Ten Years Prior…

    

    A PALLID, MALNOURISHED GIRL of twelve sniffed and blew her nose. It was her second viewing of Billy Jack, a tawdry vigilante movie from the 1970s she had come upon in the Flower District. The badly acted and shoddily directed B-movie affected her like nothing else.

    “It’s time you took matters into your own hands,” she lectured herself, borrowing from the movie. “You’re out of cereal, Nutella, vitamins, and Cheez Whiz, and you need to get some rainwater from the roof. Don’t just sit here dying of thirst. Be brave for once in your life!”

    She kicked a shoebox full of gems, diamonds, and gold jewelry out of her way. They were nothing more than shiny trinkets as useless and garish as Barbie dolls.

    The girl named Julia Poe gathered three empty plastic gallons and made her way above ground from the hotel basement. She climbed the stairwell to the rooftop, leaving her winded with a powerful stitch to her side. Eating expired food from tin containers and lack of cardiovascular exercise would do that to anyone. She vowed to get fitter.

    Inflatable swimming pools and pails, drably painted to match the nearby mid-rise buildings, littered the rooftop to collect rainwater. She submerged the plastic jugs until bubbles no longer surfaced. Julia disliked leaving her bomb shelter if she didn’t have to. She was developing more phobias as the years slugged on that made it tougher to perform everyday tasks like shopping. Watching movies was the only activity that got her up in the morning.

    “Maybe I’ll see someone today,” she whispered quietly. “I’m tired of talking to myself.”

    Feeling emboldened by the film, Julia walked to the edge of the roof and peered down. Little Tokyo didn’t look so bad with the exception of skeletons strewn like Dia de los Muertos dolls minus the sombreros. They left it alone mostly. Maybe it was the close distance to Skid Row that made living in the area unattractive. A mere block away, the famous mecca of the dispossessed was speckled with rusty, corroded cars - their owners’ skeletal remains still waiting for the traffic lights to change.

    While a supermajority had choked and sputtered on noxious gray mist, an inordinate number of Skid Row homeless initially survived. Most likely their constant state of infection desensitized them to the filth that contaminated the lower atmosphere. The new powers-that-be, however, didn’t think kindly about the mentally unsound walkabouts, the shake-inducing cheap smack, or the stench. The survivors on Alameda Street didn’t make the cut and were slaughtered. Poe witnessed the carnage from the same roof. She could almost hear the screams as they were flushed out.

    It was first of many declarations that came to be. Sampling transient blood anywhere in the city was determined unlawful. Not shortly after that, human cattle of darker complexion or pronounced ethnic features were set aside for the dirty jobs. Their blood, slightly higher grade than that of the homeless, was deemed ‘for emergency use only.’

  

    “Pay attention,” she told herself. “Don’t think about the bums.”

    Everywhere else, rabid dogs that had been lucky enough to dodge vampire fangs now overran the once bustling streets surrounding her hotel. Jagged concrete chunks, tall weeds, and broken glass littered the road, causing a mess during the rainy season when muck ended up in the already clogged storm drains. The filthy infrastructure flooded and emitted putrid vapors that could offend even the toughest of the supernatural.

    From the corner of her eye she saw him down Alameda Street.

    “A halfdead,” she said, fear catching her throat.

    He was chasing after a pack of dogs and flinging rope at them. The white blur wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts could outrun the fastest four-legged creatures. He was toying with them, purposely dogging their steps like a gunslinger from the Old West. Only, this guy was no Clint Eastwood. Dry mouthed, Julia watched him lasso in a Rottweiler and bury his fangs into the dog’s neck, tearing its flesh brutally, unnecessarily. Like an empty soda can, he tossed the ravaged mutt over his shoulder.

    “Evil son of a bitch,” Julia said quietly, shuddering at what she’d witnessed.

    The git was a halfdead, a rare stuck-in-the-middle vampire that could sunbake all day if he wanted. He may not have had the immortality of a vampire, but he had all the other perks. The creature lassoed six dogs and dragged them back to the heart of downtown. The more they resisted, the harder the ropes dug in their necks, cutting off their air. He was the fifth day-vamp she’d seen since the Gray Armageddon.

    “This is no good,” she mumbled, swallowing bitter-tasting fear. “Next thing you know, Nosferatu will be knocking on my door at one in the afternoon.”

    

 The silent film had pounded serious fear into her spine a few years back. Just the memory of the strange demonic face of Max Schreck made her nose and upper lip bead with sweat.

    Back in the bunker, Julia shoved a seven-inch stake in her coat pocket along with small glass vials and an empty plastic gallon. She took along for safety measures a sharp kitchen knife endorsed by Iron Chef Morimoto himself. It was a mean nine inches in length.

    “The mummy can’t hit what the mummy can’t see,” she recited, quoting Muhammad Ali, one of the three people she’d have liked as bunker mates, with Bruce Lee and Gandhi rounding off the list.

    After double-knotting her shoelaces, she headed down to St. Vibiana’s, the old cathedral that was replaced by a gargantuan edifice on Temple and Hill. Built in 1880, the original church was two blocks away. It had been gutted and turned into an art center and loft housing for the hip and moneyed. The bug- eyed statues, grotto, and fountain were kept intact for more exotic appeal. The courtyard fountain spouted water considered holy. At least that was what she was told as a child.

    “Get outta my way, dogs!” she hissed. Haggard dogs gave her wide berth as she brandished a daunting walking stick taller than herself. With nervous eyes and shaking hands, she walked briskly to the former church. She normally only slinked out like a coward for food. This was her first attempt at vigilantism.

    For strength and luck she wore her matching long johns, Adidas shoes, and beanie - all black - that coordinated with her dark hair and eyes. She figured there was no harm in looking like Bruce Lee in Enter the Dragon when he stealthily infiltrated Han’s opium lab.

    

    “Please no halfdeads or regular vampires until I get some holy water,” she said under her breath and looked at her watch. She still had a couple of hours until sunset. “Mom, I hope you’re watching over me right now, ’cause I don’t feel so good. I plan on killing vampires with holy water. If I don’t, might as well give up and join you. It’s no fun being alone.”

    The church spire loomed ahead with its moldy, antiquated bell. A compulsion to ring the bell to alert any remaining humans in the city took hold of her. “I won’t do it, Dad. I’m not that stupid.”

    Human-size statues of the Virgin and St. Bernadette welcomed her inside. Their painted eyes followed her every step. When Julia looked closely at their faces, she could see actual eyelashes fanning out of the plaster like fly legs. Creeped out wouldn’t have been accurate enough to describe the goosebumps that speckled her skin. Her teeth chattered noisily when cowardice begged her to go home.

    It was dark inside the vestibule which she had to cross to get to the fountain in the back garden. Of course, she had forgotten to pack a flashlight. She didn’t waste time in the dark and ran to the garden in triple time.

    “Eeesh!” came out of her mouth. “Goopy and green!”

    The three-tiered fountain bubbled to life on occasion like the tar pits of La Brea, emitting raw gaseous smells. The water had the consistency of NyQuil, and baby aquatic mosquitoes swam around like royal sea monkeys.

    There was nothing for it. Julia submerged her hands and began filling the small bottles and a dented gallon. Chipped stone angels fit for decaying cemeteries surrounded her. She focused her eyes on St. Francis in a cassock followed by his animal entourage.

    She didn’t mind him at all. Without much notice a familiar voice in her head told her to buck up. It was then that she sensed them.

    Eyes were boring down. She could feel them. The hairs darting straight up on the back of her neck proved it. Slowly she eased the plastic milk gallon from out of the water and waited. She remained still for what seemed like centuries. A small frog jumped from one lily pod to another, believing the still girl to be part of its world. Julia nearly screamed.

    “Just a frog,” she said in a low voice instead. “Nothing to worry about.”

    Before she could draw another safe breath, “Fudge!” escaped her lips. From behind her, a gigantic raven swooped down and captured the little frog in its beak. Julia’s heart hammered so hard she saw spots.

    Bracing her hands on the fountain seats and the gallon container, Julia rebuked herself out loud. “Bad time to lose it, Julia. Think of Ali. Think of-”

    From the reflection of the swampy fountain water, she could see the garden wall where a row of ravens chattered and took it easy. The sun was almost down. “I’ve changed my mind,” she whispered to the thin, wide-eyed girl staring back at her. “I can’t kill vampires. I’m not ready-”

    She saw him on the watery reflection, eclipsing the image of the birds. She tried to blink him away, but the new image stayed. The immense creature opened his arms wide like he was going to scoop her from behind. Her only lasting memory was of her throat itching something powerful. The irritation triggered Max Schreck in her mind. Before the reflection touched her, she turned around quickly and whacked the looming vampire with the gallon of holy water, crying, “Die!”

    

    There was no acidic hiss upon contact. Unlike the holy water sprinkled on Christopher Lee, the damp vamp before her was neither melted nor singed. The voluminous undead from the reflection in the fountain water was quite manageable in size, only a few inches taller than her.

    Pausing in disbelief, the creature looked from the scrawny girl and back to the fetid water on his coat.

    “What the-” he began, wiping the swampy liquid off his black Mickey Spillane coat and Jesus and Mary Chain t-shirt, appalled for even daring to touch it. “You stupid kid. This shit is disgusting!”

    Julia’s jaw dropped as the youthful undead wiped away the stagnant water from his person. Realizing that cleaning the coat was futile, he trained his eyes on her.

    “You’re dead, kid. You know how hard it is to find a trench coat in this town? It’s on every dead’s list. The newly turned have claimed them all. I’ll to have to walk to the Americana in assfuck Glendale to scrounge up a new one!” Like most ordinary vampires, the young dead had the strength of three strong men and the inability to die the easy way. He, however, did not have the skills certain powerful vampires possessed, like the ability to fly or walk under the sunniest of skies without getting incinerated.

    “Maybe you can w-wash it?” suggested the scrawny girl.

    “I don’t do laundry,” the smallish, whacked-out version of a young Christopher Walken spat. “I’m a vampire.”

    With wounded aplomb, the Walken look-alike took a predatory step toward her and bared his fangs. She watched his incisors elongate into two-inch carvers. His hand reached behind her head before she had time to blink. With her eyes still focused on Cujo teeth, Julia dug for the stake from inside her jacket.

    

    Because the vampire was so close to her, she couldn’t hit anything other than the side of his neck. The stake plunged a few inches in his neck but the wood was too stout to lodge any deeper. Cartilage and vocal chords barred any further progression.

    Enraged, the vampire slashed Julia’s face with his middle fingernail, the only one that grew long and solid as petrified wood. Poe hit her head on the side of the fountain from the impact and couldn’t quite get herself to stand up. She was dizzy, and blood oozed from the diagonal wound from her forehead to cheek. From the feel of the scratch, the vampire must have scooped at least half an inch of flesh.

    The smell of her blood and the darkening of the skies brought intense panic as she watched the vampire extract the stake from his neck. The infuriated undead fixed her with fevered eyes.

    “We’ve been feeding on rationed refrigerated blood for years now ’cause there ain’t enough breathers to go around,” he gasped, holding on to his throat. “You’re going to be my first human kill, and believe me when I say you’re going to suffer for the privilege.”

    “Mom and Dad, help me,” Julia whispered as the vampire lunged for her. Before he could lay a hand on her, the ninety-pound girl reached from behind and brandished the kitchen knife she’d brought. With a powerful sweep, Julia Ginsu-chopped most of his left hand’s fingers.

    Ignoring the hair-raising scream that came out of his mouth despite his vocal chord damage, the girl lunged at the vampire, and he fell on his back.

    “Quit moving around, asshole!” Julia screeched from atop him. She took advantage of his temporary shock at losing his fingers and pinned his good hand with her knee. At several attempts later, she finally succeeded in slicing off the remaining fingers of his right hand as well. His oozing limbs pushed off her bucking body.

    With the memory of her parents’ very violent end from the fangs of a gang of young vampires, Julia found the strength to straddle Christopher Walken’s youthful doppelganger once more. Blinded by her own blood and pounded by his stubby hands, she concentrated on stabbing his heart nearly a dozen times and ending the massacre by hacking off his head. The feel of bone getting severed by a sharp knife felt right to Poe.

    The youthful vampire, no more than eighteen when he turned, stopped moving. Bloodied and shell- shocked from her first kill, Julia made her way back to her hotel without further attack. Living near Skid Row had its advantages.

    As she locked the hotel door carefully behind her, she whispered, “Thank you, Mom and Dad.” Then and only then did she allow herself to collapse in a faint.

    

    

    

    

    AT THE PRE-ARRANGED TIME, Sister Ann and Goss scratched the secret knock on her new metal-enforced door carted away from the Japanese American Museum down the street. The original had succumbed to rust. Even knowing in her gut that the people standing outside were her friends, Poe had to fight the bile that rose from her throat.

    “Breathe from the umbilical and exhale like you have all the time in the world,” the robust nun had told her time and again. She was breathing from the umbilical alright, but she was still gulping air like she’d just climbed Mt. Fuji directly after trekking the Inca Trail.

    “No Nosferatu. No Nosferatu, please,” Poe prayed fervently to her parents. The creature from the silent classic film was the face she gave to the terror above ground. Seizing the nearest semi-automatic pistol, Poe unlatched the bolt and thought, The hell with Goss, that snail! I’ll put in the peephole myself.

    She yanked open the door.

    Sure enough, her most trusted friends, a nun and a giant, stood outside with patient grins on their weary faces. As usual they were literally armed to the end of days.

    “Holy Jesus, girl, it took you six minutes to answer the door. That’s a record low,” drawled Goss, practically crawling inside because of his super-size- me height.

    “Well, if you h-had put in a peep h-hole like you said, I would’ve let you in sooner,” Poe countered, disgusted by her stutter. She had been getting better for a while there. Now the h’s, w’s, and occasional p’s tripped her tongue ignominiously.

    “Yes,” Sister Ann agreed with Poe, her sweat- stained wimple bobbing. “You’ve been promising to drill a peephole in this child’s door for nearly a month now. Que pasу? And Goss, even though Armageddon’s dropped its ugly face upon us, don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. At least not around me. You know how much it aggravates me.”

    Goss bowed his head in exaggerated penitence. “Sorry, Sister. Must’ve slipped my notice that you’re the last practicing Catholic in town. Next time I come, I promise to bring my best drill.”

    Something was off. Poe could feel it. The three usually hugged like it was the last time given the cosmic odds against them. Goss insisted on open affection because he could not stand repressed feelings.

    “Only a handful of us left,” he lectured often, directing his words to the fifty-five-year-old nun who preferred to fondle rosary beads to embracing. “On no account should we hold back sentiment because any day now one of us could get killed or worse, become blood cattle.”

    The plump yet powerfully dense nun brought Poe a new waterproof pack with lots of pockets to store ammo. With a leather bandolier filled with shotgun shells crisscrossed around her shoulders and a heavy wooden cross dangling upon her chest, the Carmelite looked like a silver-haired bandit from Emiliano Zapata’s time. Her saintly countenance screamed purity and love, clashing most wretchedly with her soiled and blood-crusted uniform of eradication and death. Poe loved the nun with the dirty habit and a Tennessee twang but had always suspected that she wasn’t quite all there.

    “Shoot it in the heart, girl!” the nun instructed fiercely on Poe’s first raid. “Shoot the dang thing in its Godforsaken heart! Do it now for heaven sakes!” The memory left a bad taste in her mouth.

    Sometimes Sister Ann confused vampire killing with her beloved but dead religion. Instead of Holy Communion, the creepy crawlies left behind by the gray days received blessed bullets through the head and heart.

    Goss, a six-foot-seven black man with a pro wrestler’s body, handed Poe Black Belt Jones, Rally Round the Flag Boys, and a bootleg Pixies concert DVD - all rare gems. He knew how much she loved Gloria Hendry, Paul Newman, and especially the Pixies, which was one of her mother’s favorite bands along with the Clash and Sonic Youth.

    “Thanks, Goss,” she said as she patted his bulky jacket. “This is a h-hard-to-find Paul Newman! Four more and my Newman collection w-will be complete.”

    Goss taped a perfectly cut Boondocks strip from old Sunday funnies on Poe’s busy wall. The comic strip was growing on her. It served up history through the point of view of children with attitude. She didn’t particularly understand the dated political angle, but the jokes were hilarious anyway.

    “Hmpf! I told you what I think of that nonsense,” the nun said, gritting her teeth and fingering the cross hanging upon her chest.

    “Yeah, Sister, I heard you.” He carefully smoothed the taped ends to get the bubbles out. Goss was a tad fastidious. “I heard you say that it was nothing more than a racist piece of propaganda. But Poe needs to be infused with something other than the still prevalent white pop culture in these dark times - even if she is the last one of her kind. She’s got to feel some pride.”

    “Like Black Mama, White Mama or the other gems you’re so fond of bringing her? In case you haven’t noticed, she’s not black. She’s all kinds of other complicated things, God help us! Her mother was Japanese and Filipino and let’s see…her father was Scot-Irish and Mexican or something difficult like that.” She squinted at Poe whose long and deep diagonal facial scar turned white from the attention.

    “Exactly! That constitutes multiracial, and therefore she qualifies as an honorary sista!” he reasoned, looking at Poe who stood mutely as her friends tried to outdo each other. It wasn’t the first time the two clashed. The girl held up her hands and silently conveyed, “Don’t look at me!”

    “And really, if she gets captured up there, they might declare she’s not white enough to be cattle. Her black hair, dark eyes, and curious features, not exactly Caucasian and not altogether ethnic, might just get her in trouble. She might end up changing bedpans and wiping ass for dying vamp snacks and incinerating corpses like I did.”

    “At the risk of sounding like a cold-hearted bitch,” Sister Ann stated with much strain as she tried her hardest never to swear. “I’d rather Poe shove bodies in furnace chutes than be laid narcotized on a cot getting bled and molested by leeches.”

    “A nun, envoy of the most high, sound bitchy and cold-hearted? Never!” said Goss with a rancorous undertone. “I suppose you’re right. It would be better for Poe to be a custodian, but seeing that she’s light- skinned and pretty, barring the scars - sorry Poe - chances are they’ve already busted out a cot with her name Sharpied on the pillow. And if she’s ever unlucky enough to meet Trench, he’ll surely poke a hole through her head. He’ll spit blood into it to turn her into a vamp and add to his retinue of pretty people.”

    There were two ways of turning humans into vampires. The speedier method involved pouring vamp blood through a hole in the skull. The second was through repeated biting over several days.

    Sister waited for the flesh of her face to stop jiggling. So upset was the nun that her entire body shook. “Everyone’s up for grabs, as we all know,” Sister Ann said levelly when her composure returned. “According to my contacts, many farms have started milking their minority custodians as their white cattle die off. Even you, Goss, with your inky blackness aren’t safe.”

    “I’ve always thought I looked blue-black myself, Sister.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Poe hated these moments when the subtleties of race and language divided her friends.

    “Maybe these master vampires realize it’s not wise to have so many educated slaves running around. They might revolt,” continued Goss. “This is California after all. Home of the black bear, Mexicans, movie stars, plastic surgeons, the tired, the weary, the huddled masses. I’ll be the last to go then since my skin’s so inky. The Last Chance Ration. Isn’t that right, Sister?”

    Before Sister Ann could retort, the nun’s eyes bulged at the movie playing on Poe’s dented television. Poe, who didn’t notice the nun’s discomfort until Goss nudged her to attention, bolted toward the coffee table and madly searched for the remote.

    

    “Hijo de puta!” the girl cried when she bumped her head on a hanging punching bag, bringing on a prickly headache.

    The pile of DVDs, magazines, books, empty cans, and paper plates didn’t make the search any easier. Try as she might, the television wouldn’t turn off. The power button always got stuck. Her slim back shielding the screen couldn’t cover all of Tad Wanky’s endowments. The giant poster of a grinning open-shirt Jim Kelly directly behind the television seemed to be laughing at her mortification. She really shouldn’t have pinched the poster from the movie rental store next door, but she loved Kelly’s cotton candy hair so. Out of desperation, she resorted to yanking out the cord from the small generator.

    “And how do you defend that one, Goss?” Sister asked sarcastically. “I suppose that’s more pop culture she needs to be exposed to?”

    “Don’t look at me, Sis,” he said, waving the responsibility away. “She’s been watching that crap since she was eight - years before we ever found her.” He cleared his throat, “The girl says she enjoys the background music.”

    The two of them trained their accusing eyes on Poe, still guiltily clutching the remote control in her hand. At last they found something they could agree on.

    “The m-music,” Poe said lamely, avoiding their disapproving look and cringing at her own speech impediment that sometimes came and went whenever it suited itself. Boku no shiri ni kisu siro, she thought, conjuring up her knapsack of Japanese curse words and coming up with a lame ‘kiss my ass.’

    The nun was right about certain things, though. The dialogue and storylines were pretty weak, and the men looked nasty. But those were the best things about dirty flicks because they made Poe laugh by grossing her out. For a minute or two, she could forget that everyone she knew or loved was dead. And no, she would not give up her movies as easily as the confiscated video games Sister claimed would damage her eyes and wrists.

    Truth was Poe simply loved the Superflyish background music of certain films from the 1970s. Later, she got into repetitive techno beats from really bad 1980s and 1990s San Fernando Valley-produced videos. She popped them in while she trained and read, to occupy all the years of dead silence living underground. It wasn’t because she was sex addicted. On the contrary, the tapes never acted as a stimulant but were more like a boring commercial people watched because there wasn’t anything else on TV. In this case, she’d burned through all the movies worth watching.

    “Anyway, here’s some Tommy Dorsey and Count Basie for you as promised,” Sister Ann said as she handed Poe the CDs. They were from the nun’s private collection. “Consider them an early birthday present.”

    She would have listened to the emo and indie-rock bands her older brother Joseph used to like, but her friends would never take the time to sort through the mess in a cobwebbed record store to find her any. Even her mother’s late-1970s and early-1980s punk band favorites would have sufficed. Instead, Sister Ann and Goss tried to indoctrinate their own tastes upon her. She smiled and accepted them for she found that Louis, Billie, and Ella weren’t so bad. In fact, they had a knack for improving her mood when life was in the toilet.

    Not to be outdone, Goss excavated some Thelonius Monk and Coltrane from his jacket.

    “A pre-present before your birthday bash.”

    

    They had differing views on how to civilize the girl and an unspoken rivalry that kept Poe wary of choosing between the unbranded survivors left she personally knew of. The only parenting skill they had in common was to outfit Poe with guns and ammo.

    “Thanks for the goodies, Sister and Goss,” she said, perusing the CD covers capriciously.

    Sister Ann once told her that love was the most powerful amulet against life’s travails. In a sense, she was right. Poe got another chance at life because two people loved her enough to teach her guerilla tactics. Goss energized her with his zest to bring down the fanged powers-that-be. Sister Ann shared the dead aim secrets her family had passed down since the Civil War.

    Fending for herself in an eerily silent city since she was eight years old gave her a skewed view of the world. Poe knew that love meant squat next to fear, hunger, and hate. Her bunker contained thousands of pilfered videos and DVDs, many of which were about love. Love soothed and so did friends. But they weren’t enough.

    “How can I take Sister Ann’s advice when the woman of God stuffs three sawed-off double-barreled shotguns under her habit for a living? Preaching to me about love while staking hearts and decapitating vampire heads with a crazy smile on her face is too much,” she’d complain to the television when alone.

    Besides, love could not kill Kaleb Sainvire and Quillon Trench, leaders of the two most powerful vampire factions in the city. Fear and hate, however, would do the trick. Poe was banking on those emotions for the courage to shoot their dead hearts, if she could only force herself to swallow her phobia of leaving her bunker and infiltrate their well-fortified domain.

    

    Unlike Sister Ann and Goss, she had never caught even a glimpse of these two master vampires. No matter.

    “Trench has set up another blood bank on Sweatshop Alley,” Goss announced, taking off his jacket. “There’re about a dozen cattle, a handful of leeches, and two janitors - one of them’s my contact. Time to clean up the filth.”

    “What happened to your arm?” Poe asked, noticing for the first time his bandaged arm stained with blood. She’d never seen him injured in any way.

    “It’s nothing,” he shrugged. “Just some canvasser trying to mark my building. I blew his head off before he could decide that he liked the place. Getting back to Trench, his blood farm will be destroyed today so get your gear ready.”

    “Heard anything about Sainvire?” Poe asked quietly, a finger tracing her five-inch scar from forehead to mid-cheek. They only spoke of the master vampire living in the Central Library when they thought Poe was out of earshot.

    “Nothing at all,” Sister Ann answered.

    “We have to focus our energy on shutting down Trench’s newly sprouted farms. Right now,” Goss insisted.

    “But Sainvire’s more dangerous, w-we ought to-”

    “Not now,” Goss cut in. “Trench is priority one. He’s the one with LAPD cops working for him.”

    Trench had a thing about turning police officers and magazine-cover stick people into his personal blood brigade. The master vampire, an advocate of creating more vampires through old-fashioned hunt, bleed, and feed, was famous for thinking with his many appetites. Brawn and beauty were known to be his worst vices. At least he didn’t discriminate on that score. Anyone eye-catching, no matter the skin color, he would gladly add to his entourage. More than once he defied the Council’s decree of zero vampire creation.

    “Sorry, Goss. You said to question everything, and that’s what I’m doing.” Poe stood her ground, her stubborn streak igniting. Even her stutter seemed to have taken a hike. “We’ve been on Trench’s trail for almost nine months now. Only makes sense to take another angle to throw some slack off our operation. Trench is getting nervous. I mean, he’s planting random new farms around downtown to throw us off. Doesn’t it make sense that one of them could be a trap? Maybe it’s better to let things cool off and hound Sainvire for once.”

    “Always good to voice your opinion, Poe,” Sister Ann said, patting her back lightly, patronizingly. Briefly the nun met Goss’ eyes and an unspoken agreement was made between them. “But I agree with Goss. Quillon Trench is certainly more dangerous at this juncture than Sainvire.”

    “How can that be when Sainvire was the one who came up with cattle milking?” Poe insisted, the back of her throat starting to hurt.

    Kaleb Sainvire was the vampire who convinced the Council to ban the addition of new minions a few months after the confounding gray matter carried by the Pacific winds wreaked death and devastation, razing almost the entire human population on the spot. As they were now the majority, the vampire underground came out of hiding, rejoiced, and feasted indiscriminately on the human populace that survived the Gray Armageddon. Sainvire, however, reported to the Council that the few humans that survived weren’t enough to quench the hunger of the new vampire realm. So he developed the self-sustaining process of systematically “milking the cattle”.

    “You’ll have to settle for getting Sainvire next time,” Sister said rather politely.

    “Now’s not the time, Poe,” added Goss who sat cross-legged on the floor to be more level with the women.

    Poe nodded, swallowing hard. She hated it when they didn’t include her in the decision- making.

    “Don’t just hook your pepper spray on the side like that,” Sister loudly pointed out, shaking her head. “Really irresponsible,” the nun muttered. “How’re you going to detach it if a leech attacks you?”

    “I won’t be using pepper spray,” Poe muttered under her breath, shoving the spray in her pocket. Shooting would be too easy for leeches. In many ways they were worse than vampires. Humans who did the bidding of vampires, including bleeding cattle and storing blood during the day, deserved to be pistol whipped and castrated at the very least.

    “What was that you said?” Sister asked, cocking her head toward Poe.

    “Just saying you’re right as usual, Sister.” Poe forced a mirthless grin and concentrated on packing incendiary materials more carefully into her new pack. She could see nothing godly about the nun at that moment. A ruler-wielding school principal, yes, but Sister Ann was no sweet, old bride of Christ.

    Goss gave her a “be patient” squeeze on the shoulder, which lightened Poe’s mood ever so slightly, but she was still sore at them. Her extremely tall friend could always be counted on to douse water onto heated moments.

    “Now, Sister,” he began in a very eloquent TV commercial voice. “Remember that it will be Poe’s 22nd birthday a few hours from now.”

    “Hmph,” was Sister Ann’s only reply. The smile that transformed her heavily lined face belied her grumpy pretense.

    It had been nearly eight years since she had met Sister Ann and Goss who slowly coaxed her out of her safe underground world of cinematic fiction. Poe had already known how to read, write with both hands, view movies “borrowed” from the Black Yella Bruthas video store two buildings down, play video games, and forage for food during the day. Of course, she also knew a handful of Japanese, Spanish, and Tagalog words she had learned long ago from her irascible cousins who were probably all dead. And yes, she was good at hiding. Burrowing like an animal was how she survived without her parents all those years

    Goss and the Catholic nun introduced her to the life of vampire killing and cattle running. These activities gave her a smidgen of self-worth and fired up a palpable desire to seek revenge for all the years alone underground - with nothing but the replay of her parents’ and siblings’ deaths for company. The nun had to teach her to handle guns, distinguish between flashbang and fragmentation grenades, make bullets and bombs, and understand the evils of nudie films.

    Rounding off her education, Goss had brought some proper jujitsu, tae kwon do, jeet kune do and a dollop of other no-holds-barred martial arts DVDs to learn from. The training was hard going since her bunker had limited space from wall-to-wall stacks of movies, books, toys, dead chia pets, and magazines. Having had no sparring partners to practice difficult maneuvers with didn’t help either.

    Goss, who was a tree compared to Poe and most everyone for that matter, was of no use as a partner as he could just sit there like Kareem and kick out his long legs at her stunted ass. Fortunately she had a sharp mind, keen imagination, and was a quick learner. Her senses were quick and shooting skills honed, all from years of playing video games. If Sister Ann and Goss hadn’t come along when they did, Poe believed that she would have lost the ability to speak as well as the will to live.

   

    

     Her mind often revisited what happened the first hours when the world became a cesspool of vampires. Shortly after watching her brother and sister’s insides turn to mush outside the Museum of Neon Art atrium, puss oozing out of every orifice as they suffered morbid deaths, Poe had to endure her parents’ screams as they tried, futilely, to fend off a gang of starved, newly turned vampires. What a time to find out she was immune to the poison in the air.

    “Run, Julia, run!” her mother shouted while overzealous bloodsuckers tapped every artery.

    Hiding behind a deformed, glowing metal slab that had once been referred to as an acclaimed plug-it- in sculpture, Poe was far too small and unappetizing to be of interest to the sated undead as they tore her parents apart. Perhaps a lingering paroxysm of guilt kept them from making her into an after-dinner mint. She ran and kept on running while the unfortunate folks around her convulsed their last breaths.

    Theories abounded about what the Gray Armageddon could have been: The last world war. Germ warfare gone awry. Alien crafts unloading their septic tanks. Who knew? The point was, nobody cared anymore. The survivors of the poison were too busy trying to fight off anemia from their narrow cots while blood was sucked from their veins intravenously every three days.

    

    Eight was a bad age to be left alone, especially since the bogeyman from Grimm’s tales actually walked the streets at night. She was living where the wild things were. Rabid, terrified dogs creeping out of their hiding places during the daylight hours to forage for food kept her on pins and needles. She was old enough to know that rabies could kill.

    Downtown was mostly foreign to her, as she and her family had lived in the Sawtelle neighborhood of West Los Angeles, half an hour from downtown without traffic and ten minutes from the Santa Monica and Venice beaches that she could still vividly picture. The Central Library was the only downtown site she knew with GPS preciseness as her parents had made a point to take the family there every other Saturday.

    The whole family came downtown to attend a reception thrown for her mother, Beatrice, at the museum where her paintings were interspersed with neon lights depicting the seedy side of the city in a contemporary, loopy sort of way.

    “It’s the type of exhibit that is so ludicrous that it is bound to be a hit,” her grandpa George had said.

    Instead of having a fun night out, the gray clouds appeared and infected her brother Joe, her sister Sirena, and almost the entire population.

    The holdovers couldn’t have left downtown even if they wanted as a permanent traffic jam created by survivors trying to escape by foot and automobile made the roads impossible. All the drivers could do was honk their horns and await an excruciating death.

    It took her months to find a long-term refuge and feel a modicum of safety. In an obscure city preservation book she serendipitously read about a forgotten Cold War bunker under a nondescript three- story brick hotel in Little Tokyo. The isolation also brought on a not-so-unreasonable phobia of the outside world.

    “You look green,” she’d say to her reflection on a chipped mirror. “Time to sunbathe on the roof and get some groceries.”

    The Gray Armageddon killed off her family and friends, but vampires completed her imprisonment. Caged and isolated, she learned to hate Sainvire and Trench.

    Any information gleaned about the two came from the semi-lucid cattle they were able to rescue and from bitter custodians forced into post-apocalyptic slavery due to the hue of their skin, the size of their nose, and the shape of their eyes. A rift had opened between the two opposing heads of the city.

    “Trench fancies himself a connoisseur of flesh. He has a weakness for perfect-ten women, and you know he has a thing for pigs because of their penchant for hitting first and asking questions later. An ideal force for a fickle vampire,” a tall, curly-haired smuggler named Morales who smiled too much told Poe when she was sixteen.

    Goss and Sister had asked him and a fellow smuggler to bring Poe up to speed. He and Megan had both suffered as cattle. They were the lucky few who had escaped.

