The Traveling Vampire Show(23)

 

I was tempted to let go and fall against Lee, not to punish her for the wild driving but to have the contact with her. It might’ve been embarrassing, though. And it might’ve made her crash into a tree or something. I didn’t want to take the risk, so I held on tight.

 

We jerked from side to side, shook and bounced all the way to the far end of the road and burst out of the dense forest gloom into the open gray gloom of Janks Field and Lee almost sent me through the windshield the way she tromped on the brakes.

 

We skidded to a stop.

 

Parked near the shack where I’d left Slim and Rusty were three vehicles: a truck the size of a moving van, a large bus, and a hearse. All three were shiny black, and unmarked—no fancy signs announcing this was The Traveling Vampire Show, no paintings of bats or fangs or Valeria. Nothing at all like that. As if the show wanted to keep itself secret as it roamed the roads on its way from town to town.

 

Several people seemed to be unloading equipment from the truck.

 

“Looks like the show has arrived,” Lee said.

 

“Guess so. If that’s what it is.”

 

“What else could it be?”

 

“I don’t know,” I said.

 

“I don’t see your friends, though.”

 

“Me neither.”

 

“Think they’re still up there?”

 

“They might be. Maybe they’re lying down flat behind the sign.”

 

“Let’s find out,” Lee said. She started driving forward.

 

My mouth jumped open, but I managed not to gasp. Instead, trying to sound calm, I said, “What’re you doing?”

 

“We came to find Slim and Rusty. That’s what we’re going to do.”

 

“But these people!”

 

“We’ve got every right to be here.”

 

“Hope they see it that way.”

 

“No sweat,” she said, bravado in her smile but a flicker of worry in her eyes.

 

She drove slowly. Over the sound of the engine, I heard glass crunching under the tires.

 

“You sure about this?” I asked.

 

“Sure I’m sure.”

 

“What if we get a flat tire?”

 

“I don’t get flats.” She gave me another one of those smiles. Then she added, “And if I do, we’ll just have a couple of these strapping young chaps change it for us.”

 

As she drove closer, a few of the workers stopped what they were doing and watched our approach. Others continued to go about their business. I counted twelve, in all. (There might’ve been more, unseen.)

 

Though I saw a variety of trousers on them—btue jeans, black jeans, black feather—they all seemed to be wearing shiny black shirts with long sleeves.

 

Studying their outfits, I noticed that all the workers weren’t men. At least four seemed to be women.

 

I wondered if one of those might be Valeria herself.

 

Maybe they’re all Valeria, I thought—and take turns playing the role. Or maybe the real Valeria is whiling away the afternoon in the bus.

 

Or in the hearse.

 

As Lee eased her pickup to a stop, I looked over at the hearse. I figured there might be a casket inside, but the rear windows were draped with red velvet. Lee shut off her engine.

 

A man was walking toward us.

 

Lee opened her door. It seemed like a bad idea.

 

“You getting out?” I asked.

 

“You don’t have to,” she said.

 

“What about the dog?”

 

She looked back at me. “Where is it?”

 

“I don’t know, but it must be around here someplace.”

 

“Maybe it decided not to stick around when it saw what was coming.”

 

“Maybe that’s what we oughta do,” I said.

 

“We’re fine,” she told me, and climbed out.

 

I threw open my door, jumped to the ground and hurried around her truck. I came up behind Lee and halted by her side. The man stopped a few paces in front of us. He glanced at me, seemed to decide that I didn’t matter, and turned his eyes to Lee.

 

He was so handsome he was creepy.

 

His long, flowing hair was black as ink, but he had pale blue eyes. The eyes might’ve looked wonderful on a woman; on him, they seemed unnatural and weird. So did his slim, curving lips. All his facial features were delicate, and he had smooth, softly tanned skin. Except for the slightest trace of beard stubble along his jaw and chin, he might’ve easily passed for a beautiful woman.

 

At least from the neck up. The rest of him was a different story. He had broad, heavy-looking shoulders and arm muscles that strained the sleeves of his shirt. The top few buttons of his shirt were unfastened as if to make room for his massive chest. He had a flat stomach and narrow hips, and wore black leather trousers with a sheath knife on the belt.