cops in the room had sensed what I was doing, it might have raised questions. And Billings would certainly have noticed that his emotions had been messed with. I behaved myself, but my fascination with anger helped me keep my own temper, and not mind his so much.
My voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact, as I spoke into his reddening face. I gave him back peaceful, because I didn't want to feed into his rage, and I didn't want to be any more tempted to feed on his anger than I already was. Both the dead officers had been his men. He had a right to his anger, and I knew that as long as he was raving at me he could push back the grief. People will do a lot to keep that first rush of true, stomach-churning grief at bay, because once you feel it, it's like it never really leaves, not until the process is complete. There are five stages to grief. Denial is the first stage. When you've seen the bodies dead at your feet, it's hard not to skip that one, but you don't always go to the next step in order. Grief isn't a neat series of stages. You can jump around in the stages, you can get stuck at one point or the other, and you even get to revisit stages you've already finished. Grief isn't a neat, orderly kind of thing. It's messy, and it sucks. Billings wanted to yell at someone, and I was just convenient; it was nothing personal, I knew that. I stood in the face of his yelling and let it flow over me, through me. I didn't buy into it, I truly didn't take it personally. I'd had too many people scream in my face over the years with their loved ones dead on the ground. People wanted revenge, they thought it would make them feel better; sometimes it did, sometimes it didn't.
"I'll finish the job, Billings, but we need to clear out the prisoners first."
"I heard you'd gone soft; guess it's true."
I raised an eyebrow at him.
Zerbrowski left the uniforms that he'd been giving instructions to, so they could guard the vampires. He was the ranking RPIT officer on site. He called out, almost cheerfully, "Billings, Anita killed the three vampires while they were shooting at us. I got a piece of one, but it was her shots that were the kills for all three. How much harder do you want her to be?" His face was as open and friendly as his tone. He understood what it was like to lose people, too.
Billings turned on him; any target would do. "I want her to do her goddamn job!"
"She will," Zerbrowski said, and made a soothing gesture with one hand. "She will, just as soon as we clear out some of the crowd."
"No," Billings said, pointing a finger at the chained vampires. "I want them to see what's going to happen to their friends. I want them to know what's coming! I want them to see it! I want them to fucking see what's coming to each and every damned one of them. No goddamned bloodsuckers can kill cops in St. Louis and not die for it! Not here, not in our town. They are fucking going to die for this, and I want Blake to do her fucking job and show those motherfuckers what they have to look forward to!" He finished the last sentence bent into Zerbrowski's face, so close that spittle got on his glasses.
"Come on, Ray, let's go for a walk." Zerbrowski touched his arm, tried to get him to move away from the bodies and the vampires, and me.
Billings, whose first name was apparently Ray, jerked back from the touch and stalked toward the chained and kneeling vampires. They reacted like humans, recoiling, faces showing fear. God, they were all so recently dead that it was like watching human faces.
One of the uniforms on guard stepped in front of him, a little unsure, but trying. "Lieutenant..."
Billings pushed him out of the way hard enough that the smaller officer stumbled. His hand went to his baton, but he couldn't use it on a lieutenant, and with five inches of height and at least fifty pounds of muscle in Billings's favor, short of harsh physical measures the officer was out of options. Fuck.
Billings grabbed one of the closest prisoners in his big hands and dragged him to his feet. It was one of the