Last Vampire 6(2)

Seymourunderstands that I intend to kill this guy. He is not squeamish about blood, but death still disturbs him. We have never actually killed any of his meals. He pales slightly and lifts his glass.



"Let me know what you're up to," he says.



"Good luck," Heidi exclaims as I step past.



"Thank you," I say.



The guy at the bar notices my approach and makes room for me. Sliding onto the chair beside him, I bat my long lashes and smile innocently. I am sweet, the type I hope he enjoys.



"Hello," I say.



"Good evening," he replies. He is terribly good looking, and young, twenty-two at most, with a Rolex on his wrist to cover his tattoo and a seductive smirk on his adorable face. His hair is longish, brown and curly. "What's your name?" he asks.



"Alisa,"I say, not being too secretive because I know he won't live long enough to repeat it. "You?"



"Dan. What're you drinking?"



"Coke. I'm on a diet."



He snorts. "What kind of diet is that?"



I laugh softly. "An all-sugar diet. Do you come here often?"



He sips his scotch. "No. To tell you the truth, this place bugs me."



I'm already tired of making conversation. I just want to kill him and be done with it. Since inheritingK alika's psychic abilities, I have gone out of my way to kill a few bad apples. Of course, I have no intention of making it my life's work.



"Do you want to leave?" I ask.



He acts surprised. "Who are you?" he asks, with an edge to his voice.



I catch his eyes. I have a very strong stare. Just by looking at metal, I can make it turn to liquid. I pitch my voice so there is no way he can refuse my invitation.



"Just a girl. You're looking for a girl, aren't you?"



He finishes his drink and stands. "Let's go," he barks.



Out on the street, he walks fast toward a car he never seems to find. I have to adopt a brisk pace to keep up with him. People move past us in the dark, the nameless faces of a humanity I have known forever. The summer air is warm.



"I have a car if you can't find yours," I finally offer.



He shrugs. "I just thought we'd take a walk first, get to know each other."



"Fine. What do you do for a living?"



"I'm a plumber. What do you do?"



"I'm an artist."



He is amused. "Oh, yeah? Do you paint?"



"I sculpt. Statues."



He gives a wolfish grin. "Nudes?"



"Sometimes." It's so nice to get to know each other.



Yet there's something wrong, more than the obvi­ous. He's not at ease with me, and his discomfort goes beyond his thoughts of wanting to murder me. He fantasizes how my bright blue eyes will dim as my brain dies beneath his grip. Yet I am more than just another victim to him.



He is afraid of me.



Someone has told him something about me.



But who that someone is, I don't know. My concen­tration is divided between Seymour and my situation. Yet I don't know why I should worry about Seymour. Certainly Heidi is not going to harm him. I scanned the girl's mind for a few seconds when I met her and there was nothing in there but thoughts of drink and sex. No, I tell myself, Dan is all that matters. I wonder where he's leading me, who we'll meet on the other end. He makes a sharp left into a dark alleyway. Naturally, to my eyes, everything in the alley is perfectly clear.



"Where are we going?" I ask.



"My place," he says.



"Can you walk to your place from here?"



"Yeah." He pauses and studies me out of the corner of his eye. Although he's striving to act cool, his breathing is rapid, his heart pounds. He definitely knows I am more than I seem, more dangerous than a cop with a gun. But he doesn't know I'm a vampire. There are no images in his mind of my drinking his blood. But the farther we walk, the more difficult his thoughts are to penetrate—another mystery. Yet I know he is worried what will happen with me in connection with another, how our meeting will go. This other, I sense, is also dangerous, in the same way he thinks I am.



The other is close. Waiting.



Are we going to meet another vampire?



There should be no other vampires, other than Seymour and myself.



I smile. "Do you live alone?"



"Yeah," he says, and his hands brush against his coat pocket. I realize he has a weapon there, and wonder why I didn't spot it before. The gun must be unusually small, I think. But when I sniff with my nose, I detect not even a trace of lead or gunpowder in the air, and I can smell a bullet from a quarter of a mile away. My questions pile one on topof the other, but I am far from ready to walk away from the encounter. There is a puzzle here—Imust solve it.