Night Shift
Page 50

Lemuel swarmed up the stairs to find Olivia already on duty. She’d been chatting with Bobo. Bobo shook Lemuel’s hand to give him a big sip of energy. Olivia leaned over to give Lemuel a long kiss on the cheek, and that, too, felt wonderful in more than one way.
“I’ll be thinking about you,” she said. “Don’t let that bitch get you down.”
Lemuel said, “That will be the day.”
Christine stuck her head in the pawnshop. “I’m ready, Lemuel,” she called. Since he was in charge of her, however temporarily, she should have addressed him as Sir or Master, but he had not insisted. Lemuel thought, That was a mistake. He walked out the side door and back to the residents’ parking area slightly ahead of Christine, whose black hair was smoothly brushed. Christine had used the washing machine and dryer the night before, and her short dress fluttered around her legs as she made a beeline to Olivia’s car. Olivia’s Civic was way more anonymous than Lemuel’s Vette, and vampires simply could not stand out if eating was on the agenda.
“I regret that I didn’t ask you earlier about your hunger,” he said as he buckled the seat belt.
“I thought it was your way of providing me with incentive to finish,” she said, in such a matter-of-fact way that Lemuel was glad all over again that he didn’t live in Joseph’s nest in Dallas. “And I suppose it worked. I’ve finished translating the book.”
A jolt of relief went through Lemuel, and he said, “At last! I can find out what to do, and we’ll be safe, maybe.”
“Yes,” she said. “Maybe.” Lemuel glanced over at Christine. She seemed faintly amused. He started to ask her what she’d read about Midnight, but his dignity stopped him. He would read it for himself, by himself, and determine his own course of action.
“Where are we going?” Christine asked him. “How long till we get there?”
Lemuel said, “I think we’ll go to the parking lot of the Cartoon Saloon. By the time we get there, plenty of drunks will be coming out, and they’re easy to sip from.”
Drunks never questioned their recuperation time, either, another plus.
“After I’ve fed, if you will give me some money take me to the nearest hotel, I’ll work out where I’ll go next,” Christine said.
She was a strange piece of work, Lemuel thought. She didn’t sound as excited—or, frankly, as grateful—as he would have expected, considering Joseph disliked her enough to send her to work for Lemuel, who had killed every vampire in his territory for over a century.
“What do you want your life to be, Christine?” he said.
“You haven’t been interested before. Why are you interested now?” She was sullen. He could only see the back of her head as she peered out the window into the dark night. It was not as dark to a vampire as it would be to a human with regular vision, but she was certainly not sightseeing.
“I have been a bad host,” he said. “I was so preoccupied by the threat to my community that I ignored your unhappiness and your hunger.”
She didn’t turn to face him. “You’re like all men,” she said. “It’s easy for you to sound generous when you’ve gotten what you’ve wanted.”
Lemuel had to admit to himself that this was true. “I’m sorry that’s so,” he said. “Olivia tells me I live in another time, and there must be more truth to that than I thought.”
“Oh, it’s not your being a vampire,” Christine muttered. “Men are the same, vampire or human or demon or . . . whatever they may be.”
“I can’t apologize for all of mankind,” Lemuel said stiffly. “I can only tell you that I am sorry and hope you will excuse me. I’m afeared that in this case I was thoughtless.”
She nodded, which might mean anything, and the rest of the distance to Marthasville was accomplished in silence.
When Lemuel turned into the Cartoon Saloon parking lot, enlivened by larger-than-life versions of familiar cartoon characters, Christine assessed the hunting. She watched a drunken couple staggering to the Ford F-150 two slots away, and she smiled. There was no one else in the vampire’s line of sight or hearing. Quick as a wink, Christine opened the car door and was stationed by the truck door when the two humans reached it. Lemuel got out of the Civic but stayed a discreet distance away in a shadow.
“What . . . ?” the man said. He’d been reaching for the door to open it for his female friend, and instead he’d touched Christine.
“Sorry,” said the woman much more sharply. She was not as drunk as her companion. “This is a private party, gal.”
“Please,” Christine said with a smile. “Pretty please.”
She struck like lightning, drinking from the woman first, holding the man at arm’s length. Lemuel watched, a little enviously. He came over once a month as the bar was closing to get a sip or two, but never more often than that. There were several other bars in Marthasville, which was a college town, and when the mood for blood took him, he visited each of them in turn.
Lemuel watched Christine, trying not to worry about her selfcontrol. He was just about to get out of the car to tap Christine on the shoulder to remind her that she couldn’t drain anyone when she switched from the woman to the man. So far, so good, he thought, turning his back to the scene. He settled against the car. Soon, Christine would be through feeding, he’d pay her take her to a hotel, and the next night she’d be on her way to somewhere else. . . anywhere, as far as he was concerned.
He need never see her again.
Then Christine was walking across the crunchy gravel to the Honda, and the couple was in the truck. They both appeared asleep. But the truck was running, and that seemed odd.
“What have you done?” he asked.
The vampire looked sulky. “They were hard to handle. If you had helped me, I would have found it easy.”
“All you had to do was call,” Lemuel said. “Have you killed them, Christine, after I gave you such specific directions?” His anger began to rise.
“I think the woman is dead,” Christine said sullenly.
Lemuel threw open the car door and went over to the truck, which was shut up tight with the engine running. Christine was hoping the humans would blame the deaths on carbon monoxide, but Lemuel knew there would not be any air in the lungs of someone no longer breathing. The man was alive, but sure enough the woman was dead. At least Christine had used a dab of her blood to close the puncture marks on both necks.