worse than clap his hand over her mouth to muffle her noise. He started dragging her backward, which she took to mean that they would continue to beat their prisoner but they wouldn't force her to watch.
She tried to bite the owner's hand, but it was sweaty and slippery, and she did little more than pinch him.
"Sidowski!" the owner hissed—another name to remember, along with Roth and Ethan Bryne, if she ever
did
make it to the police. "Knock it off!"
Kerry stopped struggling when Sidowski stepped reluctantly back from their prisoner. Kerry was amazed that she had accomplished even that.
"She tried to bite me," the owner told the others, holding up his hand.
Sidowski took a step toward Kerry, looking ready to yank her head off, but the owner held him back with his other hand on his chest, still holding the bitten hand up. "Look," he said. "Look."
What's he complaining about?
Kerry thought. She hadn't even broken the skin or drawn blood.
But perhaps that was the point, for Sidowski backed off.
"See," the laundry owner said. "Just a kid." He grabbed hold of Kerry's shoulders and shook her. "You don't understand," he said to her. "He isn't human He isn't alive."
"What?"
Kerry was still looking at Sidowski, but the owner said, "
Him,
" nodding toward Ethan Bryne.
"What?" she repeated.
"He's a vampire," the owner answered. "One of the living dead. He kills people to feed on their blood."
Their prisoner shook his head, wearing an expression of horror that probably mirrored her own.
Roth took him roughly by the jaw, forcing back his lips to reveal canine teeth that were slightly longer and sharper than normal but certainly nothing to get alarmed about.
A vampire,
Kerry thought.
They think he's a vampire, and they're hoping very hard that I'm not one, too.
It wasn't enough to step into the middle of what looked to be a ritual execution between rival gangs or druggies or international terrorists. She had to fall into a nest of grade-A crazies.
Chapter Two
H E'S A VAMPIRE ," Kerry repeated in a noncommittal tone. Best not to let on that she knew they were out of their minds.
Roth and the owner of the Quick-Clean Laundry both nodded. Sidowski was watching her closely, waiting—she could tell—for her to slip up and prove that she, too, was one. Ethan, their bruised and bloodied vampire, was looking at her with an expression of dazed desperation. Kerry wondered if he had a concussion and how likely he was to go into shock from his injuries. Somehow, despite the mind-numbing panic, she remembered that they kept talking about morning, and that they had called for a video camera. Things began to fall into place.
"You're going to keep him here till dawn," she said. "See if the rising sun ... What? Causes him to melt? Burst into flame?
What?
"
Perhaps they thought she was making fun of their beliefs. They just looked at her with those appraising expressions.
She didn't dare vocalize the other. She didn't dare ask, Or
do you plan to put a stake through his heart?
"Whatever you think he's done—," she started, then quickly amended it to the less judgmental, "whatever he
has
done, is there any reason we can't do something to try to stop him from bleeding to death between now and morning?"
Roth snorted. "Not likely He's not that badly hurt. This is an act for your benefit."
Kerry moved to get to her feet, but the laundry owner put his hands down heavily on her shoulders, and Sidowski swept open his New York Giants jacket to reveal a gun nestled in a holster under his arm, a blatant reminder that they were men to be taken seriously.
"I just"—her voice was trembling as though she were talking through the spinning blades of an electric fan—"I wanted to get some of the paper towels from the desk. To try to stop the bleeding."
"He'll survive," Sidowski said. "Vampires are stronger than normal people."
The owner released the pressure on her shoulders. "Let her feel she's doing something useful," he told them. "Maybe
She tried to bite the owner's hand, but it was sweaty and slippery, and she did little more than pinch him.
"Sidowski!" the owner hissed—another name to remember, along with Roth and Ethan Bryne, if she ever
did
make it to the police. "Knock it off!"
Kerry stopped struggling when Sidowski stepped reluctantly back from their prisoner. Kerry was amazed that she had accomplished even that.
"She tried to bite me," the owner told the others, holding up his hand.
Sidowski took a step toward Kerry, looking ready to yank her head off, but the owner held him back with his other hand on his chest, still holding the bitten hand up. "Look," he said. "Look."
What's he complaining about?
Kerry thought. She hadn't even broken the skin or drawn blood.
But perhaps that was the point, for Sidowski backed off.
"See," the laundry owner said. "Just a kid." He grabbed hold of Kerry's shoulders and shook her. "You don't understand," he said to her. "He isn't human He isn't alive."
"What?"
Kerry was still looking at Sidowski, but the owner said, "
Him,
" nodding toward Ethan Bryne.
"What?" she repeated.
"He's a vampire," the owner answered. "One of the living dead. He kills people to feed on their blood."
Their prisoner shook his head, wearing an expression of horror that probably mirrored her own.
Roth took him roughly by the jaw, forcing back his lips to reveal canine teeth that were slightly longer and sharper than normal but certainly nothing to get alarmed about.
A vampire,
Kerry thought.
They think he's a vampire, and they're hoping very hard that I'm not one, too.
It wasn't enough to step into the middle of what looked to be a ritual execution between rival gangs or druggies or international terrorists. She had to fall into a nest of grade-A crazies.
Chapter Two
H E'S A VAMPIRE ," Kerry repeated in a noncommittal tone. Best not to let on that she knew they were out of their minds.
Roth and the owner of the Quick-Clean Laundry both nodded. Sidowski was watching her closely, waiting—she could tell—for her to slip up and prove that she, too, was one. Ethan, their bruised and bloodied vampire, was looking at her with an expression of dazed desperation. Kerry wondered if he had a concussion and how likely he was to go into shock from his injuries. Somehow, despite the mind-numbing panic, she remembered that they kept talking about morning, and that they had called for a video camera. Things began to fall into place.
"You're going to keep him here till dawn," she said. "See if the rising sun ... What? Causes him to melt? Burst into flame?
What?
"
Perhaps they thought she was making fun of their beliefs. They just looked at her with those appraising expressions.
She didn't dare vocalize the other. She didn't dare ask, Or
do you plan to put a stake through his heart?
"Whatever you think he's done—," she started, then quickly amended it to the less judgmental, "whatever he
has
done, is there any reason we can't do something to try to stop him from bleeding to death between now and morning?"
Roth snorted. "Not likely He's not that badly hurt. This is an act for your benefit."
Kerry moved to get to her feet, but the laundry owner put his hands down heavily on her shoulders, and Sidowski swept open his New York Giants jacket to reveal a gun nestled in a holster under his arm, a blatant reminder that they were men to be taken seriously.
"I just"—her voice was trembling as though she were talking through the spinning blades of an electric fan—"I wanted to get some of the paper towels from the desk. To try to stop the bleeding."
"He'll survive," Sidowski said. "Vampires are stronger than normal people."
The owner released the pressure on her shoulders. "Let her feel she's doing something useful," he told them. "Maybe
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