also pushed from inside. And there was no blood. Just a clear, sticky mucous something.
The knife clattered to the asphalt.
Ross snorted and shoved her inside the car. Then he went around to his door. There were still three people remaining, too stunned to move.
"Well, niggers?" cried Ross happily.
No one moved, spoke, died.
Then they drove away in silence.
And it stayed silent, almost all the way home. Davette was too overcome to speak, too astounded, too shattered by what she had seen. This wasn't just little Ross turned sexy. This was much, much more. Much, much worse. This was black magic. Evil. Oh God! Save me!
And she cowered over against her door waiting to die.
Only...
Only she knew that he wasn't going to kill her. Not here, anyway. Not right now. And...
And his stomach was hurting him, she thought. He rubbed it, hard, as he drove, constantly kneading it with his free hand. And the thought of this, the dream of his vulnerability, was like the tiniest slice of hope.
Hope for what, she didn't know. She only knew that he could be hurt and she couldn't take her eyes off his kneading and that's when he spotted her doing that and snorted with disdainful fury and jerked the Cadillac to a skidding stop on the side of the freeway, grabbing her with his right hand and dragging her across the seat to him and with his left hand ripping his shirt open and - And the wound was closed.
"It itches, you stupid little mite!" he barked shaking her head with a handful of her hair. "It doesn't hurt! It itches!"
And then, when she just stared blankly at him, he reached up and grabbed the rearview mirror and tore it lose from the front windshield. He slammed her cheek up next to his and held the mirror in front of her eyes and...
And he wasn't there.
She could feel him, his hand in her hair against her skull, his cheek pressing into hers - she could see that, she could see the impression his cheek was making against hers in the mirror.
But he wasn't there!
And then... And then he sort of was. Sort of. Outlines, flashes, traces of his features when he moved. He wasn't completely invisible. But... But.
And then he dropped the mirror and turned and bored his eyes into hers and opened wide his mouth and the fangs were growing out.
"Vampire, mite!" he hissed that awful hiss. "VAMPIRE!"
And his mouth went wider and the fangs grew longer toward her and his features went red and demonic and unholy and she screamed a scream of hopeless irrefutable terror and all was black and dark.
The next night she signed everything over to him. The stocks, the bonds, the CDs, the cash, the houses... everything. Full power of attorney.
Ross, the vampire, owned her.
After that, things started happening pretty fast.
First, Ross decided to redecorate.
Soft things. Sickly-sweet, tender-to-the-touch things. Tasteless things. Expensive things. Gone were the great broad antique leather sofas from the library. He replaced them with silk-pillowed lounges. And he replaced the tapestries, some centuries old, with what looked to Davette like red satin bedsheets.
Ross actually did take the time to sit down and show her his new "motif." It looked like a cross between a sultan's harem and a Colorado Gold Rush Whorehouse. "No-Class" Ross's true colors were, quite literally, coming through.
He fired all the servants Aunt Vicky had retained for years. He replaced them with a handful of gray-faced, dull-witted, self-loathing slobs. It always amazed Davette how they simply could not seem to tidy up. No matter how rich and expensive their uniforms, no matter how much care and attention was paid to their appearances - their hair was always razor-cut, their faces always shaved, fingernails always clean - they still looked like unmade beds. Their jackets, however well pressed and tailored, never quite seemed to fit. And their starched white shirts never managed to stay tucked in for over a minute or two.
Davette had no idea where Ross had found these people who knew he was a vampire and still wanted to work for him. And she didn't want to know. Still, Ross managed to replace the entire staff in one single evening. He also managed to get a terrific amount of the redecoration done that first night - all the library, most of the main living room. An army of preened and primped men of all ages showed up to handle the work, all blatantly homosexual and each clearly enraptured by Ross's