When the Wyoming sun rose, the shades to the spare room were drawn tight and Tucker had stapled a blanket over the whole window. He crawled out of the bed, stiff from the driving. Pulling on his hat and boots, he wandered out into the kitchen, still in his underwear. Dad had one hand wrapped firm around a cup of coffee and was using the other to guide powdered sugar-covered donuts toward his mouth.
"Can I join you?" asked Tucker.
"There ain't a whole lot left."
"I can see that." Tucker poured a cup of coffee and pulled up a chair. He grabbed a donut from the box on the yellow linoleum-covered table, trailing a line of white powder behind. Absently, he wiped it up with his finger and became lost inside the reflective plastic patterns, memories of what seemed like millions of childhood meals trickling into his mind.
"Dad?" said Tucker.
"There ain't no more donuts."
"I know. What do you think about all this? Sometimes, I can't hardly make sense of it."
"Ain't it the truth. The Gas 'N Get don't stock nearly enough of them donuts."
"That ain't what I was talking about."
Dad thought for a minute. "There ain't much in this life I know for sure. But I do know that life is precious, a gift from the creator that we can't ever truly understand. You just got to do the best you can, no matter what comes along."
"Even if it's Vampires?"
"Remember that two-headed calf was born a few years back?"
"You mean when I was twelve?"
"Yeah. I would've never believed in something like that until I saw it with my own eyes. But I did. I suspect this ain't much different."
Tucker thought about that for a while, then said, "That don't make no sense."
"Dammit, Tucker, I'm no good with this sort of stuff, telling stories with a moral. We both seen them. They took your girl.
Nothing else matters."
"Now that I understand." He grew quiet again. "Do you think Mom would have liked Lizzie?"
Dad didn't say anything, just leaned back and studied his coffee cup. "I reckon," he said at last.
Tucker wanted to ask more, to say something else about his mother, to talk about the biscuits and gravy she used to make in this kitchen, about how she'd be mortified to see her boys eating store-bought powdered donuts on her linoleum table. But he said nothing. Something had changed in Tucker in the last few weeks, something quiet but big. He knew now what love was, but also that a deep and final sadness came with it, and that sometimes you had to be quiet to keep it from turning to that dark side.
"How about we go do some shooting while our guests are sleeping?" asked Tucker. Dad smiled and nodded.
They drove up to the gun range and shot up so much ammo at beer bottles that they had to drive back to town to buy more so as not to be unarmed by night. After lunch at the Sagebrush, they drove back home and then cleaned all the guns they had used earlier, one of Dad's favorite pastimes.
They were sitting cross-legged on the floor with guns taken apart and scattered across the living room among the beer bottles and burger wrappers when Lizzie came in, paler than ever, irritated, and sort of dazed. She looked at the mess. "I have to feed,"
"Good morning to you, too, sunshine."
She tried her best to smile. "Hi. Sorry. I'm starving."
"Want some beans?"
"Maybe later. I have something else in mind."
"Please don't kill anybody" Tucker begged. "These are a nice bunch of folks around here." He paused. "Well, except for my neighbor."
"Oh, Tucker," she beamed, "you just gave me the best idea. Sully, are you coming?"
Sully sat down on the couch. "No, my dear, I think I'll stay here with the boys. You run on ahead." Dad stood up and arched his back, the joints creaking in rebellion. He took a seat by Sully.
Lizzie planted a cold kiss on Tucker's cheek and disappeared into the darkness. In the wake of her leaving there was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence that Dad and Tucker hoped would stretch into several minutes, but Sully would have none of it.
"I've never met an honest to goodness cowboy" he said.
"Can't say as I ever met an honest to goodness Vampire before either," Dad grumbled, stretching out across the couch.
"You have such a life out here on the frontier. I still remember those heady days when it seemed everybody and their uncle were loading all their supplies into wagons and heading West. The excitement was absolutely dizzying. Of course, I only read about it in the penny dreadfuls. I could never have left New York. My attachment was not due to birth as I was actually born in Germany. The real Germany the one before the Reformation. But I have always been drawn to America and your rugged idealism. I have such a soft spot for you cowboys. I used to imagine myself out on the range with you. Unrolling our bedrolls under a sky full of stars. The coyotes calling and an old owl sitting in the oak tree..."
"The West wasn't like that," Dad said.
"It wasn't?"
"Not the West I know," he said. "Never was, never will be."
"But what about John Wayne and the Marlboro man? The Last Cowboy, my God, what a brilliant piece that was, and you looked so handsome in those pictures," he said to Tucker.
"Mind if I grab a beer?" Tucker asked.
"Help yourself," Dad grumbled. "It ain't like I bought them for myself." He was getting cranky since it was past his bedtime.
"You see, Mr. Sully," Tucker said, popping the top of the can, "cowboys ain't no different than any other man. We work hard and never make much money We fall in love and make other mistakes. It's the same way for people all around the world.
Cowboys ain't special, we just do what needs done. Only difference is the setting."
"And the hat."
"That too."
"How, then, do you explain the romance of the West? Everybody loves cowboys," Sully said.
"Speaking as a real live cowboy, I ain't got the foggiest," Tucker said. "Guess it has something to do with the wide open country and an honest sort of labor that beats sitting inside all day."
