“Are you sure?”
“I spoke with a neighbor of hers. He saw her dragging a suitcase toward a taxi. He said that he was going to offer help, but then he saw that she was crying.”
“When was this?”
“Apparently, a few minutes prior to my arrival. I’ve only just learned this. I’m sorry, Robert.”
“Did he know where she was going?”
“He didn’t. He said was that she looked nervous, that she kept looking over her shoulder. I figured we might as well have a look around while we’re here. Maybe we’ll uncover a clue as to where she’s headed.”
They walked into the apartment.
“A vampire has been here. I can smell it,” Robert said.
“Think it’s who attacked Liz?”
“I can’t say. Maybe.”
The two men walked into Olivia’s bedroom and peered into her closet. They noted her missing clothes and went into the bathroom next, concluding that she was planning on staying gone a while.
In the living room, they looked for clues of Olivia’s whereabouts, finding none. On the kitchen counter, they found a notepad, frowning as they realized it was blank. Robert ran his fingers over the blank page, feeling the indentations of Olivia’s pen. He held the notepad up to the light, struggling to make out the writing.
It was Carl who found the small ball of paper on the floor. He handed it to Robert, then headed to Liz’s room to have a look around. Robert positioned the paper next to the notepad; the indentations matched. This was the last note Olivia had written.
“Carl!” Robert called. “I need you to go home and prepare my travel casket. I’ll also need the jet fueled—”
“We have a more pressing matter to attend to first. If you’ll follow me?”
The vampire perched on the edge of the bed in Liz’s room sat motionless as stone. Her fiery hair hung down in a twisty waterfall of springy waves. Except for the torn plastic sheet that cloaked her, she was naked, covered in splashes of mud up to her knees. She was beautiful, her cherubic face wet with tears and her neck stained with blood.
It wasn’t until she turned her confused, rust-colored eyes on him that Robert recognized her. “Liz,” he whispered. “My God. How?”
“Robert? What’s happening to me?”
32
OLIVIA
“You’vegotto be kidding me,” I burst out.
Ever come across someone you can tell justhatestheir job—a worker who seems all too eager to deliver bad news simply because they derive sick pleasure from sapping joy from others who are not on the clock?
Example #1, Barista:Sorry-not-sorry, weary traveler. I can see that you’ve been driving for the better part of the night, and there’s a high possibility that you might fall asleep behind the wheel without a caffeine intervention. But . . . I’ve already cleaned the espresso machine. So, we are no longer serving coffee. And by “we,” I mean me. I could offer you an alternative, but that would require going above and beyond my job duties, and we both know it will be raining biscotti in Rome before that happens.
Example #2, Gas Station Attendant:I’m guessing you couldreallyuse a toilet and some privacy right now, as you’re death-gripping a tampon and bleeding through your jeans as if your crotch has been involved in an unfortunate industrial accident. But read the sign.NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS!You and your hemorrhaging lady parts can hit the road!
Yep, the guy behind the check-in counter was one of those. Except his version of hostility was preventing me from getting on a plane. I was getting nowhere fast with him. Some deep, rational part of my brain knew that it was futile to keep arguing, but my stubbornness kept me going.
“Are you positive you can’t let me through? Please?” I begged. “I don’t look dangerous, now do I?” I flashed the sourpuss my brightest smile.
He blinked at me with zero emotion, the fucking robot. “It’s against federal regulations to let passengers on an airplane without any identification, Ms. Taylor. So, even if I wanted to risk my job and let you check in—” he folded his arms across his chest to show how much hedidn’twant to “—you wouldn’t be able to make it through security without proper identification.”
“But I’ve paid for the ticket! That’s got to count for something, right?” I could practically hear him thinking:Sure, it counts for you being a complete idiot.
I couldn’t believe that I’d committed such a rookie mistake. I’d packed enough crap to tide me over in Florida until I was ninety, but I’d forgotten the one damn thing that granted access to the flight. What killed me was that I knew exactly where my driver’s license was. It was in the tiny evening bag I’d used when I’d decoyed for Jerry, which I hadn’t packed because I had no plans of going out on the town while in Pelville. Worse, I’d been hanging out at the airport all day waiting for the flight check-in to open. Had I realized that I didn’t have my ID sooner, I could have fetched it hours ago.
“You’re early for your flight. If you hurried home and came right back, you might still be able to make it,” the agent droned, though I could tell he didn’t believe what he was saying. He only wanted to get me out of his hair. He waved forward the next person in line, dismissing me.
