In the Blood (13 page)

"Don't you know anything else?"

"He's screened himself quite well. It took me five years to trace him to this city."

"Here? You mean he's here? In San Francisco?" Sonja felt her stomach knot. She'd
been hunting for so long, traveling the world in search of the vampire who had
made her into something beyond human. To be told that she was in the same city
with him, after twenty years...

"He's operating under deep cover. Has been for well over a decade. I don't know
what name-or face-he's wearing, but I have succeeded in tracking down the name of
someone who does. His name is Russell Howard, a human real-estate agent. He
knows who-and what-Morgan is. I suggest you start your inquiry with him."

"Why me? Why are you telling me this? If what Morgan is planning on doing will
disrupt the nature of things in the Real World, why aren't the other vampire nobles
taking an interest in what's going on?"

Pangloss grimaced as if he'd sipped tainted blood. "The ruling class-those known as
the Combine-are convinced his efforts are folly, that he's gone mad. It happens
sometimes-vampiric senile dementia. But they don't know Morgan as I do. They are
too preoccupied with their own blood feuds and atrocity exhibitions. I can
understand Morgan's disgust with their narrow-mindedness, but what he's
proposing... It's too dangerous. For both the humans
and
the Real World! What is
required is a free agent. You're unorthodox, but no one can deny your effectiveness.

And what better weapon to turn against Morgan than one of his own making?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere,
Herr Doktor.
I still don't see why you haven't
intervened if Morgan's scheme is so damned hazardous to your health. Unless you're
afraid of him."

The vampire's smile faltered.

"I know you're scared of Morgan, just as I know you're scared of me. You've been
frightened of me since you first saw me. Why is that,
Herr
Pangloss?"

Sonja removed her mirrored glasses. "What is it you see when you look at me?"

There was loathing in the old vampire's wine-red gaze, but he did not avert his eyes.

"I don't know. And that's what scares me."

7

Pangloss's driver dropped them off at their hotel a couple of blocks from the famed
dragon gates of Chinatown. The place catered largely to students and Asian
businessmen, so it was both inexpensive and clean. As they exited the back of the
limousine, a homeless person shuffled forward, gesturing and muttering
unintelligibly.

The old man, dressed in several layers of cast-off clothing, his feet wrapped in old
newspaper like dead fish, looked no different than others of his kind. He smelled of
piss and cheap wine and reminded Palmer of a cross between his Uncle Willy and a
pigeon. Yet Sonja seemed genuinely startled by the old man and hurried past him

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
)
into the lobby. Perplexed by this unaccustomed display of fear, Palmer glanced back
at the ragged figure as it returned to the fog-shrouded doorway it had shambled
from. In the diffused light from the street lamp, the old man's eyes glinted gold.

By the time Palmer reached the front desk in the lobby, Sonja was once more in
control of herself. The night clerk, an elderly Chinese gentleman who moved with
the grace of a tai chi master, did not seem terribly surprised by their unconventional
appearances. After all, it was San Francisco.

Sonja asked for and received connecting single rooms. Palmer would have preferred
separate floors, but said nothing.

After he'd stowed his suitcase in the shallow closet behind the door, there was a light
rapping on the connecting door. He opened it halfway. "What is it?" "We need to
talk."

Palmer glanced at his wristwatch. It was close to four in the morning and here she
was, wanting to talk. He'd once fancied himself a night owl, but now he realized his
previous estimation of his nocturnal stamina had been naive. "About this Morgan
guy?" "That, and what Pangloss told me."

Palmer grunted. "Okay. But let me get cleaned up first, okay? I feel like a pile of
dirty laundry."

"You got a point there."

"I know. That's why my mama made me wear a hat."

She laughed, and Palmer liked the sound of it. That disturbed him.

Twenty minutes later, after toweling his bristling mane dry and slipping into a clean
pair of jeans and a loose-fitting sweater, Palmer knocked on the door between their
rooms.

"Sonja?"

No answer.

He knocked a little louder, and this time the door swung open on its hinge.

"Uh, Sonja?"

Palmer stepped over the threshold, squinting into the darkness. From what little he
could see, Sonja's room was identical to his, only reversed. Not yet adapted to the
gloom, he jarred his hip against the dresser bureau opposite the double bed.

Cursing under his breath, Palmer looked up, expecting to see his grimacing face
reflected in the mirror. Instead, he found himself staring at a blanket. He touched
the bed linen draped over the upright mirror.

Vampires cast no reflection.

It was one of the rules he remembered from the movies of his childhood. The films
his father had condemned as junk and Palmer had consumed with uncritical
eagerness and a sense of wonder so sincere it bordered on epiphany.

For a brief moment he could see his old room, circa 1965, in all its preadolescent
glory. He could smell the chemical stink of airplane glue as the Aurora models of
Hollywood monsters dried on his desk. He could glimpse the stacks of
Famous

Monsters of Filmland
and well-thumbed
Dr. Strange
comic books stashed in the
back of his closet. The flashback was so sharp, so immediate, Palmer had to steady
himself. His hand dropped to the top of the dresser and touched something smooth
and cold. His fingers closed on the object before he realized what he'd done.

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
)

She left her glasses.

It felt weird, standing there holding her sunglasses. They were so much a part of
her, it was like he'd stumbled across her severed ear, like in that movie.

"Don't turn around."