    “To find Trench, all you have to do is follow a trail of be-mustached vampires and emaciated looking waifs that looked like they A-Ha’d their way out of a fashion magazine,” added Megan, a startlingly luminescent smuggler with guarded eyes and red hair. She nearly gagged at the warm, fizzless root beer she’d been sipping.

    “Sainvire’s another matter,” said Morales, massaging his temple. It was a tough thing trying to explain the powerful vampire in simple words, but he did it anyway.

    “He’s cautious, logical, efficient. Our biggest danger. For the past ten years, the human holdouts were hunted and eventually herded into Union Station - you know the cool passenger train depot near Chinatown. The Vampire Council and titled undead divided the cattle and took them to buildings around the downtown area that were snatched up by master vampires. They’re fed, watered, encouraged to squeeze out babies, and of course, used intravenously to satisfy the hungry vampos.”

    With her face blanched of color, Megan added, “The more important undead were able to hook up their own straw attachments. They feed directly on human sushi to savor the warm blood without the chance of contamination.”

    “Sainvire was even nice enough to set up a vitamin regimen for human cattle with a large dose of iron tabs to stave off anemia. Other masters followed. If the rumors are spot on, he came up with liver and onion Thursdays, too. He’s a true saint,” Morales fumed.

    

    

    Always fascinated by the deft fluidity of her friend, she watched Goss check and re-check his Uzi, armalite, and cadre of “small” guns. Poe’s mother and father had many friends who used to frequent their house, but none ever looked like Goss. It wasn’t just his height and muscular body that set him apart. It was his sense of deep loss.

    “How many people could actually claim they found their soul mate?” Sister asked one day. Poe couldn’t even begin to explain what the term meant.

    The closest thing she could come up with was Westley’s relationship with Buttercup in The Princess Bride.

    Goss used to be an attorney and the director of the regional Gay and Lesbian Alliance before the world teetered to an end. He watched his partner of many years bleed to death to feed Trench’s brood. Under a stupor similar to being gagged and drugged, Daryl lived the rest of his short life like a zombie. Two tiny punctures in the neck were potent enough to turn victims into drooling cattle for a year.

    “Daryl died because some substance-addicted leech forgot to unplug the IV from his vein. He was literally sucked dry,” Sister had told Poe years ago. “Perhaps the trauma of seeing his life mate die drip-by- drip shook Goss out of complacency. He escaped by hiding out in a wheelbarrow for the dead with Daryl’s corpse piled up with others until they were all thrown into the body pit on the outskirts of town. Crawling out of a pile of vermin and rotting remains, Goss rose from the pit vowing to avenge the death of his only love.”

    Out on a rare daytime hunt, Poe was thrown to the street by Goss on their first meeting. She had no idea a human lived in the great emerald Eastern Columbia building in the old Broadway Theater District, let alone an ugly coarse-hair terrier that bit her ankle and a pathetic three-legged hound named Legs. Goss refused to leave home, an impressive art deco tower crowned by an enormous stopped clock, for a more secure hiding place.

    “Do you have an extra bottle of holy water, Poe?” Goss asked to lighten the awkwardness brought on by Tad Wanky and the subject of Sainvire.

    “It’s in the fridge.”

    Sister Ann insisted that they call the garlic and water concoction “holy water.” The term stuck. The nun never stopped trying to link God’s divine plan with the struggle against the new blood-letting order. It was no wonder that she sometimes suffered from mental episodes. Most garlic-related wounds proved to be fatal. The allicin in garlic reacted like plague to vampire flesh and prevented wound healing, causing eventual decay.

    Poe stuffed her new pack with bullets filled with garlic oil supplements, two sturdy stakes that she hardly ever used for their dangerous inefficiency, a jagged Rambo knife, holy water in Windex spray bottles, and freeze-dried food. She wore around her neck a slender cigarette-shaped silver whistle, keys, a beaded rosary Sister Ann had given her, talismans, and all sorts of mostly useless gadgets.

    Everyone knew crosses, Stars of David, fat Buddhas, and other emblems did nothing to vampires. Such protection was simply movie lore thought up by the superstitious. She wore them anyway just to please her friend. And it was the same with the stakes. Shooting vampire hearts with garlic marinated bullets was the short, uncomplicated version of staking the heart without getting too close. How could she go against the wishes of the good nun?

    Contrary to old beliefs, a truly dead vampire didn’t implode into dusty nothingness. Their bodies remained intact but decomposed at a faster rate than a human cadaver.

    “It takes about two days for the vamp to liquefy into sludge,” was one of the first things Goss had taught her. “Don’t get too freaked out if they are still looking at you after a kill. If the stares bother you, go ahead and chop off their heads.” Hence the meaty bone slicer in her pack.

    

    Poe stuffed extra bullets, clips, and dated candy bars in the side pockets of her dark green army cargo pants and kneeled to double-knot her Adidas sneakers.

    “You really ought to wean yourself out of that compulsion,” said Sister Ann, who watched Poe with a frown. “It could cost you your life.”

    “Yes, Sister,” the girl answered weakly. She swore under her breath, “Kuso baba.” Poe had always been paranoid about her shoelaces coming undone while in flight. It didn’t matter if the laces were double-knotted; she had to give them a tug to be sure.

    “Don’t think I don’t know you’re cursing me in one of your people’s languages, Poe,” the nun said with bite. As if talking to the air, Sister Ann added, “See that, God? The only thing she remembers about the language of her ancestors is filth.”

    Once her Walther PPK, aptly named James, and her 9mm Beretta, the only two guns she could handle easily, were safely tucked in her black shoulder holster, Poe’s escalating heartbeat slowed. Back in the days when humans ruled, Poe would have looked like a typical kid: black t-shirt, olive army pants, and long hair in a disordered ponytail. Instead of going to a Radiohead or Death Cab concert, however, Poe and her friends were about to embark on their weekly raids.

    While her companions re-checked their gear, Poe opened her battered Bad Batz Maru Velcro wallet and touched the picture of her parents and siblings to her lips. It was a nice shot of the family at the dinner table. Her two older siblings, Joe and Sirena, were making throw-up faces, Poe was grinning and missing two front teeth, and her mother and father were pretending to gobble down food like hogs. Poe inherited her mother’s semi-wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, arched eyebrows, and slim but sturdy frame. Her father’s nose, full lips, dimples, and light skin that browned easily completed her looks. Poe remembered them very well. With reluctance, she placed the wallet in two protective zip-lock bags and slipped it in her back pocket. She murmured her usual prayer for courage, “Please don’t let them get me.”

    

    

    Poe was lucky to be young enough not to remember downtown Los Angeles in all its glory. The silence and emptiness of the streets didn’t depress her as it did her two companions.

    Downtown was one big, looted disaster area, not at all like Sister Ann and Goss remembered it. The museums were the first to be ransacked by discerning undead, leaving nothing but the most puerile contemporary pieces for the slowpokes. The Jewelry District came a distant second. Free diamonds were nothing to scoff at, even in death. The staking of buildings came third. Many a vamp died a second death fighting over the Walt Disney Concert Hall, an undulating metallic symphony hall shaped like artichoke leaves.

    “Yuppies started buying loft housing along these streets.” Goss shook his head, keeping his voice down. “These rich clowns had buses re-routed to other streets, just so they could have extra street parking. And the poor bums. Baton-happy cops harassed them to fringes.”

    “It’s the lack of familiar smells that gets me,” Sister Ann changed the subject, her eyes glazed from remembrance. “I remember buying sliced mangos with lemon, salt, and chili along street corners. The old aroma of tamales, roasted buttered corn, and Italian sausage at the Grand Central Market destroyed my diet. Believe me, Poe, I was much heftier fourteen years ago.”

    “Daryl and I would shop the flower and fashion districts racking our brains over where to have lunch - Mexican food at Olvera Street, okonomiyaki in Little Tokyo, dim sum in Chinatown, or plain old smorgasbord at Clifton’s Cafeteria,” Goss said quietly.

    “Now it’s just a matter of w-which expired can of rusty tasting SpaghettiOs to open,” Poe said, feeling like she ought to contribute but could remember nothing much about downtown.

    The busy downtown of the past slowed to a stop, covering many of its buildings with tar to keep the sun out for their new tenants.

    “Here we are.” Goss looked up indicating the early-20th century three-story brick building that later housed a sweatshop for clothing sold at Wal-Mart. “Poe, you climb up the fire escape. Sister, you take the elevator, and I’ll take the stairs.” The two nodded. They knew the drill. Sometimes it was just too easy. “Watch out for leeches.”

    Poe hated leeches almost as much as bloodsuckers. In exchange for keeping their blood intact, these human traitors agreed to be watchdogs over cattle during daylight hours. They supervised the intravenous bloodletting for delivery, making sure the bottles were dated and refrigerated properly.

    As an extra perk, they could harass, rape, and torture any humans they wanted so long as they didn’t abuse the livestock too much and weaken their blood flow. They were also allowed to keep whatever loot they could find out on the street. These thugs were usually heavily armed, as they spent their days shooting at cans and vermin to keep from dying of boredom. As heavy drug users, leeches tended to be slow to react and easy to subdue. They glittered with the gold they’d pilfered off of skeletons and nearby loft units.

    According to Goss, who had scoped the brownstone building for a week, six leeches patrolled the blood farm. After climbing the last rung, Poe hid as best she could on the ledge and waited for the signal. Daytime raids were seldom in the favor of the one sneaking around, but it was either leeches during the daytime hours or vampires at night. She preferred to deal with her own kind.

    She peeked inside a broken window and adjusted her eyes to the dim room within. Rows of mostly empty cots lined the walls. About half-dozen gaunt souls with unhealthy greenish hue slumped vacuously on thread-worn chairs. They were indifferent to others laying on stained beds connected to dextrose hoses, transferring their blood into plastic containers. One corpulent leech was busy crumbling dried marijuana leaves onto a torn page from the Book of Mormon, letting his partner do all the work. Every single finger was chocked with obnoxious diamond-encrusted horseshoe rings.

    A particularly emaciated old man with a whoosh of thinning white hair sat pathetically on a bloodstained cot. He was having trouble inserting a needle in his vein, especially since a rock star-thin leech, high on glue, was screaming, “Old man, stick it in, or I will!”

    The outburst only made the poor man shake even more, puncturing bruised flesh and bone rather than mangled veins. From the looks of him, they hadn’t given him his yearly stupor bite. Maybe he was too old.

    Gritting her teeth hard, Poe protested under her breath, “The man should be sunning himself in Florida instead of giving his last blood reserve to seedy vampires.”

    She had a fondness for older people, after all. She had seen Cocoon when she was twelve and couldn’t look back. The blood cattle reminded her of her own sweet grandparents. To see the elderly in such dismal conditions made her furious.

    “Touch him and I’ll blow your head off,” Poe threatened in a whisper, screwing the silencer into the nozzle of her Walther PPK. She hadn’t salivated over killing a human quite like this before.

    A flick of the wrist brought out a four-inch Faka knife from her sleeve. She deftly placed the spine of the knife between her right thumb and index finger in a pinch grip and kept her wrist stiff.

    Poe thought of herself as disgustingly useless with lots of hang-ups and phobias but hardly any skills to boast of. However, there was one odd expertise she didn’t mind having. Whatever weapon she wielded seemed to find its mark.

    “Dang, child,” said Sister Ann, who had been greatly confounded during a weapon rundown eight years ago. “You’ve got yourself a dead aim, and my Tennessean tutelage had piddly to do with it. I’ve questioned God daily since we found you why he left such an innocent lamb in a den of fiends. Now I know he didn’t leave you entirely without a skill.”

    A scream reverberated from the floor below, momentarily obstructing the ranting of both the skinny leech with sparkling studs in his ears and the pathetic apologies of the old man. Chubby Toker paused, mid- lick of sealing his spliff. His white tongue and swampy teeth indicated that the man had given up brushing long ago.

    With a deep breath, Poe snapped her left wrist and simultaneously fired the gun with her right. The blade trekked on with force, burying itself in the fat leech’s neck while the bullet caught the emaciated leech in the temple. Before he even clutched his neck, the thin man toppled onto the whimpering cattle while his partner fell, face down, onto his crumbled loco weed.

    “Sometimes it’s hella great to be ambidextrous,” she said under her breath.

    Poe unsheathed a second gun and climbed in. She put the slim end of her gun to her lips, silencing the stunned human cattle as she ambled toward the door.

    “Fuck,” she muttered with annoyance. She hadn’t seen the third leech sleeping on one of the cots and clutching an open canister of rubber cement until the old cattle pointed at him with a shaky finger.

    Poe placed one of her guns on the floor and drew a six-inch jagged knife from her belt - the one she referred to as Rambo’s Own that was given to her by Sister Ann as a birthday present. Without flinching, she yanked the unconscious glue sniffer by his oily hair and sliced his neck from ear to ear until his gold chains slid one by one into the gaping crevice.

    In a hurry, Poe approached the portly toker clutching at his throat. She quickly pulled out her throwing knife from his neck. The thin wound oozed like lava flow, yet the man still lived. With a grunt, Poe wiped the small blade on his filthy shirt, placed an Adidas foot on the pothead’s throat, and put all her weight on it. The cracking sound disturbed her, but she waved the feeling away.

    “Fucking leech,” she muttered, picking up her gun and turning to the old man. “C-collect your things and get everyone downstairs.” She had a terrible compunction to kick herself for stuttering.

    Mayhem continued on the floor below. The sounds of scraping furniture and large objects thrown against the wall compelled Poe to hightail down the stairs to investigate.

    “Mom, please let Sister Ann and Goss be alright,” she prayed, gripping her weapons mercilessly.

    Sister Ann was down, her stained habit hiked up to the knees, exposing lightning feelers of blue and purple varicose veins. An enraged bruise quickly spread its red-blackness over her forehead. Her sawed- off shotguns lay ineffectual beside her on the floor.

    The sight of the indomitable and seemingly indestructible nun on the floor was a stab at Poe’s lungs which seemed to plunge to her stomach. Her organs took further nosedives when a halfdead massaging his knuckles spotted her from the other side of the room.

    Sister put up a hell of a fight.

    Before she could even raise her guns to the daywalker, something long and eel-like snaked up to snatch the guns from her hands. Fishy slime passed over her flesh. When Poe realized what the pink tentacle was, she nearly fainted, a first in her eight years of cattle rustling.

    The tongue tossed her weapon recklessly to the floor. She’d heard of certain vampires with peculiar abilities such as flying, crawling on walls, and superspeed, but never one who possessed a tongue like pulled taffy. Poe shuddered at the anomaly and wondered what other grotesqueness was in store for her.

    “Ah, a girl,” the creature said with a smile once he retracted his tongue. “I thought this nun was my boon for the day. Everyone’s itching to get their hands on pain-in-the-ass rustlers who’ve been stealing our cattle. Come here, lovely, so I can inspect that whopper scar of yours.”

    

    The redhead vampire had been turned in his forties. His earlobes proved to be more interesting than his bland face. Tattooed on each lobe in black ink was an iron cross. The oversized jersey he wore sported a Public Enemy logo in the center.

    Great, thought Poe. A neo-Nazi that listens to rap.

    Poe’s eyes flickered from the vampire’s eyes to his ear. The man nodded in understanding. “Oh, don’t worry about my tats. They’re just for effect. Fads borne out of boredom among day managers. And this city is so damn boring with everyone interesting drugged out of their fucking minds. Even rape has gone stale like the rotten breath of these cattle,” he said, indicating the two slumbering women in crusty PJs.

    Do not stutter. Not now. Please.

    “How do you do that thing with your tongue?”

    “Dunno. But my tongue’s become superdooper long after I turned. Cool, huh? Would’ve been cooler if my little man got the extender power, too. Shoulda seen this guy I met last year. His eyeball balloons and can actually lift him up to places. Almost as good as flying.”

    Poe repressed a shiver. “Nice sweatshirt you have there,” she said, carefully enunciating each syllable in her husky voice. She swallowed nervously when the man began to walk toward her. “My cousins liked old school hip-hop,” she lied.

    “So do I. There’s nothing better than Slick Rick, NWA, and Too Short.” He cracked a sweet smile once again and traced the scar on her face. Sheer will alone kept Poe from turning tail. “Too bad about this. You’re such a beauty, too.”

    “Yeah, it’s just too fucking cruel,” she concurred. In a blink, Poe snapped a knife from her left wrist and buried it into the vampire’s ear. His scream died in his throat when Poe took a step back and let him have two thunderous kicks in the groin. Before she could embed her other wrist knife into his heart, the poser-Nazi snaked his tongue to coil around Poe’s arm.

    The wet, sandpapery feel of raw muscle holding her arm hostage more than disgusted her, but she ignored it.

    “Ou soopid mutt itch,” he croaked, unable to speak ably with his tongue far removed from his mouth.

    “Uh hmm,” Poe nodded. “All that and worse.”

    Poe yanked the grip of flesh around her arm until the day vamp’s head wrenched forward. Angrily he pulled back and uncoiled his tongue for some slack. Reaching behind with her free hand, she extracted Rambo’s Own from her back sheath and sliced off his tongue in one stroke.

    She shrugged off a five-pound lump of tongue and threw it in his face. Black ooze poured from his mouth. His animated eyes flashed with a mix of fear and undiluted loathing as he backed away and tripped on Sister Ann’s shotguns. Desperate to end the ghastly moment, Poe picked up her weapons and shot the vampire in the head and heart. The garlic-oiled bullets destroyed his vampiric immune system. Nazi man died a very painful second death, which suited Poe just fine.

    “Sorry, Sister. I gotta find Goss,” she told the unconscious nun. Left with little choice, Poe sped downstairs in search of her friend.

    The blood farm was too quiet.

    “If they have another day vamp then we’re really screwed,” Poe muttered quietly.

    She found him taped flat upon the cot with his extensive legs dangling to the floor. The noise the bed made while he struggled against some very steadfast duct tape was loud enough to wake the sleeping vampires in the basement. Two leeches lay dead by the door, no doubt stabbed to death by her friend. Goss’ janitor informants blinked at her from the ground not far from where the murdered bodies lay. They were likewise duct taped around the wrist and ankles and gagged.

    “Quiet, Goss,” she said, peeling the tape from his mouth. “I’m here now.” With a few strokes of her blade, Goss sat up and unpeeled his bonds, wincing as his body hairs stuck to the tape. He gave Poe a powerful whack on the back and collected his weapons. He quickly freed the janitors who emptied bedpans, fed cattle, and cleaned up after tweaker leeches.

    “I’ll make it to your birthday yet,” he said, shaken at being caught and bound. “Where’s Sis?”

    “Upstairs. She’s unconscious but alive.”

    “What about the daywalker with the tongue?”

    “I killed him.”

    “Good on you, kid,” he grinned. “I’m very proud. Now we gotta take out the vamps downstairs then get Sister. Javier and Reuben, look in on Sister, will ya? And get all the kids up and ready to skedaddle from this hell hole.”

    Pull yourself together! Poe berated silently. She followed the yoga breathing exercises Sister Ann had taught her, breathing as deeply as she could, holding her breath, exhaling slowly through her teeth while they made their way to the basement.

    “You first, Poe,” Goss instructed after she put on her headlamp.

    Poe hated wearing it because in all of the vampire movies she had seen, no Dracula killers ever wore nerdy mining torches on their foreheads. Remember, they’re hard to wake up.

    As soon as Goss stretched his on, the two moved inside with weapons ready to fire. Three vampires were reposing on queen-size beds. Poe quickly claimed sleeping beauty, the closest to the door, by pointing the nozzle of her silencer to the woman’s chest and pulling the trigger. The undead’s longlashed eyes fluttered open in mute annoyance until true death descended.

    Goss passed by a corpse that was so hairy, he looked more like the Wolf Man. From his pack, he took out an axe that quickly descended on the hairball’s neck.

    “Hurry up so we can get out of here.” He took out the big flashlight slung in his belt and double-checked closets and niches. “Head’s up,” he said, tossing a six- inch stake at Poe.

    Poe spiked the heart of what would have been Sister Ann’s kill with a weapon the nun would have used.

    “I don’t have to recite the Lord’s Prayer, do I?” she asked, confounded. “Cause I’m stumped after ‘…who art in heaven…’”

    “Nope.” He hewed the head of Poe’s kill just in case. He smirked at the sound of head hitting the floor. “Just make sure to hack off my head if one of these bastards ever bites me.”

    The two doused the basement with holy water until the place stunk like garlic marinade.

    The execution took less than five minutes. Typical vampires needed considerable effort to waken during the day. It made killing them a cinch in the daytime. The partners made their way to the first floor and were greeted by a ragtag group of cattle in hospital gowns ready to follow a groggy Sister Ann who had taped up the mouths and hands of two very nervous leeches found hiding in the attic. Two custodians, one Latino and the other Thai, wearing matching blue overalls shook hands with Goss.

    “My hand’s still shaking, my friend,” said the man named Javier, who was only a few inches taller than Poe. “Ten years of this shit because I got Montezuma’s nose and dusky skin. I don’t know how to thank you all.”

    “There’s a halfdead missing,” Sister blurted out. “Javier here tells me you were all tied up by a female halfdead. Any ideas where she could be?”

    “No, Sister,” Reuben, a tall gaunt Thai American fellow with sad droopy eyes answered. “She must’ve snuck out, maybe to get reinforcements.”

    “Let’s get out of here pronto,” Sister said, breathing heavily and shooing the dazed cattle to the door. She was nauseous herself from the blow to her head.

    

    

    The nun had the urge to slap the unfortunate heaps of humanity until they gave a good enough imitation of a live person. Instead, Sister Ann took out a bag of protein bars and handed them to the nearest lucid cattle to distribute as she prodded them outside the building.

    “Jesus, save us,” Sister muttered when she spied a hugely pregnant cattle wearing a stained hospital gown. Her backside dotted with bedsores was exposed for all the world to see. The nun wiggled a voluminous slip from under her habit and stepped out of it. The slip used to be pristine white; now it was dirty-water gray. Quickly she put the slip over the pregnant woman’s head and secured it on top of her belly.

    “The rate these goons are going, future children will all be fathered by contaminated, hophead leeches,” commented Reuben. “And the kicker is every single Ritalin tab’s expired.”

    “That’s all we need, more trash slavers with ADHD,” said Goss.

    The trek to the edge of Main and 2nd Street by foot took longer than expected because some of the cattle could barely walk. Two semi-tranquilized leeches connected by rope to Goss’ muscular shoulders were sometimes tugged by force to keep them moving. The designated intersection was at the clearest street where a driver could actually maneuver through the zigzag of abandoned cars. They halted before a battered blue pickup truck, blocked by a heavily dented Harley and a shiny, completely out-of-place guacamole-green moped.

    “C’mon, get up there,” Goss said firmly but quietly. The buildings had eyes and the missing day vamp could have been following them. He assisted those who couldn’t lift themselves onto the truck bed.

    True to their name, the cattle filed in the back of the truck without resistance. Pitiful though they appeared, Poe couldn’t find it in her heart to ridicule them. They were snake-bit Gumbys for vampires to mold and bend at their choosing. Very few defied the venom by shaking off its effects within days to a few months instead of the usual year.

    The leeches that had once abused the cattle now had to suffer being sat on like benches by derrieres not completely shielded by hospital gowns. Deflated though the tires looked, they were able to chug along to the team’s satisfaction. Sister Ann hopped on her Harley that had been muted and took the lead, shotgun resting on the crook of her arm. Goss drove the truck and Poe followed in her Vespa, automatically switching on a movie in her head.

    “I don’t want a jackhammer between my legs,” Poe had complained to Sister, who was insistent she choose a proper Honda or Harley motorcycle.

    

    A Vespa, on the other hand, had footrests perfect for easy cruising. The green model she chose had a basket and plenty of storage space for snacks and weapons. Besides, the Vespa dampened her irrational fear of her shoelaces getting caught in the motorcycle spokes.

    With everlasting traffic blocking every which turn, the caravan took a while to reach 4th Street at the Los Angeles River. Poe insinuated herself into Cool Hand Luke, where Paul Newman was having an egg- eating contest. Poe pictured herself among the prisoners, banging on the table and screaming, “Go, Luke, go!!! Swallow them eggs!”

    Daydreaming was a dangerous habit to have in the cattle smuggling business, as Poe was well aware but often indulged in. “Grow eyes on the back of your head for the buildings have many spies,” warned Sister Ann.

    A voice in her head warned, Be vigilant. There are others. But as usual, she ignored the voice that often saved her hide.

    She failed to notice two black blurs that kept about 50 meters behind the slow procession. Poe could have easily spotted them had she not been lollygagging. After about an hour, midway across a Los Angeles River bridge linking downtown to East L.A., the caravan stopped. A beige carpool van backed up a few feet from the truck, and a heavily armed man and woman emerged.

    Sister Ann blessed both newcomers with the sign of the cross and kissed them, her left hand still holding the shotgun upright.

    “You cattle, get down now!” Goss ordered, effortlessly lifting the cattle nearest the rear. Poe turned off her Vespa and helped the disoriented, stiff-limbed humans down.

    “We could only bring one van today, but I see that won’t be a problem,” the built, bowlegged man by the name of Sam Morales laughed, amused at the amount of people crammed in the truck. As usual, his dark, perfectly barbered hair was gelled for a Saturday night excursion. He air-punched Goss, who was about seven inches taller than him, and he nodded at Poe, throwing her a smile that made her feel awkward. It was as if he knew she watched those kinds of movies. For ex-cattle, he was sure bursting with exuberance.

    Poe had never really had a conversation with Morales, not because he was a terrible guy; it was just that he looked way too nice to be a breather, and he knew it. Dressed like a realtor replete with polished Italian shoes, Morales looked like he was off to a business lunch and not a cattle pick-up. His suggestive smile and confusing flirtatiousness intimidated her. And truthfully, she didn’t want to appear the geek by stuttering a reply to his many questions. So she left the relationship with the dark charismatic man at a minimum, merely nodding and saying yes or no. Also, she had been warned by Goss and Sister Ann not to ask too many questions about cattle smuggling.

    “H-hiya, Meg,” Poe greeted with a smile. Her friend was quite plucky in a quiet, steady way. She loved the serious redhead with bulging triceps to death. She could always be relied upon to transfer refugees to safe havens all over the state.

    “Hey, Poe,” Megan said with a grin as she hugged Poe. She looked tall and lean in her jean overalls. “Did you get a chance to watch Freaks and Geeks yet?”

    “Yeah, funny stuff, but I forgot your DVDs.”

    “Don’t worry about it. I have three sets at home,” she winked, scratching her freckly nose. The woman tanned in freckles.

    

    Pico Rivera, a city southeast of downtown Los Angeles, was where Megan lived with five other smugglers. They turned the ramshackle and almost non-existent Pio Pico Mansion, the historic home of the first Mexican Governor of California, into a halfway house where rescued cattle stayed to recuperate for a few days. Afterwards they exported the breakouts to real country farms where they could shake off the vampires’ yearly bite and begin a new life in a closer-to-normal environment.

    Even Poe, Goss, and Sister Ann weren’t told where those communities were located. As cattle rustlers and sometime vampire hunters, their jobs weren’t exactly the safest. They risked capture, torture, and mauling by vampires, leeches, or wild dogs alike. And similarly, Sam and Megan remained blissfully ignorant of the three’s whereabouts downtown.

    When the human cattle were safely squeezed inside the van and the leeches flat on the floor as footstools, Megan took out a tiny box from her pocket and handed it to Poe.

    “Happy 22nd birthday tomorrow, Poe.”

    “You remembered,” Poe muttered, reddening. She opened the little box containing tiny peridot earrings. She thanked her friend with a hug, even though she wanted to throw the useless present on the ground and stomp on it.

    “Figured it’ll match your moped there,” she said, indicating the avocado Vespa with her bright eyes, barely refraining from laughing.

    Poe frowned, flinging her friend an affected smirk. “Now I’m dead certain that you’ll never get to p-pierce my ears in this lifetime.” The redhead had been on her case about poking holes in her virgin earlobes. That was one thing Poe was sure would never happen. She didn’t like unnecessary pain.

    

    “No one told me it was your birthday,” Morales complained, giving Megan a sharp look only intimate friends or lovers would engage in. “I suppose this sack of garlic will have to do until we meet again, Poe.”

    Poe’s light-hearted demeanor changed to serious again. She mustered a ‘thanks’ and stuffed the sack of stinking bulbs in her basket. She had always wondered if Megan and Sam had a relationship that was more than a professional one.

    “What, no hug?” Morales flung his arms wide, offended. For a grown man, he sure pouted quite often.

    Poe dropped her pack with a sigh and gave the pushy man a tepid pat-pat hug. Morales, having none of that, gave her a tight bear squeeze that lingered a little too long.

    “Our little smuggler is a woman now,” Morales declared, rubbing her back and adding, “And quite a woman she is, too.” The look he gave Poe made her ears burn and her nostrils flare as his eyes lingered on the scar that began on the left side of her forehead and crossed over to her right cheek. Brashly, his gaze dipped lower to her chest. All she could think of were those cheesy swinger flicks from the 1970s starring chest hair and gold chain guys like Bam Boozle and Ram Martini.

    Megan pried her friend from Morales’ grip, saying, “Do I have to douse you with ice water, Sam?”

    Poe so wanted to chew out the presumptuous Morales if only she could utter a stutter-free sentence, but Sister Ann interrupted.

    “A halfdead is missing from the farm.”

    Everyone quieted down.

    “I hope these sun-proof vamps aren’t growing in numbers,” Megan said, fingering the silver cross of the rosary the nun had given her, and she unconsciously rubbed it against the fang bite scar on her neck. “Last week, I was followed by one. If Morales hadn’t been there to shoot the bastard, the HQ would’ve been compromised.”

    “We have to discuss a different pickup route. We can never be sure who’s watching and who’s following.”

    At Goss’ words, everyone looked at each other. All operations would have to be suspended at least a month for precautions. A new route would need to be planned and debris cleared strategically. They would have to stealthily execute the plans with precision and without alerting enemy eyes. Poe couldn’t help but look over her shoulders and feel malevolent eyes staring back. She should’ve listened to that pesky voice in her head for just then a peroxide-haired day vamp and her reed thin companion emerged from behind an overturned truck.

    Poe reached for her Beretta, alerting the others. Sister Ann cocked her shotguns. Goss, Megan, and Morales unslung their semi-automatics.

    “I wouldn’t shoot us, if I were you,” said the blonde vamp with overkill makeup and earth mother hips. “None of your guns have silencers on them. One bango and poof, a whole buncha sun deads are gonna rain down your rickety van over there.”

    “I don’t think that’ll happen,” Goss said. Can’t you hear gunfire all over the city? Your leeches are bored, and they’re shooting up old skeletons.”

    “You have a point there, brother,” said the femvamp. “You’re too smart to go back to being a janitor. We’re just gonna have to drain you. I’m sure Trench and Sainvire won’t mind since you’re a threat to our way of life. Big guy like you ought to be enough for the two of us. We’ll even overlook your skin color since we haven’t had a human kill in years.”

    “Just you try, Elvira,” said Goss, gripping his semi tighter.

    “But getting back to the point, how do you know we didn’t bring reinforcements? “Because you two don’t exactly strike me as being very bright,” said Sister Ann.

    “I heard about you, nun. You’re a pest. And if you think Romeo and I are alone, then why don’t you take a shot at us right now?”

    Sister’s eyebrows furred. She couldn’t take the chance.

    “So this is how it’s done,” said the toothpick of a vampire before Sister Ann could reply. “These rustlers take ’em outta the city from this bridge.”

    “A black, a bean, a nun, a redhead, and a girl mutt. These are the people that’ve been stealing our livestock, Romeo,” commented the undead with wide hips. “How pathetic is that?”

    Romeo inched toward the van, opened the door, and looked over the cattle inside until he chose the pregnant one. He helped her down the van like an anorexic gentleman. “Very pathetic, Charlene.”

    “Leave her be,” said Sister Ann in her harshest Mother Superior voice.

    “You talkin’ to me, nun?” he said, shaking his head. “I could strangle you with your rosary, you know.”

    “Not before I scatter your skinny ass with my bullet,” said Goss.

    Romeo smiled before punching the pregnant woman in the stomach and jumping back as bullets flew around him. He and Charlene skipped from one stranded car to another like hopped up ballerinas, dodging bullets as they moved.

    Sister Ann helped the whining cattle off the ground and into the van. The woman had wet herself.

   

    “Morales, Megan,” Sister yelled over the din of gunfire as she slammed the van door closed. “Get these people out of here now!”

    Megan’s eyes widened with fear when the skinny dead brashly landed next to Goss from five cars away and smacked him on the head before disappearing in a blur. She didn’t want to be taken as cattle again so she dropped in the driver’s seat and started the engine.

    “Sister-” began Morales.

    “I don’t need your lip today. Do as I say!” She waited until the van drove off before turning back to deal with the Cirque du Freak vampires.

    Goss’ arm muscles bulged as he rained fire over the halfdeads who were obviously toying with them. Sister glanced at Poe. The girl’s sidearms were down to her side. She’d stopped firing altogether, her eyes carefully following Charlene’s every move. Inhaling deeply, Poe raised her Beretta and fired once. The haze that was Charlene slumped face down on the roof, writhing for a few seconds until her body stilled.

