Death of an Immortal (16 page)

Sure, it was her family––but it wasn’t, really, not anymore. Vampires became emotionally detached the minute they Turned. They were no longer part of their old lives. Indeed, it was unusual for any vampire to seek out anyone or anything from their past life.

Except for revenge. That was quite normal. They’d discover their newborn powers and realize they no longer had any qualms about taking human life, and the combination was deadly to any former enemy of a new vampire.

Was that why she was here? It wasn’t uncommon for parents to be the first victims.

The cop in Portland had said something about the murder victim having a restraining order out on someone. A boyfriend?

The baby vampire was admirably motionless while she watched her sister. Horsham was impressed. He started to get up, but at that moment, the girl turned and began climbing down the tree. She looked through the sliding door into the living room, displaying a vampire’s uncanny sense of exactly how close they could get to the light. Then she retreated and started taking off her clothes.

That was interesting! Horsham settled back to watch. She stood at the glass door and waved for someone inside to come out.

Well done. That would scare whoever was inside half to death. Meat always tasted better seasoned with a little adrenaline.

As she turned around to get dressed, he slipped away into the shadows and quickly made his way to the front of the house. There was a police car parked there and an officer walking quickly toward it. Horsham sped through the shadows, ending up only a few feet from the fleeing cop.

“Pardon me,” he said politely.

The man couldn’t restrain a yelp of surprise. Then he scowled, embarrassed. “Where’d you come from?”

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Horsham said in as soothing a voice as he could, which, considering that seducing prey was one of a vampire’s main weapons, was very soothing indeed. “Is this the Hardaway residence? I heard what happened. Tragic.”

“Yeah, it is––very tragic. That’s why they don’t need to be bothered by strangers, Mister…?”

“Harkins. And you are?”

“Officer Richard Carlan. I’m investigating the case. What’s your interest?”

“Oh, I’m new to town. Just moved into the neighborhood, and wondered if I should drop by with some food or something, give them my condolences.”

“Not necessary,” Carlan said. He seemed impatient to be off, looking over Horsham’s shoulder worriedly.

“Well, I won’t keep you, officer. Thanks for the information.”

The cop dropped into the front seat of his cruiser and sped away without looking back.

Horsham quickly went to the back of the house again. The vampire girl was gone, but she couldn’t have gone far.

Unless he missed his bet, she was out hunting.

She was doomed unless she found a mentor, and Horsham was feeling the need for some company. He’d teach her the Rules, and she would help him take vengeance on the vampire who had created her.

He found her a couple of lots over, hunting a dog that was whining because it sensed something approaching that didn’t have a smell. Horsham came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

She whirled with admirable speed, her fangs and claws fully extended, but she couldn’t see him. He’d frozen into the darkness of the bark of the tree next to them. She stomped around the yard for a few moments, very unladylike, and then shook her head in confusion. He waited until she began stalking the dog again and then tapped her on the other shoulder.

“What the…?” she hissed.

He let her see him this time, standing far enough back that he could evade her if she reacted by lashing out, but again, she showed unusual restraint.

“Who are you?
What
are you?” She stared at him with dawning realization. “Are you what I think you are?”

He laughed. “I don’t know. What do you think I am?”

“What I am: a vampire. I don’t smell the blood in you. You must be. And if you’re here, then you must know the vampire who Turned me.”

“Indeed I do. Would you like to meet him?”

She was silent for a few moments. Maybe he had guessed wrong. Maybe she wasn’t looking for revenge against her Maker. Maybe it was the opposite. Maybe she wanted to thank him. Either way, she could be used as a weapon against Terrill.

“I think you need some help,” Horsham said soothingly. Her fangs and claws retracted about halfway. He continued talking. “New vampires need to be shown the veins, so to speak. There are rules that we live by, and you need to learn them if you wish to survive.”

She nodded her head. “I wondered… it couldn’t be this wild, this chaotic for everyone. We’d never survive.”

“Precisely,” he said, sounding pleased.
This is indeed a one-in-a-thousand vampire,
he thought. For the first time, he warmed up to the thought of being a true Mentor. He’d never been one before: he’d always been a little too selfish, a little too obsessive in his hunt for Terrill.

