the pop of an old-fashioned flashcube. He stands snapshot-still as the gun smoke blows back into his face. I instinctively grab my wounded shoulder, momentarily turning my attention away from the stranger. When I look back, seconds later, it is to see him running down the alley, the dead girl's braid flapping behind him like the tail of a fox.
I should - and could - give chase, but I'm not keen on risking a second bullet between the eyes. The slug in my shoulder is no misfire. He could have put me down, if he'd had a mind to do so. I use the switchblade to dig the bullet out. It hurts, but I've endured far worse.
I hold the blood-smeared .38 caliber bullet in the palm of my hand, rolling it back in forth so that its silver jacket reflects the moonlight. I shake my head in disbelief, a rueful smile on my face. After all these years, it seems I've finally stumbled across a fellow vampire slayer.
* * * *
At first it seemed like it would go down like the other kills. The vampiress was too preoccupied with keeping her most recent victim under her spell to notice that she herself was being stalked. He watched from a safe distance as she led the boy into a secluded alley and behind a dumpster. Thinking she was alone, the vampiress began giggling in a hideous little-girl voice. That's when he knew it was time to call her out.
"Undead."
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) He said it loud and distinctly, so she would know he wasn't crying out in fear, but naming her, as a doctor would diagnose a disease. She stepped away from her prey and turned to face him with a nimble, feral movement, her eyes cisterns leading down to sunless depths. A long strand of saliva dripped from her exposed canines.
"This does not concern you, human."
He fired twice before she could move against him, splashing the wall behind her with blood and vertebrae.
The vampiress hit the ground and stayed there, but she wasn't completely dead yet. The bullets had severed her spinal cord, but such injuries were not instantly fatal to her kind. The killing blow would come from the silver, which, as he had learned, inflicted a painful, agonizing death. The vampiress' upper torso squirmed like a worm on a hot sidewalk as her flesh turned a pale, bluish purple, sloughing off her bones like the meat of a stewed chicken. She looked up at him, scarlet sparks of loathing spitting from her fading eyes, her lips smeared with the black ichor that served as her blood. She clicked her fangs together rapidly; making a sound like the buzz of rattler's tail, then went still.
Satisfied she was truly dead, he knelt to take his trophy. He had been thinking for most of the night about where he would put it. The braid would definitely have to be part of the display.
As he decapitated the creature, he became aware of being watched, like a hunter who has come to the stream to fill his canteen, only to find himself opposite a cougar that has wandered down from the hills to slake its thirst.
She was standing less than thirty feet away, dressed in a well-worn leather motorcycle jacket, faded black jeans, scuffed harness boots, and a ragged Skinny Puppy T-shirt. She was tall and built like an acrobat, with dark, unruly hair that hung about her face like an abbreviated lion's mane, her eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.
At first he thought she was one of the revelers from the rave who had wandered into the alley to either relieve herself or do drugs. But there was something in the way she held herself that told him she wasn't a mere party girl. Despite her pretense at casualness, he was reminded of a panther pretending to doze before springing on its zookeeper.
Something in the way she dipped her head slightly, looking over the top of her sunglasses at him for a brief second without managing to show her eyes, was genuinely disquieting. She studied him for a long moment; the way cats will break away from grooming
I should - and could - give chase, but I'm not keen on risking a second bullet between the eyes. The slug in my shoulder is no misfire. He could have put me down, if he'd had a mind to do so. I use the switchblade to dig the bullet out. It hurts, but I've endured far worse.
I hold the blood-smeared .38 caliber bullet in the palm of my hand, rolling it back in forth so that its silver jacket reflects the moonlight. I shake my head in disbelief, a rueful smile on my face. After all these years, it seems I've finally stumbled across a fellow vampire slayer.
* * * *
At first it seemed like it would go down like the other kills. The vampiress was too preoccupied with keeping her most recent victim under her spell to notice that she herself was being stalked. He watched from a safe distance as she led the boy into a secluded alley and behind a dumpster. Thinking she was alone, the vampiress began giggling in a hideous little-girl voice. That's when he knew it was time to call her out.
"Undead."
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) He said it loud and distinctly, so she would know he wasn't crying out in fear, but naming her, as a doctor would diagnose a disease. She stepped away from her prey and turned to face him with a nimble, feral movement, her eyes cisterns leading down to sunless depths. A long strand of saliva dripped from her exposed canines.
"This does not concern you, human."
He fired twice before she could move against him, splashing the wall behind her with blood and vertebrae.
The vampiress hit the ground and stayed there, but she wasn't completely dead yet. The bullets had severed her spinal cord, but such injuries were not instantly fatal to her kind. The killing blow would come from the silver, which, as he had learned, inflicted a painful, agonizing death. The vampiress' upper torso squirmed like a worm on a hot sidewalk as her flesh turned a pale, bluish purple, sloughing off her bones like the meat of a stewed chicken. She looked up at him, scarlet sparks of loathing spitting from her fading eyes, her lips smeared with the black ichor that served as her blood. She clicked her fangs together rapidly; making a sound like the buzz of rattler's tail, then went still.
Satisfied she was truly dead, he knelt to take his trophy. He had been thinking for most of the night about where he would put it. The braid would definitely have to be part of the display.
As he decapitated the creature, he became aware of being watched, like a hunter who has come to the stream to fill his canteen, only to find himself opposite a cougar that has wandered down from the hills to slake its thirst.
She was standing less than thirty feet away, dressed in a well-worn leather motorcycle jacket, faded black jeans, scuffed harness boots, and a ragged Skinny Puppy T-shirt. She was tall and built like an acrobat, with dark, unruly hair that hung about her face like an abbreviated lion's mane, her eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.
At first he thought she was one of the revelers from the rave who had wandered into the alley to either relieve herself or do drugs. But there was something in the way she held herself that told him she wasn't a mere party girl. Despite her pretense at casualness, he was reminded of a panther pretending to doze before springing on its zookeeper.
Something in the way she dipped her head slightly, looking over the top of her sunglasses at him for a brief second without managing to show her eyes, was genuinely disquieting. She studied him for a long moment; the way cats will break away from grooming
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