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"Who appointed you God? Who made you our executioner?"
I took a deep breath. It was steady, didn't tremble. Brownie point for me. "The police."
"Bah." He spit on the floor. Very appealing. "You work real hard, girl. You find the murderer, then we'll
finish up."
"May I go now?"
"By all means. You're safe tonight, because the master says so, but that will change."
Zachary said, "Out the side door." He walked nearly backwards watching the vampire as we moved
away. Winter stayed behind, guarding our backs. Idiot.
Zachary opened the door. The night was hot and sticky. Summer wind slapped against my face, humid,
and close, and beautiful.
The vampire called, "Remember the name Valentine, 'cause you'll be hearing from me."
Zachary and I walked out the door. It clanged shut behind us. There was no handle on the outside, no
way to open it. A one way ticket, out. Out sounded just fine.
We started to walk. "You got a gun with silver bullets in it?" he asked.
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"Yes."
"I'd start carrying it if I were you."
"Silver bullets won't kill him."
"But it'll slow him down."
"Yeah." We walked for a few minutes in silence. The warm summer night seemed to slide around us,
hold us in sticky, curious hands.
"What I need is a shotgun."
He looked at me. "You going to carry a shotgun with you day after day?"
"Sawed off, it would fit under a coat."
"In the middle of a Missouri summer, you'd melt. Why not a machine gun, or a flamethrower, while
you're at it?"
"Machine gun has too wide a spread range. You may hit innocent people. Flamethrower's bulky. Messy,
too."
He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. "You've used a flamethrower on vampires before?"
"No, but I saw it used."
"My god." He stared off into space for a moment, then asked, "Did it work?"
"Like a charm; messy, though. And it burned the house down around us. I thought it was a little
extreme."
"I'll bet." We started walking again. "You must hate vampires."
"I don't hate them."
"Then why do you kill them?"
"Because it's my job, and I'm good at it." We turned a corner, and I could see the parking lot where I
had left my car. It seemed like I had parked my car days ago. My watch said hours. It was a little like jet
lag, but instead of crossing time zones, you crossed events. So many traumatic events and your time
sense screws up. Too much happening in too short a space of time.
"I'm your daytime contact. If you need anything, or want to give a message, here's my number." He
shoved a matchbook into my hand.
I glanced at the matchbook. It read "Circus of the Damned" bleeding red onto a shiny black
background. I shoved it in my jeans pocket.
My gun was lying there in my trunk. I slipped into the shoulder rig, not caring that I had no jacket to
cover it. A gun out in plain sight attracts attention, but most people leave you alone. They often even start
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running, clearing a path before you. It made chases very convenient.
Zachary waited until I was sitting in my car. He leaned into the open door. "It can't just be a job, Anita.
There's got to be a better reason than that."
I glanced down at my lap and started the car. I looked up into his pale eyes. "I'm afraid of them. It is a
very natural human trait to destroy that which frightens us."
"Most people spend their lives avoiding things they fear. You run after them. That's crazy."
He had a point. I closed the door and left him standing in the hot dark. I raised the dead and laid the
undead to rest. It was what I did. Who I was. If I ever started questioning my motives, I would stop
killing vampires. Simple as that.
I wasn't questioning my motives tonight, so I was still a vampire slayer, still the name they had given me.
I was The Executioner.
15
Dawn slid across the sky like a curtain of light. The morning star glittered like a diamond chip against the
easy flow of light.
I had seen two sunrises in as many days. I was beginning to feel grumpy. The trick would be to decide
whom to be grumpy at, and what to do about it. Right now all I wanted was to sleep. The rest could
wait, would have to wait. I had been running on fear, adrenaline, and stubbornness for hours. In the quiet
hush of the car I could feel my body. It was not happy.
It hurt to grip the wheel, hurt to turn it. The bloody scrapes on my hands looked a lot worse than they
were, I hoped. My whole body felt stiff. Everybody underrates bruises. They hurt. They would hurt a lot
more after I slept on them. There is nothing like waking up the morning after a good beating. It's like a
hangover that covers your entire body.
The corridor of my apartment building was hushed. The whir of the air conditioner breathed in the
silence. I could almost feel all the people asleep behind the doors. I had an urge to press my ear to one of
the doors and see if I could hear my neighbors breathing. So quiet. The hour after dawn is the most
private of all. It is a time to be alone and enjoy the silence.
The only hour more hushed is three a.m. and I am not a fan of three a.m.
I had my keys in my hand, had almost touched the door, when I realized it was ajar. A tiny crack,
almost closed, but not. I moved to the right of the door and pressed my back against the wall. Had they
heard the keys jingling? Who was inside? Adrenaline was flowing like fine champagne. I was alert to
every shadow, the way the light fell. My body was in emergency mode, and I hoped to God I didn't need
it.
I drew my gun and leaned against the wall. Now what? There was no sound from inside the apartment,
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