    Sister felt a chill through her body. She’d always thought the girl was an instinctive shooter, but hitting a vampire that was a mere blur with one bullet in the heart should have been impossible.

    “Charlene,” cried Romeo who watched his partner get killed three car roofs away. He looked at Poe, baring incisors that grew three inches in length. He leapt, easily dodging Goss’ indiscriminate fire. The giant’s clip was nearly empty. The cheeky vampire landed in front of Goss, yanked his semi-automatic from his hand so hard that the strap gave way. With a grunt, the vampire slugged Goss in the face until he slammed against Sister’s Harley.

    “Fuck!” Romeo screamed when Sister’s shotgun blast hit. His right shoulder hissed from the garlic burning its way into his flesh like acid. Pissed and high on undead adrenaline, he jumped into the air with the intention of squishing the nun like a spider.

    The downing of Poe’s colleagues happened faster than her eyes could register, but when she saw the vampire leap to crush Sister Ann, her nostrils flared and all concentration went to exterminating the dead once and for all. She fired twice, shattering the vampire’s head and puncturing his neck. Romeo fell square on Sister Ann. By the time Poe untangled the vampire from her, the nun was drenched in vampire sludge.

    “No communication for a month,” said Goss when he came to, his cheekbone and eye swollen already. “Don’t go to your homes. Hide in other buildings and basements, the ones where we hid canned goods and such. Do this for a month. Assume we’re tracked.”

    “We’ll celebrate your birthday on the fourth week Poe,” said Sister Ann.

    “We’ll bring weevil-free cake mix and we’ll have a party.”

    “Promise?” asked Poe, dreading being alone downtown for four weeks.

    “We promise,” said Sister, embracing Poe voluntarily for once. “God bless you, child.”

    

    

    

    SHE SPENT HER BIRTHDAY by herself, eating a can of sweet yams in a shed in Chinatown. All night she craved something salty because of the sickeningly sweet canned root that smelled of rust. Worse, it gave her terrible gas.

    “No more yams for me,” she vowed.

    During the day, Poe foraged for water. The thought of undead eyes following her every move ate at her, cutting her outings short. These were the times she ignored her preference for non-animal food, gulping down expired Spam, rancid corned beef, and slimy Vienna sausages from cans placed by Sister Ann and Goss in various hiding holes. She sorely missed the safe, cool bunker containing her favorite movies. It was like reliving the nightmare of being homeless the first few weeks of the Gray Armageddon.

    The darkness of the streets was the worst for it made her hideaway more tomb-like. Streetlights, their bulbs long expired, were only towering relics of days long passed. Otherwise, the moon, flaming metal rubbish drums, and flashlights were the only light sources at night. The city truly became dead after sunset.

    Not once during the weeks under metal slabs, inside janitorial closets, and semi-buried below the earth did Poe avoid hearing the garbled, gleeful sounds of vampires hunting four-legged beasts.

    “Look how low we’ve been reduced to,” the bitterest of two voices complained from below a dark attic hideout where Poe could clearly see through the uneven floor slabs. “Man, we’re the top of the food chain, but we hunt dogs and vermin for something warm to munch.”

    “That dickhead Sainvire and his farms! He can just shove his microwaved plasma up his ass!” his friend exclaimed, kicking a malnourished dog that barely yelped. The shorter, rounder vampire picked up the medium-sized beagle-spaniel mix and began plucking its neck fur. Once a clearing was formed, he sank his lengthened fangs into the dog’s neck. He handed it to his disgruntled friend after a couple of sips to drain what was left of the blood.

    “The hell with cold, bottled blood! I want to hunt and kill people again!”

    Many wished for the good old days when vampires hunted for their supper. The vampire life had once been romantic and noble. Being on the blood dole sucked, and they were extremely bored of it.

    “Too much Anne Rice would have every undead thinking leather and lace, Goth sex, and the titillations of drinking blood,” Goss had said some time ago. “These vamps are missing out on their lusty New Orleans heritage. If they only knew that their favorite author became a born again Christian. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you.”

    A nervous old dog followed by two cats and a rat slinked up to Poe’s half-buried hiding place. In normal circumstances, these beasts would’ve acted like the cartoon characters of old: Tom the cat, Jerry the mouse, and Spike the dog. Under vampire rule, however, the lesser beings bonded together in an alliance of convenience, companionship, and protection - or perish. On some nights Poe needed them as much as they needed her. Oily fur, fleas, and the bubonic plague didn’t even occur to her as she snuggled wearily against the trembling animals that were worse off. At least she was only homeless for a few weeks while street critters fended for themselves in the wilds of downtown Los Angeles all their brief, terrified lives.

    When the days were up, Poe bounded back into the old three-story brick hotel in Little Tokyo surrounded by the stench of garlic bulbs planted almost in every garden, pot, and planter around the block. She thanked the Great Ali for keeping her neck fang free and her cranium intact. Poe entered the hotel with relief after careful inspection of an undisturbed single strand of her hair strategically taped on the door. The descent to the basement where the latch to the bunker was hidden was not as terror-free as she had imagined, however. Every creak and shadow from her flashlight evoked an image of old Nosferatu.

    These were the times when her mantra needed to be uttered. “I am Bruce Lee’s daughter, Muhammad Ali’s niece, and Xena’s clone. I fear no one!”

    Chanting, she let herself down to her cozy bunker. Now it seemed like a prison. Her favorite films no longer held her interest. As for her jeet kune do workouts, she almost always had to force herself to strengthen the calluses on her shins and knuckles just to please Goss. The kicks and hits she bombarded the punching bag with no longer felt solid.

    Thai kicks were considered the most lethal in the world. Even Bruce Lee incorporated them into his own martial arts style, jeet kune do. The video she often watched for guidance showed kickboxers hitting metal tubes and concrete posts as if they were mere foam.

    

    Poe could never follow through correctly because most everything she did was half-assed. It didn’t matter.

    Yet deep down lingered the knowledge that JKD mingled with Thai boxing and other fighting styles would be no match against immortal vampires that could lift her Vespa with one finger while drinking a bucket of human blood.

    Six weeks after the cattle drop, she still hadn’t heard from her partners. She knew something was wrong. If they had been captured, or worse, killed, then it was up to her to either free or bury them.

    “Get your butt off this futon, dummy!” Poe yelled in frustration, punching a pillow. The outburst was supposed to be an order and a challenge, not another excuse between bathroom breaks. The thought of losing her family of nearly eight years made her want to vomit.

    “Let them be alive,” she prayed to no particular god as she put on her lucky Pixies t-shirt.

    

    

    The lukewarm feel of late-November rain against her pale, scarred face nearly drove Poe back into the sanctuary of her underground home. The last time she was above ground, everything was warm to the touch. Now the world was saturated. Even the patented California sun was gone, leaving the city in a dampened gloom. The rats scuttling away from the overflowing sewer onto the cracked asphalt streets gave her a sense of foreboding. The day was too gray, reminding her too much of a grisly time. But she had to go to Goss’ home on Broadway as she did not know Sister Ann’s permanent safe house. Her tall friend was the only one privy to the nun’s convent of one.

    

    Poe took comfort in imagining Sister Ann living in a downtown church, scared to death of the life-size statues of bleeding saints and wide-eyed angels that resented her.

    “And that’s for still considering me unworthy of your secret even after eight years of friendship,” she fumed. “I hope the statues march around like they did in Exorcist 3.”

    She walked a couple of blocks to the Japanese American National Museum and retrieved her Vespa. The old building was a safe place to stash her moped. Even the baddest vampires around couldn’t abide the depressing pictures of Japanese Americans interned in Tule Lake, Manzanar, and out-of-state camps during World War II. They generally left the place alone. The Hotel New Otani in Little Tokyo was another matter. High-class undead repeat-debutantes and movie stars were known to frequent the posh hotel at night. Poe swore that she spotted the Governator late one night snogging Paris Hilton, both looking like well preserved pickles.

    Vampires who enjoyed something more gritty and banal could be found in the outer blocks of downtown. Gambling, live and illegal suckage, and whatever naughtiness anyone wished for were located in one of the many warehouses in the industrial zone. The decaying distribution centers were purported to attract the darkest denizens of the city. Even the master vampires and ancient undead gave the outskirts a wide berth.

    “Under no circumstances will you go anywhere near the warehouses,” Goss admonished one day when Poe attempted to take a shortcut home but got lost in the maze of oppressive concrete-block buildings.

    

    “Heed his words, Poe,” Sister seconded. “At least in the city there are still some rules left standing, however corrupt they are.”

    Quillon Trench lived in the Los Angeles City Hall with his LAPD sycophants, but ran a nightclub for creatures of the night at the famed tubular glass towers of the Bonaventure Hotel. Kaleb Sainvire, known for his quieter tastes, inhabited the Los Angeles Central Library and used the beaux arts Biltmore Hotel as his official business space at night. Poe smiled grimly at the thought of these vampires having such high times at the expense of human misery.

    “I’ll blow up your glass showcase someday,” Poe vowed.

    Because it was a habit she hadn’t yet licked, Poe berated herself, This compulsive behavior has really gotta stop! She bent down anyway to inspect her shoelaces once more. Her self-reprimands went nowhere.

    Only when she was satisfied that they were double-knotted did Poe hop on her Vespa. She placed an Uzi in the basket, adjusted her two guns of choice in her shoulder holster, rearranged her backpack over her trench coat, and pulled the hood more securely about her face. She turned the key, and the engine sparked to life at once. Good ol’ reliable Vespa.

    The darkening sky quickened the beat of her heart. Just to satisfy her many compulsions, Poe checked her watch. It was a little after one. She should have left earlier, but she took hours to psyche herself up to leave the bunker and get her ride. The cloudy skies made her nervous.

    The thought of Goss’ friendly three-legged hound named Legs gave her a warm feeling. Instantly it vanished because Legs’ face was replaced by an image of Penny, Goss’ other dog, a ratty-looking terrier mix with the coarsest dirty-white hair there ever was.

    “I wouldn’t mind seeing that little rodent drained of blood,” she sniffed. “I still have a loud scar on my ankle from her bite eight years ago.”

    So deep was her animosity toward Penny that Poe soon forgot her fear of the outdoors. Her little Vespa, easily maneuverable through the blocked streets despite the partial floods, fractured asphalt, and massive weeds, delivered her to the Eastern Columbia building in no time. The rabid street dogs milling about the intersection scampered to the shadows. They did not like the buzz of the engine.

    Poe parked her bike round the corner from the building. She put the key, strung on an extra long shoelace, back around her neck. She could put her idol, Mr. T, to shame with the array of necklaces she wore. She pulled out an ancient breath mint from a pillbox around her neck and popped it in her mouth. As a force of habit, Poe kissed the rosary cross Sister Ann had given her for luck even though it didn’t do squat to vamps.

    She clamped a hand over her mouth.

    She saw her startling reflection on the window of Goss’ tower and instead of a vampire killer, Poe looked more like a vampire chump. The bulky pack on her back gave her a Quasimodo bulge, and her wet and scarred face made her look depraved. She held the small Uzi at the ready and hurried into the green deco building.

    Goss was as paranoid as Poe when it came to home safety. A year earlier, he had booby-trapped thirteen flights of stairs and rigged all but one elevator to be permanently disabled. In order to get it to open at the bottom floor, a code had to be entered correctly.

    

    “You’re a hundred times more paranoid than me, Goss,” she accused.

    If incorrect numbers were punched, the elevator would open and deposit the invaders onto the thirteenth floor where Goss would be waiting for them, or climb back down the emergency staircase, booby-trapped with exploding holy water and shrapnel. Only the three knew which steps to avoid down the thirteen flights. Poe had suffered dozens of nightmares about forgetting which stairs to dodge in the dark.

    She stood in the lobby and entered the over-the- top sixteen-digit access code. The asthmatic wheeze of an old descending elevator filled the silence. Just in case, her finger touched the hammer of the Uzi. Her ears stood at attention and burned with fever.

    “No fucking gits, please,” she prayed.

    Her prayers were answered as the doors opened to an empty elevator car. She stepped in and blew out a shaky breath. Goss lived at the floor where the giant clock was perched. The elevator rose and opened to an almost cylindrical room tastefully decorated in a Danish Modern motif, where a sprinkling of pilfered Diebenkorn and Picasso paintings hung on the walls. She had helped him pick out the Diebenkorn at the MOCA museum. Apparently none of the vampire looters thought much of such a plain painting. The strange feeling of nostalgia was so acute that Poe clutched the rosary around her neck with a ferocious grip.

    “Mess with my friends and I’ll kill you slowly,” she threatened the elevator.

    Instant relief washed through Poe as she spied the dozing head of her friend, his giant feet draped over the couch arm. She was going to give him the biggest kiss ever. Then Poe realized that Penny and Legs were nowhere to be seen. They may have been a raggedy couple of canines, but they were excellent guard dogs. Their barking and snarling usually alerted Goss to the elevator’s every movement.

    The Uzi shook in her hands, but she prayed to her patron saints, Bruce, Ali, and Xena, for courage.

    “G-G-Goss,” she called, butchering his name in stutterspeak. She cleared her throat and tried again, at the same time sweeping the room with her eyes. “Goss. The boys are w-waiting downstairs. You’ll never believe how big and muscular they’ve become. They, um, only eat chocolate steroids these days.”

    Her friend didn’t even stir. “They brought the flame throwers and bazookas.” She walked closer to the couch where her friend looked to be asleep. At least, she prayed that he was sleeping.

    “They’ll be up here any-”

    She gagged. Her friend’s face was ashen. His left arm hung lifeless to the floor. Blood trickled from the needle in his arm onto an overflowing makeshift container. A ballooning stain on the vanilla rug gave Poe pause. An unconscious Sister Ann lay where the coffee table used to be. Her mouth was open as if she couldn’t gulp in enough oxygen. Her habit was tainted with splotches of blood. Legs was dead, his head twisted in a strange angle. Penny, the dog she had cursed, was the only one of the group to acknowledge her with terrified eyes. She had two broken legs, and blood trickled from her mouth. The attackers had cut off her tongue.

    Even before “Jesus!” came out of Poe’s mouth, an undernourished halfdead with Gatorade strength fell from the ceiling, landing feet first between her unconscious friends. The ceiling dweller hissed, showing a mouthful of missing teeth but for two yellow fangs. From the kitchen area came two gold encrusted leeches carrying machetes and guns. Another emerged from behind the powder blue curtains.

    “Don’t even think about it, little chick. You’re outnumbered,” the scrawny, pockmarked halfhead with a tan warned. Who ever said vampires were attractive? “If your big friend here and his Chilly Willy chum couldn’t take care of us, what makes you think you or your imaginary m-m-muscled boys can?”

    Poe looked down at the two friends she considered family, and for some reason she did not care anymore. If she died, big whoop. There was nothing left for her. Then the inimitable voice in her head said, Snap out of it! and the self-pity ended there. If she was going to croak that day, she was going the JKD way and take out as many as she could. She would not be made into cattle or a stinking vampire. Hell would freeze over before she lay bloodless and dead on the floor next to her friends.

    She nodded, trying to look scared which wasn’t hard. “W-what do you w-want me to do?”

    The leader smiled, pleased by her quick acquiescence. “That’s a good girl. Just drop your gun, and you’ll be treated like candy.”

    “I’ll do whatever you say. Just d-don’t hurt me,” Poe said in her most childish voice, which came out as a croak since her voice was quite deep for a girl.

    “Can’t wait to re-slice that caterpillar of a scar,” said one of the stoner leeches, but the tanned halfdead quickly silenced him.

    “You’re not slicing anything, leech. You, girl, put your weapons down on the floor,” he ordered. “Slow like a snail.”

    “Y-yes. Please don’t shoot me.”

    “You’re the freshest dish anyone’s come across in years. No one’s gonna do no shooting, girl,” said the halfdead gallantly.

    

    Poe lowered the strap of the Uzi, as if to lay the weapon on the ground. With a whip of a hand, the Uzi snapped into her palm, spraying a round of bullets. The halfdead was showered first, his chest and head eviscerated. The leeches, not at all slow to react, dashed behind the marble columns and shot at her from every direction. Poe, invigorated by fear, adrenaline, and hate, dove to the ground, making sure not to step on Sister Ann and the dogs.

    Peeking from the floor, she spied an ankle and fired. A body fell clutching at his splintered anklebone. Poe finished him off before he ruined her eardrums. Two left. Her Uzi locked, refusing to fire. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, not now! She took out her Walther PPK and Beretta, cursing the wretchedly unreliable Uzi. She sat up, careful to keep her head low. A squeak of pain nearly caused her to jump and be a human target for leech heshers. She had accidentally stepped on Penny’s injured foot.

    “Sorry,” she whispered apologetically to the suffering dog.

    Poe touched Penny’s neck with the tip of her smoking Beretta and vowed, “If I get out of here alive, I promise I’ll take you with me.”

    “You’re done for, assholes!” she declared. She lunged and ran at the two leeches, guns blazing. With her right hand she shot leech one dead center in the forehead. With her left, leech two got it in the heart and eye.

    Like a crazed hyena, Poe ran around the suite, checking out the ceiling, bathroom, columns and nooks. Only when she was sure that the home was secure did she re-sheath her guns and put a new clip in the Uzi. To make sure, she looked under the king-size bed. Instead of vampires, she found a gift-wrapped box with her name written on it. The sight almost undid her. Shaking, she brought the box to the living room and placed it beside Goss.

    Poe pulled off Goss’ intravenous drip that was pumping hardly more than air, and she checked for a pulse. Her most brave and tender friend was dead. She turned her attention to the nun, who lay unmoving on the floor. On her arm were days of needle marks. She, like Goss, was lifeless. Not since her parents’ and siblings’ deaths did she feel this awful, so awful that she wanted to puke her entrails out. She was alone. Again.

    Sister Ann and Goss, her second family, had taught her how to fight back in this horrific city overrun by thugs and bloodsuckers. They treated her like kin. Poe had the urge to shoot herself. If she had left the safety of her bunker days earlier, she could have done something to help her friends.

    “Fuck me and my goddamned phobias!” Poe cried, smacking her forehead with her palm several times. She wiped an errant tear. She didn’t even deserve the comfort of a good cry.

    Poe stroked Sister Ann’s icy neck. Unlike Goss, she had not been bitten. Sister once said that no creature of the dark would dare bite a nun. She turned Goss’ head and found marks.

    “Jesus Christ!” she cried in frustration.

    It was then that Sister Ann blinked open, a hoarse sound emitting from her throat.

    “Holy God,” said Poe, pulling out a bottle from her pack and pouring some water into Sister’s open mouth.

    “Do not,” began Sister, coughing. “Do not use the Lord’s name in vain, Julia Poe,” she said tiredly.

    “Sorry, Sister. Are you alright?”

    Sister shifted her position and attempted to sit up. Poe helped her. “I feel like hell. Go slice some lemons.

     They’re in Goss’ cupboard.” She stared at the discolored face of Goss.

    “They’ll be back soon,” said Sister Ann when Poe came back with four sliced lemons. “Better cut off Goss’ head. He’d a wanted it that way.”

    “But there’s no hole in his head.”

    “Doesn’t matter. They’d bitten him several times. I’d do it, but I’m weak.”

    Remembering the pact with her friend, Poe swallowed her disgust and shot Goss in the heart with a holy water bullet.

    “Sorry, doggy,” she apologized to Penny’s tongueless whimper as she pulled out a battery- operated meat carver from her pack. With numb efficiency, she cut off the head of her friend. She flung the bespattered carver once the deed was done. Lifting the heavy bloodless head of Goss put a permanent frost in her heart. She placed the head in a pillowcase and covered his body with a sheet.

    “I’m so sorry, Sister, for being a coward,” Poe said as she dropped Goss’ head down the garbage chute. “Sorry, Goss. I let you down after all you’ve done for me. I’ll be brave from now on and kill as many of them as I can.” She listened to his head banging against dirty metal as it made its way down the shaft.

    “Don’t take it so hard, child,” said Sister Ann, gulping down the rest of the water. “Goss knew it would end bloody.”

    Poe sniffed, crouching over Penny. “Hold on for a while longer,” she said to the dog with wiry hair. “I’ll get you out of here, I promise!”

    Poe could do nothing about the dog’s tongue. All she could hope for was that the bloody wound would coagulate on its own. She wrapped the shaking dog in her trench coat and stuffed her in the pack, scruffy head sticking out.

    Sister got unsteadily to her feet and held to the arm of the couch. “Better scoot. They’re bound to check on their friends. They know you’re here by now.”

    Because she didn’t deserve a present from a friend whom she had betrayed, Poe left the unopened box on Goss’ stomach. She doused the body with holy water and sprinkled the rest all over Legs. Penny whimpered, tightly bound inside the pack.

    “Sorry about being mean to you before, doggie,” Poe apologized, feeling awful for the injured scruffy dog. The dog whimpered again in response, turning her head toward the elevator, almost as if in warning. Eyes widening, Poe dashed to the elevator, placing her palm on the cool metal surface. Sure enough, she felt a vibration.

    “Oh shit,” she groaned.

    “Give me a gun,” said Sister Ann. She deftly caught the.22 Poe tossed her way.

    “You’re not fit, Sister. Get by the staircase and let me handle this.” Before the nun could protest, Poe shook her head. “Don’t fight me now, Sis. I need you safe. I can’t be alone again.”

    Reluctantly the nun struggled to the emergency exit to the west side of the pad. She was dizzy and shaken from her ordeal. “I’ll watch you from here.”

    Slinging the pack over her shoulders, Poe pointed her Uzi at the elevator and prayed that the gun wouldn’t jam. Her left hand slid down to the Velcro pockets of her green army pants. She had at least three rounds per handgun in each pocket.

    “Nice work leaving the incendiaries underground,” she chided herself. Realistically, explosives would most likely have left everyone permanently dead, including herself in such a confined space as Goss’. Her eyes quickly darted down to her shoes. Just fine. She was ready.

    Hate and guilt overpowered her fear, and when the elevator door opened, she let the eight halfdeads and leeches have it. Shrieks and cursing accompanied the sound of her bullets ricocheting, hitting steel and flesh alike. She didn’t know the body count because the bullet-ridden elevator door closed again. Not waiting for their return, Poe said a quick goodbye to Goss and the loyal dog, Legs.

    “I’m sorry about this. If I had just left sooner…” She stopped to pick up an old picture I.D. of Goss on the floor and sped down the emergency staircase, which Sister swung open for her. She was flabbergasted to read that Goss’ real name was Fred Beaver.

    “A dorky name,” Poe said to no one in particular. “I’d change my name, too.”

    “Who’s a dork?”

    “Goss’ name, Sister. Very funny sounding.”

    “Can’t help that. In any case, you’ve done fine, Poe. You’ve done me proud,” said Sister Ann, accepting Poe’s arm as they made their way down the stairs. She patted the stake in her pocket she’d found at Goss’.

    “Shoot! This whole booby trap thing is confusing!”

    “Just remember not to step on the first, third, sixth, and eleventh steps between landings,” warned Sister.

    The trek down was difficult since they were on the thirteenth floor, and the one energy saving light bulb per floor made the journey dark and perilous. One false step and she and Penny were goners. She had to rescue Penny and Sister so she could redeem herself in Goss’ estimation.

    An explosion two flights above let her know that vampires and leeches were in pursuit. Soon after, a halfdead or leech tripped a booby trap a few floors beneath. The enemy was above and below them. The feeling of panic burgeoned, getting more pregnant by the second.

    “I’m going to be sick,” she said to the nun, swallowing a heave. “I try to only battle sleeping vampires.”

    “You did a damn fine job a few weeks back,” muttered Sister, breathing erratically. Twice she’d paused to vomit and steady herself. “Not to mention today.”

    The darkness, smoke, and explosions were making it horribly difficult for Poe to concentrate on counting the stairs accurately, let alone practice her breathing exercises while swallowing bile. Twice they had to retrace their steps to start the count all over again. She was almost hyperventilating from sheer terror.

    Penny stopped squirming inside her pack. “Please don’t be dead.”

    She prayed to whoever was listening to keep the little dog alive and Sister conscious. It was vital to have friends during trying times.

    “I need a reason to stay alive,” Poe gritted under her breath. “Watching all the movies ever made and killing vampires doesn’t cut it.”

    On the eleventh floor, a raging halfdead missing a nose nearly sliced Poe open with a twenty-inch machete. She wouldn’t have seen him had his blade not reflected the weak glow of the light bulb.

    “Watch out!” cried Sister Ann as she slipped on the landing.

    

    Poe hung left to avoid the menacing steel as Sister Ann let a torrent of bullets hit the creature. If he wasn’t dead yet, the trip-switch his body fell on did the job, exploding a round of puncturing nails and broken glass.

    “No!” Poe shrieked as an errant nail lodged into her left thigh, causing her to almost fall back onto the rigged stairs. She waited for the ringing in her ears to stop then dug out the rusty four-inch nail and shoved it in the left eye of a dwarf vampire that abruptly appeared from between the stairwell grates. “What’s this? A Fellini hallucination?”

    The little creature covered his eyes and shrieked, “Fuck you!” to Poe over and over. Poe had the urge to give Sister Ann a hug for the nun had insisted that she forget her needle phobia and get rabies and tetanus shots, all good for ten years.

    Sister Ann plugged the dwarf with her remaining bullets to shut him up. “I need more bullets, Poe.”

    With shaking hands, Poe handed the nun a Ziploc full of.22 bullets.

    “What the heck do we do now?” Poe asked, lightly smacking her ears to get the ringing to go away.

    “Let’s hope that’s the last of the little people.”

    “Crap. I forgot the count.”

    Either the explosion or the pain in her leg distracted her enough to forget the stair count. It was too dark to count the steps up and the steps down below. She gripped her Uzi, briefly thinking about strategy, when Penny’s whimper prodded her to keep going. The dog was still alive! The little mite was encouraging them.

    “Hold on, little Penny. I’m gonna get us out of here real soon. Sister, do you think you can slide down the handrail without toppling over?”

    “No. But we don’t have a choice now, do we?” The nun looked spectral in her bloody wimple and habit in the tiny light of the staircase.

    “I’ll go first so I can stop you from falling over.”

    “With my bulk? It’ll take a miracle.” She straddled the railing after Poe and slowly, shakily, made her way down the next level. Poe slid down until the end of the curve and the beginning of a new flight of stairs was distinguishable by feel. She jumped down at the landing and caught Sister Ann. Once again, they started the count.

    Nothing untoward happened, only an occasional explosion above the stairs brought on by trip wires to unsuspecting vampire minions, until they hit the eighth floor. There a vampire actually flew at her, catching her by the throat, nearly dragging her to the wired eleventh step. She blasted the flying vermin in the leg, but the injury to the enemy only fueled wrath. Sister, fighting dizziness, couldn’t take a shot.

    “Kid, don’t you know the golden rule?” the vampire with a unibrow asked.

    “No, Frida,” Poe managed to squeak out. “I guess I don’t.”

    “You can’t just go around shooting vampires.” The vampire backhanded her with such force that she ended up flat on her butt with a resonant thud on the seventh floor landing. Unlike the moderate body temperature of halfdeads, this vampire’s hand was cold to say the least. She tasted warm metallic blood on her lips and ran an investigative tongue over her teeth. Complete and cavity-free teeth were very important to Poe.

    “Ouch, that hurt,” she said to the dog who kept silent. Only when the vampire’s dark high heel shoes floated next to her forehead did Poe realize that the Bert creature was a woman. Frida Kahlo’s eyebrows looked tame in comparison to Berta’s caterpillar brow.

    Woman or not, Poe shot her private parts, heart, and head from the ground, showering herself with vampire fluids and hot shells. She knew she would be extremely bruised and sore the next day - if she survived that long. A sickening thought came to her. Why would a full-blooded vampire come out this early in the day? Without wanting, but knowing she had no choice, Poe pressed the chrono light button on her limited edition Iron Giant watch. It was 4:49pm.

    “Jesus, where did the time go? Is it Double- Daylight Savings Time?” she asked the dog while wiping gut from her person. They were moving too slow. She climbed up once more and helped Sister descend the stairs.

    “Did I hear you use the Lord’s name in vain again?”

    “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. There was this hairy woman and-”

    “Poe, this is your soul we’re talking about!” complained the nun.

    To keep from getting annoyed, Poe took out some holy water in a spray bottle and dangled it from her belt, making her look like a window washer. Her Rambo knife was hooked on her belt already. Poe looked down at her shoes, but couldn’t see well enough to check if her laces were still in position.

    Two vampires flew down at them. Poe managed to shoot one dead, but the other was too quick. It slashed Sister Ann’s shoulder as it landed on the steps, drawing blood.

    All Poe remembered was the cry from Penny as the two of them were thrown against the wall, landing with a groan on a platform. Her Uzi, cut in two by vampire nails, lay on her stomach.

  

    “Sorry, Penny,” Poe whispered. Her jaw hurt.

    Death was so close, Poe could taste it. The movement was too quick for the human eye. The vampire’s tongue had snaked out to lick the blood on her cut lips, and he smiled at her. When the bombastic undead’s white face lowered to her neck, his reddened mouth parting for a bite, Poe was just able to grab her holy water and squirt it into his throat. The vampire’s scream sounded like a pig being butchered in the PETA video she had lifted two years ago. Faces of Death had nothing on undercover PETA exclusives. The scream was terrible, but Poe preferred it to the sound of her blood slowly drained by fanged muthas. Her James Bond gun ended the squeal.

    Respite was not to be had by Penny, Poe, or Sister Ann. At the hand of five, all the lights in the building went dead, even the sickly one-bulb lights in the stairwells. With shaky hands, Poe fumbled for the much-maligned headlamp in her pack. Without it, Poe knew they were dead. Vampires had excellent night vision. She did not.

    “Sister. Do you need me to come get you?”

    “Eleven, twelve, thirteen,” the nun counted to the next landing. “No thank you.”

    “Sister, you’re bleeding!”

    “It’s nothing, girl. I’ve been cut worse before. Lead the way with that light.”

    “You know, doggie,” Poe said softly to dispel her fears. “I’ve been a full-fledged smuggler for years, but nothing like this has ever happened. This is a nightmare.”

    “Don’t be negative, Poe. Nothing good ever comes out of negativity.”

    Even with the miserable headlamp, she could scarcely see the gun in her right hand. She stopped talking to Sister Ann and the dog. Between trying to see, trying to count, and trying to aim at anything that moved, Poe was a basket case. Like an errant fly buzzing too near her ear, Poe waved away the thought of the lobby waiting outside the door of the stairwell.

    Since no further incidents plagued them, Poe was able to concentrate on counting down the sixth floor, then the fifth, then the-

    “Crud!” screamed Poe, whose scalp felt like it was on fire.

    A pudgy male paw grabbed at her hair from the air until her feet no longer touched the ground. She clutched at the cold hand and tried to pry the dead fingers away. She was going to go bald, Poe thought absurdly. Then she remembered the present from Sister Ann on her 17th birthday - her Rambo knife.

    The fall to the third floor was nasty after she hacked at the intractable hand. Her funny bone hit the railing and she screamed out a family of expletives. The severed hand continued to pull at her hair from sheer reflex. Pissed, bruised, and on the verge of insanity, Poe grabbed her spray bottle and blasted away at the squirming digits.

    “Get off me, crummy hand!”

    The hand hissed with exploding pustules and left yet more ooze on Poe. She flicked the smoking flesh off her head and watched out for a single-handed vampire. The creature did not come, but another did. Still holding the spray bottle, Poe neglected to grab her gun. The only thing she could do was spray ineffectually at the hovering vampire until she could unsheathe the weapon. With a flick of the vampire’s hand, both the Beretta and the spray bottle clanged on the marble stairs. The container fell on a trip-wired step and exploded, spraying holy water at Poe and her vampire companion.

    

    Poe thanked whoever was looking out for her and jumped on the smoking fallen vampire at her feet. She lunged at the undead with the full force of her five- foot-two-and-three-quarter frame and drove her wrist knife into the creature’s dead heart.

    “See that, you ass wipe!” Poe screeched, slashing away. “You mess with me, you die a one-time death!” She was on the verge of tears and hysterics.

    Her headlamp was smashed somewhere on the steps, and she couldn’t see an inch ahead.

    The Rambo knife and the beloved Beretta were lost. Poe wiped away cowardly tears. She felt silly to fret over lost things. After all, they could be replaced. “Sister? Where are you?”

    “I’m here,” she said, sliding erratically down the handrail.

    Poe caught her voluminous rear end and helped her down. The handrail, Poe noticed, was slick with Sister’s blood.

    Poe reached for the two weapons she had left, her faithful James, the Walther PPK and her Faka knife. She transferred the extra magazines from her leg pockets to her waist and handed the wrist knife to Sister.

    “Sorry, but there’s only one gun left,” she said miserably.

    “Don’t apologize, child. You’ve always been a better shot than me, even when I wasn’t seeing double.”

    “So if we open that door, it’ll be Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid time. You know that, right, Sister?”

    “I’ve been ready to die since this whole Armageddon started. Don’t worry about me,” she said, clutching her stake.

