Sherbet held my gaze then finally looked away. Everything, Sam. Everything.
Chapter Two
“Sam, he agreed to have his memory removed. About you, about vampires. Everything.”
Sanchez nodded, although he kept staring at me. “Whatever it takes to catch the bastard killing these people. That is, of course, if you really are a, you know...”
“A vampire,” I said.
“Yeah, that.” And now, Sanchez looked a little uncomfortable.
He should look uncomfortable. Either he was surrounded by a lot of craziness, or he was sitting next to something that, had I lost my grip on it, would like nothing more than to drink from his writhing body.
Jesus, Sam, came Sherbet’s thoughts. Dial it down a little. You’re scaring even me.
I’m pissed, Detective.
Don’t be pissed, Sam. Sanchez is a friend of mine. A good detective. No, a great detective. He’s dealing with something he doesn’t understand. You can see how willing he is to find the killer. He’ll do whatever it takes.
Still, I fumed. My life was difficult enough as it was, without the world knowing what I was. I drummed my longish, pointed nails along the wooden arm of the guest chair.
“So, it’s true, then,” said Sanchez, watching me carefully. God, I hated to be watched carefully.
“Maybe,” I said.
“I told him everything, Sam,” said Sherbet. “No need to be evasive.”
I sighed. “Fine,” I said. “I’m a blood-sucking creature of the night. Hide your kids and all that.” I raised my clawed fingers half-heartedly like the vampire in the silent movie, Nosferatu. “Rawr.”
Sanchez laughed lightly, hesitantly, undoubtedly not sure what to make of all of this. He never took his eyes off me. Hell, if I were him, I wouldn’t take my eyes off me, either. It wasn’t often that someone met a freak like me.
“You’re not a freak,” said Sherbet, picking up my thoughts like a freak himself.
“Like hell I’m not,” I said.
“Am I missing something here?” asked Sanchez.
“Sorry,” said Sherbet. “Sam and I can sort of, ah...”
“Sort of what?”
“Read each other’s minds,” said Sherbet, and he suddenly looked like he wished he was having any other conversation but this one.
“You’re kidding.”
“Trust me. I wish I was.”
Sanchez thought about that—or tried to—then looked back at me. “I’ve never met a vampire before.”
“That you know of.”
“Do they all look like you?”
“Short, cute, spunky?”
Sanchez grinned. “Something like that.”
“We look like you, Detective, until you look a little deeper.”
“Your skin is pale,” he said. “Your nails...they’re pointed.”
“Very good, Detective. Anything else?”
“Your eyes. They are...never mind.”
“They’re what?” I needed to know this. I’d seen vampire eyes—Hanner’s eyes. And they were wild and not very human.
“You don’t blink very much,” said Sanchez, but I knew he was holding back. He wanted to say more.
“My eyes look cold,” I said. “Don’t they?”
He held my gaze, studying me, looking deeply into me. “Yes.”
“Like a killer’s eyes?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Like I’m not all there?”
“Yes,” he said again. He held my gaze. He didn’t shy away.
I sighed. When had the change in my eyes happened? I didn’t know. Maybe it had happened the instant I had turned. Then again, I wouldn’t know since I hadn’t seen my eyes in more than seven years.
They don’t look that creepy, Sam, thought Sherbet.
Thanks, Detective. But maybe you’re just used to them.
Or maybe we’re all nuts.
Have they changed to you, Detective? I mean, recently?
I haven’t noticed—
Detective...
He sighed, look at me again, looked deep into my eyes, and thought, Yes, Sam. They’ve changed recently. Darker, perhaps.
Evil?
I wouldn’t go that far.
“You guys are doing it again, aren’t you?” asked Sanchez. “That whole teleport thing.”
“Telepathy,” I said, winking. “Get it straight.”
He gave me a crooked smile. A handsome smile.
A married smile, added Sherbet. His wife is a bit nuts. She would take you on, vampire or not. And she just might win.
I almost grinned. Yes, someone wanted the world to know that Detective Sanchez was married. I was guessing the psycho wife. After all, he sported a thick, gold band that could have been seen from the Russian Space Station.
Sanchez said, “So, you’re really a vampire?”
“That’s what it says on the tombstone over my grave.”
“You’re joking.”
“Let’s hope.”
Sanchez might have smiled. Mostly, he kept his considerable stare on me. I was noticing more and more how he was making the small office even smaller. Either that, or Sherbet was bigger than I thought.
Hey, Sherbet thought.
I grinned, and said to Sanchez, “Tell me about your case.”
He said, “Better I show you.”
Chapter Three
We were driving.
While we drove, I looked through Detective Sanchez’s police file. In particular, I studied photos of the bodies. Two women. Both with grisly wounds to their necks. Not so much bitten as torn.
“Who found the bodies?” I asked.
“Hikers.”
“The same hikers?”
“No. Two different hikers. Two different days. But the bodies were left on the same trail.”
“Or killed on the same trail.”
“That, too,” said Sanchez.
We were winding our way through heavy traffic along the I-5. It was past seven p.m. and the sun had set and I was feeling damn good.
Sanchez glanced at me. “You look a little different.”
I was intrigued. “Different how?”
He studied me for a heartbeat longer, then looked forward again like a good boy—or a good cop—keeping his eyes on the road. “I dunno. You have more color in your face. You seem...”
“Peppier?”
“Cops don’t say words like peppier.”
“Sure they don’t.”
We drove some more. I continued studying the photos of the two dead women. I searched for a psychic hit but found none. What kind of a psychic hit, I didn’t know. Hell, I would have taken anything: a face, a name, a distorted image. However, nothing came to me.