“It’s not murder,” Morgan said, “just what needs to be done.”
“I can’t.” Karen shook her head, the gun loose in her grip. She looked at it, dropping it to the ground. She needed the weapon, but couldn’t stomach holding it for now. “I’ve never killed anyone before, and unless it’s my or your life on the line I don’t think I ever will.”
“Give me the gun,” Morgan told her, holding out a hand. “I’ll do it.”
Karen remained still. The man inside the abandoned pool store was evil, but he was also unarmed and wounded, basically helpless.
“Can’t we just leave him?” she asked, knowing they couldn’t. If they let him live, everything they’d done so far would be for nothing, their situation becoming even worse than it was.
“Karen, we’re in a war. It’s imperative that we complete our mission. Please don’t make me bend down. Give me the gun.”
Without thinking, she did as he asked. She would no doubt at some point have to end a life. But not now and not in cold blood.
Watching Morgan stumble into the building, she felt sick. A single gunshot rang out from inside. She closed her eyes, willing her legs to remain solid. After a few moments, she heard the shuffling of shoes on pavement and opened her eyes. Relief flowed through her when she saw Morgan. Their plan and her new ability were safe. And the world had one less Murphy agent in it. How could she feel so terrified and sick one moment, but ultimately relieved the next?
She ran over to Morgan, grabbed a hold of him, and helped him to the car.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He laughed. “No, not quite. I’m dying. I need to feed.”
Chapter 29
Karen helped Morgan into the backseat. They drove to Poughkeepsie, Morgan giving her directions as they went.
The only thing that mattered now was getting Morgan to a safe and secure place where he could replenish himself. Karen wanted to probe his mind, find out how he was really doing, but she held off. Fear and panic came in waves as she drove, never letting more than a few minutes of silence pass without making sure he was still with her. He’d told her not to worry, that he’d be fine soon, but it did little to appease her fears. She couldn’t lose him. He’d become an invaluable partner and a friend. They had a bond. He had to make it. If she lost him, Karen was afraid she’d never recover and drift off into the world lost.
She parked in front of his house and helped him inside. Leaving him on the kitchen floor, she went back outside and parked the car several blocks away.
When she returned to the house, she found Morgan sprawled out on the couch. She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry at the sight of his ghastly body. His chest wasn’t rising and falling with breath. She ran over to him and felt for a pulse, then wondered if he’d ever had one. Did vampires draw breath or have pulses?
“Wake up, Morgan,” she said loudly, swatting him in the face.
He stirred.
“I need blood. Resting, trying to save strength. Not much time.” Morgan mumbled, coming in and out of consciousness.
Karen breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t need air after all, and he was alive, although barely.
“What can I do?” she asked.
He told her about a club not far from his house. She needed to go there, be extremely vigilant, and lure a vampire back to his apartment. Then, she would have to kill it, Morgan most likely too weak to fight.
“You want me to do what?” she asked, incredulously.
“It’s the only way. Avoid any prolonged eye contact. Use your mind reading to search through the club, find the right one. Don’t pry into any one too long. And make sure you leave the place with only one vamp. I’ll take care of the rest, don’t worry.”
She looked at him. He could barely have a conversation. “You’re too weak. If I bring a vampire back here he’ll kill you, then me.”
“Look around the room,” he said.
There was very little in the way of furnishings, but on each wall in the living room, an oil painting hung. One painting was a prairie landscape. Another was of a thick pine forest, while another was of the sun rising over a mountain peak. The final painting was that of a naked woman with a snake curled around her. Looking closer, Karen noticed the woman bared fangs.
“See the cord hanging along the wall as you enter the kitchen?” He pointed feebly in the general direction before his arm collapsed. She saw a thin strand of white rope dangling from the kitchen archway. She followed the rope. It ran along the top of the wall and into the living room through eye hooks. It intersected in the center of the room with four other ropes, all leading to the paintings.
“What does it do?”
“It’s a failsafe. Pull the rope and the paintings drop down, revealing four blessed crosses. They won’t kill a vampire, but they’ll trap it, weaken it. Surrounded on all four sides, it won’t be able to run away. That’s when you blast at its chest or head. Put every last bullet into the thing. It should weaken the bloodsucker enough for me to finish it off.” “What if I’m attacked before we get here?”
