The darkness enveloped her as if she were enclosed inside a giant clenched fist. Then light burst into her world again and she convulsed violently.
“No!” she screamed, her eyes flicking open. The light had changed. The air was warmer. Where was she? Where was—who was in front of her? Was it the vampire? Her hands shot out and she grabbed for the thing in front of her, grabbed for its throat, not caring if it would prove as hard as stone, and then she had it, she had her hands around its windpipe and it was solid, solid flesh, solid warm flesh—
“Oh, God, no,” Laura shrieked, letting go instantly. The woman in front of her had black hair that fell in cute bangs across her eyebrows. Her eyes were a rich brown, wet eyes that reflected Laura’s own screaming face.
It was Clara she had attacked. Clara who was coughing and sputtering for breath.
20.
Before I could enter said house, a shot called out, and buried itself between my feet. I stood stock-still, as if paralyzed, and thought my number must be up. The shootist who waved at me from a nearby tree, however, proved to be no Johnny Reb. Instead he was dressed in dark green with black rubber buttons. His weapon lay draped over a thick limb of the tree & it appeared to me as a mechanical python almost. It was a custom-made target rifle, a weapon I’d seen only once at a beef shoot before the commencement of hostilities. It looked like a good length of octagonal pipe with a batwing stock & a spyglass mounted on the top for good measure. I knew that rifle could have punched a hole right through me, especially at such proximity, & I also knew its master had been aiming to warn & not wound me. His strange uniform was meant to help him blend into the foliage, & I recognized it as the habiliments of the U.S. Sharpshooters. He was a Unionist, then, & good thing or I would have already been dead. He had a fringe of hair around the sides of his face & skin the color of walnut shells. What he was doing up in that tree I did not hazard to guess.
“My friend is in there!” I called back to him, but my voice faltered as he shushed me.
With his free hand he beckoned me closer to his position, then made me lie down in the tall grass there. “Rebs comin’,” he hissed. Despite my furor I was still a soldier & I still understood what that meant. I made myself as discreet as possible.
—THE STATEMENT OFALVAGRIEST
21.
Caxton lay back in her hospital bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to get comfortable. She’d been found at dawn crawling around in the military park. The park rangers had at first thought she was blasted on drugs, and had rushed her to Gettysburg’s very modern hospital. The doctors had tested her and found no drugs at all in her system, but they still wanted her to rest. Fat chance. “I thought it was the vampire. Oh, God—I nearly killed Clara because I thought she was the vampire!”
“Yes.” Vesta Polder placed her hands on Caxton’s cheeks. The older woman wore dozens of plain gold rings on her fingers and the metal was cool and welcome against Laura’s burning skin. She left her hands there while she studied Laura’s eyes. “That’s true. But there’s no need to be so dramatic about it.”
Laura licked her dry lips. She felt feverish and drained, like she was coming down from a bad case of the flu. “I could have killed her!”
Vesta Polder shrugged and took her hands away. “You didn’t, though, and life is far too short for us to worry about the evil we might have done.” The older woman had waves of frizzy blond hair that stuck nearly straight out from her head. She wore a long black dress buttoned tightly at the throat. She was a friend of Arkeley’s—though perhaps it was better to call her an ally—and she was some kind of witch or medium or something. Caxton had never been quite clear on where Vesta’s powers came from, but they were considerable. It had been Arkeley’s idea to bring Vesta Polder in to the hospital, a strangely caring gesture on his part. She didn’t choose to look a gift horse in the mouth by wondering about his true motivations. “Do you need a sedative, or do you think you can settle down, now?”
Caxton swallowed. Her throat was thick and scratchy, as if she’d been shouting for hours. “I’ll try,” she promised. She felt like she’d been scolded by an elementary schoolteacher. “Is she okay, though?”
“She’ll be fine. I gave her some tea to soothe her hurt.” Vesta Polder caught Caxton’s look of alarm and shook her head. “Just plain old herbal tea. Much more effective than any potion for what ails her. She’s frightened, of course, but I’ve already explained things to her and she isn’t angry with you. This one,” she said, looking down her sharp nose, “is worth keeping. She’s smart enough and she’s grounded in reality.”
Caxton nodded. A lot of people wouldn’t have described Clara that way, but Vesta saw people the way they truly were, not how they presented themselves. “Am I okay?” she asked.
Vesta Polder straightened up until she loomed over the hospital bed. “You could use a long rest. You should get away from this town, get as far away as possible. I can’t say I like this place myself. Too many vibrations, good and bad. The ether here is sorely clouded. I’ll be heading home now to where I can think properly. You should do the same.” She reached into a pocket of her dress and drew something out. She opened her hand and the spiral pendant tumbled out, dangling on its torn ribbon. “The police found this near where they picked you up. Try to hold on to it better from now on, hmm?”
Caxton promised. She took the amulet gladly and held it tight in her hand. It felt cool like Vesta Polder’s rings, and even more reassuring. The older woman patted her arm and left. As soon as the door of Caxton’s room was open her next visitor entered. Clara sat down heavily in a chair next to the bed and smiled broadly at Caxton without saying a word. She had some red bruises on her throat that Caxton couldn’t stand to look at.
“You scared me, you!” Clara said. “Stop doing that! When I got the call that they’d picked you up I was sure that the vampire’d gotten you. They told me it got that other guy, the local cop.” Clara wore a black T-shirt and jeans—she must have taken the day off. “His family must be so upset right now but I just feel relieved. Does that make me a terrible person? Don’t answer that. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
Caxton opened her mouth to speak, but only a raw creaking sound came out.
Clara’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “Listen, the dogs are fine. I watered and fed them just like you showed me. Fifi doesn’t like me, I think, but that’s just got to mean she doesn’t know me yet, right?
Everybody likes me once they get to know me.”
Laura closed her mouth and nodded against her pillow.
“The doctors say you can go home whenever you’re ready. I put a new quilt on our bed—it was really cold last night, especially when I was all alone—and I saw a place on my way down here selling Macoun apples. Those are my favorite! I thought I’d make you a pie. Would you like that? I’ve never made one before, but…but…”
Clara was staring at her face. Something wet dribbled across the side of Caxton’s mouth. She reached up and found that she was weeping copiously. She tried to apologize, but a wordless sob came out instead.
“Oh, Laura,” Clara said, softly. She climbed out of her chair and into the bed, shoving Laura to the side.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” She pressed her small body against Caxton’s side, her chest. Her perfect soft mouth touched Caxton’s greasy forehead.