“Like hell I’m not,” I said.
“Am I missing something here?” asked Sanchez.
“Sorry,” said Sherbet. “Sam and I can sort of, ah...”
“Sort of what?”
“Read each other’s minds,” said Sherbet, and he suddenly looked like he wished he was having any other conversation but this one.
“You’re kidding.”
“Trust me. I wish I was.”
Sanchez thought about that—or tried to—then looked back at me. “I’ve never met a vampire before.”
“That you know of.”
“Do they all look like you?”
“Short, cute, spunky?”
Sanchez grinned. “Something like that.”
“We look like you, Detective, until you look a little deeper.”
“Your skin is pale,” he said. “Your nails...they’re pointed.”
“Very good, Detective. Anything else?”
“Your eyes. They are...never mind.”
“They’re what?” I needed to know this. I’d seen vampire eyes—Hanner’s eyes. And they were wild and not very human.
“You don’t blink very much,” said Sanchez, but I knew he was holding back. He wanted to say more.
“My eyes look cold,” I said. “Don’t they?”
He held my gaze, studying me, looking deeply into me. “Yes.”
“Like a killer’s eyes?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Like I’m not all there?”
“Yes,” he said again. He held my gaze. He didn’t shy away.
I sighed. When had the change in my eyes happened? I didn’t know. Maybe it had happened the instant I had turned. Then again, I wouldn’t know since I hadn’t seen my eyes in more than seven years.
They don’t look that creepy, Sam, thought Sherbet.
Thanks, Detective. But maybe you’re just used to them.
Or maybe we’re all nuts.
Have they changed to you, Detective? I mean, recently?
I haven’t noticed—