“It was the Fellowship,” Thompson said as Hallie unbuckled David’s belt and began to pull his sodden slacks down.
The Fellowship of the Sun was to vampires as the Klan was to African-Americans. The Fellowship purported to be a civic organization, but it functioned more like a church, a church that taught its adherents the religion of violence.
“The other night I turned down this guy in the bar,” Hallie said. “He just gave me the creeps. Then he found out I worked for Black Moon, and that I performed with David, you know, for the show, and he was waiting for me tonight....”
“Take it easy,” Rue said soothingly. “You’re gonna hyperventilate, Hallie. Listen, you go wash your face, and you get a bottle of TrueBlood for David, because he needs some blood. He’s gonna heal.”
Snuffling, Hallie ducked into the bathroom.
“He decided to get Hallie tonight, and David intervened?” Sean asked Thompson quietly. Rue listened with one ear while she stanched the bleeding by applying pressure with a clean kitchen towel. It rapidly reddened. She was not as calm as she’d sounded. In fact, her hands were shaking.
“David likes her, and she’s his partner,” Thompson said, as if David’s intervention required an excuse. “Karl had left earlier, and David and I came out just in time to catch the show. The bastard had his arm wrapped around Hallie’s neck. But he dropped her and went for David real fast with a knife.”
“Out on the street, or in the bar?”
“Behind the bar, in the alley.”
“Where’s the body?”
Rue stiffened. Her hands slipped for a moment, and the bleeding began again. She pressed harder.
“I took him over the rooftops and deposited him in an alley three blocks away. David didn’t bite him. He just hit him—once.”
Rue knew no one was thinking of calling the police. And she was all too aware that justice wasn’t likely to be attainable.
“He’ll heal faster if he has real blood, right?” she said over her shoulder. She hesitated. “Shall I give him some?” She tried to keep her voice even. She had hardly exchanged ten words with David, who was very brawny and very tall. He had long, rippling black hair and a gold hoop in one ear. She knew, through Megan and Julie, that David was often booked to strip at bridal showers, as well as performing with Hallie in private clubs. In her other life, Rue would have walked a block to avoid David. Now she was pulling up the sleeve of her sweater to bare her wrist.
“No,” said Sean very definitely. He pulled the sleeve right back down, and she stared at him, her mouth compressed with irritation. She might have felt a smidgen of relief, but Sean had no right to dictate to her.
Hallie had emerged from the bathroom, looking much fresher. “Let Sean give blood, Rue,” she said, reading Rue’s face correctly. “It won’t make him weak, like it would you. If Sean won’t, I will.”
David, who’d been following the conversation at least a little, said, “No, Hallie. I have bitten you already three times this week.” David had a heavy accent, perhaps Israeli.
Without further ado, Sean knelt by the bed and held his wrist in front of David. David took Sean’s arm in both his hands and bit. A slight flexing of Sean’s lips was the only sign that he’d felt the fangs. They all watched as David’s mouth moved against Sean’s wrist.
“Sean, what a dark horse you are, me boyo, visiting the lady here after hours.” Thompson’s attempt at an Irish accent was regrettable. His eyes lit on the empty TrueBlood bottle by the sink. “And her all ready for your arrival.”
“Oh, shut up, Thompson.” Rue was too tired to think of being polite. “As soon as Sean finishes his, ah, donation, all of you can leave, except David. He can rest here for a while until he feels well enough to go.”
After a few minutes, David put Sean’s arm away from him, and Sean rolled his own sleeve over his wrist. Moving rather carefully, Sean picked up his jacket, carefully draped it over his arm.
“Good night, darlin’,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Kick David out after a couple of hours. He’ll be well enough by then.”
“I’ll stay,” Hallie said. “He got hurt on account of me, after all.”
Sean looked relieved. Thompson looked disgruntled. “I’ll be shoving off, then,” he said. Hallie thanked him very nicely for helping her with David, and he was unexpectedly gracious about waving her gratitude away.
“We’ll practice Sunday night,” Sean said to Rue, his hand on the doorknob. “Can you be there at eight?” He’d been making plans for Saturday night while David had been taking blood from his wrist.
“I forgot to tell you,” Thompson said. “Sylvia left a message on my cell. We have a company meeting Sunday night, at seven.” It would just be dark at seven, so the vampires could attend.
“I’ll see you there, Rue,” Sean said. “And we can practice, after.”
“All right,” Rue said, after a marked pause.
Thompson said, “Good night, Rue, Hallie. Feel better, David.”
“Good night, all,” she said, and shut the door on both of them. She had one more bottle of synthetic blood, which she gave to David. She sat down in the chair while Hallie perched on the bed with David as he drank it. She tried valiantly to stay awake, but when she opened her eyes, she found two hours had passed, and her bed was empty. The bloody towels had been put to soak in the bathtub in cold water, and the empty bottles were in the trash.
Rue was relieved. “You and me, Martha,” she said to the cat, who’d come out of hiding now that the strangers were gone. Rue’s bed looked better than anything in the world, narrow and lumpy as it was. In short order, she’d cleaned her face and teeth and pulled on her pajamas. Martha leaped onto the bed and claimed her territory, and Rue negotiated with her so she’d have room for her own legs.
Rue was really tired, but she was also shaken. After all, there was a human dead on the street. She waited to feel a wave of guilt that never hit shore. Rue knew that if Hallie had been by herself, it would be Hallie lying bleeding on the street.