    “Remember, doggy. Shoot, release, and reload,” Poe said, voice quivering. She knew she had to keep her shit together. There was more than a good chance that they would be overtaken. If so, she had to be brave enough to shoot Penny, Sister Ann, and herself.

    “Just don’t let us be bloodsucker fodder,” the nun intoned in her Tennessee twang.

    “You said it, Sis. And um,” she began, finding it difficult to speak. “I’m sorry for not coming sooner.”

    “Child, you’re here now. I thank you for that.”

    Feeling for the last of the holy water in her pack, Poe was heartened somewhat when Penny licked her hand. She patted the dog’s head and doused her with holy water. She sprinkled Sister Ann and herself as well.

    Her pack again secure on her back and the rosary cross kissed, Poe hobbled down the last steps with an exhausted Sister Ann. Her gun was drawn and her bottle of garlic water was in her other hand. She took a deep breath and stepped into the lobby of the Eastern Columbia Building.

    Blinded!

    The sudden emergence into a brilliantly lit room hurt more than her eyes. Defending herself became a problematic. Her eyes, wet from the lights and possibly from defeat, were forced open until they adjusted to the bright hotel lobby.

    “Motherfu-”

    Surrounding them were over two dozen children of the night and their leech groupies. Some grinned while others cast looks of contempt. They had not forgotten the murder of their friends. An especially belligerent, thickly mustached undead had to be restrained by two vampires from attacking her.

    “I’m going to squash that little shit!” he gritted. The vampire was missing a hand that would never regenerate because of Poe.

    We’re dead, thought Poe. She gripped her gun and spray bottle even tighter, shielding the nun with her back. She flicked her eyes about the group. Close to the end, Poe’s most significant thought was, Some of these vampires are really, really ugly. Whoever said they were-

    Her scattershot musings were interrupted when a mixed diaspora of vampires, humans, and subhumans parted dramatically, making way for an immaculately attired vampire in a black turtleneck and his entourage of mustached Village People wannabes.

    “Oh no,” groaned Poe. “Quillon Trench and his LAPD goons.” They were truly dead. She swallowed. Her throat was parched from all the killing and dodging. She stayed quiet and alert, not daring to make any threats or beg pathetically for her life. They would not understand a word she would say anyway. She was so nervous that only rat-a-tat stuttering would come out. To top it off, she was on the verge of urinating. If only she had packed explosives.

    Trench dared to approach, undeterred by Poe’s spray bottle. He was a pleasant looking man of the Velvet Underground variety. He broke the mold by not being as malignantly hideous as his minions. In his perpetual thirties, the man exuded an aura of arrogance. His mid-neck reddish-brown hair was gelled back, leaving a few well-placed curls to escape.

    “Sister Ann,” he nodded at the nun trying her hardest not to look woozy. “I see no one had the balls to puncture your neck. It must be the habit.”

    “Must be my superpowers,” said the nun, tracing her cross and clutching the stake with her other hand.

    “And you’re the human that’s been causing all this commotion, the one we set this elaborate trap for. You see, we had a feeling you’d be coming back for Goss and the nun.” He looked the girl up and down like she was for sale then tapped his nose. “And from the smell of you, one of my favorite women is dead.” He came closer as if for a better sniff, but Poe would not have it. She thrust her gun at the slick vampire to warn him that he was close enough. At this, Trench’s lips trembled as he tried to keep from laughing.

    “Jasmina. You’ve killed my beautiful Jasmina. Great dresser but for the shoes. Never understood her fondness for Walmart.”

    “The unibrow,” Poe answered automatically.

    “What can I say?” Quillon shrugged his shoulders. “She’s of Eastern European stock.” A smile lingered as he spoke. “Am I to believe that you are the supposed leader of an underground network of hundreds of human survivors? I expected someone larger.”

    What the freak are you talking about? Poe thought silently. She wanted so badly to turn to the nun and ask what the fuck was going on. She allowed Quillon to do all the talking.

    “Do you deny this, little girl?”

    Again, Poe didn’t say a thing. The head vampire sighed, giving her another once over. She hated being called little. In her mind, she was five-foot-seven, for crying out loud.

    My folks were decent-sized. If it weren’t for poor diet and stress, I’d tower over Mr. Turtleneck.

    “Your friend, Fred Beaver, also known as Goss, told us all about your little network. Over two hundred humans in our downtown playland.” He looked pointedly at her. “Your fat nun told us the same thing. They must be telling the truth. Nuns don’t lie.”

    

    The vampire’s blue eyes darkened, annoyed at Poe’s silence. “I assume you’re the leader now since your Goss is dead and the Flying Nun there is about to keel over.”

    Poe bit back a pain in her throat that could at any second betray her. She inhaled deeply, willing her voice not to fail. Slowly enunciating each word, Poe finally spoke.

    “There’s no network. Just the three of us.” There. I did it. No stuttering gibberish whatsoever.

    “Ah, so our little rebel finally speaks. And what a voice she has for one so young.” His own voice was caressing, but Poe wasn’t fooled. He had referred to Sister Ann as fat. She was stocky and muscular, but she wasn’t fat. And even if she was, who gave a fig! The standards of vampires were worse than all the magazine diet gurus combined that still beleaguered living room coffee tables.

    “She’s Julia without a surname, isn’t she, Ann? The mythical secret weapon you were telling us about.”

    Sister Ann merely narrowed her eyes, not saying a word.

    Poe winced at hearing her first name. No one called her Julia anymore. Only Poe, her last name.

    The vampire, tickled by her obvious surprise at his vast knowledge of the underground, including her name, laughed.

    “Well, Julia, stop acting the ignorant bumpkin, and let us know where we can find your other friends. I am most anxious to retrieve my stolen cattle and add a few more to my stock.”

    “I told you, there are only the three-”

    “I’m hungry, I’m bored, and I’m quite tired of this conversation. Scar and all, I want to have you for dinner tonight. What a treat to have someone so obviously untouched and deliciously young.” The smile on his lips turned into a tight line. His eyes glinted. Poe would have retreated a step if it weren’t for the emergency door at their back.

    “I would dearly love to have you replace Jasmina. You have a pleasing figure and face despite the mark, but I’ll have no problem turning you over to Clyde and Bergman over there.” Trench indicated a leech and vampire with unhygienically long mustaches that arched chinward.

    Poe, who had been conjuring Butch, Sundance, and Cleopatra Jones inside herself, couldn’t take it anymore. She was not going to be turned into a vampire slut or a luau centerpiece.

    “Fine. My blood tastes like chewed aspirin, and my feet are way too wide for high heels,” Poe said, her voice strong. She couldn’t afford to stutter and appear weak. “There are over a thousand of us in the city, even more in the ’burbs.” She let this sit for a moment until the faces of Trench and his pals turned from grinning buffoons into nervous jackasses.

    “Some are straight-away human, some recovering ex-cattle. They’re all well armed like me.” Her cheeks were hot and her palms sweaty, but she had forgotten her speech impediment. Too bad she had one lousy gun to her name.

    “They have acres and acres of garlic bulbs.” She permitted herself a slight smile as some of the so-called immortals shuddered. For effect, Poe raised her own brow at the goon on Trench’s left. The vamp scooted back as quickly as an undead could. “Our plan is to hose down vampires with garlic water as they sleep during the day. Maybe decapitate a few heads.”

    “You are sorely exaggerating, Julia. A mere two hundred were mentioned by your friends. Now you say there are thousands.”

    “I didn’t say thousands, Quillon. I said over a thousand.” Trench’s surprise at the use of his first name was well worth dying for. The strength in her voice pleased her. “My death will only piss them off since they see me as a sort of leader, and I feel sorry for the dingbats who sleep in attics all day.”

    “Nun, is what she says true?”

    Sister shrugged tiredly. “She’s the savior, and saviors don’t lie.”

    “Well, Queen Julia, you won’t die so easily. You might just prevent me from becoming bored the next ten years until I find another pretty face with guts. I am rather looking forward to putting a hole in your skull, my beauty, and spitting blood into your brain.” As if to grind more salt in the wound, Trench added, “But I’ll be on the lookout for a face without a scar.”

    Maybe it was the mention of her scar or the spitting blood in her brain part that did it, and she really did not care. She shot Trench in the chest and sprayed his face with holy water.

    “Ahhh!” he screamed, clutching his burning face. “Kill her!”

    Quillon’s screams were awful, indeed, but she didn’t have time to dwell because bedlam reigned supreme. His bodyguards carried him a distance away from the melee. Poe high-kicked the Lou Reed poser to the sidelines. Some vampires took to the air while the rest bided for an opportunity to get at her. The leeches and halfdeads scattered to desks, couches, and whatever solid lumps of furniture they could hide behind. Every single undead wore the expression of livid hate.

    “Sister, keep close to me,” she whispered behind her. In a booming voice Poe taunted, “You idiots wanna follow your leader, huh?” Teeth, pallor of skin, and the rise and fall of the chest distinguished the creatures before her. She shot two vampires, two leeches, and another suntanned halfdead in succession. She knew that replacing the magazine was going to be tricky because her spray bottle would have to cover her.

    When the gun clicked empty, she released the clip. Before she could reload, a vamp flew at her and kicked at the gun but missed. Sister Ann rammed her stake into his back.

    Poe’s chest burned as it absorbed the brunt of the blow. She almost collapsed but had the foresight to replace the magazine first. By the time another vampire appeared, Poe was ready.

    “Fucker!” she screamed, shooting the vampire’s foot and kicking him in the chest. For a second there, she thought she heard ribs breaking. Poe finished him off when he fell on the floor squawking like a mallard during Wisconsin duck season.

    The stairway emergency exit door flung open and a halfdead with a rosy complexion jumped out, grabbing her from behind. Sister Ann tried to kick his leg from under him, but she was too weak. Fuming, the creature embedded his index finger into Sister Ann’s left eye socket. Poe did not see the nun crumple to the ground.

    “You stupid little cunt! I’m going to-”

    Poe stomped her right shoe down the tender part of his foot as the “Grab Twist and Pull” self-defense video had taught her, and she rammed her elbows into his ribs.

    “I hate the c-word, asshole!” Poe squeezed out. Once her arms were free, she shot the bastard in the face. “Just so you know. For future reference and all that.”

    From the corner of her eye, she witnessed a vampire carrying Trench outside. Another vampire locked the front door as soon as their master left the building. They were going to execute Poe and Sister Ann in the lobby. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! With her back to the wall, she moved away from the stairwell.

    “Sister, keep close to me!” she ordered. When the nun didn’t respond, she looked behind her only to see Sister Ann twitching on the ground. “No! Sister!”

    The body went still, blood oozing from the socket.

    Poe released a strangulating screech, so full of grief and frustration that the creatures present gave her a temporary berth. Again, the voice in her head set her right. It’s not over yet, it said. Buck up. She doesn’t want you to die this way.

    She pulled her gaze from Sister Ann’s body, looking up, down, sideways at anything that might aid her. Vampires were moving toward her from every corner.

    Then she saw the glass wall on the west side of the building. Her moped would be right around the corner. I could either die in this miserable art fucking deco building or die outside in the rain. She’d take the outdoors anytime. Blasting her gun and squirting her bottle, Poe ran for it. Two shots cracked the window into tiny veins. With her remaining strength, Poe booked it and slammed the side of her body against the spiderwebbed window, praying it would shatter.

    “I’m sorry!” she bellowed to her dead friends.

    She fell hard on the wet pavement outside.

    Penny whimpered once in the backpack and quieted down again. Shards of glass lodged in Poe’s skin made getting up difficult.

    “Ouch!” Poe belted out. Vampires soared out of the jagged hole she created and hovered above her, followed by the humans and subhumans who couldn’t fly. Poe shot at the first two vampires that flitted toward her and chunks flew everywhere. She inhaled sharply as her bleeding shard-infested right hand pulled the trigger.

    With much effort, Poe hobbled over to where her Vespa was parked. She reloaded the last of her Walther PPK cartridges and sprayed the final few drops of garlic water onto vampire legs that dared scoop down too close. The bottle, completely empty, she tossed at the nearest halfdead who hopped back fearfully. The creature’s face would have made her howl in laughter a week before, but not then when she was about to die. She switched the gun to her left hand, the less injured of the two.

    “Hijo de puta,” escaped her lips. Her heart banged gong-clangs, for her beloved avocado green moped was nowhere in sight. She and Penny were truly dead. She had less than nine bullets left and at least a dozen vampires and their minions were still in pursuit. Best case, she could shoot seven of them, saving the last bullets for Penny and her.

    “Give up, bitch!” Pengle, the one-handed vampire she had hacked, screamed. He hid behind a group of leeches. “Your life’s over. Might as well face up to it.”

    “That’s telling her, Pengle,” somebody from the crowd seconded, laughing.

    “Are you listening to yourself?” Poe spat. “You’re the one that’s dead and can’t admit it. Go back to the grave and let the worms have you!”

    Enraged, Poe shot in his direction and killed a leech instead. A fresh recruit of vampires wearing Kevlar vests marched boldly toward her, unafraid of her gun.

    “Fucking cops,” she muttered.

    Without even cringing, Poe shattered two vampire heads, a kneecap, and a neck before the rest scattered. Zombie Hunt and Sister Ann, the dead aim from Tennessee, had taught her well.

    

    One bullet left. She prayed that Penny was already dead because the remaining bullet was hers alone. Without further ado, she placed James, the trusted gun, to her ear and fired.

    

    

    

    A SWISH OF WIND smacked her face. Her trusted James clanged on the sidewalk, sliced in two like her Uzi.

    When Poe opened her eyes, the same raging vampires hissed malevolently. The gun she held to her head lay by her feet in pieces, and a tall man she’d never seen before stood inches from her. His middle finger that looked more like a mini-sword retracted into a regular size digit.

    He cut up my James! thought Poe with annoyance, her fear momentarily overshadowed.

    He gave a cursory glance at Poe before turning his back. But it was enough. It was as if his strange eyes branded her synapses, leaving them etched in her mind.

    “Go home, all of you,” the looming figure said with a quiet voice resonating with authority and power. Only Pengle had the audacity to protest.

    “This is none of your affair, Sainvire.” He dragged out the name as if it left a trail of sticky dirt in his mouth. “She shot Trench and killed a score of our people. We have first rights.”

    “Wrong. I was the one who stopped her. She’s mine,” Sainvire answered tranquilly.

    “You just got here,” Pengle said as he shook his fistless hand at the master vampire. His face contorted with rage, and a perceptible trembling began from his knees to his bulky shoulders. “We were on the verge of capturing her.”

    “You mean her corpse, don’t you?” His expression mimicked a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Without pomp and preamble, Sainvire pointed at the girl’s Walther PPK on the wet pavement. The litter of bodies on the street that led to the hotel was not quite so easily forgotten. “As I understand, vampires can’t lap up a dead human’s blood. It would kill us.”

    “I lost my hand to that bitch,” Pengle roared, raising his maimed left hand for effect. “So lay off.”

    “Sorry about your hand, Pengle, but if you have a problem with my claim then you can take it up with the Council,” Sainvire retorted coolly, his expression benign. Pengle immediately took the look as insolence and arrogance that came with being a master vampire.

    “The Council! Screw that! Why are you nosing around other people’s business? Don’t you have enough fresh necks for your straw? You have a library full of them,” Pengle accused, dribbling with hate and envy.

    Sainvire considered his words before saying, “Yes, I do have many necks to choose from. But not one this young.”

    Pengle’s enhanced olfactory sensory neurons could smell the warm, iron tang of blood on Poe’s injured skin, and he felt entitled. Most vampires were insulted by having to sup on cold refrigerated blood. He was one of them. He especially resented the privileged few who imbibed warm blood through straw attachments each night. Like many, Pengle believed in the thrill and excitement of the hunt. It was an innate right of the undead and shouldn’t have been banned by the Council and irritating vampires like Kaleb Sainvire.

 

    “You,” Pengle bellowed, too angry to do anything but make a fist with his remaining hand. “You greedy- ”

    “Think what you want, Pengle, but she’s leaving unharmed.” He turned and faced Poe. The girl still reeled from pulling the trigger on herself. Even in the dimly illuminated street, she was startled by the silver- gray intensity of the notorious vampire’s dark-rimmed eyes. Only the white line running vertically from the top of Sainvire’s upper lip to his nostrils interrupted her perusal.

    Before Poe could make sense of what was going on, Sainvire spoke. His voice was purposely low so no undead could overhear. “The moped is behind a garbage truck. Second alleyway to your right.”

    Poe stared mutely at him or rather his cleft scar. She felt like she ought to belt him one but was distracted by his nice manners. The vampire’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Plenty of time to stare later, Poe. You’ve got to get out of here.”

    Her face immediately warmed. Without turning back, Poe ran, ignoring the wound in her thigh and the shards still embedded in her skin that burrowed deeper with every movement.

    True to his word, the green Vespa was parked behind a garbage truck a short distance away. Poe took the key from around her neck, her fingers fumbling.

    “Quit shaking, nincompoop,” she ordered herself and hopped on her trusted vehicle. The Vespa’s dependable engine burst to life. Maneuvering the little moped out of the clammy, cockroach-encrusted alleyway was cake.

    “Penny girl, hope you’re still holding on. Forgive me for wishing you dead back there. I meant what I said about needing a reason to live,” she cooed tiredly to her new pet. “I’ll treat you real good. You can’t leave me.”

    The slick road wasn’t as easy to manage in the dark, however, especially around the water-swept areas. Poe had no idea where she was going. It was too damn dark. She couldn’t go directly to her bunker because she was sure an undead was on her tail already. She decided to lead whatever was following her down to Santee Alley, in the heart of the Fashion District.

    “The whole world’s a Skid Row cesspool,” Poe whispered to the dog.

    The freezing rain added to the physical and mental beating that left her blue and shaking. Her waterproof trench coat wrapped warmly about the little dog. Poe had nothing on but her black Pixies t-shirt full of holes and soaked army cargo pants. With no weapons of any sort, only candy bars as hard as shin bone, Poe almost wished that the vampires would just hurry up and finish her off.

    She could have ended it with a bullet had it not been for Sainvire’s interference. The creature was not ugly enough to be a wretched vampire.

    “He didn’t even look pasty!” she grumbled. She’d never heard of a vampire with healthy skin color unless they were halfdeads. Even Trench had the complexion of bleached rice.

    “He knew the name I go by,” Poe gritted, realizing too late.

    Sainvire hadn’t called her Julia like the contemptible Trench vampire. He called her by her last name - a name only Goss, Sister Ann, and a few smugglers knew about. Her two friends were dead.

    Maybe Sainvire ordered their torture. Was he there when Goss was bled to death? The thought made her insides boil. She stopped being cold, her body shook with rage.

    “You’re dead, Sainvire,” she promised, vowing that she would kill the bastard before offing herself. Poe cranked harder on the gas.

    “Why didn’t he let me kill myself or leave me behind for Pengle?” she asked the rain.

    She knew the answer. He believed the horseradish Sister and Goss had spread; there were hundreds of organized humans waiting to stab, behead, and hack to pieces the city’s vampire population while they slept. A vampire’s worst nightmare to be sure. Her friends’ only means of making their deaths meaningful was by chiseling away the undead’s sense of safety.

    They were able to fool Trench and Sainvire into thinking that they would be summarily executed. Very smart. Why, even Trench easily believed the hogwash she fed him about underground guerillas numbering over a thousand. To her knowledge, the outfit consisted of about three dozen, seven of whom she’d personally met.

    She could feel it in the back of her neck. Somebody was following her, probably after some extra brownie points. Having the reflex of one acquainted with a two-wheeler late in life, Poe cranked the throttle nervously, causing the moped to skid into a pool of murky water that stank like shit marinade. The Vespa fell on its side and pinned Poe’s injured leg. In that helpless position, two vampires advanced. They jogged. Some vampires had less impressive powers than others.

    A golden-haired undead with a drawn-on pockmark on his chin hissed and roughly grabbed Poe by the shoulder. He wore a delicate cotton shirt with fluted 18th century buccaneer sleeves. Only the last few buttons from the mid-abdomen down were clasped, exposing his chesty hair. He wore red lipstick to boot.

    “Great. Anne Rice fans,” Poe muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes to the crying sky. His companion, a breathtaking Asian vampire with long, curly hair, appeared at his side. Her lacy bodice pushed up her ample bosom, barely covering her silver-dollar nipples. Silky lingerie from Frederick’s of Hollywood completed her look. It was no wonder they let the non- white vamp hang around instead of giving her ethnic ass latrine duty.

    “What did you utter, wretched girl? I didn’t quite hear you,” she said in a very affected British accent, her fangs elongating in the half-moonlight. Poe could swear she detected a Valley accent under the facade.

    “I said,” Poe answered hoarsely, attempting to unpin her injured leg, “you guys are swell. So original.”

    “It’s very foolish of you to mock us,” Lestupid butted in, running his press-on nails lightly along Poe’s scar. He sounded like Keanu destroying Macbeth.

    “Very foolish, indeed,” Asian Marie Antoinhack hissed, licking her luscious lips.

    “When did you guys turn? In the ’80s? ’90s? Somewhere in Encino, right?” Poe shook her head, far from being afraid. She’d cut off Goss’ head and watched helplessly as Sister twitched her last breath on the lobby floor. These ridiculous posers in silk and velvet hardly incited fear in her. She just wanted to go home or be dead already. “So stupid. Pamela Anderson and Jean-Claude Van Damme could probably do better-”

    The blond vampire buried his hand in Poe’s hair and lifted her up like a rag doll. The moped made a watery thud sound as it fell to the gurgling asphalt when Poe’s leg was freed.

    

    “Iza, take the right. The left is mine.” He indicated the throbbing pulse on each side of Poe’s neck. He lost the shoddy English accent.

    “With pleasure, lover,” the woman purred, baring her fangs.

    “I wouldn’t d-do that if I were you,” Poe stammered now that she realized she didn’t want to be drained to death after all. At least not yet.

    “And why not?” the gorgeous vamp asked, her rain-soaked nipple peeking.

    “Because I ate stacks of garlic for lunch,” she answered lamely. If only she had followed the ruckus in her head and actually chewed some garlic before heading out to Goss’, she wouldn’t have been in this situation.

    “Cream of broccoli soup,” the woman declared with a laugh. “And crackers. You ate soup and crackers.”

    “You can’t fool my Iza,” Blondie said. He shook his head in admonition. “She was a chef at Ginza Sushiko and knows her food.”

    “She’s got broccoli flowerettes in her teeth,” Iza stated flatly, clearly annoyed at her man. “And I told you to stop telling every jerk we encounter that I was a goddamn cook!”

    While the two lovebirds bickered, Poe searched for the broccoli bit in her mouth with her tongue. I can’t believe I’m actually embarrassed by vamps that ransacked Hot Topic, the lamest commercial chain store of its kind, Poe thought. Truly unpunk!

    The two turned their attention back to her - their Double-Double Burger for the evening. This time they looked with malevolence and a united front. Poe closed her eyes, waiting for the twofold bite as she felt the couple’s cold mouths descend on either side of her neck. This is it? Dinner for two?

    

    Once again she was wrong. Instead of getting four fang holes, Poe simply fell onto the submerged pavement. She scrambled out of the way as the left half of Iza rained down from the heavens. When Poe looked up, she witnessed Kaleb Sainvire crack Blondie’s head with a head bunt and stab the vampire in the heart with a fingernail, sharp as cut diamonds and lengthened at least twelve inches before her eyes.

    Sainvire’s nail reverted back to its natural length as soon as Blondie’s twitching body splashed down on the wet ground. Like an eager mouth, the groove of his finger absorbed whatever juice kill clung on the nail.

    Arm yourself, stupid, the voice in her head bullied. His erector nails are bad enough, but he’s Kaleb Sainvire. She spotted a broken wood beam riddled with lengthy oxidized nails on the ground and picked it up. Before Sainvire could turn her way, Poe leaped and whacked the vampire across the back, grunting, “Take this!”

    The vampire cursed.

    Great. He’s some sort of uber-vamp, Poe thought distractedly. Something was off about the master vampire, but she couldn’t quite place her finger as to what it was.

    The man staggered, touching his left shoulder as if in pain. “You better quit that, Poe,” he said, his polite warning laced with menace.

    “Go bury your face in your asshole,” Poe spat, high on the pungent combination of fear and adrenaline. She struck him again on the skull, this time jumping higher to reach the tall man’s tousled, wet head. The scattered nails sunk their rusty points.

    Sainvire shook and turned to look at the soggy, undersized vampire rustler with a piece of wood in her hand. The head of a pitiful looking dog peered out of her backpack. Avoiding the vampire’s angry gaze illuminated by the headlights of the Vespa, Poe lunged again, aiming for the face. Sainvire had enough.

    “No more!” he ordered with barely controlled cool. The imposing vampire intercepted the beam and broke it in half on his knee, leaving Poe with a handful of splinters.

    That’s really it. The shithead Sainvire is going to finish me off. Her messed up JKD moves learned from

    DVDs seemed laughable at that moment. She wished for her lost Uzi. In an epiphany, Poe remembered the dart thrower around her neck containing whittled down toothpicks dipped in garlic oil.

    She put the device in her mouth and blew. The first dart hit Sainvire’s forehead while the second hit his neck. The vampire caught the third with his deft fingers mid-air.

    “Enough!” he roared with the tone of a man truly annoyed. The scar above his lip was as white as her own. Poe obeyed, defeated. It occurred to her what was off about the vampire. His right shoulder was slightly warped and stuck out a little too forward.

    The rain pounded harder than ever, eviscerating the scent of waste and animal feces. Sainvire pulled the pathetic darts and flung them threateningly to the ground.

    A weak “Shithead” was the only thing she could think to say.

    She assumed the fighting stance that almost all the martial arts disciplines taught in the numerous videos she had studied. Left leg lifted slightly for a block or parry, Poe cursed the man silently, vowing to go down fighting. She didn’t kick her punching bag and metal rod in the bunker thousands of times over the years to cultivate leg calluses for nothing.

    “C’mon,” Sainvire commanded. “We’ve got to leave this place.”

    

    Unable to order the vampire to go jump in the dirty L.A. River without churning up a bout of stuttering, Poe punched at the rain and kicked at the flooded street.

    “F-fffuck off!” she managed to say. Short, sweet, and to the stuttering point.

    Anger left Sainvire’s face, replaced by a patient, Andy Griffith smile. His expression further pissed off Poe, who believed the vampire was making fun of her speech impediment.

    The near grin left his face, however, as the squalling of a flock of livid vampires filled the air. What happened next was a blur. Like a bad Sam Peckinpah movie, Poe watched Sainvire efficiently hack to pieces five undead with his elongated talons where they stood, leaving a litter of heads and limbs on the flooded ground. She couldn’t help but notice his teeth growing to monster size in the hazy light of the moon.

    “Scary fucker,” Poe said under her breath as she watched him demolish Trench’s brood.

    Before the corpse of a fifth vampire even ate cement, Sainvire secured his claws around Poe and propelled them both skyward.

    Dizzy and in awe of the fight, if it could be called that, Poe held on to the vampire’s marble arms. Her bladder threatened to burst.

    “P-put me down, or I’ll kill you,” Poe threatened feebly, her hand automatically reaching for her only weapon, the candy bar in her pocket. Her stomach was in her mouth.

    If his fellow vicious dead failed to scratch Sainvire, what made her think she could? It was common knowledge that vampires couldn’t carry another human in flight. They could drag them up a few feet from the air a short time. If Sainvire could soar over the city like Superman with an embittered and suicidal Lois Lane as baggage, then Poe was truly screwed.

    “Afraid I can’t do that right now,” Sainvire explained. “You’ll go splat if I do.”

    She said nothing else. The flight and the burning tightness around her ribs from the pressure of the vampire’s hold brought on vertigo and something akin to claustrophobia.

    Within minutes, Poe caught a view of the pyramidal tower of the Los Angeles Central Library that bled into a long and deep structure of eclectic Egyptian Mission design. The massive library, over 100,000 square feet, had been a monumental part of her childhood.

    Her parents had religiously taken them down most Saturdays to tinker with the computers and listen to volunteer grandparents read boring stories years below their grade levels.

    The inside had been a mix of state-of-the-art technology, modern art, and a splattering of contemporary architectural hodgepodge. Even though she hadn’t been inside since she was eight, she could still picture every single detail in her head, including the great escalators that festooned the library from top to bottom and the three-dimensional papier-mвchй art hanging from the ceiling.

    Her visit to memory lane was cut short as they descended toward the front entrance of the library. An angular and chiseled Asian undead met them, his black head of hair falling in unruly waves around his smiling, strangely likeable face. He wore no shirt despite the rain, showing off his slim yet muscular build as well as the massive dragon tattoo that covered his entire back. The handsome man with full red lips grinned at Sainvire, his fangs showing.

    

    “Joseph,” Sainvire said, returning the medium- height vampire’s grin and clapping him on the shoulder. “How goes it this evening?”

    “Just fine, Kaleb.” Joseph inclined his head then opened the door for the two. “Just the usual, you know.

    Like, say, a couple dozen infuriated cops banging on the doors demanding a certain someone’s genitals.”

    “Wonder who that unfortunate creature could be?”

    Sainvire let Poe enter first. “I see you brought trouble with you,” Joseph dropped casually, his eyes scanning the girl’s exposed wounds.

    The sight and smells of the oh-so-familiar foyer brought a stab of memories. The place still hinted of plaster, Pine-Sol, old books, and crayons. Only now, a strong antiseptic smell dominated. The corner where the information booth used to be now housed a vampire of South Asian descent clicking away at an old computer. The checkout booths seemed the same except for the intimidating looking group of black and

    Vietnamese undead futzing around behind the counter and giving her the once over.

    I thought minority vamps are out of vogue unless they’re purty. Are those Latina humans handling firearms?

    The little gift shop to her right displayed antique weaponry dating back from the French and Indian War to the American Civil War, no doubt pilfered from museums. Three middle-aged Latinas continued their conversation in Spanglish while cleaning and loading modern firearms. Their eyes never strayed from where she stood.

    “Trench isn’t going to like this one bit,” she heard

    Joseph comment.

    She looked over her shoulder and found the two speaking more quietly, obviously talking about her.

    

    “I wonder if those muskets still work,” she muttered to herself. “What I’d do to use them right now.”

    Risking it, Poe hung right while the Sainvire and Joseph chatted. The walls, once bedecked by black and white city photographs and questionable kids’ art, now boasted Chagall, Christo, Kandinsky, Miro, Dali, Maholy-Nagy and other paintings she vaguely remembered seeing at museums like LACMA and the MOCA with her parents. There were at least fifty paintings on this floor alone.

    Her reverie was interrupted by the low voice of the master vampire startlingly close to her ear.

    “Have you an interest in art, Poe?”

    Poe frowned. Her mother was a local artist. And what an incredibly stupid question from the man who single-handedly turned humans into heifer!

    “Who doesn’t?” she answered snidely. Then she remembered complaining along with her siblings, Joe and Sirena, that they were tired of looking at weird, ugly paintings over and over again, and they wanted to go to the movies already.

    “Hmm. Good point. Lousy ice-breaker I chose there.” He ignored Poe’s scowl. Instead his gaze lowered to the pool of water and blood collecting on the floor. “You need to dry up and get that glass out of your skin. The wound in your leg is hampering your steps.”

    Hot from feeling like a dirty, dripping plebe with broccoli in her teeth, Poe intentionally shook her wet hair, splashing some of the precious paintings. She stomped on the pool of rain and sewer. “You’re right. I better be dry and clean before you drink me through a straw.”

    

    She just had to piss him off in some way. Deep down, however, she felt her parents’ disapproving scowl at her irreverence to the art they had so admired.

    The vampire didn’t even blink an eye. He merely indicated that she follow him up the escalator.

    “Um,” Poe began slowly, trying hard to speak clearly. “If you’re gonna drink my blood, you better axe my head. ’Cause if I turn vampire, I’ll make sure to return the favor. And if I end up as cattle, I might just snap out of my stupor one day and stab you in your sleep.”

    “I’ll give it some serious thought.”

    Poe touched the key around her neck, imagining gouging the vampire’s disturbing eyes with it. They ascended each floor without speaking. Poe noticed more paintings, even in heights where no ordinary human could reach.

    Poe could barely contain her foul mood, until she figured out where they were heading. The painted sun dome loomed above their heads, and the children’s literature wing was only a few steps away. Memory was bittersweet.

    Then she remembered Penny. The poor dog was still in her pack probably soaked and shivering while she toured the goddamn museum with an evil and calculating dead guy.

    She unslung her pack, lowered it to the floor, and found that the dog was not in her bag. Jesus, the poor dog must have fallen from the air!

    “Oh, no!” Poe cried, imagining vampires making a bony meal out of her.

    “I deserve to be butchered, no doubt about it,” she said quietly. Slumped in defeat, Poe covered her clammy face with her bleeding hands. She had forgotten about Sainvire until he placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke. The vampire was kneeling next to her.

    “Penny is being taken care of.”

    At the mention of the dog, Poe stood up and looked down at the master vampire. She itched to stab his eye out with the rosary cross dangling from her neck.

    “Where’s my dog?”

