Forsaken By the Others

“Ma’am, I really don’t think we should be here.”

“Your objection is duly noted,” I said, not bothering to look back over my shoulder at Trinity. This time she had decided to leave the car to follow us into the alley that was supposed to lead to the entrance to this Thrane guy’s hideout.

Trinity had an expression of pure shock on her face when she saw Sara and me walking back from Gavin’s place. We could see her bulging eyes and open mouth through the windshield. She honestly must have expected us to die or end up held hostage or something once we set foot on Goliath territory. I didn’t know whether to find her reaction funny or take it as an insult.

By the time we’d reached the car, she had gotten a handle on her surprise and wrangled her expression into something more neutral. Then, once we told her we wanted her to take us to Thrane’s place, she had barked out a laugh.

“You two are insane. First the Goliaths, now that ridiculous pretender? Do you have any idea how crazy that guy is?”

Sara huffed, folding her arms. “Do you have any idea how crazy it is that we’re being asked to find where this necromancer is hiding without the help of police or other authorities to track him down? Stop judging our methods and let us do our job. You have a better idea of where we should be looking? We’re all ears.”

Trinity shook her head and started driving, not saying a thing.

Even if she was of the opinion that Thrane was nuttier than a fruitcake, it didn’t deter me. I had been dealing with more than enough weirdos since I had arrived in Los Angeles. The addition of a few more didn’t seem like such a big deal.

Clyde might have thought he was the Master of All He Sees and Then Some, but the reality was that he couldn’t be everywhere at once, and to have a slice of land in the middle of what was supposed to be his Valley—territory—whatever—belonging to another vampire meant that he didn’t have as tight a grip on his holdings as he would have liked us to believe. Plus, three of the attacks had taken place on the borders between Thrane’s and Clyde’s territories, which meant that Thrane might know which way the necromancer went, might have seen something useful, or maybe would be willing to help us if he was also losing people.

Granted, now that we’d stopped in front of what— according to Trinity’s sarcastic explanation—was supposed to be Thrane’s base of operation, I could see why Clyde had appeared more annoyed than worried when he mentioned the “Master” of this borderline slice of land between Burbank and Glendale. The neighborhood, though not as nice as the one where Gavin lived, or as nasty as that armpit in Sun Valley we’d stopped in, wasn’t real impressive, mainly small businesses sandwiched between apartments and old houses.

At first I thought Trinity must have been kidding. The place was nothing more than a run-down sports bar with dirty windows that obscured a dimly seen television mounted in the corner. There was a sign above the nearly deserted bar proclaiming they had a weeknight special on Budweiser and hot wings. Tucked away in a dark alcove on the side of the building was the door Trinity said led to Thrane’s hideout. It was so narrow that I would have mistaken it for the location of the building’s circuit breakers.

Sara and I approached the place together, wrinkling our noses at the padlocked Dumpster only a few yards away from the entrance to the vampire’s hideout. This was nothing like the splendor I had seen vampires use to sequester themselves from humanity’s prying eyes. If I hadn’t gotten a nod in the affirmative when I gave Trinity a dubious look over my shoulder, I never would have guessed that Thrane lived here. It was either a terrifically clever front, or terribly sad.

Sara stepped aside, and I knocked lightly on the door. A muffled voice came from the other side. “Password? ”

Nonplussed, I looked at Trinity, who shrugged. Confused, I said, “I . . . don’t know?”

“Close enough.”

The door—was that piled-on insulation held on with duct tape?—opened, revealing a guy wearing track pants and a T-shirt slung over his shoulder. His skin was frightfully pale, and his hairy stomach protruded a bit over the top of his pants. He grinned broadly at Sara and me, flashing fangs. “Ladies, ladies, ladies! Call me Mac-daddy.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Actually, if you’re here to see me, you can call me anything you want.”

Sara and I both hastily stepped back—probably a bit too quickly, considering the tragic look of disappointment that crossed his features—before a pleasant, feminine voice called out from the shadows behind him. “Mac, who is it? Get out of the damn door and let them in.”

He got out of the way, disappearing into the dark. This was no more reassuring. Particularly as a third voice called out to us, this time another woman. “Are you just going to stand there all night?”

Terrifying as the thought of walking into that dark pit was, we weren’t going to accomplish anything by standing in the alley. Sara fell into step behind me as I marched with what I hoped was a brave and dangerous expression into the vampire den.

If I’d thought the outside was bad, the inside was . . . bad.

