The news anchor was expounding on something he thought important enough to do an editorial over and then asking viewers to send e-mails with their opinions before getting back to the news. Staring in disbelief, I gaped at a photo of myself; it was flashed there on the television screen while the female anchor was discussing my disappearance six days earlier. The most recent newspaper I'd seen in the cellar was from the day before, which meant that Ed and Serge had been visiting me every night. There'd been a newspaper purchased and left on the desk for each day I'd been gone. The vampires hadn't arrived before I'd wakened—there was no current newspaper. They could have gotten there shortly after my escape, though. That thought had me motivated right away.
Upending the top drawer of my dresser in the bedroom, I peeled off the envelope taped to the bottom and then grabbed an empty purse out of the closet. I wanted to take a shower but figured I was living on borrowed time as it was. A comb and brush followed the envelope into my purse as I spared a glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, receiving the second largest shock of the evening. The face I now wore? I didn't recognize it. Vampirism had restored my youth, but that wasn't the biggest surprise. I'd never had the facial features the mirror reflected as I stared at my image in amazement. My clothing? It hung off me. I just hadn't taken the time to look at any of it. Nothing in my closet would fit me now. The last thought that went through my mind before I grabbed a coat out of the closet and hauled ass out of there, was that I'd just put paid to the theory that vampires don't cast a reflection.
Don's car hadn't been driven in a month, probably. I couldn't remember when I'd last started or driven the thing. It was red and ancient—a 1959 Cadillac with fins and everything. My husband had loved that car. I kept trying to get him to sell it and buy something a little more reliable and fuel friendly, but he'd ignored me. One of my favorite phrases when I teased him about it, was, "Donald Workman does what Donald Workman wants to do." He'd laugh and do exactly that.
"Come on, you eccentric behemoth," I begged, trying to get the Cadillac's motor to turn over. It finally did start and I apologized silently for not allowing it to warm up a little before shoving it into gear and backing out of the garage. I was still so thirsty I thought I might go crazy as I hit the button on the garage door opener, closing down the door and mutely bidding my house and my life goodbye.
Where do you go to find a blood donor? There wasn't any way I wanted to prey on some of the homeless population and with the weather as cold as it was, they probably needed everything they had. My thirst warred with my fear of killing someone if I did drink from them. I'd experimentally rolled down the window while driving through a twenty-four-hour pharmacy parking lot at one point. I heard—actually heard—the blood rushing through the veins of the woman who'd passed close to the car. The tires of the Cadillac left marks on the pavement as I screeched out of there.
Time was my enemy as well. The bank clock proclaimed that it was four-thirty and dawn would be coming soon. Were all the vampire stories true? Was I going to fry if I didn't find a deep, dark place to hide during the day? Where was the f**king manual for new vampires? I drove past a bar—it was a dive located on a remote corner in the southeastern part of Oklahoma City, boasting only one light pole to illuminate the parking lot. The bar was closed but there were still two cars in the lot. I found out why a few seconds later. I'd shown up just in time for the local dealer to pass off a baggie of drugs. It was marijuana; I could smell it when I rolled down the window.
Is that frightening? I could smell it? I also smelled the deodorant on the teen buying and the stale, pungent body odor of the one selling. I was out of the Cadillac so fast I must have been a blur because I caught both of them unaware and had fangs sunk into the neck of the dealer before the teenager could even squeak.
A second squeak caused me to look up as I dropped the dealer, who fell to the ground with a bemused smile on his face. At least he was still alive. The teenager was backing away from me though, his baggie of weed clutched tightly in his hand and a horrified expression on his face. I'd gotten enough to drink, however. "Go home!" I shouted at the boy as he took another step backward. He turned and ran, leaving his car behind. The dealer was still sitting there on the cold, blacktopped surface of the parking lot, a look of worship on his face as he gazed up at me.
"Wow," he breathed, "that's the best orgasm I've ever had."
"Get up from there," I muttered. Reaching down, I grabbed his arm and pulled him upright, setting him on his feet in less than a blink. "Let's just keep this between the two of us, all right?" I said, dusting him off a little and turning him toward his car. "And stop selling to that kid. He still has pimples, for Christ's sake."
Another myth dispelled, I know, I'd just said Christ and hadn't gone up in flames. "Oh, yeah, thanks for the uh, you know," I couldn't bring myself to say it.
"Baby, you can give me a hickey any day," the man was grinning and dazedly attempting to open his car door.
"Well, we'll see," I told him. "Now, go home and take a bath, willya?"
"Sure," he laughed, flopping onto the car seat. I closed the door for him and trotted toward the Cadillac. The car was still running obediently in the middle of the road where I'd left it, the driver's door hanging wide open. I climbed in, checked my appearance in the mirror and discovered a tiny bit of blood drying on my chin. Wiping it off, I adjusted the mirror and drove away, wondering where I might find a place to spend my daylight hours.
While I drove, I did have a thought—one of my neighbors had an outside storm shelter. I didn't want to go back to my neighborhood but I knew plenty of people in Oklahoma had storm shelters. It was a good bet there wouldn't be any tornadoes during the day; the weather was still too cold. I found a shelter about a mile away after parking the Cadillac in a strip-mall parking lot. The lock on the shelter door twisted off easily in my hand and I climbed inside half an hour before dawn, determined to stay awake as long as I could. It wasn't long, as it turns out. I was out like a light the minute the sun peeked over the horizon.
* * *
"You're only now looking at her license?" Harry stared at the older vampire who held a purse in one hand, an Oklahoma driver's license in the other.
"We overestimated her age," Edward Desmarais grumbled as he frowned at the birth date. The driver's license indicated the woman was forty-seven years of age, when he and Sergio had believed her nearly sixty. Shoving the license inside the purse, Edward handed the bag to Harry and instructed him to destroy it. Edward wasn't quite as handsome as Sergio, although he still turned heads with blond hair that curled slightly and gray-blue eyes that might smile if the woman was pretty enough.