seats. I tossed my jacket on the back of a microfiber chair and sat down. Leaning back, I put my feet up on the conference table.
Speaking of jackets, Larson had left his duster and the bandoliers in the break room like I had asked. His arms were pale, freckled sticks coming from the sleeves of his black T-shirt. I would have to scale his height back to about 5â6â also, because the boots he was wearing had about a 3-inch rubber sole on them. They were the clunky, strappy, combat-styled boots that a lot of Goth kids were wearing. Youâve seen them. They come up to the wearerâs knees, have lots of flashy silver buckles, studs, and grommets, and look like they are from the wardrobe department of a bad apocalyptic movie. They are meant to be intimidating, and I guess they are if you donât know any better.
The thing is, they are held together with the equivalent of Elmerâs glue. Try one roundhouse kick and the sole of your boot will be flapping around like a blown tire on a car. Thatâs why my boots are a practical pair of German tanker boots. They have a high-density rubber sole that is stitched on properly, thick leather straps, and a steel shank. Designed for kicking a slipped tread on a tank back into place, they are durable, comfortable, and admittedly, do look pretty badass. My boots are all that Larsonâs boots were trying so hard to be.
The screen on the wall flickered to life and information began to fill it, fed in from the computer Kat was using. I recognized some of the names and addresses on the list as vampire power players and businesses that were vampire friendly. Pictures popped up and started pairing up with names. Like I said before, Kat can organize like nobodyâs business. She would also have every scrap of information available on the vampires. She keeps close tabs on them because she still hates them after what happened with her sister. Hatred will motivate someone like few other things will.
When she was done, Kat sat back and picked up a laser pointer. The screen was filled with pictures. Different faces of different ethnicities, ages, genders, and time periods. She twirled her chair around and pointed at the screen. A red dot swirled around the screen, circling them all.
Kat turned in her chair to face us. âOkay, these are the most likely candidates that we know about. Still, none of them has the power or persuasion to make fifty vampires do anything.â
I agreed with Katâs assessment. Looking at the names and pictures up there, I saw heavy hitters, even a few major leaguers, but no one who had enough pull to do what was done tonight.
I looked at Kat and the priest. âCan either of you think of what I may have done to get them all, or even most of them, out for my blood?â
Father Mulcahy lit another Kool from the one he was finishing and shook his head. Kat thought for a moment, her tiny chin in a small hand.
âUnless thereâs something I donât know, you havenât done anything to make the entire vampire community hate you.â She smiled. âAt least not more than they already do.â
I waved my hand in the air to show a negative. âOther than tonight, I havenât run into any vampires recently. The last vampire I dusted was over six months ago.â
âThat would have been that thing at the zoo?â Father Mulcahy asked.
About a half-year back, the local zoo had a rash of animals slaughtered, skinned, and left in trees. No one could figure out what was happening to them, so the cops called me in. It was a Nosferatu who had made a nest inside and was using it as a hunting ground.
Nosferatu are vampires, but they are the most primal of them all. They cannot pass for human and actually have batwings and rodent hair on their body. They are nasty bastards, fierce and vicious like rabid dogs. That had been a long night.
âYep, but that canât be it. Nosferatu are the bottom-feeders of the
Speaking of jackets, Larson had left his duster and the bandoliers in the break room like I had asked. His arms were pale, freckled sticks coming from the sleeves of his black T-shirt. I would have to scale his height back to about 5â6â also, because the boots he was wearing had about a 3-inch rubber sole on them. They were the clunky, strappy, combat-styled boots that a lot of Goth kids were wearing. Youâve seen them. They come up to the wearerâs knees, have lots of flashy silver buckles, studs, and grommets, and look like they are from the wardrobe department of a bad apocalyptic movie. They are meant to be intimidating, and I guess they are if you donât know any better.
The thing is, they are held together with the equivalent of Elmerâs glue. Try one roundhouse kick and the sole of your boot will be flapping around like a blown tire on a car. Thatâs why my boots are a practical pair of German tanker boots. They have a high-density rubber sole that is stitched on properly, thick leather straps, and a steel shank. Designed for kicking a slipped tread on a tank back into place, they are durable, comfortable, and admittedly, do look pretty badass. My boots are all that Larsonâs boots were trying so hard to be.
The screen on the wall flickered to life and information began to fill it, fed in from the computer Kat was using. I recognized some of the names and addresses on the list as vampire power players and businesses that were vampire friendly. Pictures popped up and started pairing up with names. Like I said before, Kat can organize like nobodyâs business. She would also have every scrap of information available on the vampires. She keeps close tabs on them because she still hates them after what happened with her sister. Hatred will motivate someone like few other things will.
When she was done, Kat sat back and picked up a laser pointer. The screen was filled with pictures. Different faces of different ethnicities, ages, genders, and time periods. She twirled her chair around and pointed at the screen. A red dot swirled around the screen, circling them all.
Kat turned in her chair to face us. âOkay, these are the most likely candidates that we know about. Still, none of them has the power or persuasion to make fifty vampires do anything.â
I agreed with Katâs assessment. Looking at the names and pictures up there, I saw heavy hitters, even a few major leaguers, but no one who had enough pull to do what was done tonight.
I looked at Kat and the priest. âCan either of you think of what I may have done to get them all, or even most of them, out for my blood?â
Father Mulcahy lit another Kool from the one he was finishing and shook his head. Kat thought for a moment, her tiny chin in a small hand.
âUnless thereâs something I donât know, you havenât done anything to make the entire vampire community hate you.â She smiled. âAt least not more than they already do.â
I waved my hand in the air to show a negative. âOther than tonight, I havenât run into any vampires recently. The last vampire I dusted was over six months ago.â
âThat would have been that thing at the zoo?â Father Mulcahy asked.
About a half-year back, the local zoo had a rash of animals slaughtered, skinned, and left in trees. No one could figure out what was happening to them, so the cops called me in. It was a Nosferatu who had made a nest inside and was using it as a hunting ground.
Nosferatu are vampires, but they are the most primal of them all. They cannot pass for human and actually have batwings and rodent hair on their body. They are nasty bastards, fierce and vicious like rabid dogs. That had been a long night.
âYep, but that canât be it. Nosferatu are the bottom-feeders of the
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