"Jailbait Zombie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Acevedo Mario)

CHAPTER 5

Time to cover my tracks and find another way home. I bent forward-pain zippered from vertebrae to vertebrae. I flicked the contacts from my eyes and sat up.

Tendrils of alarm lashed from the red auras of the girl, her mom, and the boy. Buttercup picked up on their blossoming panic and the van quaked as the dog jumped and clawed at the wire grid.

I made eye contact with the girl first. Her aura lit up like I’d hooked her little toes to an electrical socket. She sat still, open-mouthed, eyes big as quarters. I eased the girl back into her seat.

The boy trembled as his blood turned ice cold. Terror kept him from doing anything but hold still while I hypnotized him.

When Mom turned to look, I snatched the sunglasses off her face and zapped her. I reached over her shoulder for the steering wheel while telling her how to work the pedals.

All three sat quiet as mannequins, their auras fading to red shimmers. I’d given each an extra powerful dose to keep them under long enough for me to escape. When they came to, they would remember giving me a lift and then me disappearing sometime during the drive down the mountain.

Buttercup howled, rabid with rage, eager to rip me to pieces. Shame that vampire hypnosis didn’t work on dogs, especially this volcanic bitch.

I guided the minivan into an alley behind a liquor store, tucked a pair of twenties into the mom’s hand, and got out.

How to get home? I didn’t want to risk stealing a car. Taxi? A cabbie could recall me. Not too many fares look like they’ve rolled down a mountain.

I limped two blocks and waited for the bus. Compared with the other people at the bus stop in their eclectic urban attire-chrome army helmet; a cape made of feathers; plastic shopping bags for shoes; the middle-aged man in a denim miniskirt-I appeared normal and easily forgotten.

I took a seat at the rear of the bus and isolated myself behind a moat of pain. My arm hurt too much for me to care about anything but self-medicating and not missing the transfer.

After I got to my apartment, I cleaned up and smothered the pain with aspirin and a whisky sour. I checked voice mail from my landline.

There was a message from Olivia, a favorite chalice: a human who willingly donated her blood. Part of the attraction for chalices was belonging to our supernatural subculture. But once part of our extended family, chalices kept coming-so to speak-for the orgasmic rapture experienced from the fanging. For us vampires, chalices provided convenient nourishment without the stalking of innocents and the risk that brought.

There’s a catch. A chalice was bound to silence about the existence of the supernatural world. Any transgression warranted an immediate and agonizing death. Failure to punish any such chalice meant the vampire master also deserved the final blow from undead to permanent dead.

Olivia’s cheery voice sang from the phone. “How’s it hanging, Felix? Long and thick, I hope. If you’re hungry, call me, baby.”

Damn right I was hungry. Plump, horny, and succulent Olivia. Comfort food for a vampire.

I flexed the fingers of my injured hand. My wrist ached. My back ached. Everything ached. Olivia would help me feel much better.

I set the phone aside.

Then, like a curtain falling before me, everything blanked out. An instant later the little girl appeared.

The voice returned, repeating my name.

Just as abruptly, the hallucination disappeared. The voice faded, the echo so faint it was like I had never heard it at all.

I put my hand on the desk to stop the dizziness.

One second I was in my normal world, then flash came the little girl, and flash again, back to normal.

My kundalini noir shrank around a cold ball of fear. My hands trembled from the chill.

I pulled up a chair and sat.

The war was years behind me.

Was I going insane?