Vampires only draw air in order to speak. I'd certainly never heard one sneeze. But she'd been opening her mouth to say something, had just happened to draw a breath, and thereby inhaled a fine mist of holy water, which had gotten into her nose, sinuses, and throat. From what I'd observed, holy water had a similar effect on vampires that silver had on lycanthropes—it produced an allergic reaction on the skin, rashes, hives, that sort of thing.
I tried to imagine breaking out in hives in my sinuses and down my throat. And I thought, Oh, yuck.
She didn't stop coughing. She dropped to her knees, and the rash erupting over her face turned fiery.
By that time, Hardin had returned, her newly loaded crossbow trained on the incapacitated vampire.
"She out of commission?" Hardin asked. I nodded quickly. Stella didn't seem concerned with much of anything at the moment but her own discomfort.
The radio at Hardin's belt was calling again. She ran for the front of the building, and I chased after her.
"Lopez, talk to me!" Hardin called.
Sneaking a look around the corner, I could see the two officers, back to back, weapons out—one had a gun, the other a crossbow. Both of them looked wild-eyed and on the verge of panic, waiting for an imminent attack.
"I don't know!" Lopez, the one with the gun, called back. "There were three—"
"—four," the other cop said. "Four of them."
"I don't know, three or four of them, I thought we were finished. But they just disappeared."
I still hated when vampires did that. Reflexively, I looked behind, up, all around, waiting for another shadow to move and strike.
"They won't have gone far," Hardin said. "Keep watching."
Again, I turned my nose to the air. I had other ways of watching. They were here. I could smell them, even differentiate individuals. They had different flavors to their scents, but I couldn't quite identify them. Part of it was the nature of the place—it all belonged to vampires. We could get rid of them all, bulldoze the building and plant a garden, and some of that undeadness would still linger.
We stayed like that, stalled in place, waiting for shadows to strike.
Finally, Hardin said, "Well? We scare them off or what?" She smelled of nervous sweat, but her manner was calm. Lopez and his partner didn't believe it—they remained back-to-back, tense and ready.
I wasn't willing to make any guesses. The street was quiet. Nothing could possibly happen on a street this quiet.
"I'm going to go back to check on Kramer," Hardin said. "Call me—"
Lopez fired another shot.
"Would you stop doing that!" And there was Charlie, yelling at the officer and rubbing at a smoking bullet hole in his T-shirt. He came around the corner and dropped a body—vampiric, male, built like a fighter—in front of us. He looked me up and down. "What are you doing here?"
Hardin's cops trailed after him, still tense to the point of quivering.
"Where's Rick?" I shot back. "Where's Ben? Ben was coming to help but I don't see his car—"
"Rick's downstairs. I need your help, Violet's hurt."
"Wait a minute, is this another vampire or what?" Hardin said.
"He's one of the good guys." I think. "Charlie, Detective Hardin, Detective, Charlie. So is that guy dead or what?" A dead vampire decomposed. This one hadn't, so what was he, knocked out?
How do you knock out a vampire?
But Charlie didn't answer. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me around the opposite corner.
Lopez pleaded with Hardin, "What the hell is going on?"
"I don't know. Follow Kitty's lead, keep your eyes open."
Propped against the wall, safe in a shadow, lay Violet. A glistening trail streaked the front of her black shirt—blood, streaming from a gash in her neck. Something had ripped half her throat out—vertebrae were visible. The shredded wound wasn't bleeding anymore—all the blood had drained out. Lopez turned away, a hand covering his mouth.
Her eyes were closed; she didn't move. I couldn't tell if she was dead. More dead. All vampires smelled dead. It looked like all the blood she'd borrowed—that was why vampires drank, to replace the blood they'd lost when they were turned—had spilled out, and maybe she was gone forever this time.
Charlie knelt by her and tenderly cradled her in his lap. "Violet, Violet baby, I brought help. Stay with me now, okay?" He stroked her cheeks, her hair, clutched her hand, and she didn't respond. "Kitty's going to help, okay? Hang on for me, baby."
"What can I do?" I murmured, my heart breaking over the scene.
Charlie looked at me. "She needs blood so she can heal. Strong blood."
Of course she did. She didn't even need much, a mouthful or so. I'd seen how this worked.
"Do I have to?" I said, wincing.
"Please. Just a little." I'd never seen such a look of pleading on anyone's face, much less a vampire's.
I nodded. "Detective Hardin, do you have a jackknife or something?"
She stared. "You can't be serious."
"Yes, please," I said softly. "And you might want to pay attention. This gets pretty interesting."
She didn't have one, but Lopez did, a thin penknife on a keychain. It would have to do.
I knelt by Violet, pulled open the blade, and before I could flinch or change my mind, I drew it across my left forearm. It cut deep. I didn't look at it. Almost, it didn't hurt—until my blood hit the air. Then it stung viciously. I gritted my teeth and held my arm over her lips.
Charlie tilted Violet's head back, holding her jaw in order to ease open her mouth. The first drops that fell from the wound hit her cheek, drizzling a scarlet line to her jaw. But by the time the dripping blood became a steady stream, it fell straight into her mouth. Like giving water to someone dying of thirst.
Because of my rapid healing, the stream of blood didn't last long before clotting, and the cut scabbed over as we watched. But Violet didn't need much. After the first few drops, she closed her mouth by herself. Her throat moved, swallowing. We could see the exposed muscles and tendons of her neck working. Then, her throat started healing. I healed quickly, but this was faster, skin creeping, stretching to cover flesh and blood that now glowed with life. Hardin murmured an expletive.
Violet licked her lips, catching the stray drops, straining forward for more. She winced in pain, then leaned back, settling into Charlie's lap.
"Charlie?" Her voice was small, childlike.
"Yeah, baby?"
"It hurts."
"It won't, in a minute."
Her skin flushed, gaining some color as my blood took effect. Her fingers moved, then her hands, then she stretched her arms to grip Charlie.
He helped her sit up, and all at once she seemed like she'd only been sick, maybe hungover, not drained of blood and near death—or what meant death to vampires.
"Shit," she muttered. She picked at the blood on her clothing and grimaced. "All this good stuff gone to waste."
"Feeling better?" Charlie said.
Her answer sounded tired. "Yeah."
"You're welcome," I said, rubbing the newly healed cuton my arm. it had already turned to a closed, pink scab.
I noticed two stretched-out piles of ash on the concrete nearby. The ones who got Violet, I was guessing. Charlie hadn't let them survive.
So. Had we gotten them all?
"How many more are there?" I said.
"I don't know," Charlie said. "Three, maybe four. Maybe more downstairs. Rick wanted them all alive. He wanted everyone alive."
"Kitty, are these good guys or what?" Hardin demanded.
Violet purred, "Ooh, I wouldn't say good guys."