"P. N. Elrod - Vampire Files 04 - Art In The Blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

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Art in the Blood by P.N. Elrod

Chapter One

HUNGRY AND CARELESS, I'd opened the vein more than necessary and the blood slipped past my
mouth and dribbled down the animal's leg. I shifted my right hand above the wound and applied pressure,
which slowed the flow, and continued with my meal, siphoning off more than usual because I'd been on
short rations the last few nights. I drank my fill and more, the excess partly due to curiosity; I wanted to
know if I'd swell up like a leech or if I could get away with fewer feedings per week. The cow didn't
mind, she could afford to spare a quart or moreтАФthere'd just be that much less to spill out when they
finally slaughtered her for someone else's dinner.

I drew away, a handkerchief immediately at my lips so as not to spot my clothes, and tightened the
pressure on the leg. It worked, and the bleeding eventually stopped. My hand looked the same, at
leastтАФno puffiness there. I wondered how long it would take for the red to fade from my eyes. The usual
time was only a few minutes, but there was no way to tell. These days I preferred to avoid useless
mirrors and their many complications.

To spare my shoes from farmyard-style damage, I went incorporeal to get out and flowed past the
wood corrals and their complaining occupants. It was a disorienting state, but I knew the route well and
was soon back on the open street again, doing my best imitation of a normal man out for a walk. My car
was parked less than a block away, but I always varied my route into and out of the Stockyards. Few
people believed in vampires these days, but it never hurt to be careful.

The first aid to the cow had stained my fingers somewhat, so I took a swing past Escott's office with a
mind to borrow his washroom. His lights were on, which surprised me, for only yesterday he'd mentioned
a dearth of business. I didn't feel like his company just then and kept walking, but silently wished him luck
as I passed. He detested being idle. A dripping tap in an alley down the street provided all the cleanup I
needed, and I tossed the stained handkerchief into a trash can. Escott's laundry service, which I shared
now, had once asked if his houseguest suffered from frequent nosebleeds.

The car started up without fuss and I drove aimlessly, turning when the mood struck me and obeying the
stop signals like a good citizen. I pulled up and parked near the Night-crawler Club up on the north side
and pretended it was only an impulse that took me there, and not some inner need.

They had a new man out front. He looked askance at my ordinary clothes, but let me in when I asked to
see Gordy. The hatcheck girl was not new, I rarely forget dimples, but she didn't know me from whosis,
and put my plain gray fedora next to the flashier silk toppers with a friendly if impersonal smile.