He followed me and asked, “Who do you think it is?”
“Maybe the police.”
“The murders you’re working on?”
I glanced back at him and rammed my knee into a tombstone. I stood there for a few seconds, holding my breath while the pain ran through me. “Shiiit!” I said softly and with feeling.
“Are you all right?” Larry touched my arm.
I drew away from his hand, and he let his hand drop. I wasn’t much into casual touching. “I’m fine.” Truth was, it still hurt, but what the hell? I needed to get to a phone, and the pain would get better the more I walked on it. Honest.
I stared carefully ahead to avoid other hard objects. “What do you know about the murders?”
“Just that you’re helping the police on a preternatural crime, and that it’s taking you away from your animating jobs.”
“Bert told you that.”
“Mr. Vaughn, yes.”
We were at the car. “Look, Larry, if you’re going to work for Animators, Inc., you’ve got to drop all this Mr. and Ms. stuff. We aren’t your professors. We’re coworkers.”
He smiled, a flash of white in the dark. “All right, Ms… Anita.”
“That’s better. Now let’s go find a phone.”
We drove into Chesterfield on the theory that, as the closest town, it would have the closest phone. We ended up at a bank of pay phones in the parking lot of a closed service station. The station glowed softly in the dark, but a halogen streetlight beamed over the pay phones, turning night into day. Insects and moths danced around the light. The swift, flitting shapes of bats swam in and out of the light, eating the insects.
I dialed the number while Larry waited in the car. Give him a point for discretion. The phone rang twice; then a voice said, “Anita, is that you?”
It was Irving Griswold, reporter and friend. “Irving, what in blazes are you doing paging me at this hour?”
“Jean-Claude wants to see you tonight, now.” His voice sounded rushed and uncertain.
“Why are you delivering the message?” I was afraid I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“I’m a werewolf,” he said.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You didn’t know.” He sounded surprised.
“Know what?” I was getting angry. I hate twenty questions.
“Jean-Claude’s animal is a wolf.”
That explained Stephen the Werewolf and the black woman. “Why weren’t you there the other night, Irving? Did he let you off your leash?”
“That’s not fair.”
He was right. It wasn’t. “I’m sorry, Irving. I’m just feeling guilty because I introduced the two of you.”
“I wanted to interview the Master of the City. I got my interview.”
“Was it worth the price?” I said.
“No comment.”
“That’s my line.”
He laughed. “Can you come to the Circus of the Damned? Jean-Claude has some information on the master vampire that jumped you.”
“Alejandro?”
“That’s the one.”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can, but it’s going to be damn close to dawn before we can get to the Riverfront.”
“Who’s we?”
“A new animator I’m breaking in. He’s driving.” I hesitated. “Tell Jean-Claude no rough stuff tonight.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“Coward.”
“Yes, ma’am. See you as soon as you can get here. Bye.”
“Bye, Irving.” I held the buzzing receiver for a few seconds, then hung up. Irving was Jean-Claude’s creature. Jean-Claude could call wolves the way Mr. Oliver called snakes. The way Nikolaos had called rats, and wererats. They were all monsters. It was just a choice of flavors.
I slid back into the car. “You wanted more experience with vampires, right?” I buckled the seat belt.
“Of course,” Larry said.
“Well, you’re going to get it tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll explain while you drive. We don’t have much time before dawn.” Larry threw the car in gear and peeled out of the parking lot. He looked eager in the dim glow of the dashboard. Eager and very, very young.
Chapter 34
The Circus of the Damned had closed down for the night, or would that be morning? It was still dark, but there was a wash of lightness to the east as we parked in front of the warehouse. An hour earlier, and there wouldn’t have been a parking place even close to the Circus. But the tourists leave as the vampires fold down for the night.
I glanced at Larry. His face was smeared with dried blood. So was mine. It hadn’t occurred to me until just now to find some place to clean up first. I glanced up at the eastern sky and shook my head. There was no time. Dawn was coming.
The toothed clowns still glowed and twirled atop the marquee, but it was a tired dance. Or maybe I was the one who was tired.
“Follow my lead in here, Larry. Never forget that they are monsters; no matter how human they look, they aren’t. Don’t take off your cross, don’t let them touch you, and don’t stare directly into their eyes.”
“I know that from class. I had two semesters of Vampire Studies.”
I shook my head. “Class is nothing, Larry. This is the real thing. Reading about it doesn’t prepare you for it.”
“We had guest speakers. Some of them were vampires.”
I sighed and let it go. He’d have to learn on his own. Like everybody else did. Like I had.
The big doors were locked. I knocked. The door opened a moment later. Irving stood there. He wasn’t smiling. He looked like a chubby cherub with soft, curling hair in a fringe over his ears, and a big bald spot in the middle. Round, wire-framed glasses perched on a round little nose. His eyes widened a little as we stepped inside. The blood looked like what it was in the light.
“What have you been doing tonight?” he asked.
“Raising the dead,” I said.
“This the new animator?”
“Larry Kirkland, Irving Griswold. He’s a reporter, so everything you say can be used against you.”
“Hey, Blake, I’ve never quoted you when you said not to. Give me that.”
I nodded. “Given.”
“He’s waiting for you downstairs,” Irving said.
“Downstairs?” I said.
“It is almost dawn. He needs to be underground.”
Ah. “Sure,” I said, but my stomach clenched tight. The last time I’d gone downstairs at the Circus, it had been to kill Nikolaos. There had been a lot of killing that morning. A lot of blood. Some of it mine.
Irving led the way through the silent midway. Someone had hit the switch, and the lights were dull. The fronts of the games had been shut and locked down, covers thrown over the stuffed animals. The scent of corn dogs and cotton candy hung on the air like aromatic ghosts, but the smells were dim and tired.
We passed the haunted house with its life-size witch on top, standing silent and staring with bulging eyes. She was green and had a wart on her nose. I’d never met a witch that looked anything but normal. They certainly weren’t green, and warts could always be surgically removed.
The glass house was next. The darkened Ferris wheel towered over everything. “I feel like one, / Who treads alone / Some banquet hall deserted, / Whose lights are fled, / Whose garlands dead, / And all but he departed,” I said.
Irving glanced back to me. “Thomas Moore, Oft in the Stilly Night.”
I smiled. “I couldn’t remember the title to save myself. I’ll just have to agree with you.”
“Double major, journalism and English literature.”
“I bet that last comes in handy as a reporter,” I said.
“Hey, I slip a little culture in when I can.” He sounded offended, but I knew he was pretending. It made me feel better to have Irving joking with me. It was nice and normal. I needed all the nice I could get tonight.
It was an hour until dawn. What harm could Jean-Claude do in an hour? Better not to ask.
The door in the wall was heavy and wooden with a sign reading, “Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point.” For once I wished I wasn’t authorized.