Part 14 (2/2)

”Hide her? Where? The closet is full of medical c.r.a.p.”

”Between the mattress and the box springs. She's skinny. You can mash her in there.”

”How will she breathe?”

”She doesn't need to breathe.”

”Sweet.”

Jared went for the bedroom, Foo for the intercom.

”Who is it?” he said, keying the b.u.t.ton. He really should have installed a camera. They were easy to wire and he got a discount at Stereo World. Stupid.

”Let me in, Steve. It's Tommy.”

Foo thought for a second he might pee a little. He hadn't finished building the high-intensity UV laser, and Abby hadn't worn her sun jacket. He was defenseless.

”I can see why you might be mad,” said Foo, ”but it was Abby's idea. I wanted to turn you back to human, like you wanted.” Oh f.u.c.k, oh f.u.c.k, oh f.u.c.k Oh f.u.c.k, oh f.u.c.k, oh f.u.c.k. Tommy was going to kill him. It would be humiliating. The guy didn't even have an undergrad degree. He was going to be murdered by an undead Anglo liberal-arts tard who quoted poetry.

The buzzer went off again. Foo jumped and keyed the intercom.

”I didn't want to do it. I told her it was cruel to put you guys in there.”

”I'm not mad, Steve. I need to see Jody.”

”She's not here.”

”I don't believe you. Let me in.”

”I can't, I have things to do. Scientific things that you wouldn't understand. You have to go away.” Okay, now he was a tard.

”I can come in, Steve, under the door or through the cracks around the windows, but when I go back to solid, I'll be naked. n.o.body wants that.”

”You don't know how to do that.”

”I learned.”

”Oh, that's cool,” said Foo. Oh s.h.i.+t, oh s.h.i.+t, oh s.h.i.+t Oh s.h.i.+t, oh s.h.i.+t, oh s.h.i.+t. Could he get the door shut and duct taped before Tommy could ooze in. The great room was already taped up to contain the rat fog.

”Buzz me in, Foo. I have to see Jody and I have to feed. You still have some of those blood pouches, right?”

”Nope. Sorry, we're all out. And Jody's not here. And we've installed sunlamps all over the loft, Tommy. You'd be toast.” He did have some blood bags. In fact, he still had some of the ones with the sedative in it that he'd used to knock Abby out.

”Steve, please, I'm hungry and hurt and I've been living in a bas.e.m.e.nt with a bunch of vampire cats and if I turn to mist my new outfit is going to get stolen while I'm up there snapping your neck with my junk hanging out.”

Foo was trying to think of a better bluff when a dark sleeve shot by him and he heard the door lock buzz downstairs. He looked up at Jared. ”What the f.u.c.k have you done?”

”Hi,” Tommy said in Foo's ear.

”He sounded so sad,” Jared said.

THE OLD ONES.

At sundown the three awoke inside a t.i.tanium vault under the main cabin and checked the monitors that were wired like a nervous system to every extremity of the black s.h.i.+p.

”Clear,” said the male. He was tall and blond and he'd been lean in life, so he remained so, would would remain so, forever. He wore a black silk kimono. remain so, forever. He wore a black silk kimono.

The two females cranked open the hatch and climbed out into what appeared to be a walk-in refrigerator. The male closed the hatch, pushed a b.u.t.ton concealed behind a shelf, and a stainless-steel panel slid across the hatch. They walked out of the fridge, into the empty galley.

”I hate this,” said the African female. She had been Ethiopian in life, descended from royalty, with a high forehead and wide eyes that slanted like a cat's. ”It was to this face that Solomon lost his heart,” Elijah had told her, holding her face in his hands as she died. And so he called her Makeda, after the legendary Queen of Sheba. She didn't remember her real name, for she had worn it for only eighteen years, and she had been Makeda for seven centuries.

”It's different,” said the other female, a dark-haired beauty who had been born on the island of Corsica a hundred years before Napoleon. Her name had been Isabella. Elijah had always called her Belladonna. She answered to Bella.

”It's not that that different,” said Makeda, leading the way up a flight of steps to the c.o.c.kpit. ”It seems like we just did this. We just did this-when?” different,” said Makeda, leading the way up a flight of steps to the c.o.c.kpit. ”It seems like we just did this. We just did this-when?”

”A hundred and fifty years ago. Macao,” said the male. His name was Rolf, and he was the middle child, the peace-maker, turned by Elijah in the time of Martin Luther.

”See what I mean,” said Makeda. ”All we do is sail around cleaning up his messes. If he does this again I'm going to have the boy drag him out onto the deck during the day and video it while he burns. I'll watch it every night on the big screen in the dining room and laugh. Ha!” Although the oldest, Makeda was the brat.

”And what if we die with the sire?” asked Rolf. ”What if you wake up in the vault on fire?” He palmed a black gla.s.s console and a panel whooshed open in the bulkhead. The c.o.c.kpit, big enough to host a party for thirty, was lined in curving mahogany, stainless steel, and black gla.s.s. The stern half was open to the night sky. But for the s.h.i.+p's wheel, it looked like an enormous Art Deco casket designed for s.p.a.ce travel.

”I've died before,” said Makeda. ”It's not that bad.”

”You don't remember,” said Bella.

”Maybe not. But I don't like this. I hate cats. Shouldn't we have people for this?”

”We had people,” said Rolf. ”You ate them.”

”Fine,” said Makeda. ”Give me my suit.”

Rolf touched the gla.s.s console again and a bulkhead opened to reveal a cabinet filled with tactical gear. Makeda pulled three black bodysuits from the cabinet and handed one each to Rolf and Bella. Then she slid out of her red silk gown and stretched, naked, her arms wide like Winged Victory, her head back, fangs pointed at the skylight.

”Speaking of people,” said Bella. ”Where's the boy? I'm hungry.”

”He was feeding Elijah when we awoke,” said Rolf. ”He'll be along.”

Elijah was kept below in a vault similar to their own, except the prime vampire's vault was airtight, locked from the outside, and was fitted with an airlock system so the boy could feed him.

”Irie, me undead dreadies,” said the pseudo-Hawaiian as he came up the steps, barefoot and s.h.i.+rtless, carrying a tray of crystal balloon goblets. ”Cap'n Kona bringin' ya the jammin' grinds, yeah?”

The vampires each spoke a dozen languages but none of them had the slightest idea what the f.u.c.k Kona was talking about.

When he saw Makeda stretching, the blond Rastafarian stopped and nearly dumped the goblets off the tray. ”Oh, Jah's sweet love sistah, dat smoky biscuit givin' me da rippin' stiffy like dis fellah need to poke squid with that silver sistah on de Rolls-Royce, don't you know?”

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