The Last Vampire - By Christopher Pike Page 0,34
can give you the number. It is in Switzerland."
"Say it." He gives me the number. I consider. "I faxed you in Switzerland earlier tonight. Yet you were here. It is possible Graham is here as well?"
"It is possible. We have relays."
"Do you have a business card, Slim?"
"What?"
"A card. Give me your card."
"My wallet is in my front right pocket."
I rip away his pocket. "So it is." I stuff the wallet in my back pocket. My pants are soaked with blood, some of my own, some of the woman's. In the distance I hear two of the men coming my way. Farther off I hear a police siren, heading south on Coast Highway. The men hear it as well. I can practically read their thoughts, they are so obvious. This woman is a monster. If she has Slim, Slim is dead. She will probably kill us if we do catch up with her. The police are coming. We'd better get the hell out of here and chalk it up to a bad night.
The men reverse their direction, back toward the gas station. I lovingly stroke the sides of Slim's face. Of course there is no possibility I will let him live.
"Why do you work for Graham?" I ask.
"The money."
"I see. Tell me what Graham looks like?"
"He is tall, six three maybe. His hair is dark. He wears it long."
Now I am the one who trembles. "What color are his eyes?"
"Blue."
"Pale blue?"
"Yes. They are frightening."
My voice whispers. "Like mine?"
"Yes. God, please don't kill me. I can help you, miss. I really can."
Yaksha.
It is not possible, I think, after all this time. The stories, why did I listen to them? Just because they said he was dead? He probably invented them. But why does he come for me now? Or is that the most foolish question of all? These people had orders to shoot if I so much as burped. He must want me dead.
He must be afraid of what Krishna told him.
"You have helped me enough," I tell Slim.
He pants. "What are you going to do? Don't do it!"
My fingers reach down to his throat, my long nails caressing the big veins beneath his flesh. "I told you what I am. And I'm hungry. Why shouldn't I suck you dry? You are no saint. You kill without conscience. At least when someone dies in my arms, I think kind thoughts about him."
He cries. "Please! I don't want to die."
I lean over. My hair smothers him.
"Then you should never have been born," I say.
I open him up. I open my mouth.
I take my pleasure slowly.
Chapter 7
The body I bury beneath the stream. It is a favorite place of mine. Police seldom look under running water. I hear them in the distance, the law, at the gas station, maybe two black and whites. They have a shoot-out with the boys in the limos. The boys win. I hear them tear away at high speed. They are clever. I believe they will get away.
Yet if I want them, I will have them later.
More police can be heard approaching. I decide to exit the forest the back way. I jog through the trees, setting cross-country records. Six miles later finds me at a closed gas station on a deserted road. There is a phone booth. I think of calling Seymour Dorsten, my archery buddy. It is a mad thought. I would do better to keep running till I find a busier road, a few parked cars. I can hot-wire any car in less than a minute. I am soaked through with blood. It would be madness to involve Seymour in this night's dirty business. He might tell his mother. Yet I want him involved. I trust the little guy. I don't know why.
Information gives me his number. I call. He answers on the second ring and sounds alert. "Seymour," I say. "This is your new friend."
"Lara." He is pleased. "What are you doing? It's four in the morning."
"I have a little problem I need your help with." I check the street sign. "I am at a gas station on Pinecone Ave. I am six miles inland from Seaside, maybe seven, due east of the city. I need you to come get me. I need you to bring a change of clothing for me: pants and a sweatshirt. You must come immediately and tell no one what you're doing. Are your parents awake?"
"No."
"What are you doing awake?"
"How did you know I was awake?"
"I'm psychic," I say.
"I was