“I’m sorry to hear that. And here we dragged you out into the sun. My apologies.” Sanchez’s concern was real as he leaned forward and looked from me to Sherbet. “I hadn’t known. I would have met you at your home, or anywhere that you were more comfortable.”
I smiled at his sweetness. “It’s okay, Detective. I’ve learned to adapt.”
Truth was, six months ago, I’d adapted quite nicely, as I had then sported a medallion that enabled me to step out into the light of day. That the medallion had been buried under my skin was another story—or that a body-hopping demon had torn it from me...was, in the least, a horror story for another day, too.
Lots of stories, I thought.
Focus, Sam, came the detective’s thoughts.
I nodded to him as Sanchez said, “As long as you’re okay.”
“Oh, I’m fine, thank you,” I said. “So, how can I help you, gentlemen?”
Detective Sherbet looked at me for a long moment. Then he looked at Sanchez, who was looking down at his hands.
“Either someone starts talking about the case, or I’m going to start knocking heads,” I said.
That seemed to break the ice. Sanchez chuckled. Sherbet might have grinned. Finally, the handsome LAPD homicide detective said, “We think we have a serial killer on our hands.”
There was, of course, no reason why two experienced homicide detectives would be talking to me, a lowly private eye, about a serial killer. Homicide detectives, in general, didn’t look favorably upon us. We were seen as a nuisance, amateurish. There was, of course, only one reason why I had been called in. Something wicked this way comes.
I had been called in on such a case last year. Sherbet and I eventually caught the bastards behind what had turned out to be a blood ring. Right, a blood ring. For vampires. Sherbet, of course, no longer had any memory of my involvement in the case, thanks to Detective Hanner, a fellow creature of the night who had been overseeing—and concealing—the bloody enterprise for many years. Thanks to her otherworldly ability to remove and replace memories, most of the department—and anyone involved in the case, for that matter—believed that only one man had been behind the killings. The fact that the bodies had been drained of all blood had never made it into police reports or autopsy reports. Any connections to vampires had been removed from documentation. Sherbet himself was remembering more and more of the case, thanks to my help. But much was forgotten and would, undoubtedly, remain forgotten.
Now, I looked at Sherbet and thought: How much did you tell him about me?
Sherbet held my gaze then finally looked away. Everything, Sam. Everything.
Chapter Two
“Sam, he agreed to have his memory removed. About you, about vampires. Everything.”
Sanchez nodded, although he kept staring at me. “Whatever it takes to catch the bastard killing these people. That is, of course, if you really are a, you know...”
“A vampire,” I said.
“Yeah, that.” And now, Sanchez looked a little uncomfortable.
He should look uncomfortable. Either he was surrounded by a lot of craziness, or he was sitting next to something that, had I lost my grip on it, would like nothing more than to drink from his writhing body.
Jesus, Sam, came Sherbet’s thoughts. Dial it down a little. You’re scaring even me.
I’m pissed, Detective.
Don’t be pissed, Sam. Sanchez is a friend of mine. A good detective. No, a great detective. He’s dealing with something he doesn’t understand. You can see how willing he is to find the killer. He’ll do whatever it takes.
Still, I fumed. My life was difficult enough as it was, without the world knowing what I was. I drummed my longish, pointed nails along the wooden arm of the guest chair.
“So, it’s true, then,” said Sanchez, watching me carefully. God, I hated to be watched carefully.
“Maybe,” I said.
“I told him everything, Sam,” said Sherbet. “No need to be evasive.”
I sighed. “Fine,” I said. “I’m a blood-sucking creature of the night. Hide your kids and all that.” I raised my clawed fingers half-heartedly like the vampire in the silent movie, Nosferatu. “Rawr.”
Sanchez laughed lightly, hesitantly, undoubtedly not sure what to make of all of this. He never took his eyes off me. Hell, if I were him, I wouldn’t take my eyes off me, either. It wasn’t often that someone met a freak like me.
“You’re not a freak,” said Sherbet, picking up my thoughts like a freak himself.