“Basic Black” (Part One)

The car door flew open and a girl plunged into the empty seat. “Drive,” she said.

Black did no such thing. But next time, he decided, he would definitely run the red.

A poke in the ribs pushed his foot to the gas. The Maverick bellowed and jumped forward before the light had changed. Black jerked on the wheel to get around a corner he hadn’t intended to take. “I’ve got to get that lock repaired.”

The second poke was more insistent. “Just drive, okay?”

He slipped a sidelong look at the girl huddled in the passenger seat. She was young, hardly out of her teens and in way over her head. She smelled of blood—among other things. Good thing the window on that side was broken, too. In an enclosed cockpit, the reek of garlic would have sent Black into an asthmatic seizure. “Does your mother know where you are?”

“My mother’s dead. Shut up and drive.”

“Any place in particular? Hospital? Cop shop?”

The third poke almost hurt. He swerved into the first space that allowed him to twist in his seat and grab the barrel of the weapon.

It was a compact umbrella. He forgot about lambasting her in favour of an incredulous gape. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I have a gun,” she warned.

“So have I.” And he showed her.

She drew back. “What the heck is that?”

“A flare gun. Want to see how it works?”

She fumbled for the door release, but the handle was missing and she found herself trapped. Black caught the flash of light on a wet darkness near her throat. Hoping that his instinct was way off base, he slid the gun back beneath the driver’s seat. “Did a vampire get you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You believe in vampires?”

“Don’t you?”

She cast a furtive glance through the back window and fidgeted in her seat. Black understood immediately. He drove away from the curb.

“Are you hurt bad?”

“I dunno.” She fingered her bloody t-shirt. “I think I’m okay. It’s just a scratch.”

“Teeth or nails?”

“Nails. He grabbed me from behind. I threw garlic oil in his eyes and he let me go, but I felt something rip . . . ” She paused to get control of a quavering sob. Black turned left at the next light.

“Does it hurt?”

“Stings.”

“You should get it looked at.”

“Why? It was nails, not fangs.”

“It doesn’t make a difference. You’ll need a tetanus shot.”

She began to shake. Shock was setting in, not from the wound, but from the cause of it. Stupid kid; why the hell had she been carrying garlic oil?

“What’s your name?”

She paused. “Jane.”

“Okay, Jane, you weren’t by any chance hunting this vampire, were you?”

Another pause. “What do you mean?”

“You said your mother’s dead.”

“She died years ago, when I was little.”

“Littler than you are now, you mean. Did a vampire do her?”

“No, it was cancer. Why do you care?”

“I don’t. You’re the one who jumped into my car and threatened me with an umbrella. Do you want my help, or don’t you?”

“I just want you to take me home.”

“You can’t go home. Garlic oil didn’t kill the vampire, it only made him angry. If he’s got your blood on his nails, he can track you from here to Hell’s half-acre—and he’ll do it, too, because you’ve discovered his secret. What sort of gun have you got?”

“It’s my dad’s. It’s—in the bag I left at the home.”

“The home? Where did you meet up with this guy?”

She took a steadying breath. “He’s been preying on the residents at my grandmother’s nursing home. Nana told me that a man has been sneaking into her room at night. At first I thought it was her dementia, but a few of the other ladies on the floor have said the same thing. And people have been dying on a regular basis.”

“Kid, it’s an old folks’ nursing home.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “I dismissed it in the beginning, then I saw him myself. He’s working the night shift, posing as a nurse.”

“ ‘Posing’?”

“I know what a vampire looks like. And even if I didn’t, what happened tonight only proves my point. He is a vampire and he has to be stopped.”

Black was this close to being amused, but the kid’s naivete was no laughing matter. “So you took it on yourself to stop him.”

“I’ve read the books. I know what I have to do.”

“What books? Myths and legends? Pop fiction? Jesus Christ.”

She heaved a deep sigh, resigning herself to lack of experience. “There’s truth to most myths.”

Black shook his head in grim amazement. He couldn’t up and leave her. If she had run afoul of a vampire—and he had no reason to believe she hadn’t—she was in trouble up to the eyeballs. She was so green that she glowed, and if she came to a bad end, a species just starting to accept the reality of vampires in their midst would go completely nuts. It was already happening in pockets all over the world; hardly a day went by without CNN reporting a vampire killing somewhere in Europe or North America. The tragedy was that not all suspected vampires were the genuine item. Some were mortals who liked the idea of playing at vampirism, and these unfortunate souls were not helping the cause at all. Vampires were dangerous and, as young Buffy in the seat beside him had discovered, peasant lore did not always apply. Some vampires cashed in on the publicity and used it to their advantage; others cowered in fear, skulking through the shadows like convicted criminals without having been tried. Though they were best approached with caution, not all vampires were evil. But try and tell a mortal that—especially a mortal whose life had been altered by an immortal’s touch.

Jane’s shoulder started to ache and he decided they had better seek medical attention. He drove her to the hospital emergency room, steeling his nerve against the onslaught of noxious odours waiting beyond the automatic doors. “Don’t tell them a vampire got you,” he advised.

“Don’t worry,” Jane replied.

He hated hospitals. For all the antiseptic and antibiotic progress mortals had made, nothing could be done to quell the stench of imminent death. Jane was signed in and sent to wait for a doctor; bothered by the harsh light and the smell, Black retreated to the parking lot, where he sank back on the Maverick’s dented fender and swallowed great, cleansing gulps of brisk autumn air.

A vampire posing as a night nurse at an old folks’ home. Give the guy credit, it was a plausible cover. Not much better than bargaining with junkies for a pint of their best, though. He sparked back to the bright, hot smell of Jane’s blood drying on her t-shirt, and a brief vision of himself with the cotton in his mouth flared before his mind’s eye.

And she thought she could spot a vampire at fifty paces. Oh, sure.

to be continued …