Been there, done that, Rue told herself coldly. And all I got were the lousy scars to prove it.
As for the shock she’d gotten at the Jaslows’, a glimpse of the face she feared above all others, she was now inclined to think she’d imagined it. He would have made sure she noticed him, if he’d known she was there. He would have come after her again.
He’d sworn he would.
But it was funny that tonight, of all nights, she’d thought she’d seen him. At first, she’d imagined him everywhere, no matter how many times she’d called the police station to make sure he was still in the hospital. Maybe, once again, it was time to give Will Kryder a call again.
She imagined Sean lying in a coffin and smiled, just a curve of the lips before she drifted off to sleep.
Actually, Sean was on the road.
Sean had a feeling he was doing something wrong, going behind Rue’s—Layla’s—back like this, but he was determined to do it, anyway. If he’d asked Thompson to help, he had no doubt the younger vampire could have tracked down any information Sean needed on the damned computer. But Sean had never gotten used to the machines; it might take him twenty more years to accept them.
Like cars. Cars had been tough, too. Sean hadn’t learned to drive until the sixties. He had loved phonographs from their inception, though, because they’d provided music for dancing, and he had bought a CD player as soon as he could. Words were hard for Sean, so dancing had always been his means of expression, from the time he’d become free to dance.
So here he was, off to collect information the old-fashioned way. He would get to Pineville tonight, find a place to hole up until he woke the next night, and then get his investigation under way.
Sean knew Rue had a fear that ran so deep she couldn’t speak of it. And once he’d decided Rue was his business, it had become his job to discover what she feared. He had done some changing through the centuries, but the way he’d grown up had ingrained in him the conviction that if a man claimed a woman as his family—or his mate—he had to protect her.
And how could he protect her if he didn’t understand the threat?
While Rue rose late to have a leisurely breakfast, clean her apartment and wash her clothes, Sean, who had consulted his housing directory, was sleeping in the vampire room of the only motel large enough to boast one, right off the interstate at the exit before Pineville. He had a feeling it was the first time the clerk had rented the room to an actual vampire. He’d heard that human couples sometimes took the room for some kinky playacting. He found that distasteful. The room—windowless, with two aligned doors, both with heavy locks, and a black velour curtain in between—had two coffins sitting side by side on the floor. There was a small refrigerator in the corner, with several bottles of synthetic blood inside. There was a minimalist bathroom. At least the coffins were new, and the padding inside was soft. Sean had paid an exorbitant amount for this Spartan accommodation, and he sighed as he undressed and climbed into the larger of the two coffins. Before he lay down, he looked over at the inner door to make sure all its locks were employed. He pulled the lid down, seconds before he could feel the sun come up.
Then he died.
Chapter 6
When Sean felt life flowing back into his body that night, he was very hungry. He woke with his fangs out, ready to sink into some soft neck. But it was rare that Sean indulged himself in fresh human blood; these days, the sips he took from Rue were all he wanted. He pulled the synthetic blood from the refrigerator, and since he didn’t like it cold, he ran hot water in the bathroom and set the bottle in the sink while he showered. He hated to wash the scent of Rue from his skin, but he wanted to seem as normal as possible to the people he talked to tonight. The more humanlike a vampire could look and act, the more likely humans were to be open to conversation. Sean had noticed that interactions were easier for Thompson, who still had clear memories of what it was like to breathe and eat.
He’d written down the numbers and names from Rue’s book, just in case his memory played tricks with him. One of the numbers was self-explanatory—“Mom and Dad,” she’d written by it. “Les,” she’d written by another, and that was surely one he would have to explore; a single man might be a rival. The most interesting numbers were by the notation “Sergeant Kryder.” She’d labeled one number “police station” and the second number “home.”
Pineville looked like almost any small town. It seemed to be dominated by one big business—Hutton Furniture Manufacturing, a huge plant that ran around the clock, Sean noted. The sign in front of the library read Camille Hutton Library, and the largest church complex boasted a whole building labeled Carver Hutton II Family Life Center.
The tire company was owned by a Hutton, and one of the car dealerships, too.
There was no sign crediting the Huttons with owning the police force, but Sean suspected that might be close to the truth. He found the station easily; it was right off the town square, a low redbrick building. The sidewalk from the parking area to the front door was lined with azaleas just about to bloom. Sean opened the swinging glass door to see a young policeman with his feet up on the counter that divided the public and private parts of the front room. A young woman in civilian clothes—short and tight civilian clothes—was using a copier placed against the wall to the left, and the two were chatting as Sean came in.
“Yes, sir?” said the officer, swinging his feet to the floor.
The young woman glanced at Sean, then did a double take. “Vampire,” she said in a choked voice.
The man glanced from her to Sean in a puzzled way. Then he seemed to take in Sean’s white face for the first time, and he visibly braced his shoulders.
“What can I do to help you, sir?” he asked.
“I want to speak with Sergeant Kryder,” Sean said, smiling with closed lips.
“Oh, he retired,” called the girl before the young man could answer. The man’s name tag read “Farrington.” He wasn’t pleased at the girl’s horning in on his conversation with the vampire.
“Where might I find him?” Sean asked.
Officer Farrington shot a quelling glance at the girl and pulled a pencil out of his drawer to draw Sean a map. “You take a left at the next stop sign,” he told Sean. “Then go right two blocks, and it’s the white house on the corner with the dark green shutters.”
“Might be gone,” said the girl sulkily.
“Barbara, you know they ain’t left yet.”
“Packing up, I heard.”