    Sainvire rose, looking limbless in his black coat. Wordlessly he pointed to the children’s wing. Poe forced herself not to run, motioning for him to lead the way. With her heart beating like a demolition ball descending upon a condemned building, she followed.

    The last thing on her mind was to glance around the familiar place with the giant tapestries and murals of Indians and settlers on the walls. Her family had attended a lecture once where California historians tore apart the murals because the headdress depicted was a typical feathered stereotype instead of an accurate representation of west coast Native American attire.

    Poe ignored the familiar carpet with happy chickens and gleeful barnyard animals.

    Sainvire turned a corner, into the wing where the carved puppet theater still stood. On the stage crouched Joseph and a human. Between them lay an unconscious Penny on a bed of soft yellow comforters and pillows.

    Poe noticed the tray of syringes next to the dog’s head and immediately flew into a rage.

    “What the -”

    With a pole vault leap, she charged at the human leech holding a hypodermic needle. The move was so unexpected and silent that both Sainvire and Joseph were genuinely taken aback by the attack. Poe launched herself at the human girl, taking her over the edge of the stage and onto the carpeted floor with a wallop.

    

    “You wanna bleed my dog, you gotta go through me first,” she hissed.

    Like a maniac, Poe repeatedly punched the petrified taller girl in the face while screaming nasty epithets she had learned from Scarface and Clerks.

    Sainvire and Joseph looked at each other, silently agreeing the spectacle was invigorating despite the violence. It wasn’t every day that two attractive women wrestled on the ground. When Poe stabbed Samantha’s thigh with the syringe, however, Sainvire had seen enough. Like a puppy getting carried by the neck, Sainvire lifted the still-kicking Poe by her t-shirt. He unceremoniously deposited her on the floor, her gutter mouth still rattling non-stop.

    “You goddamn vampire. I’m going to suffocate you with your crushed nuts!”

    When his order for silence fell on deaf ears, Sainvire had no choice but to clamp a hand on Poe’s mouth.

    “Poe, be quiet!” he commanded. “You’re giving me an unforgivable headache, and last I heard, my kind doesn’t get headaches.” He kept his hand clamped on the smuggler’s mouth. “How’s Samantha, Joseph?” Sainvire asked over the sound of Poe’s muffled curses as she tried, unsuccessfully, to capture his arctic fingers with her sharp teeth.

    “Beaten up and sedated,” he sighed, shaking his head. “She’ll be black and blue tomorrow.” He pointedly stared at the wriggling Poe on the floor. “And to think, she was just trying to patch up this ratty old dog.” Poe stopped her struggling, feeling guilt suddenly.

    “How’s the mutt’s tongue?” Sainvire inquired, knowing full well the answer.

    “It stopped bleeding,” said Joseph, again flashing Poe a quick accusatory look. “I watched Sam here stitch the serrated wound closed.”

    “Must have been quite a job.”

    “Yup.” Joseph lifted the brown-haired Sam, making sure to pause in front of Sainvire and Poe for dramatic effect before walking away. “I told her to let me just do a mercy killing and break its neck, but Samantha wouldn’t have it. She just wanted to help. Tsk tsk.”

    At this point, Sainvire’s hand fell away. Poe avoided eye contact with him. Instead, she crawled to the dog’s makeshift bed. She looked at Penny’s well- bandaged legs and peeked inside the dog’s open mouth. Sure enough, Poe could see neat black stitches. Shamed but tremendously relieved, she swallowed the urge to hide behind the puppet stage. She had beaten a human who had tried to patch up her dog. She was no better than them. A tear threatened to fall, but she quickly wiped it with the dog’s soft ear. And she had thought Penny was coarse all over.

    She inhaled a shaky breath to clear her throat as well as her mind. Something nagged at her. The whole thing was wrong. Why didn’t Sainvire leave her as a vampire snack for Trench’s people? Why the annoying rescue at the risk of pissing off Trench and his thugs? Why didn’t he drain me dry? And how did-

    “How did you know my dog’s name is Penny?”

    Sainvire appeared across from her in a flash and kneeled before the dog. His large hand smoothed Penny’s coarse stomach hair. Poe’s injured hand resting on the dog’s ear looked puny and filthy next to his bigger and more immaculate hands. Just thinking about his retractable nails gave her the creeps.

    “I’ll tell you,” he paused, making sure their eyes met, “after I take the shards out of your skin.” When Poe didn’t answer, Sainvire went on, eyelids slowly descending on his dark-rimmed gray eyes, perfect for a walking corpse. “Unless of course, you’re afraid of me.”

    Damn right. I’m scared shitless of you, thought Poe acrimoniously. You’re one scary mofo that can slice all of me like thin salami. Sainvire was the baddest, most powerful vampire she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. There was a reason why he had saved her hide, and it made her sick to her stomach to think about it.

    “I’m not scared of your ugly mug, Sainvire. Go ahead and do your worst,” she enunciated. Her quip would have been more effective had she spoken faster and with more boom instead of moronically slow to avoid stutterspeak. What else could a girl who had survived an onslaught of idiot vampires do?

    “Then come with me.”

    

    

    Poe followed Sainvire to the wing across the domed hall. Her squelchy Adidas desecrated the quiet. Her muscles ached. Her soaked clothing didn’t help either. Limping slightly, the nail wound in her thigh caused discomfort. She could feel every shard and splinter lodged in her flesh as they sliced deeper with every step. The vampire slowed his long gait to accommodate her. She detested him for it even more.

    If memory served her correctly, the rooms within had been a gallery of sort. It had held The Wizard of Oz exhibit at one point.

    Sainvire waited for her to enter the room then closed the heavy door behind them. The spacious exhibit space was gone. In the center of the room stood the biggest bed Poe had ever seen, although that wasn’t saying much because most of her years had been spent sleeping on a ratty futon mat. The impressive streamlined bed of the late Art Deco period was dull silver.

    The long room had an assortment of intricately carved desks and divans. The place had a feel of Metropolis from 1940s DC Comics. Only a dash of paintings appeared on the walls, mostly the minimalist abstract impressionist work of Rothko and Newman. By the window, Poe noticed an arresting nude painting of a dark-haired woman, eyes shut, painted in warm orange-brown tones. Below the painting, Poe read the name, Amedeo Modigliani.

    “You’d think she was painted by Gaugin, wouldn’t you?” Sainvire asked, noting Poe’s appreciative, open-mouth scrutiny.

    Her examination of the woman ended then. Berating herself, Poe silently swore. She had been staring at a naked picture of a woman in the lair of a vampire. How Rat Pack is this?

    To save face, she voiced the first artsy thought to enter her mind. “Right. The guy who painted fruits and naked Tahitians, right? Then he molested them all afterwards.”

    “Not exactly,” said Sainvire as he indicated a table laden with medical supplies. Poe sat on Sainvire’s right, placing her arms on the clean cloth covering the table.

    “This shouldn’t sting so much,” he assured the girl.

    “Well don’t hold back on my account,” Poe gnashed.

    Shrugging, the vampire poured hydrogen peroxide on her wounds until they fizzled, and with deft hands, picked up a pair of tweezers. One by one, the sounds of glass dropping into a tin container filled the uneasy silence.

    Color drained from her face. Each extraction hurt like magnified paper cuts, only deeper, wider, and with a squeeze of lime. Poe forced an immovable cattle rustler veneer.

    “You want me to stop?”

    “No. Doesn’t bother me,” she said, lying through her teeth.

    Despite the warning her brain shouted, Poe snuck a tentative look at the vampire before her. This corpse with dark hair that rivaled her own, fastidiously plucking shards from her arms and palms was dangerous. He very well could have tortured Sister Ann and Goss. And yet, why did Poe find herself having to feverishly work to despise the guy? The vampire mystique was wreaking havoc in her already addled mind.

    She didn’t encounter a decent-looking vampire everyday. The ping of glass hitting the tray echoed in the room. Poe marveled at his black coat, completely dry already. Did he have some sort of inner dryer function to go with the retractable digits? And how was he able to get Penny out of the pack without calling attention?

    Again she stole a look at the vampire. For such a little thing, the harelip scar was pronounced. He could never be handsome, she thought. Not with a nose that looked like it was bashed in by the great Ali himself. But who was she to talk? Her face bore a deep vampire slash that dwarfed Sainvire’s twenty times over and could never be hidden with cosmetics.

    Despite the facial quirks and the deformed shoulder of the undead before her, Poe had never seen anyone so striking. Each defect came together to form an interesting visage. Outside of movies, he was the most interesting-looking person she’d ever met, except, of course, her father, Goss, and Morales. But those men never made her feel strange. Goss was gay. Morales was an arrogant prick.

    Long black eyelashes feathered his smooth cheeks as Sainvire carefully ministered to a particularly nasty cut near Poe’s elbow. His touch was mortuary-cold, but he was peculiarly warming, like the feeling in her gut after two swigs of whisky.

    “Sorry. My hands are cold,” Sainvire said, like he’d read her mind.

    “That happens when you’re dead.”

    No wonder he wore a lot of black. It wasn’t to perpetuate the clichй vampire look or to veil his gnarled shoulder, but to complement his dark hair and eyelashes that truly seemed like hairy tarantula legs. His high, slightly twisted nose had a tiny bump on the bridge, making him look menacing and of this earth at the same time. He could have been a poster boy for all the beaten up and downtrodden Roman soldiers of old. And then there were his lips.

    His lips weren’t cursed like the majority of leeches and vampires she’d killed who unfortunately had thin lines for mouths. His were simply lush and riveting. The more she sat staring, the more interesting the thin upper lip scar looked.

    Stop it! The words in Poe’s head halted further musings, forcing her to look away.

    Your friends were killed today, for chrissake! Legs is dead and Penny is tongueless, she admonished herself. That no-good Pengle had called her a bitch - a first in her lifetime. It’s sick to drool after the one vampire that could’ve set up the torture and death of my friends. He’s a regular Mengele. He’s the one who came up with cattle milking.

    

    “Did I hurt you, Poe?” Sainvire asked, concerned that he had tugged too hard on a piece of glass shaped like Florida.

    “No.” Poe couldn’t help herself. “Look, why don’t you just suck my blood? Get it over with. This Frankenstein patching before eating me is sick.”

    Sainvire looked up briefly from his ministering, shocking her yet again with the wintery tint of his eyes. The vampire lowered his gaze and dug out a fat piece of glass lodged near her left thumb. “I’ve already had my dinner, but I’ll take you up on your offer one of these days.” To further his point, he threw her a suggestive smile and licked the bloody shard with relish.

    Poe looked away muttering in a low, cowardly voice, “You try it, and I’ll pull your guts out through your eyes and feed them to Penny.”

    The vampire succeeded in spooking the socks off of her. Needing to know the truth, Poe broke the quiet by asking shakily, “Did you have Goss for dinner?” The memory of her comrades drained of blood twisted her empty stomach into a knot.

    Sainvire blinked slowly, never leaving Poe’s volatile gaze. “No. I didn’t.”

    “H-how do you know Penny’s name and mine if you didn’t torture them?”

    Sainvire dabbed the last cut with ointment and applied a Band-Aid. He wiped his stained hands with a cloth and smiled at Poe. “There. All done.” He stood up and pointed to an open door. “I’ll tell you what you need to know after you get out of those wet clothes and take a hot shower.” He handed her a bottle of peroxide. “Make sure to put some of this liquid on the wound on your left leg. You don’t want the infection to get worse.”

    “I don’t want to take a shower,” she said, purposely ornery.

    “It’s up to you,” he shrugged. “But you’re covered in foul water. If you’re into bacteria and disease, then more power to you. In any case, you won’t get any answers from me.”

    “Why the hell not?” Poe demanded.

    “Because I refuse to sit in a room with you another minute.” He presented her with a beneficent Gandhi smile and added, “You stink.”

    Before Poe could protest, the vampire strode out of the room, leaving Poe to gape after him. She was shivering and utterly alone, surrounded by fussy vampires.

    

    

    Poe hardly enjoyed one of the few hot showers she had taken in fourteen years, which was a shame since the water didn’t smell like fishy sludge, nor was it discolored and grainy. The roomy bathroom filled with tiles, mosaics, and mirrors was completely lost upon her. She didn’t even appreciate the huge old- fashioned shower tub that surpassed the size of Goss’. How could she when images of her friends’ demise flashed in her mind continuously?

    “Awfully sorry, Sister and Goss,” she said out loud, “I let you both down so bad.”

    Never had she unsuccessfully worked so hard to change her train of thought. If it hadn’t been for phobia and cowardice, her friends might still have been alive. She didn’t deserve to cry, but tears of frustration flowed anyway.

    In less than twenty minutes, Poe hopped out of the great tub with a pile of dripping, freshly laundered clothes. She had used her raw fist to beat blood and dirt from her shirt and pants. She did as Sainvire said and dabbed peroxide at the nail wound on her leg, red, puffy, and swollen from the shower. She hung her wet clothes on the side of the tub.

    After attending to her thigh and various lacerations, Poe happened to look up and jumped back in fright. Poe realized that the peeping tom looking back was her own reflection. She wiped the thin film of steam clinging to the surface of the mirror.

    An unrecognizable face stared back. Huge dark brown eyes, almost black with very long, straight lashes, blinked. Her wing-tip eyebrows were raised in shock. A pinkish-white scar running from mid- forehead down to the left underside of her eye marred her smooth skin. Her small nose had a cut on the bridge. On either side of her face were thin red scratches, probably from when she jumped through glass. Her naturally puffy lips were swollen even more from a vampire slap.

    “Boy, I look awful.”

    She probably deserved every scrape and bruise, too. After all, she was still alive. What a betrayal. The tiny mirror in her bunker only showed a third of her face at a time. This big contraption of a mirror was unwelcome because in her head she still had an image of herself having the ungainly body of a kid.

    She could not stop, however, and unwrapped Sainvire’s lush green towel beginning to bleach from the peroxide. Her physique sure had changed. Ignoring the welts and darkening bruises on her rounded hips, arms, legs, and chest, Poe gawked at her body, temporarily forgetting about her friends.

    “What in the world happened to me?” She had felt the changes, especially the curvy bumps, had even stared down at them on occasion, but she had never seen them reflected on a giant mirror like this before.

    

    Her full breasts with peach nipples scared the hell out of her. To think, she hadn’t even considered wearing a bra all this time. Embarrassing!

    “No wonder Morales became all pervy whenever he saw me.” She made a mental note to scour the city for a brassier if she survived the night.

    Her gaze traveled down her narrow waist to her stomach with barely a ghost of roundness. From there her eyes led southward, purposely skipping the vee of her privates, jumping straight to her curvilinear butt, then her slim but muscled thighs and calves. Poe squeezed her arm muscles, liking what she saw. Deep dimples appeared on either cheek.

    “Good to see all the pull-ups, sit-ups, and muscle toning worked,” she said, pleased. “Anything to avoid being a ‘big head.’”

    She had become obsessed after coming across a very disturbing book about kids locked up in the attic. They had big heads but tiny bodies. Having little exercise and no sun exposure for years, the littlest kids became deformed. The eldest brother and sister began an incestual relationship. It was quite troubling. Never want that shit to happen to me, no siree.

    Letting her wet black hair fall from beneath the towel, Poe was surprised to see how long it had grown. She usually cut it about shoulder length, but her old scissors had clunked out on her months ago, and she was too lazy to look for another pair.

    What’ll I wear?

    Poe spied a huge black robe hung behind the door. No doubt it was Sainvire’s. She put it on and went outside. On the big bed lay several floral dresses, short, medium, and long.

    “Yeah, right,” Poe huffed. “Over my dead body.”

    She’d sworn off dresses when she was six. Her mother had to just about stomp her to get her to wear frilly little things for functions and such. The pressure had become so bad that Poe begged for a whacking on the butt rather than endure the humiliation of wearing a dress.

    Poe opened Sainvire’s closet and pondered the contents. She snatched a pair of black pants, a black t- shirt, and some socks.

    “He won’t miss these. He’s got lots.” Like Poe, Sainvire owned twenty pairs of the same outfits.

    Taking the scissors from the medical tray, Poe planted herself on Sainvire’s bed and cut away at his clothes. When the pant legs, shirt sleeves, and belt were sheared to her satisfaction, Poe finally allowed herself to think about how the vampire would react. She shrugged her shoulders, thinking that if she was going to croak tonight, might as well go pissing off the famous master of the city - in a pair of his pants.

    

    

    He wasn’t pissed; he was merely amused.

    The young woman didn’t bother to conceal the newly filched bedroom weapons bulging in the pockets of her - his - butchered pants. One of his belts duly shortened cinched the ridiculously large pants about her tapered waist. The fabric crotch nearly reached her knees. Hooked onto the belt was a pair of scissors and three hastily sharpened lead pencils. His partly tucked black t-shirt hung loose and long on Poe’s frame.

    The ludicrous pants made him shake his head. The bottom of the slacks, accidentally cut high-water length, gave Poe a Huck Finn look, especially since she walked barefoot and one pant leg was shorter than the other. He noticed something different about her. Poe’s once unfettered bosom was bound underneath the shirt. He smiled grimly. So the girl finally noticed them.

    

    Sainvire watched her go down the third set of escalators with sharp vampire eyes from where he perched on a glass walkway smack in the middle of the library. He decided to let her explore before telling her what heinous part he had played in the deaths of Sister Ann and Goss.

    

    

    Poe imagined several scenarios of the master vampire mauling her to death upon discovering what she’d done to his pants. But after minutes of nasty internal debate, Poe finally decided to explore and perhaps find a way out. She donned her hastily fashioned weapons onto her belt. Her Adidas were soaking wet and made squeaky, squelchy sounds, so she took them off and left them to dry in the bathroom.

    “Too slippery,” Poe muttered, kicking off the vampire’s huge socks once she’d reached the puppet theater. They made her clumsy on the tile and marble floors. Sainvire’s clothes smelled like Snuggles fabric softener, the same brand her dad had used for laundry. Such familiar scents unnerved her. She shifted her attention to the problem at hand. Banking on her hunch that Sainvire had already claimed her for his supper, she prayed that the other vampires would leave her alone.

    “I’m going to reconnoiter a bit, doggy. I can’t get us out of here without proper weapons,” she whispered to the battered dog still knocked out from drugs. “I don’t know what Sainvire’s game is, but I swear to you, I will knit his intestines into a sweater with number two pencils if it’s the last thing I do.”

    Once satisfied that her dog was still asleep and breathing, Poe headed to the far end of the hall. The hall, cordoned off by a balcony, gave an awesome view below of two massive flights of escalators in between a sentry of towering columns thirty hands thick. Each floor led to different sections of the library.

    “This place is smaller than I remember, but still massive,” she mused quietly.

    Below, Poe spied vampires, humans, and a sprinkling of adrenaline-rushed halfdeads, the latter noticeable by their healthy complexion, performing different tasks. And that was what it looked to be, humans and undead of differing ethnicities going about their work. I thought minorities were turned into shit sweepers and laundry washers. One particular section, the Social Sciences floor, appeared extremely busy.

    “Hello, what’s this?” she asked the post she was leaning on. Poe squinted, swearing that the floor had been converted into a laboratory. Despite the half- closed blinds, Poe could see microscopes and other lab equipment through the otherwise clear glass walls. Fear choked her. Could it be a blood farm? Poe swallowed hard and turned away.

    “I hope that place isn’t what I think it is,” she boiled.

    She tiptoed with her bare feet to the first escalator, disregarding the stares of two vampires coming from the opposite direction and carrying bags filled with clear liquid.

    “What?” she hissed at them.

    Emboldened as they did not lift a finger to stop her or alert the vampire security, Poe descended the second set of escalators. She winced at the cold bite of the metal steps that aggravated the myriad bruises and cuts on her body. She had found purpose again. If the Social Sciences section was a cattle farm, then she would find a way to destroy it.

    “Goss and Sister Ann would’ve wanted it this way,” she whispered.

    

    There certainly was a bustle of activity in there. She hadn’t seen so many living people since she was eight, and she felt intimidated. Clutching the rosary and minuscule dart blower around her neck for courage, Poe entered the lab.

    At first Poe’s uncanny appearance didn’t cause an iota of controversy. A couple of dozen vampires and humans went about their work, not even glancing at the barefoot, oddly dressed young woman scoping the spacious converted floor for any signs of cattle blood- letting. Instead, only live and undead creatures in white lab coats fiddling around with vials and serums casually greeted her.

    “Hello. Hello to you, too. Oh hi,” she nodded at everyone who greeted her. Heartened, Poe ventured further inside the lab, occasionally reaching out and squeezing hanging plastic containers filled with thick clear liquid that seemed to be everywhere.

    A vampire with atrophied veins on her face startled Poe by appearing electrically quick in front of her. The undead gave her a most benign, fanged smile and went about her work. Poe fretfully skipped to the next table that happened to be empty of supernatural beings. Some vamps were faster than others, but she preferred the slower ones.

    Hanging on hooks was a dozen or so plastic containers of the clear, gel-like liquid. In the middle, though, a lone plastic bag containing red liquid looking suspiciously like blood stopped Poe in her tracks.

    “Is that blood?” she muttered.

    Disquieted, Poe reached for the bag for a closer look. Poe was heavy of hand given that she had never had the chance to outgrow the grabby reaction of a third grader. She did not gauge her strength and before she knew it, the bag of red liquid was off the hook. It slipped from her fingers like a fat balloon filled with water, crashing like a wave on the white marble floor.

    A tepid, “Oh shit,” was all she could say. The design left on the floor would have made Jackson Pollock applaud from the grave. Poe couldn’t escape notice.

    She was the center of attention, standing with her mouth open, eyes huge from guilt. She was crimson down to her toes. To her chagrin, the human contingent seemed more furious and outraged at the mess their fellow live person had made. Vampires had to restrain a particularly incensed man, cursing the newcomer cruelly, from rushing at her.

    “You stupid little jerk!” the man with a goatee, a more annoying version of Jim Carrey, bellowed. “If you can’t keep your sticky fingers from touching lab work, you’re not welcome here!”

    Like a goldfish ignominiously jumping out of its bowl onto a messy desk, Poe opened and shut her mouth several times before saying, “M-miserable leech.”

    “What did you say, you dumb bit-”

    A woman wearing pajamas with winged yo-yo designs abruptly stopped goatee man from finishing his thought. “Enough, Ambrose. It was an accident.”

    “Yeah, but who’ll fill up another bag?” he spat. “It’s too late to round up volunteers. Most everyone’s asleep. The little idiot will have to fill it up.”

    Poe’s eyes widened then squinted narrowly like Dirty Harry himself. There’s no way any of these leeches, these traitors, are going to draw my blood without a fight! Poe unhooked the scissors from her belt, baring her teeth. She had a nasty feeling that jeet kune do would be needed this evening.

    Like mist taking shape, a figure appeared next to her elbow. Poe pointed the scissors at the form, ready to stab the dull blade into its heart. The grin on the figure’s face, however, confused and disoriented her. There stood Joseph, wearing nothing but the dastardly leather pants that seemed to be two sizes too small, shaking his head at her.

    “Sorry. No one’s going to touch the Little Miss this evening. Boss’ orders,” he beamed, sounding extremely amused.

    Ambrose, seething emphatically, barked, “Well I’m not giving any more blood tonight!”

    “Hmm. But I don’t think we’ve met before,” commented Joseph with a yogi smile.

    “No, but I’ve seen you around,” Ambrose snorted disparagingly. “Can’t miss the glaring dragon on your naked back.”

    “You’re new, I guess,” Joseph laughed with him, imitating Ambrose’s donkey snort. “Otherwise you’d know not to speak snarky to me. I’m the boss’ best pal.”

    “So does that mean I can’t tell you to fuck off?” Ambrose retorted without fear.

    “Sure you can, but I’m liable to misbehave and trip accidentally on your jugular.”

    The pear-shaped woman in her early forties smoothed down her yo-yo pajama top and stared warily at Poe. “I’ll do it. I haven’t done it for a while anyway.”

    “Thank you, Perla.” Joseph gave the woman’s shoulder a squeeze. “We really appreciate it.”

    At this, Perla looked miffed and more than a little annoyed. She mussed the vampire’s soft, shoulder length hair and pushed him away. “You better get out of here, Joe, before I change my mind.” She looked at Poe again, this time with a hint of amusement. “And take the barefoot contessa with you before I let her stab Ambrose’s neck with those rickety scissors.”

   

    

    “What a dick,” Poe mumbled as she left the lab.

    But a vexing internal voice laughed pitilessly at her righteous anger. The voice grew in volume, contemptuously telling Poe, You’re only pissed at Ambrose because he acted more human than you.

    Even if she didn’t want to admit it, Poe resented the older humans in the lab. They didn’t have to spend their lives underground and alone like they were already dead. They didn’t stutter or suffer countless phobias.

    “Don’t feel sorry for yourself,” said Joseph, startling Poe. “You got away clean.”

    “I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself!”

    He threw her a knowing look to say, “Yeah, right.”

    “They were jerks. That’s all.”

    Joseph stayed silent, but a smile lingered and riled Poe’s injured pride. She kept her mouth shut, nevertheless, knowing she would seem petulant and childish in whatever form her answers took. She changed the subject.

    “What were those clear liquid things?” she asked, not really expecting an answer from Sainvire’s buddy. His half-naked, tattooed back and chest grated on her nerves. His bare feet reminded her too much of her Adidas-free feet, blood splotched and all. She especially couldn’t handle his leather pants; they were simply too Beach Blanket Bimbo with too much cowhide for her. She knew that leather was the way to go in vampire literature and movies, but it grossed the living crap out of her.

    

    “Genetically engineered plasma, saline, some funky fungal bacteria, a drop of blood, and a couple of other refined proteins I can’t pronounce.”

    “What’re they for?”

    “Grub.” Joseph let her pass before him up the escalator, following closely behind.

    “What do you-”

    “You’ll find out soon enough,” he interrupted, nodding his head and smiling politely. “I heard that you stutter. Why aren’t you now?”

    “You don’t make me nervous. Your classy cow skin pants don’t scare me.”

    Joseph guffawed heartily. It was no wonder Perla, the nice woman in yo-yo pajamas, treated him like a regular, likeable human. He knew how to take a slam. Despite herself, Poe smiled at the vampire’s contagious laughter. She missed Sister Ann’s unholy laugh and Goss’ hilarious snorting giggle fits.

    “Seriously, Joseph,” Poe said, catching the quick sobering of the merry vampire’s visage as if he expected another iffy question that wasn’t for him to answer. “Are you Chinese?”

    “What makes you say that?” he asked, his eyes full of mischief.

    “Well, the Chinese character tattooed on your left booby.” She pointed at the black, three-inch tattoo. “And the dragon on your back.”

    “Listen, the tattoo is on the left side of my chest. Number two, thousands of non-Chinese got the same kind of tattoos before the Gray Arma-crackin’. It was a craze for a while. And C, and most importantly, never assume a person’s ethnic background in Los Angeles. It’s rude and you’ll almost always guess wrong.” He smiled again, making Poe cringe even more. “I’m not Chinese. I’m Filipino American with some bastardized Spanish blood, I’m told. Any other questions about me, my body art, or racial make-up?”

    “No. Just the meaning of the tattoo,” Poe said, thinking fast, hotly embarrassed.

    “Well, I’m not really sure. I was told that it meant honor, but since I don’t read or speak Chinese, I can only hope the tattoo artist didn’t lie to me. He tattooed ‘moron fashion victim’ for all I know.”

    Poe forced a laugh, feeling a little less stupid. The vampire lectured her but in a funny sort of way, just how Goss used to do. She understood that she was hugely ignorant about social subtleties since Goss and Sister Ann had pointed them out often enough. PC she was not.

    “I like your name, Joseph,” Poe stated, surprised at what came out of her mouth.

    “Oh yeah? Why?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as if expecting some more nipple references.

    “Because you, um, have the same name as my brother.” Poe said, looking away.

    Joseph grinned, showing extremely white teeth with sharpened fangs. “That’s funny. I may have had an annoying sister named Poe in my other life.”

    Was that an extension of friendship, or merely another one of his jokes? No matter, for Poe knew that she was screwed at that point. This charming vampire before her would not die at her hands. Unless of course he tried to kill her.

    “Oh, my mother was half-Filipino, you know,” she told him proudly.

    

    

    Joseph, apparently, was her tour guide for the evening. He took her to the media room where quite a selection of movies was stashed. Several booths equipped with viewing equipment lined the walls.

    As they walked down the lanes, Poe would point out the names of the movies currently playing. “That’s 400 Blows. Good movie. That’s Tarzan and His Mate, and that’s Blacula. Wow. El Norte. Good but a real downer.”

    “I guess you’ve seen a lot of movies in your time, eh?”

    “Nearly every day and every hour since I was eight,” said Poe. “That one’s Office Space and the next one over’s Dong Dong Silver.”

    Joseph shook his head as if he’d misheard the girl. “Dong Dong Silver?” He peeked over the last booth.

    “Hey, mind getting your own booth, folks?” a vampire with his human honey complained. “Looking over our shoulder is not cool, man.”

    Joseph pulled the squirming Poe out of the media room. Once outside he had to sit down and clutch his stomach for support to keep from toppling over. “Dong Dong Silver! Ha ha ha!”

    Poe just stood there, offended and truly mortified. She didn’t discriminate when it came to movies. She watched them all.

    A now sober Joseph ended his outburst at the sight of Poe’s obvious embarrassment.

    “Hope you’re hungry,” he said, changing the subject. He led her down a corridor into a huge kitchen with rows of tables and chairs.

    She drank the sight of vampires, halfdeads, and humans supping together.

    “So many people,” she said in a whisper.

    Then her nostrils picked up the most magnificent smells she hadn’t sniffed in over a decade.

    “A buffet,” she said with awe, ranting out names of nearly forgotten all-you-can eat restaurants.

    “Todai’s sushi and seafood grab-a-lots, Raji’s Indian foodtacular, Nyala’s Ethiopian smorgasbord…”

    She didn’t remember being handed a tray. There on the slab of heated metal tins represented an amalgam of Angelino cultures. Pad thai, tamales, orange chicken, bibimbap, vegetable tikka masala, blintz, collard greens, kebobs, mashed potatoes, pork chops, sushi, teriyaki chicken, mac and cheese, and so much more! She stood where she was, staring as hungry humans passed her up.

    After fourteen years of eating jellified canned food, she piled it on.

    She scooped some rice and poured vegetable tikka masala sauce on it. Then some greens without bacon, mashed potatoes over jerk sauce, corn on the cob, stir fried veggies, eggplant curry, California rolls, and-

    “Will you be needing another tray?” Sainvire asked, casually appearing out of nowhere, looking at the mound of food on the cattle runner’s plate and tray.

    “Oh. Sorry.” Poe plopped down the rice pudding she was about to spoon into a bowl, embarrassed. Beaming down at her, Sainvire ladled some of the pudding in the bowl on her tray.

    “She’s suddenly the center of attention,” Joseph commented, looking about him. Vamps and humans alike had ceased supping to stare at the stranger and her mound of food.

    “Don’t mind them,” Sainvire assured her. “They seem to have forgotten their manners.”

    “It’s ’cause my tray looks like the mashed potato mountain in Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” Poe said quietly, not in any way deterred from the meal.

    “I forgot to tell you that you can come back for seconds. Or thirds,” Joseph said, his perpetual smile shining. He was holding orange juice and grape soda in his hands.

    

    The two vampires led an extremely crimson Poe to an empty table. Joseph pushed the juices toward the girl.

    “Hope grape and orange is fine.”

    Poe nodded her head and mumbled her appreciation. She didn’t immediately dig in to her plate, thinking that this might very well be her last supper before she became someone else’s dinner. Sainvire and Joseph sitting across the table made Poe uncomfortable. It was as though they wanted to watch her gobble down the tower of tikka and laugh at her expense.

    Bastards. They finally ignored her and started talking quietly about Trench and his angry goons. Trying to remember proper fork and knife etiquette, Poe slowly dug in. The traffic cop in her head hollered for her to slow down. She slackened the pace for about a minute. Then it was suddenly about vengeance, like Lardass at the pie-eating contest in Stand by Me. Unlike Lardass, however, Poe paused now and then to appreciate certain dishes by closing her eyes and memorizing the flavor and texture, for she knew it could be another decade before she tasted anything so yummy and warm.

    With her eyes closed, she reveled in the teriyaki sauce over rice. There were simply no words to describe the explosion of flavor. Even the orange juice got a fist-slamming show of appreciation. In the midst of the pauses, grunts, and lip smacking, Poe was oblivious to her surroundings.

    “I don’t think anyone’s given our cooking such a resounding compliment before,” Habib, one of the four chefs, commented while looking on.

    Sainvire was careful to wave away certain humans who inched to their table for a closer look. Vampires who dared to hover too close received a quelling look from the master vampire. To all this, Poe was blind, lost in gastronomical delights and remembrance of her mother and father who believed sampling different kinds of food to be a privilege.

    To everyone’s surprise, Poe obliterated her plate, down to the last crust of bread that wiped the sauces clean. The tip of her nose dusted with sweat. Only when Poe swallowed the last spoonful of rice pudding did she become aware of the pain in her stomach.

    Then there were hooting and clapping. The cafeteria audience had converted the meal into a cheesy reality show, the kind her parents didn’t let her watch because it brought out the worst traits in the contestants. The voice police returned and said, I told you so!

