The vampire’s face turned red, a rash covering him, down his neck and under his shirt where water had soaked through. He let off a string of curses, keeping his eyes shut against the burn. It was like I’d heard: it didn’t kill. But boy, it hurt. I curled my hands and crossed my arms to keep from scratching at them.
The guy didn’t notice Jack coming up from behind and using a broken broomstick to stab him through the back, and through the heart. The splintered end didn’t come out through the front, which would have been cool. But it got the guy, and he dried out, his body decaying before our eyes, until he was nothing more than a dusty husk, a corpse on the edge of disintegration.
“Aaron, sign it!” That was Ginny, and there was Aaron at the kitchen counter, signing the paper towel.
He brought towel and marker to Jack, who pressed it against the wall. The ink bled through and left a mark. I didn’t much care.
Then Ginny signed it. And everything went still.
No more breaking glass, no more intruders climbing through the mess. Just the four of us standing in the living room, weapons ready, waiting. Ginny was the only one gasping for breath, and her heart was racing. I could hear it.
“Is that it?” Aaron asked.
Six vampires had gotten in. I tried to be impressed that we had rated, like, a whole platoon. But I was suddenly very tired.
We waited another minute. Still quiet. If there were any more outside they couldn’t get in. The sublet had worked. “Maybe it’s over?” I said.
Jack wasn’t letting his spear go. “Okay, but where’s Clarissa?”
“It’s all right. We have her.”
That was Rick’s calm, upper-crust voice. My muscles almost gave out. All of us almost gave out. Jack and I tried to clear out some of the mess and the desiccated dead vampires. But my hands hurt.
“Oh my God, Sam, what did you do?” Ginny said, reaching for me, then hesitating.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Does it hurt much?”
“Yes, yes it does.”
Jack wrenched open the door. Standing on the concrete stoop was Braun, the bouncer from Psalm 23, playing soldier now. Rick appeared next to h
im, with Clarissa Carter, whom he held immobilized, an arm across her neck, her hands held fast behind her. There were other vampires behind them, at street level, shadows in the darkness. I didn’t know if they were Rick’s or Clarissa’s.
“You see?” Rick said, showing her the destruction, the bodies of her minions. “You’re not wanted here, and this city is very much protected.” He turned her, put a hand on her face to tip her head back, forcing her to stare into his eyes. He focused his vampiric gaze on her.
“Go back to Mercedes Cook. Tell her not to try for Denver again. Ever.” In reply she nodded, slowly.
I had always thought of Rick as a nice guy. A benevolent Master. Right now, he was kind of scary. No, he was really scary.
She slumped his grip. He passed her over to Braun, who slung her over his shoulder.
“Put her in her car and leave her,” Rick ordered. “Do not harm her. But make it very clear we could have.”
“Understood,” Braun said, and went out with the unconscious Carter.
Rick stayed behind and tried to look us all over through the open front door. His expression was serene—when wasn’t it? He might have been out for an evening walk.
“Well done, gentlemen,” he said finally. “And lady. You are?”
“Um. I’m Ginny,” she said. “Just a friend.”
“Right.” Rick glanced at me, eyebrow raised, putting two and two together. I felt like a kid who’d gotten caught staying out too late. He just kept standing there. “There suddenly seems to be a prohibition on the place.”
We all looked at Ginny, who said, sheepishly, “Yeah, um. I signed a sub-lease.”
“Very creative,” Rick said, lifting a brow. “So, may I come in?”