sense of foreboding. The day was too gray, reminding her too much of a grisly time. But she had to go to Goss’ home on Broadway as she did not know Sister Ann’s permanent safe house. Her tall friend was the only one privy to the nun’s convent of one.
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Poe took comfort in imagining Sister Ann living in a downtown church, scared to death of the life-size statues of bleeding saints and wide-eyed angels that resented her.
“And that’s for still considering me unworthy of your secret even after eight years of friendship,” she fumed. “I hope the statues march around like they did in Exorcist 3.”
She walked a couple of blocks to the Japanese American National Museum and retrieved her Vespa.
The old building was a safe place to stash her moped.
Even the baddest vampires around couldn’t abide the depressing pictures of Japanese Americans interned in Tule Lake, Manzanar, and out-of-state camps during World War II. They generally left the place alone. The Hotel New Otani in Little Tokyo was another matter.
High-class undead repeat-debutantes and movie stars were known to frequent the posh hotel at night. Poe swore that she spotted the Governator late one night snogging Paris Hilton, both looking like well preserved pickles.
Vampires who enjoyed something more gritty and banal could be found in the outer blocks of downtown.
Gambling, live and illegal suckage, and whatever naughtiness anyone wished for were located in one of the many warehouses in the industrial zone. The decaying distribution centers were purported to attract the darkest denizens of the city. Even the master vampires and ancient undead gave the outskirts a wide berth.
“Under no circumstances will you go anywhere near the warehouses,” Goss admonished one day when Poe attempted to take a shortcut home but got lost in the maze of oppressive concrete-block buildings.
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“Heed his words, Poe,” Sister seconded. “At least in the city there are still some rules left standing, however corrupt they are.”
Quillon Trench lived in the Los Angeles City Hall with his LAPD sycophants, but ran a nightclub for creatures of the night at the famed tubular glass towers of the Bonaventure Hotel. Kaleb Sainvire, known for his quieter tastes, inhabited the Los Angeles Central Library and used the beaux arts Biltmore Hotel as his official business space at night. Poe smiled grimly at the thought of these vampires having such high times at the expense of human misery.
“I’ll blow up your glass showcase someday,” Poe vowed.
Because it was a habit she hadn’t yet licked, Poe berated herself, This compulsive behavior has really gotta stop! She bent down anyway to inspect her shoelaces once more. Her self-reprimands went nowhere.
Only when she was satisfied that they were double-knotted did Poe hop on her Vespa. She placed an Uzi in the basket, adjusted her two guns of choice in her shoulder holster, rearranged her backpack over her trench coat, and pulled the hood more securely about her face. She turned the key, and the engine sparked to life at once. Good ol’ reliable Vespa.
The darkening sky quickened the beat of her heart. Just to satisfy her many compulsions, Poe checked her watch. It was a little after one. She should have left earlier, but she took hours to psyche herself up to leave the bunker and get her ride. The cloudy skies made her nervous.
The thought of Goss’ friendly three-legged hound named Legs gave her a warm feeling. Instantly it vanished because Legs’ face was replaced by an image 54
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of Penny, Goss’ other dog, a ratty-looking terrier mix with the coarsest dirty-white hair there ever was.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing that little rodent drained of blood,” she sniffed. “I still have a loud scar on my ankle from her bite eight years ago.”
So deep was her animosity toward Penny that Poe soon forgot her fear of the outdoors. Her little Vespa, easily maneuverable through the blocked streets despite the partial floods, fractured asphalt, and massive weeds, delivered her to the Eastern Columbia building in no time. The rabid street dogs milling about the intersection scampered to the shadows. They did not like the buzz of the engine.
Poe parked her bike round the corner from the building. She put the key, strung on an extra long shoelace, back around her neck. She could put her idol, Mr. T, to shame with the array of necklaces she wore.
She pulled out an ancient breath mint from a pillbox around her neck and popped it in her mouth. As a force of