    Her stomach, tremendously stretched by the amount of food shoveled in there, gave a kick. Flame- faced Poe had no recourse but to extend her hand to the four chefs that encircled her: Habib, Janice, Petra, and Ray.

    “What a show, what a show,” random people said as they clapped her on the back. She didn’t appreciate the gesture at all. The movement jarred her belly, causing terrible discomfort.

    And to think, she had even briefly considered Joseph as a sort of friend. Sick jerk. He laughed the loudest. Sainvire, having had enough himself, extended his arm to Poe to hoist her up. The girl merely threw him a piss-off look and rolled herself out of the chair. The unnaturally large bulge of her stomach garnered another round of applause.

    As she headed for the door, she ignored the laughter. On the right, Poe noticed a dreadlocked vampire sucking on a clear plastic bag bursting with thick fluid. The vampire winked at her, and the human girl sitting next to him clapped. This was such a strange place, definitely not how she expected a cattle farm to be.

    

    

    Poe shut out the conversation between Sainvire and Joseph as they walked ahead along the long corridor to the vestibule of the library. She could care less about them.

    All those wasted years craving for human companionship. There were tons of humans, fifty at least in the cafeteria, and they treated her like a stain. The lab folks wanted to beat the crap out of her, not to mention turn her into cattle.

    “Bunch of leeches,” she gritted in a low voice. “Try living on cans of discontinued slimy green beans for a month and see how you act in front of a buffet table.”

    Who needed these obnoxious people? She certainly did not. It was no fun to be one of the Beverly Hillbillies when the jokes and jibes were thrown at her. Shoot, Dad was a podiatrist, for crying out loud - a doctor! He knew everything about bunions, California Missions, and the Southern Pacific Railroad. Her mom was a famous local artist and a great reader who owned fourteen portable record players and two rare Victrolas, the kind with a crank and wood horn.

    As for Poe, she learned how to read when she was scarcely three years old. She received honors and awards for speed-reading by the time she hit the fourth grade. Her mom always said she was one sharp chickie who might one day become a reporter or comic book writer. She could solve math problems with her right hand and compose an essay with the left.

    “Not many people can boast that they are ambidextrous, sweetie,” her mother often reminded her.

    Now these so-called living, breathing people treated her like garbage and made her the brunt of their jokes.

    “Screw them,” she fumed silently. “I’ll never lift a finger to help anyone. May they choke on all the good cafeteria food they chug down! And they can just-”

    “Poe, are you ready for our little talk?” Sainvire asked, leading all three up the escalator and forcing Poe to pay attention.

    “Yes,” she said huffily.

    Joseph laughed, holding his muscled tummy. “You’re not sore about the cafeteria incident, are you, Poe?”

    Poe glared at him. How could this guy who shared her brother’s name laugh at her, too? Jerk! “What do you think?”

    “I’ve never seen the cafeteria so lively. It’s usually like a morgue in there,” Joseph continued, unmindful of Poe’s wounded pride. “We have your appetite to thank for that.”

    One more crack and she would truly embarrass herself. She was on the verge of throwing up and worse, crying. She looked away, pretending to scrutinize some paintings from the Trash Can movement of the early 20th century. She could care less about them.

    Sainvire stopped smiling, noting the girl’s inability to take a joke. He motioned for his friend to stop the teasing.

    “Joseph, it’s almost three in the morning. Poe and I have many things to discuss before dawn.”

    Joseph sobered, understanding his flub. “Yes. I have to check on a couple things myself.” He tried to catch Poe’s eyes, but she wouldn’t look up to meet his. “Goodnight, Poe. I enjoyed giving you the star tour.” He gave a little nod to Sainvire and walked away.

    Sainvire led Poe up the escalator, mindful of her space. Once they reached the domed lobby, the two headed wordlessly to Sainvire’s private rooms. Poe didn’t even ask. She just proceeded straight for the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She turned on the shower. What followed next was a tragedy. All the good food she’d imbibed gushed out in lumps as soon as she knelt on the tile floor before the toilet seat. Poe reasoned between heaves that the humans should have been cultured enough not to make a big deal of her gluttony.

    At the fourth heave, Poe spewed out the very last of the good food. She cried silent but defiant tears. She grieved for Goss and Sister Ann, whose early deaths she could have prevented. She wept for the bruises and cuts she’d received that made her body sore and feverish. She stifled a sob as she remembered the stinging anger and ridicule from her own people. And she threw up the best damn food she’d had in years. In the end, she cried for one of the most god-awful days she’d ever had in her life.

    Depleted, Poe blew her nose with toilet paper. She washed her puffy red face and tried to blink the redness away.

    “Try to think of something happy, you big cry baby,” she admonished her reflection and started to look for floss. She didn’t want a repeat of a tooth pulling by a thick-fingered Goss using pliers meant for plumbing.

    Brushed and flossed and eye veins shrunken to size, Poe felt confident enough to face the vampire. She needed to be scary to get some respect. She imagined hacking the smiling head of Joseph, the leather-loving vampire sidekick, and puncturing Sainvire’s distracting orbs with sharpened pencils. If she really wanted to, she could kill all of them.

    

    

    Sainvire gingerly lifted the comforter under the sedated dog, hoping the poor mutt wouldn’t wake up. As lightly as he could, he floated a foot above ground and glided back to his room. Penny twitched and whined as if stuck in a nightmare. Sainvire’s jaw set hard.

    He hesitated before placing the dog down. “Which would you prefer, little Penny?” he asked softly.

    At first he was going to set her down on the bed, but he thought Poe might decide to sleep with the dog and injure the mutt further with the movements of the soft mattress. No. Penny would have to sleep on the divan by the bed. Sainvire’s gestures bordered on non- movement. He made Penny’s descent onto the divan a breeze.

    Poe was still in the bathroom, her grief not hidden from the vampire’s keen ears by the rush of shower water. At least she wasn’t vomiting anymore. Sainvire chose a leather armchair by the window to sit in and waited for her to come out.

    “I’m hoping you’ll make our meeting less awkward,” he told the wiry haired dog.

    He was correct on that score. Immediately after entering the room, the young woman kneeled by the dog and whispered, “I’ll get us out of here soon. Then we can start over.”

    Occupied with Goss’ dog - hers now - Poe realized that Penny was by far more abused than she. Penny’s beloved human companion, along with Legs, was gone. Poe forgot about the vampire momentarily as she tended to the dog. When she finally did look at him sitting as still as an empty church and watching her, Poe forced a look of nonchalance.

    “Sorry I took so long,” Poe began. “I’m, um, not ready for real food, I guess.”

    “I assure you, Poe, there’s no need to explain.” He motioned to a leather burgundy armchair across from him. “I quite understand. We really should begin our conversation about your friends since dawn is closely approaching.”

    And so began a narrative that left Poe reeling in its intricacy.

    

    

    

    TO SAY THAT POE was nervous would be an understatement. Her slouched, constantly shifting figure could not stay still on the slippery leather chair. Her eyes flicked between Sainvire and the naked Modigliani painting behind him. Calamitously the bandage she had taken from the medical tray and wrapped around her bosom itched terribly.

    At least the vampire looked as discomfited as her. His clear eyes heavy with secrets, Sainvire finally cleared his throat and began.

    “Before I tell you what I know, I must first ask you to disclose what I’m about to reveal only to people you trust implicitly.”

    For a few seconds all Poe could do was stare incongruously at the master vampire. “Well, um, who am I going to tell? All my friends are dead. The humans here are so obnoxious, they won’t get anything outta me.”

    “There’s Megan and Morales,” he said quietly, noting the stiffening of Poe’s spine.

    “H-how did-”

    “You’ll find out everything, Poe, as soon as I get your promise.”

    “Alright. You have it, but on one condition. You have to tell me who killed my friends.” Even if it was you, Poe thought.

    Sainvire nodded his assent, his face not betraying anything.

    “I give you my word,” he said quietly.

    He looked intently at Poe’s face for so long that the girl was on the brink of developing a much bigger complex about her scar. Then he spoke with a deep, gravelly voice.

    “Before the Gray Armageddon, a contingent of vampires was already in search of a new, non-human food source. With the aid of some very gifted scientists, geneticists, phlebotomists, and a brood of other experts who knew about us, we initiated research. In two years, we made promising progress. But the gray matter came, destroying most of the human population and civilization as we knew it. And to this day, the poison winds still remain a conundrum for which we have many explanations but no definite answers. My personal theory is that we doomed ourselves with germ experimentation that succeeded in wiping out most everyone. Anyway, after the tragedy, vampires broke into factions to fill the power vacuum.

    “The Vampire Council that had existed for hundreds of years set up a new working government in the cities with vampire concentrations.” He touched his temple and looked away from Poe’s dark gaze. “The Council in Los Angeles is composed of five very powerful vampires just as lost as the rest of us. Predictably most undead decided to go off alone and hunt the remaining humans for food and sport without thought of the future. It was a chaotic time as you may remember.” He gave her a meaningful look.

    “Looting and carnage ruled the streets for weeks afterward, eviscerating the already dwindling human population. Some of my scientists, the ones who had been working at an off-the-books underground location researching alternative food sources for the undead, survived when the gray miasma arrived. We salvaged the accumulated data and brought the files to this library. I moved the scientists here, and I have extended them my protection ever since. They and a few others have continued the research.” He cleared his throat, letting his words sink in.

    “Vampires have existed for thousands of years, so I’ve been told. Many delight in creating minions by boring holes through a victim’s skull and pouring vampire blood onto the exposed brain or by repeated bites within days of each other. I had to do something about the steadily disappearing humans and the growing number of new vampires created each night. It didn’t take a genius to do the math.”

    Poe sneered, “So you set up the operation, imprisoning humans against their will and turning them into a bunch of miserable cows to be bloodmilked.”

    Sainvire’s gaze found hers. “I’m not going to deny anything, Poe. I am the mastermind of the whole sordid business. I deserve everyone’s contempt for what I have done.”

    As if his guilt is going to right his wrongs! “Your life story is really interesting, but I’m too tired and vampire-prejudiced to care,” Poe sniffed, disgusted at the presumptuousness of this Mengele. “How is this connected to Sister Ann and Goss?”

    Sainvire hardly blamed Poe for her animosity. He felt the same way about himself.

    “Sister Ann used to be a leech. She fed the cattle, prayed over them, and collected their blood for a certain master.” The look on Poe’s face stopped him. “Look, Poe. She wasn’t a leech by choice. No one wanted to drink her blood because superstitious undead declared they would self-combust if they did. And no one dared to kill her, as some still believed in the idea of an afterlife and the wrath of God for harming a nun.

    And despite the topsy-turvy times, Sister and I developed camaraderie. I managed to negotiate her release from the vampire she worked under and brought her here.”

    He sighed, remembering the sweet, lined face of the nun on the brink of madness. If Catholicism was dying when the world was normal, it was dead now. “We became good friends, believe it or not. She encouraged me to persevere in trying to find a new food source, and she commended me for not milking any of the cattle I maintained. Strictly volunteer blood donation or animal blood for me and my people.” He smiled and said, “Joseph treated her like a second mother. He even taught her some jujitsu when she was up for it.”

    Poe couldn’t help herself. She was entranced. Sister Ann had always been close-lipped about her previous life. What she did know of the nun, she had learned from Goss.

    “One day Sister Ann asked me to grant her freedom.” Sainvire pressed the palm of his hands to his forehead. “I was petrified for her. Without my protection, anything could happen, habit or no habit. The streets still crawled with rogue vampires who refused to stop hunting humans. They believed it beneath them to drink refrigerated blood. I tried to convince her that leaving wasn’t a good idea, but she was adamant, telling me that she was going to rescue the poor cattle she had helped bleed. I’m sure you know how hardheaded Sister Ann could get.”

    Poe nodded. She certainly knew. The nun was unstoppable when it came to preaching against particular movies in her bunker.

    “I knew I couldn’t stop her. She would find a way to escape. So we made a deal. She had to train with Joseph and ammunition experts living here for a year.

    Then she could go. Good thing she agreed because I thought I’d have to hog-tie the woman.” He beamed at the memory. “After the year had passed, I introduced her to Morales and Megan who were experienced traffickers in the underground by then. Her task was to rescue cattle and bring them to the runners.”

    “Soon after, she met up with a very emotionally battered Goss who had just escaped from one of Trench’s facilities. Sister comforted him over Daryl, and later, when he was stronger, taught him all she knew. She brought Goss over for sparring lessons with Joseph.” He gave the barest hint of a grin. “He’d taken Aikido in college and proved to be an apt student.”

    “A month or two after Goss threw you against his wall, and Penny,” he looked over at the sleeping dog, “bit you on the ankle, our researchers made a breakthrough.” He forced himself not to laugh at Poe’s reaction. She shivered at the things he knew.

    “They found that by putting together particular synthetic materials mixed with plasma, a few drops of human blood, and a few other not-so-hard-to-find minerals, the perfect vampire food was created. After a few trials, about eighty-five percent of our test subjects preferred the Plasmacore, as it’s now called, to blood. Results vary from vampire to vampire. It gave some vampires better night vision, staved off hunger longer than blood, and it actually enabled quite a number of undead to withstand some sunlight.”

    Poe looked at Sainvire a little differently. He had found an alternative source of food for vampires. Farms and cattle would no longer be needed.

    “But when I took my trial results over to the Council, I was quickly censured.”

    “But why?” cried Poe, tucking her dirty feet in a cross-legged position and sitting straight back. “How could they want this, this…crazy thing to continue?”

    “Damned if I know. They didn’t even favor me with an explanation. I was threatened that if a single Plasmacore bottle is seen on the streets, then my charges and I would face the Council for treason.”

    “Treason? What the hell does that mean?” a seething Poe asked, digging her nails into her uninjured thigh to keep from letting out a string of curses.

    “It means that my people and I will be hunted and executed by the Council’s minions, and possibly by the Council itself.”

    Poe shook her head. “I don’t get it. Wouldn’t they want to feel a little bit of sun, or -”

    “It’s not as easy as that, Poe. The Council and some remarkably old vampires are shaken by this whole development. The councilmembers are ancient immortals who are strong beyond belief. The vampires that created them and the brood they have spawned all over the world have always enjoyed prestige and royal treatment. I’m not only talking about the Council in Los Angeles, either. I’m referring to all the councilmembers and Ancients who have profited from fear and reverence for hundreds of years around the world.”

    “I still don’t get it.” Poe scratched her head in frustration. “Can’t their system take the Plasmacore or something?”

    “They can drink the Plasmacore. That’s the problem.” With his hand, Sainvire stopped Poe from asking another question. “Put it this way, Poe. Imagine you are the Queen of England, set apart by blood, riches, and circumstance. You are told that if you drink a can of root beer, a soda that would take away all the perks and bring you on even footing with street cleaners, prostitutes, coal miners, and such, would you drink it?”

    “Sure,” Poe answered quickly. “I love root beer.”

    “Yes, you would. But you haven’t tasted the birthright of a queen. Gold, crown jewels, palaces, maze gardens with peacocks, the rights of condescension.” Sainvire stretched his long legs clad in black slacks, nearly touching Poe’s foot which unwound at the same time.

    “Our ancient, closed-minded vampires want the mystique of vampirism to stay. They want glory, awe, and fear from fellow vampires and humans alike. Strength used to lie in the strain of vampire blood where one was created from, as well as the vintage of the vampires themselves. But even supernatural beings can’t compete with nature, science, and genetics.”

    Poe nearly catapulted out of her seat as Sainvire’s extremely sharp and intimidating nails shot up fourteen inches, turning into deadly black talons.

    “During the past hundred years or so,” Sainvire continued as if nothing untoward had happened, “fledgling vampires springing from no discernible ancient bloodlines showed promise of power far stronger than many Ancients. Some could even walk in daylight, only needing to protect their eyes. Some could fly and some could unearth entire buildings with their bare hands. Some exhibited strengths far more advanced and complex than any ancient immortals from the earlier bloodlines.”

    He stared at Poe for quite some time before continuing. His gaze lingered upon her long, lustrous hair parted on the side and held with bobby pins, her naturally arched eyebrows, serious dark eyes, small perspiring nose tip, and down to her lips, still swollen from a punch. “In short, the old order started to crumble. Superstitious hogwash now had a basis for scientific study. Old and ancient didn’t spell fear anymore.”

    “Are you an old vampire?” Poe asked, for she couldn’t take his probing any longer.

    Sainvire chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I am, only compared to you. I’m sure the silly war I fought in won’t ring any bells. I left Chicago, my home, to fight with the Abraham Lincoln Brigade against Franco in Spain.”

    “This was before World War II, right? I know it. You were like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.” She smiled at history learned through the insightful textbook of films.

    “I wouldn’t put it quite that way. Rick Blaine ended up owning the Cafй Americaine in the Hollywood version, while I got to be food for a hefty Spanish vampire woman with foul breath who had been a prostitute at a seedy Andalusian whorehouse. Did I mention she was sex crazed? The war was a lost cause, and my idealism died when shrapnel lodged into my shoulder.” He crossed one ankle over the other. “I was thirty-four years old when I changed into what I am today. We can thank the little seсorita for lapping up the blood from my shattered shoulder and biting off a chunk of my noggin and spitting blood into my brain.”

    “So your nails grow and you can fly. Do you have any other talents?”

    “I have many talents, Poe.” His eyes left hers and stole a quick glance at her bound bosom. What a shame, he thought. “I will be sure to show them to you, but right now, I have to finish my tale. Where was I?”

    Boiling from the vampire’s suggestive words, Poe said, “You were talking about the ancient vampires and the new breeds.”

    “Yes, thank you. Anyway, the Ancients, when they found out about the talented new breeds, as you referred to them, they were naturally overcome with fear about the possible consequences. So like they had done for centuries upon finding freak vampires such as myself,” he retracted his claws for effect, “they hunted them down and exterminated them. However, when the gray came, it seemed silly to kill off vampires without justification. The Council would’ve been exposed. So they allowed us to be part of the new society, never letting us forget the primal order.

    “Imagine their chagrin when I came up to them and offered an alternative to pure human blood. They were livid to say the least.” He sighed. “It was my fault, really. I thought everyone was going to have a fist-slamming celebration like I did. I also was foolish enough to assume that the Council owed allegiance to me for planning the cattle idea.” He looked at Poe, wincing at the cattle reference. “Here we are at an impasse. We have the Plasmacore, but we can’t let anyone outside this library know about it.”

    Again Sainvire lapsed into silence, lines appearing on his forehead. “If you must know, I…I’m the one who killed Goss and Sister Ann,” he said, almost whispering.

    Poe sat frozen, stunned at the abrupt change of subject. Pure anger seeped through her system like venom, and Poe bolted out of her chair. Before Sainvire could straighten his legs, Poe sprang on him, her knee on his thigh and the point of the medical scissors at his neck.

    Her voice, deep and husky with pent up fury and melancholy asked, “Why?” She thought he was Sister’s and Goss’ friend.

    Sainvire didn’t change his relaxed position. He looked at her dark eyes, swimming with hate, guilt, regret, two inches from his own. Her breath smelled of wintergreen toothpaste.

    “Because I wasn’t there when they needed me,” he answered, closing his eyes. His mouth set in a hard line. “I was out of town, secretly meeting with other vampires, giving them samples of the Plasmacore and the formula and components to recreate them.”

    Poe’s hand wavered, the scissors shaking, but still she didn’t let go. Her throat seemed parched and hollow.

    “A master vampire shouldn’t leave his people, and that’s what I did,” he continued, his voice deep and soft. “I found out that Goss and Sister hadn’t arrived to turn over any cattle when I met with Morales and Megan in Pico Rivera.” He opened his eyes and stared at Poe. “I went to see Goss and it was too late. Trench had already gotten to them. That was when I saw you jump out of the glass window while under attack by Trench’s people.” He sighed, yet again. “You see, it was my fault for overreaching my bounds.”

    Liquid fell on Sainvire’s cheek. It wasn’t his. Vampires were incapable of crying. He looked up to see Poe’s eyes huge with tears. She clutched at his black shirt as if about to rip it to shreds.

    “It wasn’t your fault, not entirely.” Poe’s voice was heavy with grief. “It was mine, too.”

    Sainvire leaned forward and dug his hands on either side of her arms. “Don’t say that,” he commanded. “You went up to the clock tower by yourself to rescue them. You were surrounded by vicious-”

    Poe shook her head. “No! I should’ve left my bunker sooner but…but-”

    She cried hard, clutching at Sainvire’s shirt. “But I didn’t! I was too much of a coward!” She stabbed a number two pencil at his chest, but not hard enough to do any damage. “It took two weeks to convince myself to go out and look for them. At least you were off doing something important. While I watched videos and sat it out, my friends were being bled to death.”

    Sainvire put his arm around her, only to be pushed roughly away. Poe slumped back to her chair. With the back of her hand, she wiped the drops on her cheek. She kicked herself for being so damn weak in front of Sainvire. Some crybaby vampire killer she turned out to be.

    Sainvire restrained himself from embracing the young woman fighting hard not to weep. Apparently they had two things in common: their love for their dead friends and the guilt they suffered over their deaths. No matter what the other said, the guilt would lie in both.

    Quietly he rose.

    “You can sleep on the bed. I thank you for listening to me. I know how tired you must be.” He bowed and walked away, closing the door behind him.

    Poe stared after him, her nose red and runny. I must look disgusting and weak to him. For some reason, this thought bothered her quite a bit, for shouldn’t she have been dwelling on her guilt instead of what the vampire thought of her?

    

    

    

    OUTSIDE, GRAY CLOUDS REJOICED as feelers of lightning pierced the sky, creating a smoky afterburn across the downtown skyline. Rain, not wanting to be outdone, poured out in great pelts. Wind came, slapping palm tree fronds and ejecting their rat inhabitants to the concrete jungle below. With a pillow over her head, Poe slept through the clutter. It was a little past noon. Just like the storm raging outside the window, she was oblivious to the figure that studied her sleeping form, the observer’s fist clenching and unclenching. Satisfied with what he saw, the man made a hasty exit.

    Inside the library was a bustle of activity not unlike the storm outside. If the comings and goings of the lower level were viewed from the air, ant-like figures in white robes would have been seen packing Plasmacore bags into crates. Once the boxes were filled and packed in bubble wrap and foam, vampires and halfdeads lifted them effortlessly onto the waiting trucks in the parking garage. What couldn’t be seen from above were the newly awakened humans ready to replace the night shift workers. The operation was quite involved and organized. And every detail was recorded by memory by the ever-watchful eyes of a spy.

    

    Down in the library basement slept about four dozen vampires, getting needed respite from the night’s work and the sun. The spying eyes counted the vampires occupying the ground floor and made another mental note.

    Lightning projected phantasmagoric shadow and light from the sundry stained glass and other windows of the library not covered by tar. The mole stopped within earshot of three beings talking intently by the elevator.

    “I’m done with being a traveling salesman,” said Sainvire. “From now on, I’m staying put. I’ll never let anything happen to our people again because of a utopian dream.”

    “It’s no dream. Many of your kind have already taken to Plasmacore,” said Perla.

    “You just want to stay because of the girl,” teased Joseph. “She’s a looker, that one.”

    The spy listened as Sainvire, Joseph, and Perla discussed the girl named Poe. As soon as Sainvire turned to study the pillar he was hiding behind, the operative pivoted and headed toward the escalator on the other side of the hall.

    “Who was that?” Sainvire asked.

    “Oh, he’s the new phlebotomist,” Perla volunteered. “He’s the human our sweepers found wandering around Santa Monica few months ago.”

    “I have the oddest sense that he was listening to us from behind that column,” Sainvire commented as he followed the man’s descent down the escalator.

    “How did he say he survived all this time?” asked the master vampire.

    “With help from the clandestine community in West L.A. and Santa Monica, of course,” answered Perla. It was well known that the small group of stragglers and survivors had formed a working community thereabouts. They’d dodged cattle round- ups routinely initiated by master vampires and councilmembers. Many of them were Sainvire’s contacts.

    “He’s pretty weird,” Joseph supplied. “He got on Poe’s case for spilling a packet of blood. He almost tackled the poor girl. Would’ve liked to see him try. My money would’ve been on Poe, of course, after what Goss told us and what you witnessed yesterday.”

    “Just keep an eye on him,” Sainvire ordered. “One slip and I want him gone, alright?”

    His two friends nodded their assent.

    “Joseph, will you escort Poe to the armory room this afternoon?”

    “It’ll be my pleasure,” Joseph grinned. “Although I can’t imagine a human so slight handling such heavy firepower.”

    “Friend, you haven’t seen her at work,” said Sainvire with a crooked smile. “She single-handedly killed over a dozen of Trench’s troops and survived with only scratches and a nail wound.”

    “Sounds like Terminator Girl has a fan,” Joseph mocked the much taller vampire.

    Sainvire didn’t deny it. He merely told the impertinent vampire to scram for he had something to discuss with Perla.

    When they were finally alone, Sainvire turned to a smiling Perla, clad in yet another set of matching pajamas, only this time the yellow jammies bled with Voltron figures in various fighting stances.

    “Not you, too, Perla,” Sainvire despaired, shaking his head.

    “Well, Kaleb, it has been years since you’ve had a woman, vampire or human at that.” Perla hooked her arm in the crook of Sainvire’s.

    

    Sainvire squeezed his friend’s arm and flashed a wry smile. “Are you sure about that? I’ve been traveling a lot recently, you know.”

    His retort made the round-cheeked woman chortle, and she pinched the master vampire’s perfectly firm buns.

    One of his dark eyebrows lifted. For the affront, he retaliated by placing a booming kiss on the top of her head. He was used to his friend’s very touchy and sometimes shockingly irreverent but benign actions. Besides, Perla had a partner whom Sainvire adored and respected. “Were you able to procure what I asked for?”

    “You bet. The items are already upstairs,” she scowled, giving him a significant look. “Now I think I’ll take a nap before I play babysitter today.”

    

    

    Poe woke up to a crowd within the terrarium they called the library.

    The bed’s too comfortable. She’d lost command of her internal alarm clock. The presence of four creatures in her room - Sainvire’s room - nearly spurred a heart condition. She bolted upright, her sore muscles and myriad injuries screaming. One hand explored her head for any holes and the other reached under the pillow for scissors, her hair falling in tangled disarray around her face.

    “Good morning, Poe,” Perla greeted cheerfully as she placed Poe’s freshly dried clothes and shoes on the foot of the bed.

    “You mean, good afternoon, don’t you?” Joseph corrected. He flashed Poe a disapproving headshake, his trademark smile nearly surfacing.

    Poe couldn’t quite get herself to speak. She was afraid a string of gutter-stutter would come out, so she waited until her breathing settled a notch. She saw Sainvire give her a quick nod as he fed spoonfuls of what appeared to be mashed potatoes to a groggy Penny.

    A tall and thick middle-aged vampire that was sitting at the far end of the room drifted a foot from the ground toward the bed. The woman simply smiled at the weapon in Poe’s hand.

    “My name’s Maple,” the vampire introduced herself, dropping a heavy sack full of bullets on the mattress. “These are for you.”

    “Huh?”

    “Bullets, Poe. Not just marinated bullets but bullets filled with garlic oil. Or as Sister loved to say, blessed bullets.” She extended her dead white hand. “Nice to meet you.”

    Poe stared at the hand and until she finally extended her own. The vamp’s hand was softer and warmer than she had imagined. “Um, nice to meet you.”

    A little more than confused, Poe looked around the room, unsure of what to do. The huge bed dwarfed her, quite pathetic and rumpled. Her silence also added to doubts about her killing ability. Perla already had a preconception of the girl as a clumsy blood spiller. Joseph, although he enjoyed sporting around with his new pal, had his doubts that this little leaguer could kill supernaturals even with the aid of weapons. “She’s just lucky,” he told Sainvire.

    As for Maple, the girl’s inability to handle this simple social situation lost her some Kool-Aid points. But she did concede that Poe had lived a decade or so of her life alone, which would explain the warped social skills. And they had invaded her space before she had time to dress.

    

    Only Sainvire had the utmost confidence in the girl’s abilities. He’d seen firsthand what Poe could do under duress. She was also a damn fine shot, accurately able to shatter two vampire heads at once. He sensed the doubts around him, but they would just have to see for themselves. Besides, Poe’s husky voice penetrated his senses like nothing else.

    Perla was the first to break the silence. “Here are your clothes and shoes, dear.” She smiled as Poe’s eyes lingered on a Voltron figure on the woman’s sleeve. “We have washers and dryers downstairs. Hope you don’t mind.” Poe shook her head, mumbling a thank you.

    “You’ll find a new toothbrush in the bathroom and some ibuprofen. You must be really sore by now.”

    Because Poe kept staring at her with those big eyes with a pinched look, Perla decided to be a little more specific. “You can take a shower now if you wish. You have a long afternoon ahead of you.” She indicated Joseph with her head. “Joe there will outfit you with new weapons, and Maple will show you the vampire’s most vulnerable areas, the ones Sister Ann neglected to teach you. So go on and get ready so you can have lunch beforehand.”

    Poe nodded once and slinked out of the bed barefoot and into the privacy of the bathroom. None of the vampires or Perla failed to notice the tattered condition of Sainvire’s old trousers which overnight had sprouted little strings from the hacked hems. The four visitors held their urge to laugh until after the young woman had shut the bathroom door. Then they let loose.

    If Poe did hear laughter, she ignored it, for among the folded clothes Perla handed her were three new pairs of cotton bras. At that moment, she simply wanted to get gobbled down by any miserable monsters looking to have a meal.

    

    

    Acutely aware of the prying eyes hoping for a repeat of the night before, Poe made it a point to eat more slowly, savoring the flavors of hash browns, pancakes, and veggie sausages.

    “Are we correct in assuming you’re vegetarian, Poe?” Habib asked in a prim British accent. He and the other three chefs joined the girl, Perla, Maple, and Joseph during brunch.

    “Um, I never thought of that, but I guess so,” Poe answered, drinking a draught of freshly squeezed orange juice. “My dad could drink a gallon of this stuff without taking a breath.”

    It looked like she would have three escorts for the rest of the day. As she finished her O.J., Poe surreptitiously checked out Joseph who poured some Plasmacore into two glasses, handing one to Maple. Her gaze turned to Perla, dipping a piece of toast in the yellow part of her eggs. She stopped her scrutinizing when she noticed Janice, one of the chefs, looking at her.

    “How’s breakfast, young lady?” she asked.

    Poe swallowed and enthusiastically answered, “Delicious! You guys are the best cooks in the world.”

    The chefs beamed, promising dinner to be a truly lavish affair. Poe smacked her lips and rubbed her tummy in anticipation. “I can’t wait.” Joseph ended all the food talk, feeling rather hungry himself for something altogether different than his liquid meal.

    “Enough about food already,” Joseph begged. “We need to vamoose to the Dirty Harry Room.”

    

    Poe thanked the chefs again and took her leave, her belly round from the amount of food inside. She wondered about the Dirty Harry Room but decided to wait it out.

    It didn’t take her long to utter, “Oh, I get it.” The Dirty Harry Room contained weaponry of all kinds from as early as the 1600s. The room used to be the special library reserve for newspapers, magazines, microfilm, and CDs. Now it carried hundreds of axes, knives, bayonets, crossbows, and of course, guns. The end of the long, bare room boasted nothing but three large target sheets tacked on a wall of wood and tough fibers to blunt the bullets.

    Poe’s eyes warily drank the sight of such magnificent weaponry. Her parents, avidly anti-gun, were probably looking down on her with terrible disapproval. But what could she do in such dark times?

    Eyeing the row of axes, she quietly said, “I want one of those.” She’d always had a hankering for a Hawkeye axe.

    “Should we start with the guns? You’ll need a few,” Joseph suggested.

    Poe followed him to the rows of perfectly shelved handguns, rifles, semi-automatics, and shotguns. Poe gravitated to the Walther PPK, hoping to replace her dear James.

    “I prefer a Walther PPK and a Beretta.”

    “Try handling other guns first. You might be surprised,” Joseph advised.

    Reluctantly Poe inspected the automatic pistol that Joseph, uncharacteristically clad in a Watchmen shirt, handed her. It was a 10mm Remington, a bit heavy and large for her hands, but she just had to please the smile-heavy vampire looking over her shoulders. At least he was fully dressed this time. She didn’t even bother to step at the shooting line. Poe fired from where she stood at the corner end of the room.

    Perla and Maple, deep in conversation, were startled into attention by the blast, their eyes alternating between Poe and the target. Her shot was a few millimeters from the bullseye, but it was still in the red circle. They looked at the girl who made a face at Joseph and said that the Remington was too heavy. Their conversation stopped for good to watch Poe select several guns and fire them. Holding a gun in each hand, Poe shot at two separate targets simultaneously, hitting the center of both. The two women exchanged looks.

    “I take back any doubts I had about her skills,” Perla whispered to Maple.

    “Ditto. Taken back.”

    As surprised as Perla and Maple, Joseph was decidedly awed by the shooting prowess of the young woman. He grinned as he handed the Glock, his favorite weapon, to Poe.

