Suckers

'It's quite simple,' I said, with a withering look. 'But bloody hard work. You track them down in the daylight, while they're asleep, and you hammer stakes through their hearts. In most cases, that should be enough, but if you want to be on the safe side you give them the garlic treatment as well, cloves up the nose to short-circuit their sense of smell, and then if you really want to be on the safe side you drag them into the open and let the sun finish them off.'

'Stake 'em, stun 'em, and sun 'em,' said the copy-writer.

'But what if they're taken over the whole of Multiglom Tower?' asked the computer buff. 'It's a massive place. That'll take for ever.'

'Well, yes, I told you it would be hard work,' I said. 'Perhaps you can suggest a better method.'

'We could negotiate,' someone piped up.

Dino whirled on the speaker. 'Negotiate? With murderers? Not only would that be immoral, it would also be extremely dim-witted. We're not talking about the MCC here. This is not cricket, this is war.'

'Not yet, it isn't,' said Ruth. 'If we can just find out about Rotnacht, we can nip the whole thing in the bud.'

I said, 'I might be able to find out something.'

'You can?'

'I might. Give me a couple of days. Can't promise, though.'

'Of course you can find out,' sneered Dino. 'Just ask Fender.'

'Leave Duncan out of this,' I snapped back, and then I remembered something. 'Hey, I was snooping around in die Multiglom Tower,' I said, 'and I found your name and address on the computer.'

Dino looked embarrassed. He glanced sideways to see how many people were still listening. 'So? I told you I used to work there.'

'When your name came up, so did the word Rotnacht.'

Dino's face went a pale green colour which toned almost perfectly with his T-shirt.

The meeting broke up. As people began to drift towards the door, Ruth barred their way and shouted for quiet. 'Now you know what we're trying to achieve, perhaps you could persuade some of your friends to come to Tuesday's meeting. The more the merrier. Same time, same place.'

A few minutes later, as I was trying to slip past without her noticing, she caught my arm. 'I've got something for you,' she said, pressing a small paper packet into my bandaged palm. 'For old times' sake.'

'What is it?' I asked, realizing what the packet contained as soon as the words were out of my mouth. 'Thanks,' I said, intending to throw the drugs away as soon as I got outside. 'Oh, and may I make a suggestion?'

'Of course you can, Dora.'

'Why not hold your meetings during daylight, hours? It would make things so much simpler.'

I left her at the top of the stairs, staring after me with her mouth open.

I made myself a nest of garlic and slept soundly in it, even though the Krankzeits had a visitor and made a great deal of noise overhead. But I was so tired I managed to stay asleep and incorporate all their usual thudding and shouting into my dreams, which for some reason were about Patricia Rice and involved a lot of chasing around. At one point, I woke up and peered out through the curtains and saw her standing perfectly still on the pavement outside, face tilted upward and her gaze fixed on the floor above. I blinked, and then I saw it wasn't Patricia Rice at all, it was Lulu. And then I knew without a doubt that I was still dreaming. Because Lulu was dead.

Part Four

Chapter 1

All those years, I'd kept my black leather jacket. It was distressed enough to be not really black any more, but it was black enough. I dug out a crumpled black dress which reeked of a perfume I'd stopped wearing ten years ago, and ironed out most of the deep-seated wrinkles and tacked up the hem. But I didn't have any black stockings. I had to go out to the shops and buy some, so while I was there I bought a tube of hair gel and one or two extra items of make-up. I also bought a bottle of the loudest scent I could find — something called Fleur de Paris — and splashed great quantities around while I was getting dressed. It was a vile chemical blend of apples and roses, but I wasn't wearing it to smell sweet. I was wearing it to blot out the aroma of me. For the same reason, I had stocked up with twice the usual number of packets of cigarettes. This was going to be the sort of occasion on which my health might depend on chain-smoking.

I didn't normally wear a great deal of make-up, but now I trowelled on the foundation until my face looked dry and flaky, dull and very lifeless, though it still didn't look nearly as bad as Lulu's had done. I carefully painted my mouth in a scarlet bow, and slicked my hair back from my face, and it was only then I began to believe that the plan I had outlined to Duncan might have a fighting chance of working.

I unwound my bandages. The blood had dried and stuck to the dressings, and pulling them off made my eyes water. The palms were still raw. I dabbed at them with TCP and pulled on a pair of black gloves.

I was reluctant to venture out without pockets full of garlic, but the smell was too distinctive, and this was one occasion on which I wouldn't want to stand out from the crowd. I half solved the problem by wrapping some cloves in several layers of kitchen foil and hiding the small package in my make-up case; at least it was there if I needed it. I selected a single rosary and enfolded it in tissue paper before placing it in an old cigar tin which I then buried right at the bottom of Lulu's lizard-trimmed bag. I had a vague notion that the vampire sense of smell was something like the X-ray machine at Heathrow — unable to penetrate metal.

I took one long last look at myself in the full-length mirror in my room. Dora Rosamond Vale, vampire. I thought I looked quite good. I wondered if I would be the same person when I came back. I wondered if I would ever come back at all.

Not liking the idea of being caught halfway across town when the sun went down, I set out early for Molasses Wharf. By the time I got there, it was late afternoon. I marched straight into Multiglom Tower and announced myself to the po-faced receptionist. She checked her watch. 'You're four hours early.'

'I know,' I said. 'But I don't mind waiting.'

She shook her head. 'You can't wait. There's nowhere to sit.'

'You needn't worry about me.'

'You can't wait here,' she said, this time more emphatically, and I saw her trying to catch the eye of one of the doormen.

'OK, OK,' I said, 'I'll come back later.'

There was only one place to go.

I crossed the road to the Bar Nouveau.

The oil paintings had been replaced by out-of-focus photographs of cats and dogs, but otherwise the Bar Nouveau was exactly the same, and once again I was its sole customer. When I ordered a Perrier, the barman did a double-take. I thought for a moment he had recognized me, then realized it was more likely he was just surprised to see someone up and about so early.

'How are you, Mr Renfield?' I asked. He squinted at me suspiciously. I nodded and smiled before taking a seat by the window and watching as Multiglom Tower reflected the gathering night, windows glinting pink and navy blue as they shifted into unfathomable dark. The barman sauntered over to the jukebox and fed it with a handful of coins. The first record was a load of scratchy white noise overlaid with a bored female voice droning on about suicide, but I cheered up as soon as the needle hit the second platter and Roxy Music started up. It was just like old times. I hummed along under my breath. 'All I want is the real thing. And a night that lasts for years.' Then Marc Bolan sang, 'Girl, I'm just a jeepster for your love,' but that was as good as it got. The rest was rinky-dink synthesizer stuff.