“What did she do?” I handed Wilson the glass of water on the nightstand. Jo and I followed the ambulance to the hospital while the others had driven out to the woods to see if Quoth could locate Fiona. When I heard it was DC Wilson who’d been hurt by Fiona, I didn’t expect her to see us. But I must’ve endeared myself to her more than I realized. Or, more likely, she and Jo were friendly through work and Wilson wanted to warn her about her homicidal undead girlfriend.
“Fiona had these wild, crazy eyes. She moved incredibly fast. I’ve never seen anything like it. She flung herself into the bushes and plucked out a rabbit. And then she bit off its head, just like that! She looked up at me with rabbit blood dribbling down her chin. That can’t be good for her. Hayes and I tried to restrain her, and the crazy bitchbitme.” Wilson held up her hand. “I’ve been shot at, stabbed, and chased with a machete once. But never bitten.”
“I’m so sorry.” Jo held her hand.
“You should be.” Wilson smiled. She tried to take her glass from me, but winced from the pain and let me hold the straw for her. She looked like she’d been hit by a bus, with tape over a wound above her eye and scrapes and cuts all over her body, not to mention the dressings covering the wound to her throat. “Your whole job is deciding how people died. I don’t know how you missed a live one.”
“It’s an honest mistake.” Jo did her best to make her voice passive. “You’d be surprised how often it happens. So she’s still in the woods somewhere?”
“As far as we know. We’ve got every officer in the county searching for her. We don’t want her to hurt someone else, or herself. Or eat anyone’s pet rabbit.” Wilson patted Jo’s arm, but the action made her wince again. “We’ll find her, I promise.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jo murmured under her breath as Wilson’s eyes fluttered shut. We left the DS to sleep. In the hallway, Jo grabbed my arm. “What do we do, Mina? If the police find Fiona before us… I don’t want any more people to be hurt. And what about Wilson? Will she turn into a vampire?”
“Wilson will be fine. There has to be an exchange of blood to turn someone into a vampire. Fiona’s not skilled enough at being a vampire yet to know how to control her hunger, so she can’t make others like herself.” I squeezed Jo’s hand. “As for Fiona, they won’t find her out there. She’s Dracula’s progeny. She needs his blood to sustain her life. She’ll make her way back to him. And we’ll be waiting.”
* * *
“Socrates, get your poxy foot off my hand.”
“Tell me, what reason would you give for me to get off your hand?”
“Because I’ll kill you?”
“Is that your final answer?”
“Is your arsehole jealous of all the shit coming out of your mouth?Get off my hand.”
“I’ll get off your hand if you answer my question –why should I get off your hand?”
“Because your bony foot is crushing my fingers, and it hurts.”
“Ah, but whatispain?”
“Pain will be my boot getting acquainted with the inside of your scrotum if you don’tmove your bloody foot—”
“Ssssh.” Morrie clamped a hand over Heathcliff’s mouth. “There she is.”
I squinted at Butcher Street below, but I couldn’t see anything in the gloom, and I couldn’t move closer because I was hemmed in on all sides by fictional characters. Every resident of Nevermore Bookshop had decided to join me and Jo for our midnight vigil, and the window with the best view of Butcher Street was in Quoth’s attic bedroom, which wasn’t exactly resplendent with space.
That was, every resident except Quoth, who had gone back to the studio after his fly over the woods earlier. But he had replied to my text with a bat emoji, so that was something.
I heard theclap-clap-clapof heels on the cobbles, heading toward Grey’s flat. Everyone crowded in closer. Robin’s elbow boxed my ear. Oscar stood on his hind legs and pawed the window.
“It’s her.” Jo’s voice cracked. “It’s my Fiona.”
She scrambled to her feet and dashed for the stairs. Morrie untangled himself from Socrates’ sheet. “I’ll go with her, just in case. Mina, don’t you dare move from this spot.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. Heathcliff shoved Socrates off the end of the bed, and I leaned out the window, straining to hear what was happening on the street below. Fiona battered on Grey Lachlan’s door, crying out a long stream of gibberish. Another door creaked open. Jo’s wavering voice called out, “Fi?”
Fiona ignored her.
“Hey, Fi, it’s me, Jo. You should come inside with me.”
Bang-bang-bang.
“Did you hear me, Fi?” Jo’s voice cracked. “I’m inviting you inside.”
Fiona’s figure took a step away from the door. She let out a wail as her arms jerked in both directions – she looked like she was doing battle with herself.
