was caressing, but Poe wasn’t fooled. He had referred to Sister Ann as fat. She was stocky and muscular, but she wasn’t fat. And even if she was, who gave a fig!
The standards of vampires were worse than all the magazine diet gurus combined that still beleaguered living room coffee tables.
“She’s Julia without a surname, isn’t she, Ann?
The mythical secret weapon you were telling us about.”
Sister Ann merely narrowed her eyes, not saying a word.
Poe winced at hearing her first name. No one called her Julia anymore. Only Poe, her last name.
The vampire, tickled by her obvious surprise at his vast knowledge of the underground, including her name, laughed.
“Well, Julia, stop acting the ignorant bumpkin, and let us know where we can find your other friends. I am most anxious to retrieve my stolen cattle and add a few more to my stock.”
“I told you, there are only the three–”
“I’m hungry, I’m bored, and I’m quite tired of this conversation. Scar and all, I want to have you for dinner tonight. What a treat to have someone so 74
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obviously untouched and deliciously young.” The smile on his lips turned into a tight line. His eyes glinted. Poe would have retreated a step if it weren’t for the emergency door at their back.
“I would dearly love to have you replace Jasmina.
You have a pleasing figure and face despite the mark, but I’ll have no problem turning you over to Clyde and Bergman over there.” Trench indicated a leech and vampire with unhygienically long mustaches that arched chinward.
Poe, who had been conjuring Butch, Sundance, and Cleopatra Jones inside herself, couldn’t take it anymore. She was not going to be turned into a vampire slut or a luau centerpiece.
“Fine. My blood tastes like chewed aspirin, and my feet are way too wide for high heels,” Poe said, her voice strong. She couldn’t afford to stutter and appear weak. “There are over a thousand of us in the city, even more in the ’burbs.” She let this sit for a moment until the faces of Trench and his pals turned from grinning buffoons into nervous jackasses.
“Some are straight-away human, some recovering ex-cattle. They’re all well armed like me.” Her cheeks were hot and her palms sweaty, but she had forgotten her speech impediment. Too bad she had one lousy gun to her name.
“They have acres and acres of garlic bulbs.” She permitted herself a slight smile as some of the so-called immortals shuddered. For effect, Poe raised her own brow at the goon on Trench’s left. The vamp scooted back as quickly as an undead could. “Our plan is to hose down vampires with garlic water as they sleep during the day. Maybe decapitate a few heads.”
“You are sorely exaggerating, Julia. A mere two hundred were mentioned by your friends. Now you say there are thousands.”
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“I didn’t say thousands, Quillon. I said over a thousand.” Trench’s surprise at the use of his first name was well worth dying for. The strength in her voice pleased her. “My death will only piss them off since they see me as a sort of leader, and I feel sorry for the dingbats who sleep in attics all day.”
“Nun, is what she says true?”
Sister shrugged tiredly. “She’s the savior, and saviors don’t lie.”
“Well, Queen Julia, you won’t die so easily. You might just prevent me from becoming bored the next ten years until I find another pretty face with guts. I am rather looking forward to putting a hole in your skull, my beauty, and spitting blood into your brain.” As if to grind more salt in the wound, Trench added, “But I’ll be on the lookout for a face without a scar.”
Maybe it was the mention of her scar or the spitting blood in her brain part that did it, and she really did not care. She shot Trench in the chest and sprayed his face with holy water.
“Ahhh!” he screamed, clutching his burning face.
“Kill her!”
Quillon’s screams were awful, indeed, but she didn’t have time to dwell because bedlam reigned supreme. His bodyguards carried him a distance away from the melee. Poe high-kicked the Lou Reed poser to the sidelines. Some vampires took to the air while the rest bided for an opportunity to get at her. The leeches and halfdeads scattered to desks, couches, and whatever solid lumps of furniture they could hide behind. Every single undead wore the expression of livid hate.
“Sister, keep close to me,” she whispered behind her. In