"My God," I said.
"What's wrong, Ms. Blake?"
I shook my head. "He can't be that old."
"How old is that?"
I didn't want to say it out loud, as if that would make it real. A million years. How powerful would a vampire grow in a million years?
A woman walked up the hallway towards us, coming from deeper in the house. She swayed on bare feet, toenails painted a bright scarlet that matched her fingernails. The belted dress she wore matched the nail polish. Her legs were long and pale, but it was that kind of paleness that promised to tan if it ever got enough sunlight. Her hair fell past her waist, thick and absolute black. Her makeup was perfect, her lips scarlet. She smiled at me; fangs showed below her lips.
But she wasn't a vampire. I didn't know what the hell she was, but I knew what she wasn't. I glanced at Inger. He didn't look happy.
"Shouldn't we be going?" I said.
"Yes," he said. He backed towards the front door and I backed behind him. Neither of us took our eyes off the fanged beauty slinking down the hall towards us.
She moved in a liquid run that was almost too fast to follow. Lycanthropes could move like that, but that wasn't what she was, either.
She was around Inger and coming for me. I gave up being cool and sort of ran backwards towards the front door. But she was too fast for me, too fast for any human.
She grabbed my right forearm. She looked puzzled. She could feel the knife sheath on my arm. She didn't seem to know what it was. Bully for me.
"What are you?" My voice was steady. Not afraid. Heap big vampire slayer. Yeah, right.
She opened her mouth wider, tongue caressing the fangs. The fangs were longer than a vampire's; she'd never be able to close her mouth around them.
"Where do the fangs go when you close your mouth?" I said.
She blinked at me, the smile slipping away from her face. She ran her tongue over them, then they folded back into the roof of her mouth.
"Retractable fangs. Cool," I said.
Her face was very solemn. "I'm glad you enjoyed the show, but there's so much more to see." The fangs unfolded again. She widened her jaws, almost a yawn, flashing the fangs nicely in the dim beams of sunlight that got around the drapes.
"Mr. Oliver will not like you threatening her," Inger said.
"He grows weak, sentimental." Her fingers dug into my arm stronger than she should have been.
She was holding my right arm, so I couldn't go for the gun. The knives were out for similar reasons. Maybe I should wear more guns.
She hissed at me, a violent explosion of air that no human throat ever made. The tongue that flicked out was forked.
"Sweet Jesus, what are you?"
She laughed, but it didn't sound right now; maybe the split tongue. Her pupils had narrowed to slits, her irises turned a golden yellow while I watched.
I tugged on my arm but her fingers were like steel. I dropped to the floor. She lowered my arm but didn't let go.
I leaned back on my left side, drew my legs up under me, and kicked her right kneecap with everything I had. The leg crumpled. She screamed and fell to the floor, but she let my arm go.
Something was happening to her legs. They seemed to be growing together, the skin spreading. I'd never seen anything like it, and I didn't want to now.
"Melanie, what are you doing?" The voice was behind us. Oliver stood in the hallway just short of the brighter light of the living room. His voice was the sound of rocks falling, trees breaking. A storm that was just words but seemed to cut and slash.
The thing on the floor cringed from the voice. Her lower body was becoming serpentine. A snake of some kind. Jesus.
"She's a lamia," I said softly. I backed away, putting the outside door to my back, hand on the door knob. "I thought they were extinct."
"She is the last one," Oliver said. "I keep her with me because I fear what she would do left to her own desires."
"Your creature that you can call, what is it?" I asked.
He sighed, and I felt the years of sadness in that one sound. A regret too deep for words. "Snakes, I can call snakes."
I nodded my head. "Sure." I opened the door and backed out onto the sunny porch. No one tried to stop me.
The door shut behind me and after a few minutes Inger came out. He was stiff with anger. "We most humbly apologize for her. She is an animal."
"Oliver needs to keep her on a tighter leash."
"He tries."
I nodded. I knew about trying. Doing your best, but anything that could control a lamia could play mind games with me all day, and I might never know it. How much of my trust and good wishes was real and how much of it was manufactured by Oliver?
"I'll drive you back."
"Please."
And away we went. I'd met my first lamia and perhaps the oldest living creature in the world. A red-fucking-letter day.
Chapter 31
The phone was ringing as I unlocked the apartment door. I shoved the door open with my shoulder and ran for the phone. I got it on the fifth ring and nearly yelled, "Hello."
"Anita?" Ronnie made it a question.
"Yeah, it's me."
"You sound out of breath."
"I had to run for the phone. What's up?"
"I remembered where I knew Cal Rupert from."
It took me a minute to remember who she was talking about. The first vampire victim. I'd forgotten, just for a moment, that there was a murder investigation going on. I was a little ashamed of that. "Talk to me, Ronnie."
"I was doing some work for a local law firm last year. One of the lawyers specialized in drawing up dying wills."
"I know that Rupert had a dying will. That's how I could stake him without waiting for an order of execution."
"But did you also know that Reba Baker had a dying will with the same lawyer?"
"Who's Reba Baker?"
"It may be the female victim."
My stomach tightened. A clue, a real live clue. "What makes you think so?"
"Reba Baker was young, blond, and missed an appointment. She doesn't answer her phone. They called her at work, and she hasn't been in for two days."
"The length of time she'd have been dead," I said.
"Exactly."
"Call Sergeant Rudolf Storr. Tell him what you just told me. Use my name to get to him."
"You don't want to check it out ourselves?"
"Not on your life. This is police business. They're good at it. Let 'em earn their paychecks."
"Shucks, you're no fun."
"Ronnie, call Dolph. Give it to the police. I've met the vampires that are killing these people. We don't want to make ourselves targets."
"You what!"
I sighed. I'd forgotten that Ronnie didn't know. I told her the shortest version that would make any sense. "I'll fill you in on everything Saturday morning when we work out."
"You going to be all right?"
"So far, so good."
"Watch your back, okay?"
"Always; you too."
"I never seem to have as many people after my back as you do."
"Be thankful," I said.
"I am." She hung up.
We had a clue. Maybe a pattern, except for the attack on me. I didn't fit any pattern. They'd come after me to get Jean-Claude. Everybody wanted Jean-Claude's job. The trouble was, you couldn't abdicate; you could only die. I liked what Oliver had had to say. I agreed with him, but could I sacrifice Jean-Claude on the altar of good sense? Dammit.
I just didn't know.
Chapter 32
Bert's office was small and painted pale blue. He thought it was soothing to the clients. I thought it was cold, but that fit Bert, too. He was six feet tall with the broad shoulders and build of an ex-college football player. His stomach was moving a little south with too much food and not enough exercise, but he carried it well in his seven-hundred-dollar suits. For that kind of money, the suits should have carried the Taj Mahal.
He was tanned, grey-eyed, with a buzz haircut that was nearly white. Not age, his natural hair color.
I was sitting across from his desk in work clothes. A red skirt, matching jacket, and a blouse that was so close to scarlet I'd had to put on a little makeup so that my face didn't seem ghostly. The jacket was tailored so that my shoulder holster didn't show.
Larry sat in the chair beside me in a blue suit, white shirt, and blue-on-blue tie. The skin around his stitches had blossomed into a multicolored bruise across his forehead. His short red hair couldn't hide it. It looked like someone had hit him in the head with a baseball bat.