhaps some flying fragment of wood had caused it.

  “How about some stitches?” he suggested cheerfully.

  “Never mind. Just bandage it.”

  “You’ll have a scar.”

  Lester laughed. “Doc, the kid ain’t gonna be ’round long enough for that.”