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in the dark, but a halogen streetlight beamed over the pay phones, turning night into day. Insects and
moths danced around the light. The swift, flitting shapes of bats swam in and out of the light, eating the
insects.
I dialed the number while Larry waited in the car. Give him a point for discretion. The phone rang twice;
then a voice said, "Anita, is that you?"
It was Irving Griswold, reporter and friend. "Irving, what in blazes are you doing paging me at this hour?"
"Jean-Claude wants to see you tonight, now." His voice sounded rushed and uncertain.
"Why are you delivering the message?" I was afraid I wasn't going to like the answer.
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"I'm a werewolf," he said.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"You didn't know." He sounded surprised.
"Know what?" I was getting angry. I hate twenty questions.
"Jean-Claude's animal is a wolf."
That explained Stephen the Werewolf and the black woman. "Why weren't you there the other night,
Irving? Did he let you off your leash?"
"That's not fair."
He was right. It wasn't. "I'm sorry, Irving. I'm just feeling guilty because I introduced the two of you."
"I wanted to interview the Master of the City. I got my interview."
"Was it worth the price?" I said.
"No comment."
"That's my line."
He laughed. "Can you come to the Circus of the Damned? Jean-Claude has some information on the
master vampire that jumped you."
"Alejandro?"
"That's the one."
"We'll be there as soon as we can, but it's going to be damn close to dawn before we can get to the
Riverfront."
"Who's we?"
"A new animator I'm breaking in. He's driving." I hesitated. "Tell Jean-Claude no rough stuff tonight."
"Tell him yourself."
"Coward."
"Yes, ma'am. See you as soon as you can get here. Bye."
"Bye, Irving." I held the buzzing receiver for a few seconds, then hung up. Irving was Jean-Claude's
creature. Jean-Claude could call wolves the way Mr. Oliver called snakes. The way Nikolaos had called
rats, and wererats. They were all monsters. It was just a choice of flavors.
I slid back into the car. "You wanted more experience with vampires, right?" I buckled the seat belt.
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"Of course," Larry said.
"Well, you're going to get it tonight."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll explain while you drive. We don't have much time before dawn." Larry threw the car in gear and
peeled out of the parking lot. He looked eager in the dim glow of the dashboard. Eager and very, very
young.
34
The Circus of the Damned had closed down for the night, or would that be morning? It was still dark,
but there was a wash of lightness to the east as we parked in front of the warehouse. An hour earlier, and
there wouldn't have been a parking place even close to the Circus. But the tourists leave as the vampires
fold down for the night.
I glanced at Larry. His face was smeared with dried blood. So was mine. It hadn't occurred to me until
just now to find some place to clean up first. I glanced up at the eastern sky and shook my head. There
was no time. Dawn was coming.
The toothed clowns still glowed and twirled atop the marquee, but it was a tired dance. Or maybe I was
the one who was tired.
"Follow my lead in here, Larry. Never forget that they are monsters; no matter how human they look,
they aren't. Don't take off your cross, don't let them touch you, and don't stare directly into their eyes."
"I know that from class. I had two semesters of Vampire Studies."
I shook my head. "Class is nothing, Larry. This is the real thing. Reading about it doesn't prepare you for
it."
"We had guest speakers. Some of them were vampires."
I sighed and let it go. He'd have to learn on his own. Like everybody else did. Like I had.
The big doors were locked. I knocked. The door opened a moment later. Irving stood there. He wasn't
smiling. He looked like a chubby cherub with soft, curling hair in a fringe over his ears, and a big bald
spot in the middle. Round, wire-framed glasses perched on a round little nose. His eyes widened a little
as we stepped inside. The blood looked like what it was in the light.
"What have you been doing tonight?" he asked.
"Raising the dead," I said.
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"This the new animator?"
"Larry Kirkland, Irving Griswold. He's a reporter, so everything you say can be used against you."
"Hey, Blake, I've never quoted you when you said not to. Give me that."
I nodded. "Given."
"He's waiting for you downstairs," Irving said.
"Downstairs?" I said.
"It is almost dawn. He needs to be underground."
Ah. "Sure," I said, but my stomach clenched tight. The last time I'd gone downstairs at the Circus, it had
been to kill Nikolaos. There had been a lot of killing that morning. A lot of blood. Some of it mine.
Irving led the way through the silent midway. Someone had hit the switch, and the lights were dull. The
fronts of the games had been shut and locked down, covers thrown over the stuffed animals. The scent of
corn dogs and cotton candy hung on the air like aromatic ghosts, but the smells were dim and tired.
We passed the haunted house with its life-size witch on top, standing silent and staring with bulging eyes.
She was green and had a wart on her nose. I'd never met a witch that looked anything but normal. They
certainly weren't green, and warts could always be surgically removed.
The glass house was next. The darkened Ferris wheel towered over everything. "I feel like one, / Who
treads alone / Some banquet hall deserted, / Whose lights are fled, / Whose garlands dead, / And all but
he departed," I said.
Irving glanced back to me. "Thomas Moore,Oft in the Stilly Night ."
I smiled. "I couldn't remember the title to save myself. I'll just have to agree with you."
"Double major, journalism and English literature."
"I bet that last comes in handy as a reporter," I said.
"Hey, I slip a little culture in when I can." He sounded offended, but I knew he was pretending. It made
me feel better to have Irving joking with me. It was nice and normal. I needed all the nice I could get
tonight.
It was an hour until dawn. What harm could Jean-Claude do in an hour? Better not to ask.
The door in the wall was heavy and wooden with a sign reading, "Authorized Personnel Only Beyond
This Point." For once I wished I wasn't authorized.
The little room beyond was just a small storage room with a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. A
second door led down the stairs. The stairs were almost wide enough for the three of us to walk abreast,
but not quite. Irving walked ahead of us, as if we still needed leading. There was nowhere to go but
down. Prophetic, that.
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There was a sharp bend to the stairs. There was a brush of cloth, the sensation of movement. I had my
gun out and ready. No thought necessary, just lots and lots of practice.
"You won't need that," Irving said.
"Says you."
"I thought the Master was a friend of yours," Larry said.
"Vampires don't have friends."
"How about junior high science teachers?" Richard Zeeman walked around the corner. He was wearing
a forest-green sweater with a lighter green and brown forest woven into it. The sweater hung down [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]