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I had no idea who it could be. I didn’t know anyone in Pueblo besides Ben.
I trudged to the front door. Ben gripped the handle of the open door and looked back at me. And there, on the other side of the threshold, stood Rick. The vampire.
I needed to stop making flippant remarks like that.
“Oh my God. Rick.”
“Hi, Kitty.” His height was average and his features pale, vaguely aristocratic, like a figure from an old painting. That may also have been the way he carried himself—straight-backed, self-possessed. Nothing would ever make him lose his temper. His dark hair was brushed back from his face and just touched his shoulders. He wore dark slacks, a well-pressed shirt, smart shoes—and an overcoat, in summer.
Rick was an odd duck. He was affiliated with Arturo, the Master vampire of Denver, but he also maintained a degree of independence. I wasn’t sure what he did for Arturo, or what he got out of the association. I wasn’t exactly an expert on vampire internal politics. I did know he was at least a couple hundred years old, and he’d been in the region for much of that time. He had some great Old West stories. In the past, we’d done favors for each other, passing along useful information. Neither of us was as territorial as others of our kind.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story. May I come in?” He gestured at the threshold.
I had to invite him in. He looked at me, waiting, and I stared back, stupefied.
Ben inched closer to me and said to my ear, privately, “He smells dead.”
“Yeah,” I whispered back. “That’s how vampires smell.”
“It’s weird.” He glared sidelong at Rick.
The vampire waited quietly. I couldn’t decide what to do.
“Do you trust him?” Ben said. Ben and Cormac had been vampire hunting together. We’d never really discussed how Ben felt about vampires, but I knew he didn’t think well of them in general.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” Rick said.
Rick had never given me a reason to be suspicious of him. I thought of him as one of the good guys. He’d done me favors. Still, I couldn’t help but feel like I was going to regret this.
“Come on in,” I said with a sigh, and stepped aside. Rick stepped across the threshold, hands stuck in the pockets of his overcoa
t.
I sneaked a glimpse out at the curb. I wanted to see what kind of car a vampire would drive. Fully in character, I spotted a BMW convertible, silver and zippy. No way anyone in this neighborhood drove that car.
I gave a low whistle. “Nice.”
“Thanks,” Rick said.
Turning back inside, I closed the door. “I’d offer you something to drink, but, well—no way. No offense.”
“That’s all right. I had a drink before I came.”
Ben shook his head, scowling. To me he said, “I hate vampires.”
Rick wore an amused smile. “Kitty, it’s been a while. How are you?”
“Now’s not really a good time to ask that. I’m kind of drunk.” And sick. Sick at heart. “Um, this is my friend, Ben. Ben, Rick.”
“Ben O’Farrell, isn’t it?” Rick said.
Ben’s back tightened, his shoulders bunching like hackles rising. A response to danger. He looked hard at Rick. “Have we met?”
“No. But you have an entry in the same file Arturo keeps on that bounty hunter, Cormac. It doesn’t say anything about you being a werewolf.”
I thought for a minute Ben was going to jump him, the way every muscle in his body seemed to quiver. I resisted an urge to grab him and hold him back. But I had to admit, I was also creeped out that Arturo was keeping files on Cormac and God knew who else. Me, most definitely. Couldn’t help but wonder what it looked like.
