a brilliantly lit room hurt more than her eyes. Defending herself became a problematic. Her eyes, wet from the lights and possibly from defeat, were forced open until they adjusted to the bright hotel lobby.
“Motherfu–”
Surrounding them were over two dozen children of the night and their leech groupies. Some grinned while others cast looks of contempt. They had not forgotten the murder of their friends. An especially belligerent, thickly mustached undead had to be restrained by two vampires from attacking her.
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“I’m going to squash that little shit!” he gritted.
The vampire was missing a hand that would never regenerate because of Poe.
We’re dead, thought Poe. She gripped her gun and spray bottle even tighter, shielding the nun with her back. She flicked her eyes about the group. Close to the end, Poe’s most significant thought was, Some of these vampires are really, really ugly. Whoever said they were–
Her scattershot musings were interrupted when a mixed diaspora of vampires, humans, and subhumans parted dramatically, making way for an immaculately attired vampire in a black turtleneck and his entourage of mustached Village People wannabes.
“Oh no,” groaned Poe. “Quillon Trench and his LAPD goons.” They were truly dead. She swallowed.
Her throat was parched from all the killing and dodging. She stayed quiet and alert, not daring to make any threats or beg pathetically for her life. They would not understand a word she would say anyway. She was so nervous that only rat-a-tat stuttering would come out. To top it off, she was on the verge of urinating. If only she had packed explosives.
Trench dared to approach, undeterred by Poe’s spray bottle. He was a pleasant looking man of the Velvet Underground variety. He broke the mold by not being as malignantly hideous as his minions. In his perpetual thirties, the man exuded an aura of arrogance. His mid-neck reddish-brown hair was gelled back, leaving a few well-placed curls to escape.
“Sister Ann,” he nodded at the nun trying her hardest not to look woozy. “I see no one had the balls to puncture your neck. It must be the habit.”
“Must be my superpowers,” said the nun, tracing her cross and clutching the stake with her other hand.
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“And you’re the human that’s been causing all this commotion, the one we set this elaborate trap for.
You see, we had a feeling you’d be coming back for Goss and the nun.” He looked the girl up and down like she was for sale then tapped his nose. “And from the smell of you, one of my favorite women is dead.”
He came closer as if for a better sniff, but Poe would not have it. She thrust her gun at the slick vampire to warn him that he was close enough. At this, Trench’s lips trembled as he tried to keep from laughing.
“Jasmina. You’ve killed my beautiful Jasmina.
Great dresser but for the shoes. Never understood her fondness for Walmart.”
“The unibrow,” Poe answered automatically.
“What can I say?” Quillon shrugged his shoulders.
“She’s of Eastern European stock.” A smile lingered as he spoke. “Am I to believe that you are the supposed leader of an underground network of hundreds of human survivors? I expected someone larger.”
What the freak are you talking about? Poe thought silently. She wanted so badly to turn to the nun and ask what the fuck was going on. She allowed Quillon to do all the talking.
“Do you deny this, little girl?”
Again, Poe didn’t say a thing. The head vampire sighed, giving her another once over. She hated being called little. In her mind, she was five-foot-seven, for crying out loud.
My folks were decent-sized. If it weren’t for poor diet and stress, I’d tower over Mr. Turtleneck.
“Your friend, Fred Beaver, also known as Goss, told us all about your little network. Over two hundred humans in our downtown playland.” He looked pointedly at her. “Your fat nun told us the same thing.
They must be telling the truth. Nuns don’t lie.”
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The vampire’s blue eyes darkened, annoyed at Poe’s silence. “I assume you’re the leader now since your Goss is dead and the Flying Nun there is about to keel over.”
Poe bit back a pain in her throat that could at any second betray her. She inhaled deeply, willing her voice not to fail. Slowly enunciating each word, Poe finally spoke.
“There’s no network. Just the three of us.” There.
I did it. No stuttering gibberish whatsoever.
“Ah, so our little rebel finally speaks. And what a voice she has for one so young.” His own voice