“Rule number one,” he said. “Never trust a human.”

Chapter 25

When Terrill emerged from the tent, Mark and another man, a fat, scruffy fellow with a full gray beard, were trying to start a campfire, and not having much success, from the sound of all the cursing.

Mark looked over at Terrill. “Hey, newbie. We could use some firewood,” he called.

“No problem,” Terrill answered. The dark was gathering beneath the rocks and trees, but he could easily see the ground. It was picked clean of loose wood for hundreds of feet around the camp. He looked around.

There were three large tents, a tarp slanting down from the lava outcropping with supplies beneath it, and some large, white water bottles, and cases of Top Ramen, beans, and rice. There were a couple of tables and chairs built from rough wood, and some tree stumps being used as stools. There was even a clothesline, with laundry flapping in the early evening wind. Fifty feet away, on the other side of the camp, was a latrine, a big hole in the ground with a couple of logs separated just enough to sit on and get your business done.

It was quite homey, as if they were all on vacation.

Terrill finally found a downed juniper a couple of hundred yards beyond the outskirts of the camp. He loaded up, carrying the smaller limbs in one arm and dragging the trunk with the other. He dumped the wood beside the now-raging fire without a word and went back and got more.

“That should be enough for tonight,” Perry said when Terrill returned for the second time. “Sit yourself down.”

All the available spots were taken, so Terrill dragged the trunk of the downed juniper over next to Perry and sat on one end of it.

“That’s Harve,” Perry said, nodding to the fat, bearded man. “The little squirt is Damien, and the dirty guy is Grime.”

Damien was younger than the others, skinny, and he wore what looked like the remnants of a business suit. He’d obviously once had a short haircut that was only now growing out. Apparently, he was the next newest member of the camp, having arrived only the week before. The last man, Grime, lived up to his name. He was filthy, and Terrill could smell his stink even through the smoke.

They were all looking at him, and he realized that he was supposed to be supplying a name. He was flustered. He hadn’t given out his real name in hundreds of years, except to Jamie, and look how that had turned out. But he was also tired of lying.

Perry bailed him out. “With that big honking cross on your chest, I’m calling you Christian.”

Terrill was surprised. That was the last name he had ever expected to be called. The last name he would have ever called himself. And yet…

He nodded. “Sure.”

Mark was looking at him with raised eyebrows, but obviously it was traditional among these men not to ask too many questions.

“I’ll drink to that,” Harve said, producing a full bottle of whiskey.

“Here’s the rules,” Mark said after they had all taken a swig. “You have to bring in your own water and your share of the food. If you’re a drinker, you have to bring in your share of the booze. And I mean, if you drink a lot, you bring a lot. Got it?”

Terrill nodded, his face impassive.

“As the newbie, you have to get the firewood and dig the new latrine when we need one.” Mark smiled without much humor. “Little Damien here is glad as hell you showed up, ’cause we need a new hole.

“All right,” Terrill said. He looked at Perry, who gave no reaction one way or the other.

Grime muttered something, though Terrill couldn’t quite make it out.

“What’s that, Stinky?” Mark demanded.

“He said, ‘You sure love rules,’” Perry said.

“Yeah, well, someone has to make this place livable.”

Grime’s answer was a very loud fart.

Mark made a face and looked at Grime. “Jesus! I’ll give you my share of the water if you’ll just wash yourself, for God’s sake! Otherwise, I wish to hell you’d just get the hell out of here.”

Grime said something that was indecipherable.

“Old Grime and I were here first,” Perry said reasonably.

“Yeah, and it was a shithole,” Mark said. “I fixed this place up; that ought to count for something.”

“Yeah,” Perry said. “It’s real comfortable now. Almost like one of them state-approved places. Oh, wait. I hate them state-approved places. You know why? Because there’s always some asshole in charge who thinks he can boss you around.”

Mark shut up, but the tension remained in the air.

“You want to take a vote?” Perry asked after a few minutes of silent drinking.

“What’s the point?” Mark muttered. “Mister New Guy doesn’t get a vote, but you got Grime and Damien wrapped around your little finger.”

