No matter what, at all costs, I had to retain who I was and not let the vampire in me consume me completely. If so, she would win. If so, I might not ever return.
I did not want to spend an eternity on the sidelines, watching the thing within me ruin and destroy lives.
With that thought, as the rising sun approached on the distant horizon, not quite dawn but only minutes away, as I slipped from phase two into phase three, I thought of Detective Hanner, my one-time vampire friend.
How far gone was she? I knew Hanner had killed without remorse or discrimination. She had personally run a blood ring, overseen by psychotic killers. And I had watch her kill the lady jogger.
As Fang stood by and watched...
And then joined her.
Yes, Hanner was very far gone, although, I suspected, not entirely consumed by the darkness within her. And, with sudden clarity, I suspected I knew why.
“She made an agreement with it,” I said sleepily to myself.
I nodded into my pillow.
Yes, that was it, of course. She had made an agreement with the entity early on. By allowing it to surface, to briefly possess her body, to live in this world sooner rather than later. By doing so, it, in return, gave Hanner access to her own body.
Kind of it, I thought.
Well, I wasn’t making a deal with the bitch within me. She wasn’t going to surface. Not now, or ever.
“You can go to hell,” I mumbled aloud, barely coherent.
And, just before sleep hit me, I knew what I had to do.
I had to find Hanner...and Fang.
Chapter Twenty-six
I was in my minivan.
Driving along the winding Bastanchury Road through the back hills of Yorba Linda, on my way to see an honest-to-God werewolf and a butler who may or may not have been Frankenstein—yeah, no shit—when my cell phone rang.
Restricted. I.D.
It was either Detective Sherbet or Detective Sanchez, so I played it safe. “Hi, Detective,” I said.
“How did you know it was me?” asked Sanchez.
“Lucky guess,” I said.
Our connection wasn’t so strong that he could read my thoughts long distance, which was a good thing, because he might have known I wasn’t quite so awesome. Can’t have that.
“We have another body, Sam.”
My smug grin faltered. “Where?”
“Same place, same trail. Griffith Park.”
“Who?”
“A park ranger this time, which means this is about to get ugly fast.”
“Griffith Park has park rangers?”
“Apparently so. Look, rangers are cops in their own right, and there’s going to be a lot of questions about this one. A lot of people are going to want answers.”
He was right, of course. Park rangers were cops, too, and when one of their own went down, well, whole departments—hell, whole agencies—kicked into gear.
“Officially, it’s going down as a cougar attack.”
“Good,” I said. “Leave it at that. Fight for that. Don’t let anyone suggest otherwise.”
“Sam, the wound is identical to the jogger. We can’t hide this for long.”
“You won’t need to,” I said.
There was a pause. I swear to God, I thought I might have even heard his heart beating through the phone. Maybe our connection was stronger than I’d thought. “What do you know, Sam?” he asked.
I shielded my thoughts of Fang. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.”
“Do you know who did this?” asked Sanchez.
“I do.”
“Tell me, goddammit. I will personally hunt these fuckers down—”
“And that’s the problem, Detective. I don’t know where they are or what’s going on, or why they’re killing the way they’re killing.”
“They?”
“There’s two of them.”
“Are they like you?” asked Sanchez.
“They are just like me,” I said.
“What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to find them,” I said. “And stop them.”
“How?” he asked.
I aimed my car into Kingsley’s long-ass driveway. “Any way I can.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Franklin the butler answered the door.
As usual, he gazed down at me from high above his long nose. That his ears were two different sizes—and two different color tones—was something I was almost getting used to. Almost. That the ears were not quite level was another matter.
“Master Kingsley is...indisposed,” said Franklin.
“Indisposed, as in, with a woman?”
“Indisposed,” Franklin intoned irritably, his enunciation impeccable, with a slight British accent. And something else, too. French perhaps.
I was surprised to discover that I felt mildly jealous at hearing these words. I brushed past the big butler, touching him for the first time, my hand on his shoulder. As I did so, I couldn’t help but notice the fact that he was hard as a rock...and just as immovable. Good thing there was just enough Samantha Moon space between him and the door frame.
“Well,” I said from the foyer, as Franklin turned slowly and scowled at me. “Then I shall wait in the sitting room until Kingsley is un-indisposed.”
* * *
Footsteps.
Two sets of them. One barefoot, one heeled. The barefoot ones sounded like two slabs of beef slapping against the tiled floor. The heeled ones sounded a little too cute and spunky for me. The footsteps wound down the spiral stairs, then through the hallway, then over to the front door. At the door, there were whispered words spoken. I couldn’t quite make them out—didn’t want to make them out. Still, my hearing was kind of awesome, if not superhuman. So I did catch a too-sweet “See you soon” followed by sounds of lip smacking. Eww. Finally, mercifully, the door opened and the sounds of clicking heels faded away, cut short by the shutting door.
More sounds of bare feet slapping, and a moment later, Kingsley stood at the entrance to the sitting room.
“This couldn’t wait?” he asked.
“I waited,” I said sweetly.
“Franklin came to the bedroom at a, um, crucial time.”
“Gee, I’m sorry,” I said, equally sweetly. I might have batted my eyelashes once or twice. “Did I throw off your rhythm?”
He growled from deep within his throat and swept into the room, his silk robe fluttering open, briefly flashing me. I nearly wretched...knowing where that thing had just been. He smiled slyly at my reaction and sat across from me, exposing himself once again as he crossed his tree-trunk-like legs.