    The pasted look of cynicism on Poe’s face faded as soon as she held the small G-19 pistol that held 18 rounds of ammo. It felt feather light and fit perfectly in her hand. It was made out of synthetic polymer that was stronger than steel, yet was hugely lighter than most pistols. She took the other gun Joseph held out to her. It was a Glock 33, also known as one of the smallest.357s ever made. For such a powerful handgun, it was surprisingly buoyant.

    Poe moved to the firing line. Extending both hands into fire position, Poe sprinkled bullets on the three targets on the opposite side of the room, hitting the bullseye over ninety-nine percent of the time. To her surprise, the Glocks proved better than her old guns. The change saddened her, but for safety sake, she chose accuracy over loyalty.

    “I’m sold on these two,” she said to Joseph.

    “Wise choice.”

    Poe ended up with a Walther PPK and three Glocks, including a mini-Glock, a palm sized firearm that could be easily sheathed at her ankle. Maple also supplied Poe with a mini-Uzi that was more high-tech than the one sliced by vampire nails back at Goss’. For what it was worth, the manufacturer guaranteed that the Uzi wouldn’t lock.

    “No, really. I don’t want a shotgun,” she said adamantly. “I’ll kill myself with the recoil. But I wouldn’t mind a small axe and some knives.”

    Perla helped sharpen the chosen Hawkeye axe, while Maple and Joseph looked for the right-size shoulder and ankle holsters for the girl. Poe filled her backpack with ammunition. She was used to heavy weights on her shoulders.

    Maple gave a brief but informative lecture about the vulnerable spots of vampires. Poe was surprised to learn a thing or two. For instance, she hadn’t known that a vampire’s spine could be severed if hit two or three times with blessed ammo. The bacteria in the garlic would prevent the bones from soldering back together. Since the vampire was nice enough to share such prime information, Poe felt more at ease. So much at ease that she asked Maple in a whisper if it was true that male vampires reacted like human males when kicked in the groin.

    Maple didn’t even bat an eye and answered her question as if it had been asked in a classroom. “A little, Poe, but not enough to bowl them over or keep them from doing their business. It’s more psychological than anything.”

    For some reason, the conversation turned to sex. Joseph was the one who answered the questions most asked by humans.

    “Yes, we can have sex with humans and vampires alike,” he sighed. “No, we can’t spawn any half- human, half-vampire brats - we’re dead. But there are those pesky rumors that vampire babies begat by dead partners can sometimes take seed. Supernatural anomaly. Since I haven’t seen any fanged vamplings with my own eyes, then they must be myth. And no, we don’t feel sexual and turned on by drinking blood like what oversexed novelists insisted upon drilling into the public’s head. Blood’s just food. You don’t want to have sex with your bowl of oatmeal, do you?” He looked at Poe, a little annoyed. “Any more questions before the lesson?”

    Poe crossed her arms. “I didn’t ask you those questions, you know.” She looked at a mischievous Perla. Peevishly, she continued. “And what lesson?”

    Joseph opened the door to a gymnasium and let the three in. “Just a little something so we can gauge your self-defense skills.”

    Poe’s eyes widened. “Man, I’m all cut and bruised up from yesterday. I can’t be thrown around and kicked by subcreatures.”

    “Don’t worry about it, Poe. We know about your injuries,” he smiled. “Besides, I’m not the one who’s going to kick you around. That would be these gentlemen over here.”

    As if on cue, three humans - one thin, one burly, and one extremely muscular - wearing white sparring outfits appeared from around the corner. The lounging crowd clapped readily.

    Poe had an intense urge to punch Joseph’s gleeful mug. This wasn’t funny at all. These guys looked like they belonged in Bloodsport. She limped from her nail wound, her cuts still fresh. And she was bursting from lunch, for Pete’s sake. She felt like unlatching the safety of one of the Glocks and shooting everyone in the room who’d come for the spectacle.

    “Poe, this is Jim. He’ll be your first sparring partner.” The thin but sturdy man bowed to her. His face screamed pain in Poe’s opinion. She flared her nostrils at the man. She pulled down at her Pixies t- shirt. “If you would take off your holsters and backpack, the games can begin.”

    Poe scowled at Joseph, her five-inch scar turning white. This isn’t a gladiator show. Miserable fucker! She threw her new guns unceremoniously by Joseph’s feet hoping one of them would go off and shoot him in the ass. Perla gave her a squeeze, looking mighty nervous for the girl. Maple whispered in her ear, “Remember, anything goes, Poe.”

    Poe nodded at the two women, too tense to give a proper smile. Her butt was hurting, too. She thought she should just refuse, but she knew Joseph would never let her hear the end of it. And unbelievably, her new bra was giving her grief. Too stiff and itchy.

    As if the whole thing wasn’t painful enough, Sainvire came striding in looking cool and collected, ready to watch the bullfight. Poe’s breath caught in her throat. Why did he have to be so damn tall and interesting-looking? And those freaky eyes! Why didn’t Joseph choose three women to spar with me?

    “Please, Mom and Dad, don’t make me look stupid in front of Sainvire,” Poe prayed silently. She squatted down to tighten the double-knot of her shoelaces.

    As soon as Poe stepped on the mat, Jim circled her as if she were prey, and assumed a fighting stance not unlike Ralph Macchio’s “Crane” from The Karate Kid. Fuck me, Poe thought as she stood. She couldn’t remember any of the stances she had learned from Goss and her videos at home, and she had no idea which style she would sport. I’m dead.

    Economy of movement, Poe, said Bruce Lee in her head. Before his voice finished, however, Jim had already snaked a punch in her direction. Poe barely avoided the full impact of his fist as she did a Cassius Clay and stepped back, dancer style with her chin tucked in.

    The smack she took instead of a punch served to piss her off since she knew at least a dozen folks were watching. Some she recognized from the cafeteria. When another punch came at her, Poe blocked with her elbow, trapping her opponent’s hand. She returned with a back kick, cracking his kneecap. It was always a good move to go for the knee. As Jim fell, Poe continued to work on his hand, snapping back his wrist.

    “That’s what you get, jerk!” A dirty fighter, Poe didn’t stop with the wrist. She kicked at the man even when he was down, concentrating on his face and privates. “Die!”

    “Jim will never be able to have kids,” said an onlooker sweating on a treadmill.

    Maple had to carry the defeated man away from the still kicking Poe, while she let loose a string of Scarface lingo. Maple flashed Poe a one-down, two-to- go look as she handed Jim into the waiting arms of a medic.

    Beet-faced and pacing, Poe smoothed back the long strands that escaped her ponytail. For some annoying reason, her sweat glands set their headquarters on the tip of her nose. She wiped the offending droplets with her lucky Pixies shirt, her mother’s favorite band.

    A burly man named Biff with long sideburns stepped on the mat. Poe urgently wanted a break.

    

    Didn’t boxers get five-minute rests? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!

    She snapped the many black rubber bands on her left wrist until the pain reminded her that it could be worse. Poe reluctantly stepped up to join Biff. Better get used to something harder than a thwack on your arm, Poe thought bleakly.

    “Your dirty tricks ain’t gonna work on me, missy,” he drawled. “I learned from the same instructor as Elvis. You do know who the King is, don’t cha?” Biff threw out, disgusted at the girl’s lack of honor.

    “Um, sure. Elvis of Clam Bake and Kissin’ Cousins fame. King of cheese and swampy movies.” She let the number one fan have it. “Oh yeah, he was into karate-choppin’ and sequined jumpsuits, too.”

    Ticked off, the yoked man kicked at her bad leg, causing her to fall on one knee. “Never insult the King!”

    I hate this guy, she thought. C’mon, Master Lee. Give me a sign! While she waited for inspiration from the Master, Poe stood up and blocked each kick with her left leg, positioned Thai boxing style. An elbow blocked each punch. Evidently she had not developed sufficient calluses on her leg bones and elbows. Lightly kicking a baseball bat while watching movies or reading books and chewing old gum wasn’t sufficient training.

    Each massive block caused her to clamp her teeth shut from pain. His bones were definitely gargantuan compared to hers. Finally the Master spoke, just in the nick of time.

    Lesson A, Tape 2: Playing with Human Instinct stole into her mind.

    “Thank you, Master Lee,” she murmured, parrying Biff’s punch and lashing at his ankle with a kick.

    

    The burly man deflected the blow with his massive arm. Poe targeted his ankle again with her foot but was blocked by a knee. The third time, she kicked toward Biff’s ankle, but she aborted the move midway and hit Elvis #2 with a jarring right to the face. Faked out! The shit really works!

    Red and furious, Biff ran at her. He succeeded in grabbing the scrambling Poe from behind. He lifted her off the floor, her legs dangling uselessly. JKD move number 23: Do whatever the hell it takes!

    “Um, there’s something about you, Biff,” Poe said with difficulty. “Being this close to you makes me realize that you smell rancid.” She pried off a finger digging on a rib and snapped it back, breaking the digit with a pop. Biff immediately let go, falling on his knees and yelling profanity Poe had never heard before.

    To shut him up, Poe released a high kick squarely in Biff’s mouth, making him keel over and swallow a tooth. Once on the floor, Poe grabbed his thinning hair and rammed his already bloody face on the mat over and over until she was again dragged to the sideline. She cussed at the semi-conscious Biff who was having difficulty breathing from the blood oozing out of his broken nose. “And a blue aloha to you, too, fucker!”

    “I thought you said she was no contest,” the blubbering man, spitting out blood and teeth said accusingly at Joseph as he was escorted from the mat. For the first time, Poe noticed the shocked faces of the humans in the gym. Some of the bolder vampires acknowledged her with a nod, and a few didn’t even want to make eye contact.

    A second after the blood and teeth were wiped from the practice mat, the last sparring partner cartwheeled onto the mat in unbelievable speed, drawing applause. Poe felt a thrill of apprehension. She didn’t know shit about Capoeira, the Brazilian martial arts that stocked a lot of dance and twirl movement.

    Miserable Mission Impossible with Tom Cruise.

    That’s what I get? Poe thought, searching for a useful defense maneuver.

    “It’s an embarrassing form of martial arts,” Goss once said, shaking his head. “You don’t need to learn that crap because it leaves you wide open. You don’t want a ballet recital anyway, kid. You want something ugly and rough that will hurt your enemy something fierce.”

    But something was off about the man called

    Rufus, and it wasn’t just his lack of shirt, either. He was too fast. As soon as the third contender landed on his feet and winked, Poe realized what it was. Rufus was a halfdead as indicated by his short fangs. Fuck me. I’m dead.

    Poe gestured to Joseph for a timeout.

    “Why? It’s almost over, Poe. Do you think you’ll get a break during a vampire attack?”

    “This isn’t a vampire attack! And that guy is a halfdead!” she screeched. “It’s not fair-”

    “That’s how life is sometimes,” Joseph smiled patronizingly. “Now get in there and fight the mutha!”

    Poe held her tongue and gave him the finger instead. She looked up at Sainvire staring intently. The vampire looked nervous for her. For good measure, she flipped him one. At least I’m not the only one afraid for me, thought Poe. Taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly, Poe faced the half-vamp. There are guns for these sorts of things.

    “I’m the Great Ali’s daughter,” Poe mumbled to herself. “I’m too pretty to…”

    Rufus flamboyantly cartwheeled toward Poe, stopping directly in front of her. Quick as a flash, he kissed Poe on the tip of her sweaty nose. Everyone in the gym roared with laughter, except for Sainvire. Humiliated to say the least, Poe lashed out, slapping the beaming halfdead.

    Rufus’ expression soured. He grabbed Poe by the shoulders and hurled her in the direction of her three companions. Her shoulder blade hit the back of a metal chair, igniting an electric shock of pain.

    “Aray ko!” she said in Tagalog.

    From the floor, Joseph loomed over her with his yellow smiley Watchmen t-shirt, raising his eyebrows as if to say, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

    Despite the pain, Poe got up and spat a thick one on Joseph’s bare feet. She jogged to the bastard, Rufus, and snarled at him. Poe easily dodged the lead straight punch he threw at her, watching the cords on his neck instead of his eyes. The tightness of the neck was a more accurate gauge of where the next punch would originate.

    As soon as Rufus retreated, however, Poe executed one of the dirtiest tricks she knew. She stomped hard on the tender part of his foot. Rufus’ scream didn’t matter, for she knew that the pain in his foot would keep him occupied. She made sure to maintain the pressure on her Adidas. One second, two seconds, a punch. The halfdead tried to pull away but couldn’t. The girl hung on his neck, and he was stuck like an Everlast punching sack, just like in Lesson 32.

    She was the most lowdown fighter the gym had seen yet. The halfdead had to grab Poe by the neck and lift her off the floor to pry her off of him. Poe’s sore knuckles were worse than useless. She couldn’t even pry Rufus’ big fingers off her neck. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Perla and Maple looking tense, and Joseph, for once, didn’t have a trace of a smile. But the weirdest of all was Sainvire. He was no longer sitting and looked positively murderous. Before the pressure around her neck could make her pass out, Master Lee’s voice rang in her ear. Remember the three-pound pressure rule.

    Her eyes widening, Poe grabbed Rufus’ left ear, and with all her might, pulled down. She came tumbling on the floor, her fist grasping the halfdead’s ripped ear. So it was true. It only took three pounds of pressure to pull someone’s ear off. She did learn a lot from watching videos and reading books. Who needs to go to school?

    Rufus’ wail was deafening, as his hand tried to cover the gaping hole made on the left side of his head.

    Sainvire was beside Poe, helping her up. At least three people tried to calm the distraught Rufus, but he would have none of it. Poe dislodged Sainvire’s hand from her elbow and walked toward her fallen nemesis. Rufus looked up at the small woman, five-foot-two and three- quarters to be exact, who had ripped his ear off and belted out a murderous series of curses.

    Poe forced herself to smile sweetly and say, “This is for kissing my nose without my permission you disgusting halfdead!” She hurled the bloody ear in the daywalker’s face and strode out of the gym.

    

    

    She didn’t really know where to go, so Poe decided to go back to Sainvire’s room. She could check on Penny and use the bathroom. Her hands shook. The rich meal and the bodily injuries she had received seemed to wreak mayhem with her already traumatized system.

    “Everything is a joke with that moron,” she seethed, talking to the air. “I could’ve been killed! But then again, he’d probably laugh his head off if I got pounced to death.”

    

    Her body ached from being thrown around the room and kicked repeatedly. Punks! As soon as she could get Penny out of there without injuring the mutt further, they would be off. This library was just too crazy for her.

    Penny lay on her side, half awake. When Poe sat down to face the dog on the sofa, she whined. The area where her tongue had been was still swollen and the cut fresh, but because of her healing doggy saliva, Penny was happily on the mend. Poe exhaled on the dog’s face. Penny seemed to find the warm breath comforting and gave a little sigh.

    “Poor ratty dog.”

    With Penny safely dozing, Poe went into the bathroom with an old Time magazine in hand and did her business. She was one those people who could read or think on the porcelain throne until their legs turned numb. Her sister Sirena had taught her well. She did her best thinking that way.

    When she came out a cool forty minutes later, Sainvire was looking out the Spanish-style window, patiently waiting for her. Oddly, the vampire wasn’t affected in the slightest by the weak sunlight that struggled to emerge in the downpour. This revelation disturbed her strongly.

    Instead of blushing at being caught using the commode for almost an hour, Poe pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling. She was sick of feeling embarrassed. She’d already done her job as the freak gladiator of the day.

    “What?” she asked the vampire who turned around to face her. He was wearing the same outfit as yesterday, black t-shirt and dark slacks.

    “Just wanted to give you these,” he said as he pointed to the bed. There lay an Uzi, an axe, three Glock pistols in holsters, and her favorite James Bond gun, a Walther PPK - the weapons she’d left at the gym.

    Poe didn’t even thank him. She just took the holsters and slipped them around her shoulders. The smaller one she strapped to her ankle. The Uzi and axe she threw on the bed. She demanded the time.

    “Five-thirty,” Sainvire answered in a calm voice, following Poe’s every move with his unnerving eyes. The girl has the right to be mad, he thought. Joseph was a prankster who didn’t know where to draw the line. His friend certainly overdid it with the sparring demonstration that afternoon. Since he had allowed the spectacle to continue, he blamed himself for the carnage.

    Like those at the gym, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Poe and her unscrupulous fighting skills. The combat was the closest thing to television he’d seen in years. A small person brought down three skilled fighters. The girl was intriguing him more and more.

    “What time is dinner?” Poe asked hungry again after her vampire-slinging excursion.

    “There’s food around the clock. If you wish to have dinner, you can go now.”

    Not wanting to appear like a hog, Poe covered herself. “Habib, Janice, and the other chefs promised to make something really good in my honor tonight. I don’t want them to think I’m rude by showing up late.” She hurried out the room before Sainvire could say anything further. She smiled at the fact that she wasn’t stuttering anymore.

    

    

    

    POE MADE UP HER mind. The cafeteria, with an exposed kitchen at the head of the buffet tables, was her favorite place in the library.

    “Here’s hummus flavored slightly with garlic and coriander. This dish is garlic okra,” Habib described, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose to magnify his eyeballs five times their size. “This is-”

    “And here’s a terrific eggplant and tahini dip called baba ghanoush, Poe,” Janice interrupted, putting a ladle full of each dish on Poe’s tray. The deep age lines on her face glistened from her cooking efforts. “Please try the Ethiopian lentil soup, Spinach adobo, tofu spaghetti, avocado and olive salad, and freshly made pita bread that I whipped up in your honor.”

    “Hey, where’s the meat?” a fifty-something man with a limp complained. The buffet line wasn’t moving at all and the trays bearing veggie dishes didn’t appeal to his palate.

    “Yeah,” another butted in. “Weren’t we going to have ribs today?”

    The complaints fell on deaf ears.

    “Okay, Janice. Quit showing off. My turn now,” Ray said, shooing everyone with his get-outta-my-way gut. You mentioned you like pad thai, so I fixed you up a batch,” he said, plunking a big orange serving on Poe’s already teetering plate. “It was the only dish I could make because I had to grind rice into flour to make the proper noodles for the dish. Preparation alone took almost all day.”

    “Quit making excuses, old man.” Petra tapped him on the shoulder to get him out of her way. She must have been in her seventies but still dyed her hair crow black. Traces of hair coloring stained her forehead and neck. “I made only two dishes, but you’re going to love them,” Petra assured the half-drooling Poe. “I made you some sayur lodeh soup - that’s Indonesian vegetable soup with coconut milk - and some Guamanian red rice.

    Poe had never heard of some of the dishes, but she was more than willing to taste. She beamed but avoided the eyes of her fellow diners. It dawned on her that with the exception of a handful of youthful vampires, the library was filled with people over twenty years her senior. Of course, true vampire age was impossible to guess from afar.

    “You guys are some of the best people I’ve ever met,” Poe said, and she meant it. “If you ever need anything…”

    “Eat up, girl,” Ray ordered the girl who was on the verge of sniffling. “You need to replenish after your little adventure this afternoon.”

    “Where did all this food come from?”

    “From the Valley, of course,” said Habib. “Haven’t you heard of the holy roller farmers who supply meat and vegetables to Los Angles in exchange for some autonomy?”

    Poe shook her head.

    “Well they’re vampires who drink only animal blood and farm at night. They stay away from the politics rampant around here. Occasionally they’re called upon by the Council, but mostly they’re left alone. They’re responsible for feeding the humans of our city.”

    All five sat on a table with a reserved sign on it saying: Sit here and DIE!

    Poe inhaled the saliva-inducing aroma, imagining all those years of eating cold, slimy canned nibbles. She shivered, hoping she would never have to suffer that fate again. Just to eat this feast regularly, Poe was almost willing to be Sainvire’s gopher and occasional blood supplier. Almost.

    She dug in, but before she could take her first bite, Maple and Joseph appeared by her elbow. She gave Joseph a nasty look and brought the garlic okra to her mouth. However, Joseph’s seriousness made her fork waver. Something was wrong.

    Maple, looking nervous, told Poe to follow her.

    “But I’m eating.” Poe said.

    “Can’t you wait until after our friend here has finished her meal?” demanded Ray, looking like a Hobbit with his girth.

    “Yeah. She hasn’t even taken a bite yet,” Petra agreed, pursing her heavily lined smoker’s lips.

    “Poe needs to come with us now,” Joseph insisted, his mouth tight with worry.

    “But-”

    “The Council has summoned her to appear before them,” Maple announced quietly. This time, the chefs did not protest. Aghast, they looked at Poe with fear. Her appetite vanished.

    Habib slid the tray away from Poe, saying, “I’ll keep this warm for you, dear girl.”

    The other cooks nodded, looking suddenly ill. Janice had to disengage the okra-heavy fork from Poe’s hand. She knew then that something sinister was going to happen to her.

    

    The Council equals ancient vampires with crazy powers. She’d killed a few of Trench’s people and lied about non-existent underground guerrillas. I’m history, and I’m ethnic!

    The quiet trek to the first floor lobby was terribly funereal. Maple and Joseph didn’t explain anything, but their grim mouths said it all.

    By the entrance stood Sainvire, his long, dark coat already on. Perla fidgeted nervously beside the tall vampire and smiled weakly at Poe. She handed the girl a newly laundered coat, the armaments, and her pack that contained all the blessed ammo she was going to need for the night. Her new set of weapons seemed to follow her from room to room. Sainvire inclined his head at her, his unnerving eyes flashing with restrained energy.

    “No doubt they’ve told you,” he indicated Joseph and Maple, “the Council sent a messenger requesting your attendance this evening.”

    Poe nodded. Asking why would have been insipid and pointless, because everyone already knew that she was going to be tortured and turned into a bedpan emptier before morning. With a sigh, she put on her coat, thinking that this was her last night on earth, and she didn’t even have a proper last meal. She stooped down to double-knot her sneakers.

    Her self-pity ended when Perla locked lips with Maple. They were like Ginger and Gina, the lesbian porno queens, but older, more round, and definitely homelier. Holy cows, she had no idea. It gave her a nice, warm feeling. At least there were still lovers in the ridiculous world of vampires. Too bad for her; she was going to die a virgin. And a starving one at that.

    Joseph had been ordered to stay near home base, and he was not a happy dead for it. Kaleb Sainvire was a friend, but he was foremost a master vampire who had the last say when it came to his people.

    “Remember the three S’s?” Joseph reminded his friend. “Speed, stealth, and suave? My retinue of expertise will be needed tonight.” The words nearly made Poe gag. Joseph smiled facetiously. It was his last attempt to lighten the direness of the situation.

    “I need you here to protect the fort in case of an attack.”

    Because he couldn’t very well go against the master vampire, Joseph gave Poe a squeeze and mumbled an apology for the afternoon instead. Poe gave him a dimpled half-smile and said, “Buck up, Joe. You’d better wish I don’t return, ’cause I’m going to kick your face in when I get back.” She punched him hard in the stomach. Joseph grimaced and pretended he was cowed.

    Joseph lifted the heavy wooden beam, pushed the door open for his friends, and said, “Godspeed to you all.”

    The door bolt clanged shut behind them. The three were on their own and they had to make it to the Herald Examiner Building on the south side of downtown.

    

    

    Unmitigated darkness blanketed downtown by the time the three had walked a block from the library. Unrelenting rain pelted the already gurgling streets. It had been three days since the downpour began. Rainfall had become more prevalent after the gray miasma. Poe thought a lot about the change and came up with the best educated guess a third grade dropout could concoct. Perhaps it had to do with the lack of industry and cars and the untouched natural resources. Nature was still purging itself.

    The three figures cautiously listened to any sounds out of the ordinary, trudging through the overflowing streets. Their only illumination was the occasional display of lightning. A bout of nerves attacked Poe.

    “Um, Sainvire,” Poe began, clearing her throat.

    “Yes, Poe?” the vampire answered in a low but alert tone. The young woman’s silky voice unsettled him.

    “I’ve been thinking. Would you consider letting me go so I can skip the meeting tonight?”

    “I wish I could, Poe,” he answered. “But keeping you under my protection is the only option we have.”

    “’Cause you know, I’m not all white. And they do bad things to minorities.”

    “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder which she shrugged off.

    Poe swore when she lost her footing in the dark. Her body was too rigid from her natural fear of darkness, lightning, and vampires. Wading through sewer water was no picnic. She cursed Sainvire and Maple for not carrying her into the air and making her stagger instead in unbelievable filth and cold. She thanked Sister Ann again for giving her tetanus shots, but they weren’t going to do her any good if she contracted cholera and the plague.

    “Hold on to my coat, Poe,” Sainvire said, not asking. Poe was going to tell him off but decided against it. She held on to his sleeve.

    When Maple tripped a quarter-mile into their trek and had to be steadied by Sainvire, Poe finally realized that the female vampire couldn’t fly. She could only hover a few feet from the ground as she had after tumbling. At least she wasn’t the only one hampering the journey. They should have been up among skyscrapers and away from the rank water with lots of rusted metal slivers. Her Adidas swam in fetidness that marinated her pruned feet in street sauce.

    She did not want to die.

    I could shoot Sainvire and Maple in the head and make my escape, Poe said in the muddle of her mind. It’d help if I could see two feet from me. Immediately the sweet scene between Maple and Perla came back to her, and she resisted her impulse.

    Vampires were quickly becoming more three- dimensional, and she didn’t like it. Nosferatu was so much easier to hate. The past few days made her realize that not all vampires possessed the inherent evil of their kind. The revelation made it all the harder to lump them together.

    Sainvire’s silence over the looming Council meeting didn’t help. Poe would have been delusional to deny that she was more than a bit apprehensive. Shouldn’t he have prepped her about what to expect and what to say before the oldest vampires in town?

    “Over a thousand!” she spat in the rain, talking quietly to herself. “More like five and two of them are dead. I’ll get tortured over semantics.” She would not spill the beans on her friends hiding out in Pico Rivera. But under torture? Waterboarding? I hate pain!

    “Shouldn’t we discuss strategy?” she began. “Or at least tell me something useful.”

    “The less you know, the better you’ll be,” was the only thing Sainvire said.

    She asked again.

    “Can’t you tell the Council that I got away, that I outsmarted you and Maple?”

    “It’s too late for that,” he replied, his voice hardening. “We have company.”

   

    Poe opened her mouth to ask the vampire if she’d heard him correctly when Sainvire and Maple quickly flanked her on each side, their dead bodies tense. The family of rats swimming alongside them in search of solid ground was not the reason for their caution. Taking the hint, Poe took out both Glocks from her shoulder holster and readied herself. She could barely make out Sainvire now that he positioned himself ahead. He wore black like her. Maple was easier to spot because she had on a white raincoat that reflected in the dark.

    Scuttling sounds and sloshing feet on the flooded streets were heard, followed by laughter. Like a formulaic diabolical laugh from Vincent Price in the Thriller video, the snickers and bellows were meant to petrify.

    They worked on Poe, for she couldn’t see a thing. She was ready for the plucking, alright. The only thing she could do was to tighten her hold on the newly acquired guns.

    Sainvire’s heavy arm draped around her shoulder and led her to the right.

    “Be prepared for anything, Poe,” he whispered in her ear. His cold lips so close made her shiver. Great Ali, help me!

    Her two companions remained stalwart and silent despite the exaggerated malevolent laughter. Their reaction didn’t make Poe feel any better. She would have liked to hear them fight back with dirty words. Gutter talk would have fixed it for her.

    When finally the three resumed their trek in the midst of their unwanted entourage, Poe wondered why they hadn’t been attacked yet. Then a voice, well remembered in its venom, addressed her personally.

 

    “Even if you survive the Council tonight, Julia, we’ll be waiting for you. To escort you back to our banquet table.”

    It was Pengle, the ugly vampire whose hand she had hacked off with the Rambo knife. She was in the shits. There were only three of them, and from the echoed sound of laughter all around, a contingent of vamps and subvamps from Trench’s camp surrounded them.

    “You hear me, Julia?” Pengle taunted. “After we feed on you tonight, until not even a drop of blood’s left, your body will be hacked to pieces and stewed.” He chuckled, “To feed our poor starving cattle, not that they would get more than soup from your brittle bones.”

    Poe swallowed hard. Some visual! She hated that Pengle. She should have finished him off, but he returned to mess with her mind. Hadn’t she read a tedious paperback by Machiavelli she had found lying around the upstairs hotel? The man said something about never leaving enemies alive, no matter how young or old, for they might come back to haunt you. The kook was right!

    “Maybe four or five of us will have fun with your body first. You’ve titillated us with your unfettered breasts-”

    That was it. Poe could stomach talk about cannibalism and blood drinking, but never her top parts. Especially since she hadn’t thought to wear a bra until the night before.

    “How’s the hand, Pengle?” she asked calmly when everything about her wanted to scream. Stuttering be damned. “Did the stump sprout some digits yet?”

    The vampire took time to coherently answer, confirming Poe’s thought that Pengle was as pissed as Adam after biting on the apple at the behest of his woman.

    “You bitch!” was the best he could do. “I’ll send twenty vampires to stomp you, then-”

    “Then you’re going to suck all of my blood. Then you’re going to make me into stew to feed your cattle,” she finished. “You already said that, stumpy!”

    Again, silence from the far end.

    “You dumb bitch,” he repeated.

    “So you’ve already said. But if I’m so dumb, then how come I’m holding two pistols with my two bare hands?”

    That did it. Pengle, the one-handed vampire, lunged at her in the inky darkness. Only creatures of the night could have detected the movement. Sainvire intercepted Pengle, taking hold of his sparse hair and coat. Without much effort, the master vampire tossed the angry Pengle five yards away. Poe laughed at hearing the splash.

    “Poe, you better keep your mouth shut,” Sainvire ordered. “We don’t need you to antagonize any more vampires into ripping your throat tonight.”

    “But I didn’t start-”

    “Enough. Be alert instead of contentious.”

    His rebuke stung. The master vampire owed her no allegiance. He could just hand her over to the waiting arms of Pengle. Or worse, the Council. It was best to do as he asked, but if he ever told her to shut up again, Poe vowed to stab his eye with more than just a pencil.

    Maple gave her shoulder a squeeze for courage, and the three walked the gauntlet to the headquarters of the Vampire Council. Taunts and jibes accompanied them.

    It seemed an eternity before they reached the old Herald Examiner Building, a Mission Revival monument to a dead media empire. All three were drenched, but only Poe’s teeth chattered from the cold, or perhaps, fear.

    Two imposing sentries awaited them by the immense double doors, their yellowish fangs hanging half an inch past their lower lips. Everything in their pores screamed “old.” Poe inhaled a deep calming breath before entering. The whole thing wasn’t quite as grounding as she had wanted, for an honest to goodness Igor appeared out of nowhere with an elaborate bow. This bent creature had one giant eye and a tiny closed one, a flat but crooked nose, and thin lips hiding two rotten front teeth. And if that wasn’t quite enough, his back was hunched. His name, as he introduced himself, went with the rest of him.

    “Good evening, Mr. Sainvire. Ms. Brockhurst. Pleasure to see you both again,” he lisped with a watered-down British accent. The one eye turned to Poe. “Milfred is my name, Ms. Julia.” The butler’s giant eye looked as though it winked whenever he blinked.

    “If you would all please follow me to the Council’s chambers, it would be duly appreciated.” They followed the man’s halting walk to the judgment room as Poe had labeled it in her mind.

    Finally able to see the expression on her companions’ faces, Poe asked, “What the fuck?” with her eyes. She received a tight smile from each vampire followed by a hell-if-I know shrug. If these old- fashioned Ancients still preferred to hire the Bram Stoker kind of lispers, then she was going to be worse than stew.

    Unoiled hinges slowly creaked open as Milfred waved them inside the metal-studded doors leading into the circular chamber meant to instill old-fashioned macabre. It worked, grating on tightly strung nerves.

    

    Even Sainvire’s stoic composure slipped at the B- movie moment.

    Oddly, Maple smiled and took something out of her pocket. “Figured you might need this, Milfred, since the hinges of this place seem to act up whenever visitors are around,” she said, handing a blue canister to the butler.

    “Much thanks, Miss Brockhurst.” The butler inclined his head. “It was kind of you to bring an, er, WD-40 with you. The Council will be right along shortly.”

    The building was entirely illuminated by silver candelabras bearing dripping candles and crystal chandeliers heavy with wax and cobwebs.

    “They have something against electricity?” Poe asked in a whisper for which she heard no answer. “Burning candles contributes to global warming. At least that’s what my mom said.”

    These Council cronies knew how to feed off the fear invoked by old black and white Peter Lorre horror flicks. The candles created ghastly shadows, especially on the polished marble floors that intoned frightful clank-clank sounds when heels made contact. A grotesque painting by Titian covering almost an entire wall depicted a fallen angel under attack from a band of demons, the angel’s pain-filled, bleeding eyes staring up to heaven for intervention.

    “That’ll be me,” Poe muttered. “My prayers will be unanswered, too.”

    Underneath the painting stood a half-moon, elevated bench long enough to seat five councilmembers comfortably without elbowing one another. On either side of the bench stood two sentinels similar to the creatures that guarded the building entrance. These two looked fiercer, without a drop of pity like prehistoric things that didn’t give two shits anymore. Shadows hallowed their eyes and made their unnaturally lengthy yellow teeth glisten.

