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I nodded. “Detective Hardin, do you have a jackknife or something?”
She stared. “You can’t be serious.”
“Yes, please,” I said softly. “And you might want to pay attention. This gets pretty interesting.”
She didn’t have one, but Lopez did, a thin penknife on a keychain. It would have to do.
I knelt by Violet, pulled open the blade, and before I could flinch or change my mind, I drew it across my left forearm. It cut deep. I didn’t look at it. Almost, it didn’t hurt—until my blood hit the air. Then it stung viciously. I gritted my teeth and held my arm over her lips.
Charlie tilted Violet’s head back, holding her jaw in order to ease open her mouth. The first drops that fell from the wound hit her cheek, drizzling a scarlet line to her jaw. But by the time the dripping blood became a steady stream, it fell straight into her mouth. Like giving water to someone dying of thirst.
Because of my rapid healing, the stream of blood didn’t last long before clotting, and the cut scabbed over as we watched. But Violet didn’t need much. After the first few drops, she closed her mouth by herself. Her throat moved, swallowing. We could see the exposed muscles and tendons of her neck working. Then, her throat started healing. I healed quickly, but this was faster, skin creeping, stretching to cover flesh and blood that now glowed with life. Hardin murmured an expletive.
Violet licked her lips, catching the stray drops, straining forward for more. She winced in pain, then leaned back, settling into Charlie’s lap.
“Charlie?” Her voice was small, childlike.
“Yeah, baby?”
“It hurts.”
“It won’t, in a minute.”
Her skin flushed, gaining some color as my blood took effect. Her fingers moved, then her hands, then she stretched her arms to grip Charlie.
He helped her sit up, and all at once she seemed like she’d only been sick, maybe hungover, not drained of blood and near death—or what meant death to vampires.
“Shit,” she muttered. She picked at the blood on her clothing and grimaced. “All this good stuff gone to waste.”
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“Feeling better?” Charlie said.
Her answer sounded tired. “Yeah.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, rubbing the newly healed cut on my arm. It had already turned to a closed, pink scab.
I noticed two stretched-out piles of ash on the concrete nearby. The ones who got Violet, I was guessing. Charlie hadn’t let them survive.
So. Had we gotten them all?
“How many more are there?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “Three, maybe four. Maybe more downstairs. Rick wanted them all alive. He wanted everyone alive.”
“Kitty, are these good guys or what?” Hardin demanded.
Violet purred, “Ooh, I wouldn’t say good guys.”
Hardin opened her mouth for a retort, but then narrowed her eyes. “Do I know you two? Have I seen you before?”
Charlie and Violet glanced at each other, then back at her.
“I don’t think so,” Charlie said. Violet giggled. Right, so Bonnie and Clyde were back to normal.
I wanted to grab them both by their necks and shake them. “Is Rick downstairs?”
“Yeah.”
