“Boris,” said Jack with increasing urgency. “Boris, look at me. Come on, Boris.”
But Boris didn’t move. Jack looked up and found himself face to face with cheekbones sharp as spikes, pale fangs, pale lips, eyes like an abyss… But those hollow eyes weren’t locked on him. Instead, she drifted toward Boris.
Salt. Salt had previously freed them from her terrible embrace. Jack reached into his pocket, found one of the little paper packets Boris insisted he take earlier that morning. He ripped the tops free, poured the granules into his hand, prayed that this would work, then lobbed it with all his might.
The vampire hissed, lurched backward. Boris made an odd little noise deep in his throat. Jack kicked him in the shin, hard, hoping the pain might bring him back to himself.
Jack fumbled with the gun, then stopped. In the darkness, it would be irresponsible to shoot. There was enough suffering today without adding any accidental gunshot wounds to the list.
So he grasped the barrel in his hand and clubbed the creature in the head instead, reeling at the shock that ran down his arm when metal connected with flesh and cracking bone.
The creature let out a wounded howl, staggered away. Jack struck again and again, relentless, not daring to stop until Boris bent to retrieve his gun.
“Go to the circle,” Jack shouted, landing another blow. “She’s already after you!”
“Circle!” Carla repeated, pointing with the trembling blade of her hunting knife.
Boris stared at them blearily, but staggered in the direction of the rug, where Ronnie and Enzo lay stacked like logs.
The vampire flitted past them, gaze trained on Boris, hungry and wanting.
Transferring her interest might be more difficult than they’d hoped. Even whaling on her with a pistol, Jack was no more consequential than a pesky wasp.
He sought the yellow-eyed man, glimpsed him standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed like this was no more than a minor inconvenience. “Help us!” Jack cried, but he didn’t move.
Squashing down the urge to turn the gun on the yellow-eyed man (stupid, uselessfucking asshole—couldn’t he see that they were in danger?), Jack chased after the vampire, eyes locked on her protruding spine, where her skin pulled tight like shrink wrap. Three long slashes cut across her back, raised and gnarled. Scars, Jack realized. Lank hair, black as an oil slick, hung over her shoulders. Patches of scalp were visible beneath—the skin was puckered, slick, rotting away.
He smashed her again with the gun, caught strands of hair in his fingers. They pulled loose as easily as silk from an ear of corn. He discarded them, shaking his hand wildly as if he’d walked through a spiderweb.
Boris tripped over his own feet, bashed against the arm of the couch and only just managed to avoid collapsing altogether.
“Go, go!” Jack urged him, but progress was slow, unsteady.Their only hope was to slow her down. Fumbling in his pocket, he tore open another packet of salt and tossed it. White grains cut into her flesh, scattered down the back of her dress. Tiny pinpricks of blood appeared.
Jack blinked, stunned. Boris claimed that the salt hadn’t done anything but free him from her grasp. Had he underestimated its effect? Or were they finally starting to wear her down?
He plucked the third and final packet from his pocket, tore it open and poured salt directly down the back of her dress.
A shriek, loud and shrill, echoed through the room, piercing Jack’s eardrums, shivering through his jaw, his temples.
And then the vampire whirled, fixed her enormous eyes on him.
“Jack!” shouted Carla and Boris as one.
Jack barely heard them over the pounding of his own heart.
But it was enough. He dragged his gaze away, staggered backwards. He wouldn’t look, couldn’t look. Instead, he broke into a run, made a beeline for the rug where Enzo and Ronnie lay still as corpses.
The vampire followed him. Another shriek rang out, loud enough to shatter bone.
Enzo lifted his head and spotted a frantic Jack, the vampire close behind.
Shit. Jack had hoped he wouldn’t be awake for this. That sleep would grant him an oblivious, merciful death.
“Oh no, no,” Enzo said, shaking his head, sitting bolt upright. The remains of his mouth opened wide, revealed teeth crooked and distorted in his gums. Blood gleamed in the faint moonlight.
“Ohyes,” said the yellow-eyed man, smug as a cat.
Carla’s shadow vanished up the stairs.