Her voice was at his shoulder. She'd come up right behind him without his being
aware of it. Sweat broke out on his brow and upper lip. He wondered what her eyes
looked like. He recalled Pangloss's reptilian, red-rimmed pupils and how they'd
flexed, and fought to repress a shudder.

Sonja's bare arm reached around and plucked the glasses from his grip. He could
hear the quick rustle of material as she pulled on her robe.

"Okay, it's safe to look now."

Palmer turned around just as she switched on the lamp next to the bed. The
vampire sat with her back against the headboard, her legs curled under her like a
cat. She was wearing the same kimono he'd seen in New Orleans. Her hair, still
damp from the shower, was plastered against her milk-pale forehead like feathers.

She was beautiful and she scared him.

"Sorry I walked in on you like that. I knocked . . ."

"Forget about it." She motioned for him to be seated in the room's only chair.

"You said you wanted to talk?" Unsure of what else he could do, he lit a Sherman.

Palmer alternately blew smoke rings and frowned while she told him what Pangloss
had said about Morgan being somewhere in the city and his connection with the
real-estate agent.

"So, do you think we can trust Pangloss?"

"Trust him? No. But I believe him."

"So. What's all this happy crappy about the Real World and Pretenders?"

"I think you already have some idea as to that."

"Yeah, well, sure-but I'm new to this. I don't know the rules, or even if there are
any."

Sonja sighed and looked into the far corner, as if watching something. She was still
staring absently at the shadows when she spoke. "Humans think they know what
reality is, what life's about. They think they know because they can think. 'I think
therefore I know.' Their attitude is 'I'm at the top of the food chain, so I get to
decide what's real and what's not.'

"What they don't want to be simply doesn't exist. Except, perhaps, in their dreams.

Or nightmares. So they end up watching the shadows on the wall of the cave,
thinking that's how the world really is. They never look at the things throwing the
shadows. Or, if they do look, they don't see them. Most humans are both separated
from and yet a part of the Real World. Pretenders are, well, they're the ultimate
predators. It's a generic term, really. It just means they're capable of passing for
human. Like vampires, ogres, succubi, incubi and
vargr..."

"The what?"

"Werewolves," she explained. "And then there are the seraphim, like the old man
on the curb."

Palmer remembered the way the homeless person's eyes had seemed to burn like
newly minted gold coins. "Are these Sara Lees, or what have you, dangerous?"

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
)

"Hard to say exactly
what
they are. One saved my life once. Take that for what you
will."

There was a lull in the conversation and Palmer was suddenly, uncomfortably aware
he was sitting in a hotel room with a good-looking, half-naked woman.

"Look, it's late and I'm not really used to staying up all night and sleeping all day."

He moved to leave, but Sonja reached out and took his hand in hers.

"You don't have to leave."

Palmer wanted to go. He wanted to slam the door between his room and hers and
barricade it with furniture. But part of him also wanted to stay. He looked down at
her and saw his worried, embarrassed face reflected in her shades.

Jesus, do I really look that fucking neurotic ? No wonder Loli nailed me as
a sucker.

"I'm sorry if I frighten you. I don't mean to. But sometimes it's so hard to
control...." She smiled then; it was as sad and delicate a gesture as he'd ever seen.

"It's just that I get so lonely. And sometimes I need to be reminded what it's like..."

She looked away and dropped his hand. She didn't have to finish the sentence
because Palmer could hear it in his head. He wasn't sure if it was telepathy or simple
empathy.

And sometimes I need to be reminded what it's like to be human.

"Look, Sonja, it's not that I don't-"

"Go." She refused to look at him. "Just go."

Palmer obeyed, uncertain as to what he wanted. Within ten minutes he was in his
bed and sound asleep. He didn't hear her leave.

Sonja left the hotel dressed in her faded jeans and leather jacket. She struck out
toward Chinatown, scaling the steep hill with strong, purposeful strides. It would be
another hour or so before dawn, still plenty of time for hunting.

She passed the dragon gate that marked the district's entrance. The shaggy-browed
creatures with their trailing mustaches reminded her of the dragon decorating the
hilt of her switchblade.

Grant Avenue was deserted, although she knew that by five o'clock the local
merchants would start arriving to prepare their shops for another business day.

Soon the narrow sidewalks would be crowded with wooden bins filled with exotic
oriental vegetables, golden-skinned ducks dangling in the storefronts. The businesses
hawking cheap electronic gadgets and knickknacks from the Far East would not
open their doors until well after dawn, but Sonja would have finished her hunt long
before then.

You
should have made him do it. After all, he owes it to you. You saved his life.

She grimaced and tried to ignore the Other's words. She knew all too well what
would happen if she weakened and let it have its way. She paused, sniffing the chill
morning air. She could hear the distant thrumming of the cable car track and,
fainter still, the ringing of church bells.

Every doorway she passed sheltered a lumpy form, wrapped in discarded clothing
and old trash. One housed a family of four; the weary parents squatting on the
lower steps while their children slept on a pallet of folded cardboard. The woman
watched her pass with tired, fearful eyes.

Create PDF
files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (
http://www.novapdf.com
)
She paused and sniffed again. The scent was strong. She was close. Very close. She
ducked into a narrow alley. The walkway was littered with aluminum trash cans
filled with garbage. Apparently the Soon Luck restaurant didn't believe in
separating their bottles and cans. The odor was nearly overpowering enough to
mask the scent she'd been following. But not quite.