Read Online The Light at the End by John Skipp, Craig Spector - Free Book Online Page B

screams that he heard were a last dying echo from the shadows beyond, or whether they were his own.
     
    “The thing I don’t understand,” she said, “is why it’s just starting now. Why now?”
    “Why not?” he answered, glib. “Good a time as any.”
    “No. I mean, did he just move to New York two days ago, or has he been hiding out for a while?”
    “I don’t know. A lot of people move here every day.” He paused to scratch his chin, a gesture of deepest concentration. “Maybe it’s just a tourist.”
    “A tourist?” She laughed, beaming, and brushed a dark lock of hair from her eyes.
    “Yeah. He pops into town, takes a room under the wine cellar at the Plaza Hotel, sleeps all day, and paints the town red at night.”
    “Oh, Jesus.” She shook her head and gave him a look that said I don’t believe I’m walking with this guy , then laughed again. “Paints the town red. Jesus. You’re insane, did you know that?”
    Her name was Claire De Loon; or at least that was what she’d have had him believe. She said that she lived on MacDougal Street, just south of Houston, which was good news for Danny: it put her within four or five blocks of his shop.
    Another happy development for Danny, were it to be true, was that Claire seemed to like him. It was evidenced by her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, by the fact that she’d told him so much about herself… even if some of the details, like the name, were bogus—if nothing else, then by the fact that they were going to Cafe Reggio for cappuccino together.
    It was good news for Danny because he had definitely taken a liking to Claire De Loon, or whatever her name was. She’s a real character , he thought fondly as he watched her walk beside him. The jiggle of her breasts was an awesome thing to behold. She moved with unmistakable New York bravura: a swagger just this side of haughtiness.
    But the clincher, without a doubt, was their little psychic link. There must have been half a million girls in the city who could make him do a double-take; very few of them, however, would be apt to get the same flash at the same time, and fewer still would be willing… no, make that eager … to talk about it. Especially when it was as weird a flash as this.
    “Well, then,” Claire continued, “he might be gone by now. Nobody else has been killed, have they?”
    “Not that I know of… but it’s an awfully big city.”
    “I know.” She looked wistful. “I hope he isn’t.”
    “Isn’t what?”
    “Gone,” she said. “I hope he didn’t pick up and leave.”
    “ Why? ” He gaped at her with honest incredulity.
    “I’ve always wanted to meet a vampire,” she answered, matter-of-factly. Then, with a cryptic little half-smile, “I think they’re sexy.”
    “And you think I’m crazy!” He smacked the flat of his right hand against his receding hairline. She put on a mock-pouting expression. “This is not a nice vampire, Claire. It feeds people to its pets.”
    “Well, you know how monsters are.” Grinning.
    “Yeah, but…” he started, and then grinned back. It was too ludicrous a situation to get all worked up about. Danny threw up his hands, conceding, and then thought of an even more ludicrous twist to throw in.
    “How do we know,” he asked, “that it’s even a he ?” She looked up, startled. He smiled triumphantly and continued. “How do we know that it’s not some withered, two-thousand-year-old bag with warts all over her?”
    “No, no, no,” she insisted, repressing a giggle. “Vampires are eternally young and eternally beautiful.”
    “Oh, yeah? What about Nosferatu? He wasn’t so cute.”
    “That was only a movie.”
    “Oh. Right.”
    By now, they were almost across Astor Place, the small plaza that splits Park Avenue South into Fourth Avenue and Lafayette Street, and 8 th Street into St. Mark’s Place. In the center of the plaza, an enormous cube was balanced on one of its corners. A bunch of enterprising young punks