“Park near the club entrance; there’ll be too many people around for that to happen. Once you’re in the car, head straight back. Tell the vampire you have a roommate. That she’s into sharing.”
“Two meals for the price of one.” She liked Morgan’s plan; it could work. She was nervous as hell, but
had
to believe she would do fine. “I’ll basically be going in unarmed. Give me a quick lesson on how to kill a vampire, just in case.”
“In my backpack. There’s a necklace. Take it. You’ll also find a canteen filled with holy water.”
She grabbed his pack from the counter, rummaged through it, and found the items. The necklace was a chain of tiny crosses linked together. She put it on, hiding it under her blouse.
“Not all crosses are the same,” Morgan continued. “The one you’re wearing was made in the sixteenth century by a Spanish priest, and had a powerful blessing placed on it. No ordinary vampire will come near it when brought into view, but it won’t stop a bullet. Don’t forget that bloodsuckers can be like humans—some carry guns. They don’t always rely on their strength. But at least you won’t be bitten.”
Karen hadn’t thought about guns in regard to vampires. She assumed the only threat was their bite.
“Find the right vamp and you’ll be fine. Pick a loner, not one from a group.” Morgan began coughing. Turning onto his side, he hung his head off the couch and threw up blood almost black in color. Karen needed to hurry.
“I’m leaving,” she told him, wanting to comfort him. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Wait,” he said. “You’ll need to clean up my blood from the backseat. It isn’t vampire blood, but it’s blood nonetheless. Use the bleach under the sink. That should mask the odor. Be generous with the stuff.”
Karen grabbed the cleaner, along with a few towels from the bathroom, and headed out.
Chapter 30
Karen followed Morgan’s directions and made mental notes so she’d easily find her way back to the house.
She parked in the lot across the street from The Dweller, the establishment Morgan told her about. Looking at herself, she realized she was hardly dressed for the occasion. The place was a Goth club. She fished through her luggage in the trunk and changed into fresh clothes. She was going to stand out like a fluorescent poster in the dark.
As she exited the car, she had a terrifying thought. What if the bouncer didn’t let her in? Was there a dress code? She had to think of something, an alternate plan. She took several calming breaths trying to pump up her confidence. She could do this. She
had
to do this.
The place’s name was spelled out in red neon letters above the entrance, which was in the shape of a large mouth waiting to swallow its victims.
The Goth patrons entered willingly, and Karen wondered how many of them knew about the vampires and how many were actual vampires. She considered her attire—a blouse, blue jeans, and sneakers. As she approached the street, ready to cross, she stopped and sighed. She looked ridiculous. Her confidence dwindled. There was no way she was getting in. Morgan was dying.
Screw it. She walked up to the bouncer. He was a large man with muscles that tested his black T-shirt’s elasticity. Two people ahead of Karen were told to get better IDs and departed whining. Karen was next.
“Hi there,” she said, waving a hand in front of her.
The bouncer nodded.
“Can I help you ma’am?” he said, clearly confused by her appearance.
“Yes, I’d like to get in.” She fished for her wallet.
“I can’t let you in like that, ma’am.”
“Why not?” she asked, hand in her purse.
The big man pointed to a sign behind him. “Dress code. No sneakers or jeans. And to be honest, you’re not exactly the type the owner wants in here.”
“Oh, really?”
The bouncer smirked, one of his eyebrows rising upward. “Come back when you’re someone else.”
Karen tensed with anger. The line behind her had grown with complaining people, some telling her to move it. Karen ignored the groaning and actually liked the attention, hoping it would play into her plan. She leaned in close to the bouncer.
“Listen, Mister. My fifteen-year-old son is in there and unless you want my brother-in-law, who happens to be a cop, to come down here and cause a scene, I suggest you let me drag my son’s sorry ass home.”
The bouncer frowned.
“Give me a break lady,” he said, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “No fifteen-year-old gets past me.” He looked over Karen’s shoulder and said, “Next.”
Karen held out her arm, blocking the people from going around her.
