“It…” He paused, looking off to some distant time—some very distant time. “It’s a long story. But when the second wave of vampire immigrants arrived, they were a littl
e surprised to find me.”
To be a fly on that wall. I could see it now, some kind of crazy Monty Python–like sketch with vampires going back and forth: “What are you doing here?” “I live here.” “But how can you? We’re the first vampires here.” “If you’re the first vampires here, then what am I?” And so on, until the skit ended with some kind of pratfall involving stakes.
“Maybe I’ll tell you the whole story sometime.”
“Rick, you have never told me the whole story. You just drop maddening hints.”
“How about this: We’ll trade stories when you get back from San Francisco. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I just had to be sure I came back with a lot of stories.
Chapter 4
TWO DAYS OF driving later, we checked into a lower-rent, unassuming motel in the middle of the city, off the tourist tracks. That was Cormac’s idea. He said we could come and go without drawing as much attention. I thought maybe he was just self-conscious about staying someplace with room service.
I stood at the window of our room. It didn’t have much of a view, which was frustrating, because less than a mile away was water, San Francisco Bay, its famous bridges, and so on. All I saw were buildings and a busy street. The sky was bright but hazy. The temperature was surprisingly cool. So much for a California summer.
We’d been sure to arrive during daylight hours so we could get our bearings before we had to face Anastasia after nightfall.
“You ever been to San Francisco?” Ben asked. He drew close behind me, resting a hand on my hip, his cheek against my hair.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m fighting an urge to run off and take the boat tour to Alcatraz.”
“Let’s do that after we’ve figured out that Roman isn’t really here and we’re not in trouble.”
“Roman can’t come out in daylight,” I argued, but the sense of foreboding lingered.
“Yeah, but Roman has minions. I thought that’s why we’re here.”
I drew his arms around me and hugged him close. “We’ll be careful.”
A knock came at the door. We were expecting it, but Ben checked the peephole anyway before undoing the dead bolt, then the chain, and opening the door for Cormac, who was staying in the room next door.
He stepped inside. “Ready to go hunting?” He had his leather jacket and sunglasses in place, ready for action. He’d taken possession of the stake we’d found back in Kansas and had that hidden somewhere, and probably a few more stakes besides.
Ben carried the semiautomatic pistol that normally lived in the glove box of the car in a shoulder holster under his blazer. It was loaded with silver bullets. Guns made me nervous, and I wasn’t sure if that was because I didn’t like guns, or I didn’t like how often we seemed to need them. I reassured myself that he probably wouldn’t have to use it.
In addition, Cormac gave us all crosses on chains to wear. Just in case.
I’d guessed that Roman had werewolf minions in town; we were going to try to flush them out. Not necessarily confront them—just see how many there were and what they were up to. Maybe follow them to Roman. If we found them first, they couldn’t jump us.
The chances of finding anything in this huge, packed city were slim. So I kept telling myself.
We planned to meet Anastasia a couple of hours after sunset at an address in Chinatown. That gave us some time to drive into the heart of the city, check out the area, watch for anything that seemed wrong. We decided to start in Fisherman’s Wharf and work our way south. After parking, Ben and I would go together; Cormac would follow separately. I didn’t like splitting up the pack. We needed to look out for each other. Safety in numbers.
As we left the parking lot, I looked all around, taking in the sights and sounds of one of the most touristy locations in the country, squinting against a wind blowing off the water, watching gulls dive and soar. We’d already discussed the plan. I still tried to argue. “I’d feel better if we stuck together.”
“Too obvious,” Cormac answered. “You two look fine as a couple. I don’t look like I belong with you.”
“But—”
“He’s right,” Ben said.
I wore jeans and a light blue blouse; Ben wore khaki slacks and a button-up shirt and blazer. Give us sunglasses and a couple of cameras and we’d look like yuppie tourists. On the other hand, Cormac looked like he ought to be riding a Harley on some dusty back road.