Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,43
coffin, if he wasn’t already awake with his off-kilter sleep schedule. On my fourth circuit of the block, I came around the corner and startled two young human men in front of Sheldon’s brownstone. Both wore the same red T-shirts as the troll’s hostage. One kid had descended the steps to the vampire’s barred front door, while the other stood at the front wall wielding a can of black spray paint. He had managed to write Bloodsucker, Suck My when I called out, “Hey, stop!”
The two turned, startled, and I recognized the type. They weren’t burly, muscle-bound skinheads who would bash in your head for so much as thinking a liberal sentiment. No, these were sneering misfits, big heroes when they discussed grand plans in their mothers’ basements, but they rarely had the guts for face-to-face confrontation.
I lurched forward. “That vampire’s under my protection!”
The two young men bolted, and one of them gave me the finger. Hooting like nervous hyenas, they dashed around the corner. I could have run after them, but my main priority was to make sure Sheldon was all right.
I went down the steps to the front door and saw that the would-be bullies had left two fresh oak stakes thrust between the bars. Sure that Sheldon must be awake from the ruckus and probably cowering inside his apartment, I knocked on the door. “Sheldon! It’s Dan Chambeaux. You’re safe now.”
I knew it would take at least an hour to talk him down again.
CHAPTER 18
The red fondue pot was still on the table, and this time I didn’t feel right about declining Sheldon’s invitation. He was a nervous wreck, although vindicated now that I’d caught the vandals in the act, which proved he hadn’t been imagining his peril. (I still wasn’t convinced, however, that the Straight Edgers were capable of true violence, such as successive vampire slayings—and vampires weren’t easy to kill.)
With frenetic movements, Sheldon went through the ritual of making melted cheese for fondue. At first, I thought he was still jittery from the threats, then I realized he was just excited to have company. After he had grated and heated three different cheeses, added kirschwasser and nutmeg to the fondue pot (I wasn’t surprised that he skipped the tradition of rubbing the pot with garlic), he sliced chunks of stale bread and green apples, then sat across from me.
We set about committing fondue.
Sheldon chattered about his life, both before and after becoming a vamp. He talked about books he’d read, Broadway shows he’d seen. Ever the polite host, he asked about my life and hobbies—subjects I rarely discussed with clients. I didn’t have much to say. While Sheldon talked about himself at novel length, my answers were more like short stories or vignettes.
By the time we used up the chunks of bread and wiped clean every smear of melted cheese in the pot, Sheldon had relaxed again. I realized that this was the best meal I’d had since I’d died. I tried to take my leave, but the vampire insisted we play a game of cribbage first. I fidgeted. “I haven’t played since I was a boy, don’t even remember the rules.”
“Don’t worry, I’m a good teacher.” Though I tried to refuse again, he remained persistent, and I did feel sorry for the guy, after all.
One game turned into two, and he kept talking all the while. I thought of his vampire neighbors whom he had coerced into coming over for a dinner party, or to play cards, or to have a book club discussion, just to be polite; then they’d receive another invitation from Sheldon, and another, and another. I was pretty sure I had solved the case of the disappearing neighbors, though I didn’t have the heart to explain it to Sheldon.
After the second game of cribbage, I finally convinced him that I had another appointment. “Remember, Sheldon—I’m an undead private investigator, and I have more people to help, just like you.”
He looked forlorn as he stood at the front door. “You could always send them over here for a game or . . .”
“You’ll be all right, Sheldon,” I assured him. “It’s full dark outside, and the Straight Edgers don’t dare go out in the city at night. Too many unnaturals abroad who don’t appreciate their opinions. You have nothing to worry about.”
Mrs. Saldana had given me the address of the new Straight Edge headquarters here in town, and now that I had seen them harassing Sheldon (not to mention rescued one