Ben and I didn't say a word to each other.
Back at the car, Ben put on gloves and reloaded the clips with silver bullets.
"Where does Cormac get those?" I asked. "Is there some kind of mail order catalog? A Web site?"
"There's a guy in Laramie who makes them," Ben said. "Been doing it for years."
"Everybody get them from this guy?"
"No. Other people make them. There's a community out there—Cormac's not the only one who does what he does."
I should have known that, but it was still a sobering thought. Shining a light into this shadow world didn't illuminate much of anything. It only made more shadows. Darker shadows. All this time, all these miles, I was still ignorant.
"Community, huh? Is there a union? Conventions?"
He just smiled.
I picked one of the silver bullets from the box and held it in my bare hand. Instantly, it started to itch, and a rash developed, splotchy red. I kept it in my palm, letting it burn.
"What are you doing?" Ben said.
I didn't know. Letting the pain grow, I stared at the shining capsule in my hand. It gleamed, brighter than the ones we'd spent on paper targets, like a bit of frozen mercury or a piece of jewelry, beautiful almost. Like magic. This little thing could kill me. And I held it, inert. Like playing with fire.
Ben picked it off my hand and slid it into the clip. I rubbed my hand on my jeans. Slowly, the pain and the rash faded.
"Maybe we won't have to shoot anyone," I said. "Maybe they'll just leave. Maybe I can convince them to leave town, leave us alone."
Ben took a long pause before saying, "Maybe."
"I don't want to have to shoot anyone, Ben."
Another long pause. "Then it's a good thing Dack and I are around." He packed the guns into the trunk and went to the driver's seat.
"This'll work," I said as we drove away.
"Yeah," Ben said.
Neither one of us sounded sure.
Finally, it was time.
Rick settled into the chair in the studio. He looked distinctly nervous, his gaze unsettled, his skin too pale, even for a vampire. I wanted this all to be over just to see Rick back to normal. I was used to seeing him confident and even amiable.
At least he was back to the suave Rick I was used to, all polish and expensive clothing.
"I'm only here because I have nothing to lose," he said.
"Oh, don't sound so glum. This'll be fun!"
Matt back in the booth didn't look so sure. Rick also looked skeptical.
"Humor me a little longer," I said. "Then it'll be all over."
"I leave it to you. You're the professional." He put on the headphones, glaring at me. "I have a small request, though. You need to call me Ricardo."
"That your real name?"
"It's a Master's name."
And that was another thing about vampires: Why did they have such a problem with nicknames? "Whatever you say."
Nothing more than sheer, pigheaded enthusiasm was carrying me along at this point. Show business, baby. Matt counted down, and the music cued up.
"Good night, everyone, and welcome to The Midnight Hour. It's vampires again tonight. It might sound like I've been doing a lot of shows on vampires lately, but that's just the way it goes. There seem to be a lot of them around at the moment. This time it's vampire politics. Like any other community, they have their leaders, their followers, their structures, their organizations—and their problems. Here to help us talk about vampires' wily ways and notions is a very special guest: Denver's own Master vampire, Ricardo."
This was going to piss a lot of people off. Kind of like kicking a wasp's nest.
"Hi, Ricardo, how are you this fine evening?"
"I'm just wonderful," he said, gritting his teeth but managing to sound honest. The microphone would hear honest, at least. "It's an honor to be on your show."
"Thank you, that's great to hear," I said. "I was starting to think most vampires put up with me because they think I'm cute and harmless."
"Oh, I wouldn't accuse you of that."
"Wait—which one?" He just smiled. "Right, moving on. Tonight I'd like to delve into some of the secrets, the hows and whys. The questions that never see the light of day, so to speak. But first, do you think you'll get in trouble for answering such questions? For breaking the code of secrecy?"
"Oh, probably. One thing or another will get me in trouble."
"So being a vampire is dangerous stuff."
"Yes. Usually. People assume immortality comes with vampirism. But you'd be surprised how much work the immortality takes. The old vampires are dangerous because they know what it takes to survive."
"Take note of that all you wannabes out there. So, Ricardo—how did you become the Master of Denver?"
"Finesse," he said, his face perfectly straight. "Sometimes it's just a matter of walking in and saying, 'Here I am.' "
Oh my God, I loved it. "Is that how such transitions usually take place?"
"Usually they're quite violent. Vampires are territorial. Taking another vampire's territory isn't something to be done lightly. But I firmly believe this territory is better off in my hands than my predecessor's."
This sounded like a political campaign, which was exactly the right description, I supposed. Except the tactics threatened to get much more vicious.
"Better off? How?"
"Safer."
"For vampires—"
"For everyone."
"Wait a minute, I may not know much, but I know vampires keep to themselves. Most of the fine citizens of Denver have never interacted with a vampire and wouldn't know one if they met one. How does a city's Master vampire keep the city safe for everyone?" I knew the answer; this was for the benefit of my listeners.
"Because when a Master vampire can't control his followers, the rest of the city's vampires, then no one is safe from them. They will hunt indiscriminately, uncontrolled. They'll kill. Most people never notice vampires because they're kept in check. They don't kill for blood. When that control is gone…" He left the statement hanging ominously. "It's the same with werewolves, you know that."
The system—alphas commanding their packs, Masters controlling the vampires—had been handed down for centuries. Most of our kinds knew they had to stay hidden to survive, to avoid the mob with torches and pitchforks scenario. Occasionally, though, we had rogues who lacked common sense. We had to police ourselves. The system was archaic, born in the days of monarchs and empires. It showed, even in someone relatively down to earth like Rick.
"I do, and we'll maybe get to that later in the show. But here's a question for you: Do you think maybe the system is outdated?" That caught him off guard. He narrowed his gaze at me. I said, "I don't expect you to tell me your age—I haven't yet gotten a vampire to admit his age—but tell me this: were you born in a country with a king? An absolute monarch, in the days when that actually meant something more than getting chased by paparazzi."
Cautiously, he said, "Yes."
I filled in a few holes. He'd been born in Europe, at least a couple hundred years ago. With a name like Ricardo, that probably meant Spain. Lots of holes remained, like when he'd become a vampire, when he'd come to America, and—the eternal question—how old was he really?
"Then does Denver even need a Master, or do you think the system is outdated?" I honestly wanted to know, and I had no idea what he was going to say.
"I thought you were supposed to be making me look good."
"I decided to go for heavy-hitting philosophy instead."