“Should we leave?” Cole finally asked.
“I’m not really sure about Heimlich etiquette,” I replied. “But it is getting kind of late.” I patted Chinese Mom on the arm. “We’re so glad he’s okay,” I said. “You’re okay too, right?” She nodded. “Great. Well, we have to go.”
“Oh, no, but I must thank you properly! And my husband! He will want to thank you also!” She looked so horrified at the thought of us leaving that Cole quickly reassured her.
“We’re not leaving for good. We’re performers too. Tell you what, why don’t you come by our tent tomorrow? We’ll give you tickets to our show and we’ll have a chance to meet your husband then.”
“Oh, yes, that will be fine. And then you will come to our show as well. Yes?”
“Of course,” Cole agreed, before I could throw an elbow to remind him we’d come to kill a vampire, not make friends with his employees. We all smiled and bobbed our heads at each other. Then Cole and I said our goodbyes to Flying Baby, who’d already dried his tears and moved on to more interesting diversions, like trying to snag his mom’s earrings while she thanked us about three dozen more times.
As we moved on I said, “Wow. I think you get gold stars in heaven for stuff like that.”
Cole shrugged. “I dated a nurse for a while. And an EMT.” When I glanced at him he gave me a wink. “I went through this whole women-in-uniform phase.”
“Which is my cue to change the subject. That kid is amazing. Don’t tell my sister some babies hardly ever cry. As freaked as she is about motherhood right now she’ll probably leap to some bizarre conclusion about the colic being her fault, and next thing you know she’ll be in a convent somewhere, reciting her sins into some poor priest’s ear between her hourly lashings.”
“I didn’t know you were Catholic.”
“We’re not.”
It didn’t take long to cruise the rest of the site. Past the Chinese acrobats’ building, a cheap orange fence manned by two security guards cordoned off the northwest border. The guards, big-bellied men with self-important attitudes, stood with their backs to the building and the scattering of booths here at the end of the path, watching a group of nine picketers who’d commandeered the last twenty-five yards of a narrow access road for their demonstration.
Four women and five men circled a group of kids who sat in lawn chairs, pretending to be homeschooled when, in fact, they were carefully studying the festival setup. I picked out two teenage boys in particular who could probably be counted on to sneak off and hop a ride or two later in the week. But for now they continued the charade as their parents lugged gigantic billboards around their perimeter. These signs had apparently ground the grown-ups down so far all they could manage was a weary staggered chant: “Othersarenot our brothers.” The sign slogans delivered their messages with a lot more punch.SUPERNATURAL IS UNNATURAL. TO BE HUMAN IS DIVINE! GOD HATES OTHERS. UP WITH HUMANS! And, oddly,VOTE FOR PURE WATER!
“Whoare these people?” murmured Cole.
“Well, I’m ninety percent sure this is about half the congregation of the Church Sanctified in Christ the Crucified.”
Cole laughed.
“That is not a name I could make up that fast.”
“How do you even know about them?”
“One of their members sent a letter to the president threatening to kill him if he agreed to giveothers the right to vote, so Pete sent out a memo.”
“The president doesn’t even have that power.”
“I don’t think that question came up during the sermon.” I looked for the group’s van. According to Pete, its slogans were so offensive that evenothers trying to blend might be tempted to roll it over a cliff. Yup, there it was, parked just up the road. I couldn’t see much from this angle, just a cracked front window, two American flags flying off the corners of the front bumper and a white banner someone had tied across the grill that screamed,GOD IS ON OUR SIDE!
Cole said, “Do you think they ever stop and walk the other direction?”
“I imagine that’s a sin.”
Cole threw me a look I couldn’t interpret. “What?” I asked.
“Don’t these idiots make you mad?”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Vayl’s another . Plus, considering what happened in Miami, technicallyyou may be one. Dude, they’re putting your peeps down.”
“You worry too much about what other people think of you. Plus, they have a right to their opinions. For that matter, so do I. The problem isn’t that we disagree.”
“No?”
“The problem is that they can’t disagree without getting so mad they want to kill somebody. Like the president, for instance. And if it really does go that far, somebody calls me and then I have to go kill one of them. And the first rule you learn in this business is . . .” I waited for him to finish my sentence.
“Never kill when you’re mad,” he complied, “because that’s when it might be murder.” I didn’t tell him how often I’d broken that rule. He’d figure that out on his own soon enough.
Eventually I felt about as bored as the guards looked. I was just getting ready to suggest Cole and I hike back to our (hopefully missing) mopeds when one of the guards turned to speak to his companion.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“See what?”
Some instinct made me pull Cole into the shelter of a white party tent, the sides of which had been rolled down to keep the wind from blowing away several boxes full of cone-shaped cups that would eventually contain a ton of ice and a teaspoon of syrup. I peeked through the crack between the material and the pole it had been tied to. A second later I saw it again. “The guard on the right. Watch his face when he moves.”
Cole stared hard, squinching his eyes until he kind of resembled Chinese Baby. “I don’t see anything.”
Weird. I’d been counting on confirmation from him. A childhood accident had changed him, made him a Sensitive like me. It allowed him to pick up on the presence of vamps and other things that go bump in the night. But then, since I had donated blood to a vampire—my boss, in fact—I sort of had an advanced degree.
“What did you see, Jaz?”
“Every time he moved, his face sort of blurred, like it was catching up to the rest of him.”
Cole blew out a breath. “Bizarre.”
“Yeah. And I get the feeling he’s not the type we should just stroll up and introduce ourselves to.”
“What do you think? You want to stick around, see what he’s up to?”
I took another peek. “He’s not going anywhere. Let’s get the rest of the posse. Maybe they’ll know something.”
I realized Fate, which had often punched me so hard I couldn’t see for the swelling, may have dealt me a pair of aces in Cassandra and Bergman. Though I always had reservations about using consultants, those suddenly disappeared. I had a feeling this new wrinkle was going to need all our resources if we ever meant to lay it flat again.
CHAPTERTWO
I’ll say this, RVs have developed panache since the bang-your-chin-on-the-sink-while-using-the-toilet days of my youth. The one Vayl had reserved for our use was tricked out. A plasma TV took up headspace behind the cab. Cassandra’s couch had a small reading table. Beside Bergman’s there was enough room for a light brown leather banquette to wrap around a glass dining table. Behind it a black granite counter that could be used as a standing breakfast bar rounded back toward the wall, which held a mirrored wine case, a black refrigerator, and maple cabinets. On the opposite wall, more cabinets framed the stove, microwave, and black porcelain sink. The designer had even left room for another, smaller TV.