"But what about the Code of the West? The unspoken law of the land? Virtue and all that?"
"I suspect that there are certain things that all men should do, want to do, in the name of what is right. And since they can't, they think there ought to be one kind of man or another that just naturally does right."
"And that would be my cowboys?"
Tucker nodded.
"There must be more to it than that," Sully said. "I have the advantage of a certain historical perspective which you lack. And what I have found is that at the heart of all myths lies a single, often-overlooked truth."
"Maybe you're right," Tucker said. "Maybe at the heart of the cowboy myth is..."
"Heart," Sully interrupted. "At the heart of the cowboy myth is just that, heart."
"Y'all are making my head hurt," Dad said. "And where's that woman of yours? How long does it take to kill someone and drain their blood?"
He looked at Sully for an answer.
"Not that long, really But understand, we only feed on bad Adamites. That is what I am supposed to be teaching her. That's why I've asked your help."
"You only feed on bad guys?" Tucker asked.
"And bad girls."
"There ain't no bad people around here."
"Oh, you'd be surprised. I sensed several as we came through town."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. Several 'shocking' incidents will be avoided because of my stay here, and the good citizens of LonePine will have no clue."
"I can tell you one person that's gonna turn real bad if he doesn't get some sleep," Dad said. "It's all well and good for you youngsters staying up half the night."
"Youngsters," Tucker squawked. He pointed at Sully "He's a thousand years old."
Dad stood up and grumbled his way toward the back bedroom. By the time he had reached the end of the hallway the front door flew open to reveal Lizzie; her hair was disheveled and clothes askew. She was flushed, eyes burning bright, and there were traces of blood still about her mouth.
Dad paused, his hand resting on the knob. "I bet they'll have something to talk about at the Sagebrush Cafe tomorrow," he said quietly.
"Aww, honey," Tucker moaned. "Who was it? Was it Mr. Harlan? Even he didn't deserve to die like that. I ain't sure I even want to think about your mouth sucking on him. I mean what if I was sucking on some old gal?"
"Tucker, relax. I didn't kill anybody." She dabbed at the corners of her mouth but then abruptly stopped and ran for the bathroom, her hand cupped over her mouth. The sounds of her throwing up filtered into the living room to the three men standing there. When she walked back in, she was pale and looked weak. "I guess alpacas don't agree with me," she whispered.
Tucker's eyes flared open and he smiled, then the smile turned into laughter.
"You got one helluva woman there, boy," Dad managed to stutter out in between guffaws.
Tucker laughed even harder, knowing it to be true.
MANHATTAN COMPOUND
October 19, 9:45 P.M.
Elita entered the parlor. She said nothing, sitting down quietly next to Julius on the red leather settee in front of the fireplace. It was a cool evening, the leaves were beginning to transform themselves from the greenery of summer into the vibrant colors of autumn.
"I am in a famously good mood, darling Elita," said Julius. At the sound of the word darling, Elita was overjoyed. She waited, moving closer to Julius as he toyed with her hair, twining it this way and that.
"You know how important you are to me, how much I need you. It was not by accident that through the centuries I have killed every female of Susej's line so that you could reign supreme, beside me. Once I have the power that my darling daughter possesses, I will destroy her as well. But now, I must ask you to do something for me." He paused, adding drama to his words, kissing her lightly on the forehead. "You must exterminate Sully."
Elita gasped. Julius held his frozen smile. Destroy one of Lazarus' key men? That would mean an end to the antagonistic peace, the uncertain but at least respected truce, that had existed between him and Julius for the last seven centuries. It could plunge the Vampiric world back to a place more hideous than before Susej, a time she remembered well. Vampire against Vampire. And Lazarus would see to it that she would pay for this trespass, pay dearly with her own existence. He was no fool. Despite his softening in the last few centuries, Lazarus was still capable of evil on a grand scale. Everyone in the Vampiric world knew of the legends that surrounded him, including his turning, and his resurrection by the hand of Jesus.
Elita looked carefully into Julius' eyes. Nor was Julius a fool. He was sending her to her doom, knowingly. Had he guessed her involvement or was he simply tired of her? Julius smiled sweetly, his motivations hidden. For the last several hundred years, Elita's only happiness lay in the knowledge that she had power over Julius, the power of his love for her. She would risk anything for him, had risked everything to be with him. Nothing brought her any pleasure outside of his tortured devotion and his constant need to test her loyalty.
"You will leave tonight to assure that you join their little party prior to their arrival in New Mexico. My senses tell me they have returned to that little town in Wyoming."
"It pains me to be away from you."
Julius arched his eyebrows.
"Remove my shoes, dear Elita."
Elita knelt to do as she was bid. She remembered the first time he had asked her to do this. She had been exhilarated by his desire for her, his willingness to let her touch his body so intimately Now she was unsure. His pale toes wiggled out of his nylon socks like jaundiced infants, seeking the sunlight.
Her mind flashed on the comic dog chase from just a few nights ago. She had indeed felt a moment of exhilaration chasing that insipid dog, however brief - the first time in centuries she had felt anything at all outside of Julius' presence. Perhaps she could feel that again. Perhaps it was time to reconsider her allegiances, time to reconsider her life.
"Yes, Master," she said, as she bent down to take his toes in her mouth, "I will go to LonePine."