    “These walruses need to floss,” Poe said too loudly.

    “Shh!” Maple admonished.

    Milfred led the three companions to the center floor that faced the bench.

    “Wait here,” he said with a raspy voice then limped away. His irregular footsteps made such morbid echoing sounds. The resonance halted abruptly by the door where he waited like the others for the Council to appear. The squelch of Poe’s fidgeting wet shoes and dripping clothes were the only clatter that disturbed the silence of the chamber.

    I bet they’re going to make a grand entrance fit for the old, corny days, Poe thought and gritted her teeth to stop from chattering. She was freezing, and even the hundreds of chunky candles around the room didn’t warm her any. To kill time and make herself feel better, Poe stooped down to untie and re-tie her sopping laces. She vowed to never stutter again.

    They stood for almost twenty minutes. Purple- mouthed Poe turned to Sainvire and said, “They’re not coming. Let’s go home.”

    Sainvire looked down at her upturned face, white from the cold, and shook his head no. He smiled, however, at the verbal slip. He was surprised at how much he appreciated Poe’s full lips and expressive dark eyes. The thought of her living at the library proved a pleasant one.

    Poe shut her mouth. She had referred to the library as her home. How embarrassing! He must think me a frikkin’ parasite out to eat him out of home and library.

    With Poe occupied in a mushroom cloud of mortification, the sudden appearance of five ancient vampires didn’t scare her any worse. Two entered from the main door, floating their way to the wooden seats. One fell from the high ceiling, landing gently on his feet next to his chair. Another seemed to appear from under the bench. And the last walked from behind the darkness of the room, her long limbs hugged by a flimsy Indian chiffon gown and her silver two-strap high heels clicking seductively on the floor. The statuesque immortal paused rather dramatically in front of Milfred and handed him her shimmering shawl.

    “Zank you, Milfred dear,” she said tenderly with the grating accent of Zsa Zsa Gabor. She patted his cheeks fondly and resumed her hypnotic trek to the bench. Poe bit down the urge to rub her eyes. She could have sworn that the leggy blonde was wearing nothing under the gauzy green material.

    As she made her way to the bench, the very attractive blonde with periwinkle blue eyes stopped before the three visitors. She ignored Maple altogether and merely glanced over Poe’s much shorter form, rudely lingering on the girl’s scar. No, the woman had eyes only for Sainvire, who returned the stare with an uplift of his black brow. Because Sainvire didn’t show any sign of backing down, the ancient vampire smiled then laughed, flicking her long tresses back. Fast as the eye could see, the blonde was leaning against Sainvire, her torrential breasts rubbing his chest while her hands tried to tilt his head down for a wet lingering kiss.

    Poe and Maple could only stare open-mouthed at the two. They looked like models from old perfume ads. Poe mind-slapped Sainvire for being such a slutty vampire.

    “Mono,” she muttered.

    He didn’t even try to stop the vampire. In fact, he looked as though he was enjoying himself, as his arm had snaked around the woman’s narrow waist. When Poe was about to insinuate herself between the two very striking undead, Sainvire pushed the blonde away.

    “Enough,” he said evenly, black blood dribbling on the side of his mouth, his own fangs sharp.

    Winded, the ancient vampire staggered back then collected herself, her mouth dewy with blood from the kiss. She had a fondness for biting, especially the tongue in mid-kiss.

    “I see you still have inhibitions vhen it comes to public displays of affection,” the vamp complained. “Pity.”

    With a flick of a look at Poe, the Ancient resumed her catwalk to the bench. And she really wasn’t wearing underwear. Poe could clearly see the outline of two teardrop buns.

    The blonde shrugged away the disapproving looks the other councilmembers gave her and sat down on the far left of the bench.

    “Don’t give me zhat look, Gruman,” she hissed while arranging herself on the chair.

    “And what look would that be?” Gruman Raspair intoned. As head of the Council and the oldest in appearance among the vampires, Raspair reminded Poe of an even more fucked up Hannibal Lecter.

    “The Nazi I’m-going-to-torture-you-later look,” she said without mirth.

    Gruman waved his hand in dismissal and began with the introductions. Sainvire’s tongue-mate was Gwendolyn Salam. The dark-featured man to her right was an Ancient named Rodrigo Jacopo. He looked to have been about Sainvire’s age when he turned. His green eyes bore into Poe’s dark browns during the greetings. He was the vampire who fell from the ceiling, apparently spying. And more than the others he caused Poe’s heart to palpitate.

    

    “How do you do, Poe?” said Wilhemina Dunne, the most affable of the councilmembers. “It is my hope that this meeting will adjourn soon so you can get out of those wet clothes.” The short-cropped brunette was the only one who smiled encouragingly at Poe.

    The man to her right, Umberto Dali, sped through the introductions and grumbled his request for the session to begin. “Do let’s hurry. I can think of a hundred other things I’d like to do this rainy night.” The ash-haired vampire with searing light-brown eyes looked young enough, but his actions and brusque manners made him an ideal no-nonsense judge of indiscriminate age.

    Gruman Raspair, olden in looks and age, began the meeting by motioning Poe to step closer to the bench that loomed over her like Alice in Wonderland furniture. So he can look down on me from above and make me feel like a tick, thought Poe, as she complied with the order. The first step she took, however, was a complete failure, for she slipped in a pool of water from her soggy Adidas. Maple had to steady her to keep her from falling. Sainvire leaned by her side to whisper in her ear.

    “The best thing you can do is be honest.”

    Honest my ass! Now he tells me. With that, Poe harrumphed and elbowed him away from her.

    Gwendolyn laughed, obviously tickled by the daffy-footed vampire rustler. “Are you sure she’s ze one Quillon vas talking about?” she asked no one in particular.

    Poe squared her shoulders and resumed walking, ignoring the squelching sounds of her sneakers. She hated Sainvire’s girlfriend with a fist of fury.

    “Do you know why you’re here, Ms. Poe?” Raspair’s high-octave voice reverberated in the room.

    “No,” Poe answered, thanking her patron saints for not allowing her to stutter. That was all Gwendolyn would need to enjoy the laugh of a lifetime.

    “No idea at all?” Raspair asked again, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.

    “If this has anything to do with yesterday afternoon at the Eastern, then I have a clue.”

    “I think you have more than a clue, Julia,” a voice from the doorway accused.

    Poe’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Trench.

    Shadows obscured half of his face until he stepped under the chandelier. His once unmarred skin now had

    Freddy Krueger crags on his right side from the holy water Poe had sprayed at him. That’s what he deserved for being such an asshole. But how did he survive the garlic bullets?

    These vampires had become too complacent and fat with their titles. Squirting Trench with holy water acid was easy for Poe, and the Council did not even confiscate her weapons. If the sentinels and the five powerful councilmembers are expected to stay my hand, then they’re idiots. If I shoot at least two of them before I’m stopped dead, I’ll die smiling. Their cockiness about living so long with ultimate power was going to be their undoing. Poe had her proof that they could all be killed or maimed after all.

    “This little girl sprayed me with garlic water, as you can see. She also shot me in the chest. If you want to inspect-”

    “No, thank you, Quillon,” Rodrigo said dryly.

    “Your face is evidence enough.”

    Quillon winced at Rodrigo’s flippant comment, but he continued. “And she killed fifteen of my people along with two cattle.”

    “You’re the one who bled my friends to death, you freak of nature. As for your bloodsuckers, they had plenty of opportunity to kill me,” she spat. “There was only one of me!”

    Quillon took a menacing step toward Poe, but the lithe body of Sainvire blocked his progress. Poe swore she could smell the violence emitting from Sainvire’s pores.

    The Council merely watched. Gwendolyn chuckled, enjoying every tense moment. Raspair grumbled but said nothing. After living so long, any fracas that broke the tedium was welcome.

    Finally Sainvire spoke, his vigilant eyes glistening by candlelight. “What is Julia Poe accused of, Council?” His deep authoritative voice rang and brought the room to attention. “Is it usual for the Council to state the charges at the end of the hearing?”

    Wilhemina nodded and said, “You’re right, Kaleb. How remiss of us.” She looked at Poe, stating the charges from memory. “Julia, you are accused of willfully killing ten vampires and five halfdeads, as well as perpetrating the termination of two cattle with the help of your underground circle. A separate charge of maiming and/or permanently injuring nine of Trench’s people will also be reviewed. The last and most important charge is one of murderous intent against the vampire race. You are accused of being the ring leader of thousands of guerillas compelled to kill vampires, steal cattle, and retake the city.”

    Poe felt ill. How could she defend herself against such fiction? Everything was untrue, except for the killing and maiming part. But guerilla fighters bent on retaking the city? She looked back at Maple and Sainvire who gazed encouragingly at her but offered nothing.

    “How do you plead?” asked Gwendolyn impatiently, her bosom jiggling with every toss of hair.

    

    Poe shook her head and blew out a terribly shaky breath. She prayed for strength to her Patron Saints of Decent Lawyers, Atticus Finch and Clarence Darrow.

    “Before I answer any of the charges, I’d like to know if you make concessions for self-defense.”

    Umberto Dali, who hadn’t uttered a word out of extreme boredom, grunted in the affirmative and added in a disinterested voice, “Technically you’re food, and food cannot defend itself. But go ahead. Give your explanation so I can finish the second season of Deadwood.”

    “Yes, sir. I did kill those vampires and halfdeads, because they were trying to kill me. There were no guerilla groups in there. Just my dog and me. As you already know, vampires are way stronger than us humans, so it’s romper room logic that I was outmanned, outnumbered, overpowered, and all that.” She exhaled, conjuring the famous Scopes Monkey Trial in her mind. “So for the first charge, I have to plead not guilty.”

    “Then why were you at the Eastern Columbia Building?” Umberto asked gruffly.

    “Because my two friends were up there,” she said as her eyes flashed at Trench. “He had them bled.” When her voice shook, she cleared her throat. “One of them was already dead. The other died during the melee. His men were waiting to ambush me.”

    “So you’re telling me you went there by yourself?” Raspair asked.

    “Yes.”

    “Trench, you told us that you came upon a dozen guerilla fighters.”

    “I was told that, Your Honor.” He coughed. “I believe they all got away, except for this one who was picked up by Sainvire here. He now claims her as his, by the way.”

    “But there was only me!”

    “Liar!” Trench accused.

    “You’re the liar, dick!”

    “Enough!” ordered Raspair. “Sainvire, did you see anyone other than this girl?”

    Sainvire stepped forward. “Other than Trench’s men, Julia was by herself.”

    “What? You’re going to believe him?” Trench bellowed indignantly. “He’ll say anything to protect his little fuckwit mistress-”

    Two gasped in shock. Gwendolyn, who had looked almost as bored as Umberto, now sat up straighter, looking over the dark-haired Julia more keenly. The other was Poe, who was nobody’s mistress. At least not yet!

    “Watch what you’re saying, Trench. The Council can sniff a lie a mile away,” Sainvire warned. Only the hard glint of his liquid eyes betrayed his feelings.

    “Did you personally see any of these twelve vigilantes, Quillon?” asked Dali, his deep-set eyes penetrating Trench’s.

    Quillon hesitated. He seemed to recall that Umberto Dali could whiff out a lie like a trained hound. His unmatched skill was invaluable to the Council.

    “No. I didn’t. But my men did.”

    “Did you bring any of these men to appear before us?” Rodrigo asked, detecting the lie as well.

    “No. I didn’t think I’d have to.” He shook his head.

    “Well, about two dozen of your people were nice enough to follow us here. Maybe some of them can vouch for you,” supplied Sainvire, the tension easing from his voice. “They’re still outside, I’m sure.”

    “That won’t be necessary,” Quillon sneered. “Look at the facts. She admitted to me and my associates that she is leader to thousands of underground fighters bent on dousing sleeping vampires with garlic water.” Quillon laughed sardonically. “She even said she was a queen to them.”

    To this, Poe paled, feeling sick. She was glad not to have eaten the nice dinner prepared by the wonderful library chefs. It would have tainted the white marble floor and further prejudiced the Council to her detriment.

    “Vell, vhat do you say about zhis, girl?” Gwendolyn asked impatiently, her well-endowed bosom heaving dramatically. Really! No need for the Jell-o effect.

    “I, I lied to Trench. There is no guerilla movement.”

    “More lies.”

    “Quillon, if you open your mouth again during this girl’s testimony,” Dali roared, “I will personally eject you out of here through the skylight.” Everyone looked up to the murky glass showing nothing but stormy skies.

    He turned to Poe. “Go ahead and explain yourself.”

    “Ok. Trench told me that my friends claimed there was an underground movement.” She sighed. “I told him I only knew of the three of us. But crater face here insisted there was a massive resistance, so I let him believe it.” Quillon exploded bazookas with his eyes. She prayed that her omission fooled Dali the truth sniffer.

    The four councilmembers turned to Umberto Dali. He returned their gaze, nodding once.

    Without warning, all five vampires stood up and headed for the second chamber door beneath the Titian painting.

    

    To say that the atmosphere in the chamber was tense would be an understatement. It was bubbling with Quillon’s ill will and Poe’s bruised pride at being relegated to mistress level. Maple’s face was about to crack from keeping such an emotionless face, and Sainvire was frozen where he stood thinking about the mob they’d have to endure outside if they survived the Council ruling. Poe was ready to collapse. The beating she had been taking since the night before, especially with the wet clothes that hung on her shoulders, made her body lash out. Poe looked around for a chair, but saw only the five high-backs behind the bench.

    Sainvire laid a supportive hand on her shoulder. She didn’t shrug it off.

    Finally they emerged, a quarter of an hour later. Wilhemina Dunne was the only one with a smile, the clinking bob on her ears swaying jauntily. The rest were either stoic or dour, like Gwendolyn Salam.

    “Ms. Poe,” Gruman Raspair began. “All charges against you are dismissed.”

    Maple exhaled loudly, hugging the girl’s shoulders. Quillon bared his fangs in ire. Since when did colored cattle supersede the rights of a master vampire?

    “However,” the head of the Council continued, “we are of one mind about the threat you present to our city. We are not unaware of your affiliation with Fred Beaver and Sister Ann, but being that they are no longer alive, you place us in a very difficult situation.”

    “Do we let you go unscathed and unpunished for past deeds, or do we ensure that you will no longer be a threat?”

    “And technically speaking, you have no rights but to be fed vitamins and nutritious food,” finished Rodrigo Jacopo.

    “Or mop up after ze vhite cattle,” Gwendolyn hissed, looking Poe straight in the eye. “My vote is to get ze straws out.”

    Sainvire spoke, his voice clear. “I will take responsibility for her.”

    “No. I think she should be under my care since she murdered so many of my people,” Trench demanded.

    At this, Poe raised her hand. “Um, I’d rather you kill me if you’re going to hand me over to Quillon.” She looked pointedly at her nemesis. “I can’t promise not to kill any more of his vampires, and that would violate Council rules.”

    Wilhemina smiled wider. “Sainvire is the only option for her then.”

    Gwendolyn pursed her rather thin mouth but said nothing.

    “Sainvire, we expect you to recover all the missing cattle ever taken by this girl within the month,” Gruman Raspair snarled, clearly not happy about the leniency. “And heed my words, young lady. If I ever hear of any vampire killing or cattle kidnapping that reeks of you, then I will personally hunt you down and puncture your jugular with my 24- carat gold straw.”

    He turned his bushy gaze to Sainvire. “As for you, Kaleb. We expect this girl to become cattle, leech, or vampire. If you can’t live without her, lobotomize her and spit blood into her brain. If you choose neither then every action she takes will reflect on you. For every vampire she kills, we will execute five of yours. For every cattle she steals, ten of yours will be handed over to Trench and other master vampires.” He paused, relishing the pregnant silence. “And for your information, food like that with impure blood should not be carrying firearms.

    “If she escapes, then you will personally face the Council for her crimes of treason against the new realm.” He smiled, his yellow fangs glinting obscenely. “Do you still accept responsibility for this girl, or do you willingly turn her over to Trench?”

    Without even batting an eye, Sainvire answered, “I accept.” Gwendolyn, looking miffed, stood up abruptly and left spectacularly through the side door.

    Poe felt her heart lurch. She would be a prisoner of Sainvire. Should I just ask to be executed on the spot? And yet she didn’t want to die. Nor did she want to go back out into the world by herself. She had no one out there. It was too early to say she had friends like Joseph and the chefs at the library. To be friends with vampires at all would make her title of vampire killer a contradiction in terms. Like a rag doll slumped against the wall, Poe remained quiet.

    

    

    As if supporting the Council’s decision, the rain trickled to a halt, and the moon slowly pushed back dark clouds to emerge in all its rock star glory. The smell of freshly ended rain lingered along with the squalid smell of the city. Like synchronicity, two dead hearts and a live one thumped with pleasure at the sight of the clear night. Poe tasted the cool air, savoring the freedom of being outside. And just like that, it was over.

    Something nagged at her. Pulling on Sainvire’s coat sleeve, Poe asked, “How come Trench isn’t sludge? I shot him in the chest.”

    Looking into the darkness, Sainvire answered distractedly, “Must have been wearing Kevlar.”

    “Or he’s drinking Plasmacore,” added Maple. “They all do nowadays, the hypocrites!”

 

    Before she could ask another question, Gwendolyn approached from the shadows, slowly circling the vampire killer. “I didn’t know you liked zhem so young. And little.”

    Poe burned in the darkness at having been judged and found wanting. Not everyone can have model legs and Betty Blow boobies like Gwendolyn.

    “Gwendolyn, leave her out of this,” Sainvire asked politely. Too politely.

    “Tell me if it’s true or not,” Gwendolyn purred, running a fingernail along the underside of her breast. “Is she your mistress like Trench said?”

    “It’s been over between us for years now, Gwen,” the master vampire answered cryptically. Inwardly he could taste the disgust on his tongue. He couldn’t believe he once had a relationship with such a spoiled, vengeful creature. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

    “He’s not my-” Poe tried supplying the truth but was cut off.

    “I must take Julia home, Gwendolyn, before the rain returns.” He was done talking. He gave a nudge to the small of Poe’s back. Maple followed closely behind.

    A furious Gwendolyn screeched, “And I vore zhis stupid dress just to complement your eyes.” She huffed, “Vhat a vaste!”

    “Face it, love,” Sainvire threw over his shoulder. “You’re just bored. And when you’re bored, you’re a soap opera.”

    Milfred appeared bearing a delicate shawl and put it around Gwendolyn’s shoulders. The harsh lines of anger on her face dwindled away, smiling tenderly at the butler. All Milfred could do was blink continuously as though in love with the concept of servitude. Bathed in the newly emerged moonlight, she turned to the departing backs of Sainvire and his companions.

    “He’s right, you know. I need some stimulation and ze little girl vill do nicely.”

    With all the bitterness she could muster, she wished them ill luck going home and strode back inside the Herald Examiner Building followed by a very sycophantic Milfred, the only creature she could abide.

    Once safely out of earshot, Poe squawked, “I don’t appreciate you making her think I’m your love slave.”

    “She’s going to think that anyway despite what you or I say. I was just trying to save time by leaving this place as quickly as possible,” Sainvire explained.

    “What’s the hurry? It’s not raining anymore and-”

    Maple interrupted. “We’ve got to reach the library before Quillon’s people show themselves. Kaleb was just trying to get rid of her. You don’t truly think the Council is going to let you get away scot-free tonight, do you? They’ve got to appease Trench somehow.”

    Poe nodded, understanding at last. She survived the Council because Sainvire had claimed her as his. He was too powerful a vampire to cross. And so was Trench.

    A small rock aimed at Poe’s head began the bloody night. Sainvire and Maple safely deflected the first ten rocks or so, but there were far too many to block and too much noise to sort through. Poe received a third blow on the temple, bloodying her vision. Another hit her ear, her head, then her upper torso and legs. She could barely hold on to the Uzi because she was too busy crouching low on the ground and shielding her face. The fishy, metallic smell of her blood was overwhelming not only to her but the legion of vampires hiding behind the darkness of night, waiting to feed. She licked at the blood that dribbled down to her open mouth. Blood tasted nice and warm, but that was all. Completely overrated, like tonguing rusty metal. Not worth getting killed over, she thought.

    “Maple, watch her,” Sainvire ordered as he flew up into the hazy sky toward the stone throwers. His killer talons gleamed in the moonlight and his elongated fangs were bared in anticipation of the fight. Poe shivered, grossed out at the thought that she semi- fancied the fiend.

    Maple and Poe heard scrambling and an occasional pain-filled scream, nothing more. The pelting stopped, but Sainvire did not return. Maple hissed and took off her white coat. Her forearms had become hard as steel with goose bumps until little deadly spikes appeared on the surface. The middle- aged vampire had turned into a bludgeon machine.

    “They’re coming,” warned Maple.

    Poe stood up from her crouch and readied her Uzi. Blood was still trickling from her ear and forehead, but she ignored it. She was more paranoid that disgusting gutter water would splash her wounds.

    With the help of the bright moon, she saw shadows slinking their way. She thanked the bottles of beta-carotene she had been taking all those years for clear vision. The moon shadow made the band of over twenty vampires and halfdeads more sinister and frightening. Poe swallowed then fired a round.

    Vampires who could fly took to the air. Those who could move with the speed of a bullet train attacked. The rest hovered, hissed, and sliced at them with talons not quite as long as Sainvire’s but deadly nonetheless. Either way, Maple and Poe were outnumbered.

    The vampire fought as if she were Joan of Arc herself, battering heads and severing spinal cords with her arms without even an expression on her lined face. She was frightful. No wonder Sainvire had chosen her to accompany them.

    Poe had trouble. She had a hard time seeing with the moon intermittently ducking behind clouds. She had to contend with drops of bothersome blood dripping from her many head wounds, blurring her vision. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat for the hundredth time. Inattention cost her, for a vampire took the opportunity to tackle her from behind.

    Her arm weight pinned the Uzi, and she couldn’t very well get to the Glocks in her shoulder holster. So she went limp and pretended to be unconscious. She took the nasty punches the undead gave her. When the vampire was satisfied, he turned her over. That was when she blasted his mothersucking head off.

    “You stupid piece of shit!” Poe yelled maniacally as vampire blood and brain showered her face. No time to wipe them up, she thought, as three more halfdeads surrounded her, guns at attention. She grunted and pulled the trigger.

    Nothing happened. The manufacturer’s oath that the Uzi would not lock was utter rot. She hated Uzis. She jumped behind a garbage drum to shield herself from the raining bullets. Before she could reach for her guns, Poe fell back, as a bullet went through both sides of the thick drum and missed her by a sliver. Steel- tipped bullets. Yikes! A shadow fell on her. Before she could look up, she found herself airborne.

    Her arms were yanked by two leering vampires, her weapons out of reach. Unlike Sainvire, two undead flunkies were needed to lift her up in the air and not very high at that. With arm and shoulder tendons stretching like a twisted violin cord, Poe shrieked.

    “That’s right, girlie. Cry your eyes out,” said the pudgier of the two. “Trench is gonna kill you tonight, and we’re the ones who’re gonna bring you in.”

    “That’s a dozen janitors each, hombre,” said the other vamp with crooked teeth that shimmered in the dark. “Mexican janitor neck or not, that’s a fresh kill every night! Fuck that refrigerated shit.”

    “Besides, this little mutt killed our friends,” said pudgy hombre, tightly gripping his hold on Poe’s arm as an early round of punishment.

    Poe forced herself to stay calm. She refused to make a fool of herself any more in front of these vampires by hollering like a coward. But in the end, she couldn’t help it. She took a deep breath and screamed, “Saaainvire!”

    Before she could even blink three times, she saw him silhouetted against the moon. His face was fierce and full of bad intent. His two-inch fangs frightened Poe more than she would admit. When the two bozos saw the master vampire, they let go of Poe and fumbled with their weapons. Three things happened at once. Sainvire caught her by the scruff of her coat with his left hand and dodged the deads’ bullets by sheer speed alone. With a grunt, he threw Poe upwards until she almost believed she was a rocket blasting to the moon.

    While Poe began her descent to earth, Sainvire busied himself by grabbing pudgy hombre’s oily hair and cleanly severing his head with his talons. The other vamp with crooked teeth attempted to fly away but was too slow for Sainvire who skewered his heart Benihana-style. He finished just in time to catch Poe’s fall and land her softly on top of a jeep Cherokee.

    “Are you alright?” he asked, his incisors looking menacing.

    “Uh huh,” answered Poe, breathless and fearful of the vampire.

    “Get your Glocks ready. There’re still more of them out there.” When the girl didn’t answer, he said, “I can’t babysit, Poe. You’ve got to pull your weight.”

    At this, Poe’s nostrils flared, insulted. “I always pull my weight,” she said, pushing him away. Unsheathing her Glocks, she jumped down the hood of the jeep onto the street. She ran to where Maple was busy bashing heads with her spiky forearms.

    “Pull my weight, huh?” she muttered. She turned loose to ease Maple’s burdens by shooting six vampires in the head before they even knew what was happening.

    “Poe, watch out for the speedy ones. There are two of them,” warned Maple. And just like a portent, one appeared to slam Maple against an ancient palm tree and again at the hood of a car like she was a mannequin.

    The girl inhaled and aimed. “Help me, someone,” she whispered. The voice in her head said, now, and Poe fired. The dead twitched on the ground by Maple’s feet.

    Before she could crack a smile, the wind was knocked out of her. Someone, too quick to identify, tackled her and was about to slam her. Even though she could not see Speedy Gonzalez hugging her at the waist, Poe pointed her gun at what she thought was its back and fired. She crashed painfully to the ground with a raging female vamp on top of her. The creature writhed in pain, screaming, “I’m going to kill you, bitch!”

    Poe didn’t want to hear it and aimed her .357 Glock at her blonde head and pulled the trigger. She walked a quarter of a mile back to where she’d left Maple. The fighting was over.

    

    “You okay, Maple?”

    “Yes.” The vampire smiled reassuringly. “What about you? You look like you’ve been shot in the head.”

    “I was. By rocks.”

    They waited for Sainvire. When he flew above them and landed on his feet, his face was a scowl. At least his fangs had shrunk back to their manageable size. He told them to continue back to the library. He was going to fly up and watch for any more of Trench’s people from the air. Then he was gone, swallowed up by the night.

    

    

    Every single part of her body ached - even down to her hair follicles. She burned with a fever and could barely swallow the delicious barley soup Janice had made. Her head and ear hurt so bad that even a smidge of light gave her a tremendous migraine. However, Maple insisted that one oil lamp stay lit in case she needed to go to the bathroom. One more trip or fall would have done her in. The single comfort she had was the opportunity to sleep in Sainvire’s soft bed again. She knew her occupation of the room would have to end, but since she was sick, Perla assuredly said that she could stay another night.

    After a shower, Poe inspected the rock-inflicted wounds and winced. “I look like a demon trying to sprout horns,” she said about the discolored bumps on her temple. Her left ear was stitched, as the lower earlobe had been hanging by a thread of skin.

    “No peridot earrings for me, thanks,” she told herself out loud.

    Her naked torso bore silver dollar-size welts that were already turning blue. Without bothering to dry her hair, Poe slid under the sheets, wearing one of Sainvire’s black t-shirts and Perla’s voluminous pajama bottoms. Penny the dog was asleep on the divan, probably knocked out by painkillers. Lucky dog.

    She wished somebody had given her something to kill the pain. Her sleep was brief before she felt a presence in the dark. The sole oil lamp that lit the room revealed Sainvire. Instinctively, Poe did not move, keeping her lids half open.

    The vampire glided to the bathroom to minimize noise and gently shut the door behind him. Poe heard the shower running. Her heart thumped criminally. She didn’t see Sainvire go in with fresh clothes other than the soggy ones he wore. It was a relief to know that he didn’t have a dryer function under his clothes after all.

    Could she actually be privy to a dead guy in the buff? Even though she felt a little unclean at the thought, Poe anticipated the possibility. She’d watched those crappy teenage flicks where 16-year-old girls were getting it on. I’m twenty-two, for goodness sakes.

    “It’s between him and Morales,” Poe muttered about the men in her life.

    But since Sainvire was closer and made her skin itch whenever he smiled at her, Poe wouldn’t mind an affair, if she could just get over her distaste for the undead.

    Her entire body hurt like hell. Doing it with Sainvire would be too much like having an affair with Tarzan on the vine. She was in no mood to be jarred and hoisted.

    I’ll just be a perv and sneak a peek, she told herself.

    The vampire emerged from the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist. Poe could scarcely draw a breath. She studied him as if he was a rare butterfly and she an entomologist. He had the body of a day laborer that was marred by a twisted shoulder. She wondered how he had gotten such an injury.

    Being a peeping tom proved to be too irresistible for Poe, particularly when he pulled the towel about his slim waist.

    Poe couldn’t help it. She gasped. Sheer terror enveloped her from the slip, but the vampire didn’t seem to notice. She suddenly had the urge to pinch, touch, and explore. No male porn star ever looked like this!

    “Are you enjoying yourself, Julia?” Sainvire asked, drying his upper body with the towel. He turned his back on Poe and presented her with his firm backside.

    He knew that she was awake and devouring him with her eyes. Like it was going to make it better, Poe pulled the comforter over her head to hide her shame.

    Sainvire chuckled at the sight of Poe hiding under the sheets. He put on a black t-shirt and straight-legged blue Dickies and approached the bed. He sat next to her.

    “Will you face me or are you going to be immature about this whole thing?”

    “Go away. I’m trying to sleep,” said Poe in a muted and scared voice. Sainvire pulled the comforter and blankets down and tried to catch Poe’s mortified gaze.

    “Poe, look at me.”

    Poe shook her head.

    “You know, I should be the one offended since you practically molested me with your eyes.”

    That did it. Poe’s eyes snapped open. “What do you want?”

    “Aren’t you going to apologize?” he asked, his short black hair hanging wetly against his face.

    “What?” Poe almost yelled out. “You were the one walking around naked in my room.”

    “I believe I have the right because this happens to be my room.”

    “Fine. I’ll leave your room this instant.” Poe sat up and winced.

    Sainvire put his hand gently on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You can stay here as long as you want.”

    “Forget it, sicko!” Poe bellowed, pushing at his hand, the brief contact giving her goose bumps.

    “Sicko?” Sainvire said with disbelief in his voice. “If I remember correctly-”

    “Shut up about it,” Poe burst. “So I looked. You were parading around naked like Harvey Keitel. Isn’t that human? So what if I peeked? You think I’ve seen real naked people before?”

    Sainvire’s eyes widened, a grin quickly spreading.

    “By the look on your face, Sister didn’t keep her trap shut. Look, I didn’t know porn was different from regular films until the nun told me, alright? I’m not a perv!”

    “I didn’t say you were,” he said so gently that Poe was taken aback.

    The vampire lost his grin and was staring at her lips like they were the last piece of pecan pie in the entire world. She couldn’t help it; she licked her cut lower lip from nervousness. This movement seemed to embolden the vampire further, and he gazed lustily at her eyes. With a feather-light finger, he touched the bump on her forehead then lowered his lips to kiss her injuries, even the two-day-old scratches. One by one.

    Poe closed her eyes, trembling from fear, lust, pain and a combination of things she couldn’t explain. When the kisses stopped, she opened her eyes to see Sainvire’s beautiful silver eyes that shone even in the semi-darkness. He looked at her with such need. Again she licked her lips and swallowed. What will he do with me? Will I be able to say no?

    As if her fingers had a will of their own, her hand snaked up to touch his long eye lashes. They were so soft. Once the curiosity of her fingers was sated, they explored the cold skin of the vampire, touching cheekbones, nose, and lips. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant.

    She traced the scar above his mouth, her fingers lingering on his full lips. Boldly she inserted a finger to trace his teeth and fangs then traveled down to his strong jaws.

    Sainvire couldn’t take anymore of the girl’s exploring fingers. He touched her hair, still wet from the shower and caressed a curl. He lowered his mouth and kissed her partly open lips.

    Poe had never experienced anything like this first kiss. It was like eating good hot food after living off expired canned sardines for a decade. The kiss started out slow then deepened into an urgent need to hold, clutch, and embrace. When his cold tongue penetrated her mouth, Poe balked, not because it was cold, but because it felt too different, foreign. It was like tonguing sashimi. All she’d ever had in her mouth was food, utensils, gum, and toothbrush.

    With much reluctance, her mouth allowed tongueplay. The soft caresses of his hands as they explored her smooth tummy felt too much like cold cuts skimming her flesh. She would have been a liar to say she didn’t feel a thing. Sainvire’s large hand cupping her breast left a trail of cold heat on her body, but it wasn’t nearly scalding enough to let the matter go any further.

    The cold call of distress doused the languid, mercurial heat inside her belly as the image of Sister Ann’s and Goss’ dead bodies suddenly raided her thoughts. It was too much, too soon. Poe broke the kiss, shoving Sainvire away. She breathed heavily as if she had been underwater too long.

    “I’m sorry,” Sainvire apologized. “This isn’t exactly what I intended. I’m old enough to know better than to lose control.” The vampire forced a smile, albeit an apologetic one, and was gone.

    I don’t know if I can sleep with something dead, she thought with a shiver under the blanket. It just feels wrong.