“Do you think I want to be here?” she asked the bouncer, hands on her hips. “My son’s been sneaking out of the house for the past month. I followed him this time to see where he was going, and when I saw him on line I figured he wouldn’t be let in. You know, on account that he’s fifteen, but then I saw you let him and his friends in.”
“Come on, lady,” said a man behind Karen.
“Move it,” another groused.
Karen ignored them.
“What’s your son look like?” the bouncer asked.
“Tall, spiked black hair to match his all-black attire—just like every other zombie here.” Remembering Morgan’s disguise, she added, “And the reason you probably let him in, and I can’t blame you, was because he was wearing a fake beard, making him appear older. It’s not your fault.”
More groans, louder now, issued from the line. The patrons were becoming more restless, and it was only a matter of time before the bouncer bounced her out of the line. But it looked like she had his attention.
Karen dove into the man’s mind. The guy didn’t want trouble. If his boss found out he let in a kid, beard or no beard, he’d be fired. And if cops came, his boss would probably kill him.
“I tell you what,” she offered. “Let me go in quickly, grab him, and leave. No one has to know.”
The man’s nostrils flared and Karen didn’t need to read his mind; his body language was clear.
“Fine,” he said, eyes boring into her. “Do it quietly. Don’t make a scene.” He moved aside, letting Karen pass.
Karen nodded and marched into the mouth. The throat was a narrow corridor painted glossy black with only a thin tube of red neon light to see by. Some kind of techno music blasted from the no-man’s land ahead. The floor shook beneath her feet.
Continuing onward, she worried about the buzzing that resulted from hearing a multitude of thoughts when too many people were in close quarters. She’d done fine at O’Hulahans, but the harsh memory of the rest stop came to the forefront of her mind. Not that she had a choice. Morgan was at the brink of death. Karen braved forward.
She came to a set of stairs and walked down them. A large room with a long bar against the left wall awaited at the bottom. To her relief, she heard no buzzing; no jumble of the mass of people’s thoughts.
The overhead lighting was sparse, as if lit by candles, casting the room in shadow. The place was packed. People crowded at the bar and every table was occupied. Karen could see another room off to the right—the source of the techno music. Figures danced as strobe lights flashed about, the colors igniting the crowd in a sea of dream-like ecstasy.
The bar area had a low ceiling. Chains hung from various places like broken manacles in a dungeon. The walls were black, lined with low, lit sconces and decorated with grotesque artwork. Pictures of alien creatures with horns and fangs hung from the walls. To Karen’s left was a piece of three-dimensional artwork: a figure clawing its way from the frame, covered in some kind of ooze. Chains, similar to the ones hanging from the ceiling, these with hooks on the end, dug into the thing’s face and arms, appearing to hold it back. A shiver tumbled down Karen’s spine.
Dark-everything was the choice for the patrons’ clothing and makeup. Shades of rich plum, dark cherry, and black lined women’s and men’s lips. Many of the female patrons wore fishnet on their arms, legs, or both.
Karen drew stares as she stepped into the room. But within seconds, as if she had turned invisible, the stares vanished, and the onlookers returned to their conversations. These people were freaks, outcasts, but she guessed they were not prone to pass judgment—if someone wanted to come to the club dressed in a banana suit, let them. She admired them for that.
Surveying the crowd, she found it impossible to pick out the humans from the vampires. As far as she could tell, they were all children of the night. She would definitely have to read minds.
Standing off to the side, she scanned the room, listening to thoughts. She moved quickly from person to person, not wanting to alert anyone to her presence. Some patrons proved harder to read than others. Those were the vampires.
Their minds were more powerful than most of the human ones she probed, the latter revealing thoughts that ran the gamut from loving to suicidal. Among the vampires, she heard hunger, thirst, and ecstasy—clearly, vampires were very sexual in their bloodlust, wanting to not only ravage humans, but each other, during blood orgies. A few of the bloodsuckers glanced around the room when Karen connected for too long a time with them, alerted to a presence. She dropped her connection with them before any eyes could pinpoint her. With practice, she wondered if she could tap into a vampire’s head without alerting it.