“What I need is a shotgun.”
He looked at me. “You going to carry a shotgun with you day after day?”
“Sawed off, it would fit under a coat.”
“In the middle of a Missouri summer, you'd melt. Why not a machine gun, or a flamethrower, while you're at it?”
“Machine gun has too wide a spread range. You may hit innocent people. Flamethrower's bulky. Messy, too.”
He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “You've used a flamethrower on vampires before?”
“No, but I saw it used.”
“My god.” He stared off into space for a moment, then asked, “Did it work?”
“Like a charm; messy, though. And it burned the house down around us. I thought it was a little extreme.”
“I'll bet.” We started walking again. “You must hate vampires.”
“I don't hate them.”
“Then why do you kill them?”
“Because it's my job, and I'm good at it.” We turned a corner, and I could see the parking lot where I had left my car. It seemed like I had parked my car days ago. My watch said hours. It was a little like jet lag, but instead of crossing time zones, you crossed events. So many traumatic events and your time sense screws up. Too much happening in too short a space of time.
“I'm your daytime contact. If you need anything, or want to give a message, here's my number.” He shoved a matchbook into my hand.
I glanced at the matchbook. It read “Circus of the Damned” bleeding red onto a shiny black background. I shoved it in my jeans pocket.
My gun was lying there in my trunk. I slipped into the shoulder rig, not caring that I had no jacket to cover it. A gun out in plain sight attracts attention, but most people leave you alone. They often even start running, clearing a path before you. It made chases very convenient.
Zachary waited until I was sitting in my car. He leaned into the open door. “It can't just be a job, Anita. There's got to be a better reason than that.”
I glanced down at my lap and started the car. I looked up into his pale eyes. “I'm afraid of them. It is a very natural human trait to destroy that which frightens us.”
“Most people spend their lives avoiding things they fear. You run after them. That's crazy.”
He had a point. I closed the door and left him standing in the hot dark. I raised the dead and laid the undead to rest. It was what I did. Who I was. If I ever started questioning my motives, I would stop killing vampires. Simple as that.
I wasn't questioning my motives tonight, so I was still a vampire slayer, still the name they had given me. I was The Executioner.
15
Dawn slid across the sky like a curtain of light. The morning star glittered like a diamond chip against the easy flow of light.
I had seen two sunrises in as many days. I was beginning to feel grumpy. The trick would be to decide whom to be grumpy at, and what to do about it. Right now all I wanted was to sleep. The rest could wait, would have to wait. I had been running on fear, adrenaline, and stubbornness for hours. In the quiet hush of the car I could feel my body. It was not happy.
It hurt to grip the wheel, hurt to turn it. The bloody scrapes on my hands looked a lot worse than they were, I hoped. My whole body felt stiff. Everybody underrates bruises. They hurt. They would hurt a lot more after I slept on them. There is nothing like waking up the morning after a good beating. It's like a hangover that covers your entire body.
The corridor of my apartment building was hushed. The whir of the air conditioner breathed in the silence. I could almost feel all the people asleep behind the doors. I had an urge to press my ear to one of the doors and see if I could hear my neighbors breathing. So quiet. The hour after dawn is the most private of all. It is a time to be alone and enjoy the silence.
The only hour more hushed is three a.m. and I am not a fan of three a.m.
I had my keys in my hand, had almost touched the door, when I realized it was ajar. A tiny crack, almost closed, but not. I moved to the right of the door and pressed my back against the wall. Had they heard the keys jingling? Who was inside? Adrenaline was flowing like fine champagne. I was alert to every shadow, the way the light fell. My body was in emergency mode, and I hoped to God I didn't need it.
I drew my gun and leaned against the wall. Now what? There was no sound from inside the apartment, nothing. It could be more vampires, but it was nearly true dawn. It wouldn't be vampires. Who else would break into my apartment? I took a deep breath and let it out. I didn't know. Didn't have the faintest idea. You'd think I'd get used to not knowing what the hell is going on, but I never do. It just makes me grumpy, and a little scared.
I had several choices. I could leave and call the police, not a bad choice. But what could they do that I couldn't, except walk in and get killed in my place? That was unacceptable. I could wait in the corridor until whoever it was got curious. That could take a while, and the apartment might be empty. I'd feel pretty stupid standing out here for hours, gun trained on an empty apartment. I was tired, and I wanted to go to bed. Dammit!
I could always just go in, gun blazing. Naw. I could push the door open and be lying on the floor and shoot anyone inside. If they had a gun. If there was anyone inside.
The smart thing would be to outwait them, but I was tired. The adrenaline rush was fading under the frustration of too many choices. There comes a point when you just get tired. I didn't think I could stand out here in the air-conditioned silence and stay alert. I wouldn't fall asleep standing up, but it was a thought. And another hour would see my neighbors up and about, maybe caught in the crossfire. Unacceptable. Whatever was going to happen needed to happen now.
Decision made. Good. Nothing like fear to wash your mind clean. I moved as far from the door as I could and crossed over, gun trained on the door. I moved along the left-hand wall towards the hinge side of the door. It opened in. Just give it a push flat against the wall, simple. Right.
I crouched down on one knee, my shoulders hunched as if I could draw my head down like a turtle. I was betting that any gun would hit above me, chest-high. Crouched down, I was a lot shorter than chest-high.
I shoved the door open with my left hand and hugged the doorsill. It worked like a charm. My gun was pointing at the bad guy's chest. Except his hands were already in the air, and he was smiling at me.
“Don't shoot,” he said. “It's Edward.”
I knelt there staring at him; anger rose like a warm tide. “You bastard. You knew I was out here.”
He steepled his fingers. “I heard the keys.”
I stood, eyes searching the room. Edward had moved my white overstuffed chair to face the door. Nothing else seemed to be moved.
“I assure you, Anita, I am quite alone.”
“That I believe. Why didn't you call out to me?”
“I wanted to see if you were still good. I could have blown you away when you hesitated in front of the door, with your keys jingling so nicely.”
I shut the door behind me and locked it, though truthfully with Edward inside I might have been safer locking myself out rather than in. He was not an imposing man, not frightening, if you didn't know him. He was five-eight, slender, blond, blue-eyed, charming. But if I was The Executioner, he was Death itself. He was the person I had seen use a flamethrower.