American Vampire (Page 27)

"It’s not a secret," I said. "And it ain’t little."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind."

But I caught the smallest of shit-eating grins on his face.

"Go on," I said, shaking my head. "And this time try to keep the robe closed."

"I do my best to keep it closed."

I patted his meaty knee. "Well, do better, big boy. Now, what is it that’s such a big secret?"

He sat back, but this time he kept the robe closed well enough. "The blood is from a donor, Sam."

"A donor?"

He nodded.

"A willing donor?" I prodded.

"Willing enough," he said.

"I don’t like the sound of that."

"It’s not as bad as it seems."

"But it’s still bad?"

"Gruesome, perhaps. Macabre."

"Perhaps you should just tell me what you know."

"There’s a world of vampires out there, Sam, that you haven’t been introduced to yet. At least, I don’t think you have."

I thought back to Detective Hanner. Whether or not she was a vampire, I didn’t know, and I most certainly hadn’t been officially introduced to other vampires.

The defense attorney went on. "You’re not the only one of your kind, Sam, and the vampire who attacked you wasn’t the last."

Knowing this set off alarm bells within me. I didn’t like knowing there were others like me, truth be known. I knew me. And I trusted me. I didn’t trust others. "How many more are there?" I asked.

"Not many; in fact, very few."

"Are we talking thousands?"

"Hundreds, perhaps. Scattered around the world."

And yet there were two in Fullerton, I mused, but didn’t say anything. The one who had attacked me (and was subsequently killed by a vampire hunter a few months back…the same hunter who later came looking for me), and now perhaps Detective Hanner. If you add me into the mix, that’s three in Orange County alone. Hell, three in Fullerton alone.

Kingsley went on: "There’s a larger than normal grouping of vamps here in Southern California; particularly Los Angeles."

"I might have met one."

"Who?"

I hesitated, wondering if I might be giving away Detective Hanner’s secret. After all, I wasn’t sure if there couldn’t be some weird, age-old vampire/werewolf feud going on. (And if there was, why hadn’t I gotten the memo?)

Kingsley reached over and laid his warm hand on my knee. I inwardly sighed. I craved warmth. And other than the snuggling hugs of my kids, the warmth from a man was the next best.

He said, "Don’t worry, Sam. Many of the local vampires are friends of mine."

"Friends?"

"Close acquaintances. We sort of naturally gravitate to each other."

"And there’s no, like, war or something going on?"

He chuckled. "War?"

"You know, like on Twilight or Underworld."

He squeezed my knee a little. "And what would we be fighting over?"

"Dominion over the earth? The blood of humanity?"

"There are others who control the earth, Sam, and they are very human. And, hell, even I’m afraid of them."

I told him about the Fullerton detective. As I did, Kingsley nodded and smiled. "An old friend."

"How old?"

"Older than you and I combined. Anyway, Hanner, like other immortals, have taken precautions to discreetly blend in with society."

"So they don’t run around killing people."

"Not as often as you would think."

I said, "And that’s where the donors come in."

"Right."

"And who are these donors?" I asked.

"Selected humans."

"And how are they selected?"

"Most are lovers. Some are enemies. And a few are simply unfortunate enough to have crossed paths with a hungry vampire."

"Do these donors know they are donating to real vampires?"

"My guess would be yes and no. Perhaps a few of the more trusted ones do."

"And the others?"

"The others are, I imagine, giving their blood most unwillingly."

"Then why call them ‘donors’?"

"It sounds better, don’t you think?"

I turned the empty goblet in my hand. What little of the red stuff remained had long since dried. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. So whose blood had this belonged to? I may never know.

A sudden wave of weakness hit me. The sun was coming. "I need a place to crash," I said.

"Mi bed es su bed."

"That’s some of the worst Spanish I’ve ever heard."

He squeezed my knee harder. "I’m getting up now anyway. You can have the bed to yourself."

My heart sank a little.

"Is something wrong, Sam?"

I still hadn’t forgiven Kingsley, but I did miss his touch. "Would you…" I paused, then tried again. "Would you lay with me until I fall asleep?"

He smiled brightly. "Would be my pleasure. And I’ll wake Franklin up and have him vampire-treat the windows with some blankets or something."

"Oh, great," I said, as the first wave of exhaustion hit me. "Give him even more reason to hate me."

Chapter Thirty-six

Although I generally need to crank my alarm clock as loud as it gets to rouse me from my sleep, I found myself emerging from the blackest of depths at the sound of my cell phone ringing.

By the fourth ring, I was almost alive again.

By the fifth, I had fumbled for it on Kingsley’s nightstand. I had a brief glimpse of the time: 10:18 a.m. I also had a brief glimpse of the caller: Aaron King, the old L.A. detective with the killer smile.

I answered the phone. At least, I think I answered the phone. I touched a button on the cell and hoped for the best.

"Hello?"

"Did you just say ‘hello’?" said Aaron King.

"I think so, yes."

"You sound like a dying frog."

"You’re closer than you think."

"I’ve got news," he said.

"Don’t tell me you’ve been working all night."

"There’s no rest for the wicked. Besides, I don’t sleep well these days."

I sat up a little straighter. Kingsley, I saw, was long gone. The shades in the room had been drawn tight. A blanket, a bed comforter perhaps, had also been hung over a small window above the bed. And it had been hung neatly, too. Franklin might not like me very much, but he did good work.

I said, "What’s your news?"

"I just got a call from a kid in Buena Park. He recognized our guy on the flyer. Apparently, Lauren and Maddie’s friend is a big-time drug runner and all-around scary man."