She shook her head. “The vamp I saw was sane, and I don’t have a contract. You, however, can kill a sane vamp if one attacks. Think of me as your helpful witness.” She held out a silver-tipped stake. “Just in case.”
I knew that she had a half-dozen identical stakes in her boot. If Brax missed, Jane would not let the vampire go free. She would take care of—well—everything and everyone around her. It was what she did.
“And this,” Jane handed him a silvered blade, “is for cutting off his head. You know, if needed.”
“Helpful, huh?” Brax shook his head, turning the blade so the candlelight caught and reflected off the silver. “You do know that this is longer than the legal limits on concealed carry for bladed weapons, right?”
“I wasn’t carrying it. It was in my saddle bag on my bike,” she said with her humorless half-smile.
“Uh huh. You Southerners are even more polite and obliging than I was led to believe.”
“That’s us. Just itching to help out the New York Yankee cop.” Jane handed him a sheath for the blade, one that strapped at waist and thigh.
Brax chuckled. “I’ve never used my vamp-fighting techniques, but I’ve kept certified and in practice.” He strapped on the blade and accepted the stake. “I’ve never had to kill a vampire. The Master of the City of New York keeps a firm hand on his underlings. So this is a first for me.”
“We hope you won’t have to kill one tonight,” I said. “We hope he’ll be saner than he looked last.”
“But we won’t bet our lives on it,” Evan said. “If he attacks and you need backup, you can deputize Jane.”
“I’m not the sheriff,” Brax said, “but consider Jane deputized if it’ll keep my butt alive.” He looked at Evan. “Okay, Mr. Trueblood, Mrs. Trueblood. Ready when you are.”
*
It didn’t take us long to prepare. I was wearing the same white dress, slightly grimy from the last time I’d worn it here, which I gathered close and sat behind the bowl, cross-legged, the bowl of water between my knees. Just as last night, I opened the Ziploc bag and held Jane’s shirt over the bowl, shaking it with a snapping motion this time. There wasn’t much dust from the parlor left, but what there was sprinkled onto the still surface of the water. I took my three deep breaths to settle myself and nodded to Evan, who lifted the silver bell. As I spoke the words he rang the bell with the silver mallet. “Bell, book, and candle. Bell, book, and candle. Bell, book, and candle.” The tones were rich and true, echoing through the house. “Dust to dust, through time to now. Dust to dust, through time to now. Dust to dust, through time to now. Time of warding. Time of blood. Time of attack. Time of betrayal. Time of undead. Time of change. Time of vampire. Time of transference. Time of death.”
As before, the bell chimes shivered through the empty house, leaving the air expectant. As the last tone faded, the water between my knees brightened, and so did the floor of the parlor. Twin, green, luminous feathers of light rose, twining and twisting like smoke, up to the ceiling overhead, pooling against the high corners, spreading toward the center of the room.
The old-fashioned electric ceiling light appeared, adding light to the falling dark, revealing the furnishings of the past: the blood-rose walls, the velvet upholstered couch and wheeled tea tray, the wing chairs and card table. The man’s squeaky song came from the old-fashioned phonograph, hollow and cheery. The small, auburn haired woman once again sat in the wing chair, the basket of yarn at her feet. I heard Brax take a slow, shocked breath.
The woman looked up, turned. Her eyes widened, mouth opened. The small form fell upon her, the pop of vampiric speed making Brax flinch. The child attacked, grabbing up the woman. She screamed. His fangs latched on and her scream stopped, to be replaced by a single strong sucking sound.
The woman lifted her knitting needles. She stabbed the child.
He screamed, the horrible note of true death.
The second pop sounded and the taller, adult vampire appeared. He pulled the woman and child apart. Blood pumped scarlet from her throat, all over her white gown and out into the room. The child dangled, the wooden knitting needles in his body.
The woman’s blood pumped over the man’s chest and the Kerr Symballophone. The child’s blood splattered it again. The man roared the single word, “No!” vamping out and falling to the floor beneath the two, cradling the woman, pulling the stakes from the child. He tore his own wrist and dribbled his blood into the child’s mouth, scooping the woman’s blood in as well. Letting the woman die, the woman he might have saved. Everything was just like the last time I had seen it.
The vampire screamed, his fangs nearly two inches long, lifting to the light. His bellow was powerful. And as he sat there, the two bodies embraced on his lap, he looked right at me. He saw Jane behind me. Saw the cop, and Evan.
Evan rang the bell again, one strong tone for each word of freedom and free, as I released my intent and purpose, saying, “Freedom be and freedom bought, freedom from the dead past sought. Free the house and end this spell. Free the dead to heaven and hell.”
As I spoke, the vampire raced at us. With each tone, he aged and shrank, his tissues draining and flesh caving in. His bloody eyes going feral, rabid, insane. He roared again, this time for blood.