Perry just smiled. He looked around the campfire, his eyes landing on Terrill last. He seemed to be appraising the newcomer. “You’re right about that. I have the votes. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking it’s
you
who ought to be the one who leaves.”

Mark sat in silence for a few moments, brooding, staring into the fire. He exchanged a look with Harve, who nodded. Then he stood up and pulled a big bowie knife out of his pocket.

“Listen, you old fart. This whole ‘vote’ thing is just bullshit if you can’t enforce it. You got Grime here, who’s pathetic, and Damien, who I’m betting is a little wimp who’s been kicked out of his mommy’s house, and you got New Guy, who’s as weak as a kitten.”

He turned to Harve, who stood up and reached behind himself to bring out a baseball bat. “I think you’re right, boss. I’m tired of these useless freeloaders,” Harve said.

Terrill saw the alarm in Perry’s face. He’d probably deliberately maneuvered the discussion in this direction, but it was obvious it had all come to a head faster than he had expected. Damien and Grime were both backing away from the campfire. Perry started to fumble for something in the pack beside his chair. Terrill saw the barrel of a pistol.

But Mark was ready for him. He’d probably only been kept in line until now because of the gun, but now he ran toward Perry, the big knife raised. Perry fumbled with the gun and dropped it. He reached down for it, but he was going to be too late.

Terrill moved faster than he thought he still could, faster than any human could, and stepped between Perry and his attacker.

The knife sank into the left side of his chest, slipping between his ribs.

He fell backward, the knife still lodged in his heart.

It was a grave wound, even for a vampire. If he had been stabbed with wood instead of metal, that would have been the end of him. Even so, for a few moments, he felt paralyzed.

“Oh, my God!” It was a high voice, one Terrill hadn’t heard yet, so it must have been Damien. “Don’t worry, I’ll go get help.” The voice receded toward the end and Terrill guessed the young man was running away.

He felt rather than saw Perry hovering over him. The knife was removed with a slurp, and Terrill’s body began to feel again. What he was feeling was tremendous pain, but at least he was feeling something.

There was a scuffle of some kind, and then he heard Mark say, “You and your gun; that’s the only thing that kept you in charge. Now I’ve got it. You and Grime take the dead guy and get him out of here. Bury him, whatever. The knife you got in your hand––you know, the one with your fingerprints all over it? Keep it.”

“There were witnesses,” Perry said, but he sounded defeated.

“Grime? Good luck with that. I also doubt you’ll ever see Damien again, and I doubt that was his name. He was embarrassed every minute he was here; I doubt he’s going to advertise it now. So what do you got? It’s your word against Harve and me. So my advice? Bury the guy. No one will ever miss him.”

“This isn’t the end of it,” Perry said.

“It better be,” Mark said, sounding cheerful.

Terrill felt himself being lifted by the arms and legs. From the smell, Grime had his arms, so Perry must have had his legs. They stumbled away, dropping him several times in the process. Terrill thought maybe he could move, but when he tried, he found that he couldn’t. After another few hundred steps, he tried again. Nothing.

They were well away from the light of campfire before his leg twitched.

“Holy shit!” Perry exclaimed, dropping Terrill’s legs. “Did you feel that?”

“…idn’t …eel… othing,” Grime answered. Terrill could suddenly understand him, as if he’d been given a Rosetta stone. The man mumbled his first letters, but if you made allowances for that, he was clear enough.

Terrill groaned. Grime dropped his arms and Terrill slammed into the ground, his head hitting a rock, which made it hard for him to speak for a moment.

“…hat’s …mpossible,” Grime said.

Terrill sat up and both men sprang backward with shouts of alarm.

“That can’t be,” Perry said. He looked frightened.

In answer, Terrill opened his shirt. Where the knife had gone in, there was only a red mark, but the crucifix seemed to blaze in the moonlight. He tapped the cross with his fingernail and it made a metallic sound.

“Must have hit the cross,” Terrill said.

Perry wasn’t buying it, Terrill could tell. But the cross seemed to reassure him somehow, and he grasped at the explanation, willing to believe it––outwardly, at least.