A set of narrow, rickety wooden stairs sans railing led down about four feet into a cramped, narrow basement with a high ceiling. Fluorescent track lighting made everything take on a sickly, dim color. Someone had salvaged a large strip of puke-orange shag carpeting and laid it down on the bare concrete in the center of the room. The walls were beige and covered with posters, and there was a bulletin board that, at a glance, contained charming announcements like “Jason is a fag” scrawled in heavy permanent marker on scraps of paper between the job postings and concert flyers.

Though my own furniture in my apartment—cripes, did I still have anything of my own anymore? My landlord had probably dumped all of my crap out on the street by now. Ahem, back on track—though my own furniture was or had been of Ikea-level quality, it looked like the mismatched couches and chairs in this sprawling basement lair had gone a few rounds with their local Salvation Army store.

And lost.

Miserably.

The vampires didn’t look much better.

Some wore jeans and T-shirts. Some wore stuff straight out of a Goth fashion magazine. One wore a pizza delivery shirt and cap, obviously either just coming from or leaving for a job.

Now I understood why Clyde was so obviously disgusted when he mentioned this Jimmy guy.

“Mr. Thrane?” I asked the room in general, not sure which one of the vampires to address. There wasn’t much of a structure to this pack of misfits that I could pick up. The stuffy, musty scent and strangely echoic quality of the space, added to the cold due to the lack of body heat from the vampires, gave the impression of being at the bottom of a grave.

A frat boy’s grave, maybe, but a grave, nonetheless.

The vampire lounging on the couch in the back nodded, touching the brim of his top hat. It was the only article of clothing he had on that was in good repair. Once he moved his hand, I could see a tattoo or something under one of his eyes.

“Ma’am. Might I ask why you’re calling on us this fine evening?”

Well, at least he was polite. Sara, who had the look of rigid, forced politeness she often assumed when dealing with a client who made her uncomfortable, introduced us.

“Mr. Thrane, my name is Sara Halloway, and this is Shiarra Waynest, my business partner. We’re private investigators. We wanted to ask for your help and see if you might have any information that might lead us to a resolution of some difficulties for a client.”

“Wow, right on. Real private investigators?”

I glanced at the guy who had earlier been identified as Mac, giving him a look. He shrugged and grinned.

Thrane was not as impressed. “Fascinating. Really. But I would very much like to know how you two have heard of me and what you think I can do for you.”

My turn to field the questions. “We heard that you’re the ruler of some territory outside of Clyde Seabreeze’s control. If that’s the case, you may have information about who has been behind the murders and disappearances of Clyde’s people.”

Thrane’s reaction was not what I had expected. At all. His fangs extended, and his eyes blazed red as he shot to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “You’re working for that . . . that . . . usurper?”

Sara grabbed my arm so tightly, it went numb. The other vampires didn’t seem very impressed, watching us with bored expressions. Once my heart crawled out of my throat and closer to the region it belonged, I squeaked out a few words.

“We—uh . . . yes?”

As suddenly as the anger had risen, it was gone. He blinked, and his eyes were normal again, the fangs retracting as he airily waved a hand at us. “Poofty von Metrofaggen can go find someone else to play his games. I’m not interested.”

“Jimmy,” one of the girls stage-whispered, her eyes comically huge in her heart-shaped face framed by inky black curls. “Jimmy, those are humans.”

I have never seen so many vampires so intensely interested in me at the same time. Talk about unnerving. Every one of them went deathly still—and I mean deathly—as their unblinking eyes locked on to us. It was like being stared at by a room full of china dolls. Hungry china dolls that are thinking about eating your face.

As the tension in the room skyrocketed and I contemplated throwing Sara over my shoulder and making a run for it, Thrane gave a long-suffering sigh, and the tension eased out of his body. He ran his hand over his face before giving the rest of his flock pointed looks.

“Yes, they are. And they are not for you.”

The disappointment radiating from the other vampires was palpable.

“Aw, c’mon, Jimmy! We’re hungry,” one of them whined.

“You know,” I said, edging back toward the door, “I think we’re good. We’ll find someone else to interview. Thanks for your time!”

Sara and I might have bolted if there hadn’t been a vampire standing in the stairwell, barring our way out when we turned around.

At that moment, I could have kicked myself for being so stupid as to think I could waltz into some strange vampire’s den without weapons or a way out. The only person who knew we were here was Trinity, and Clyde had made it perfectly clear how he felt about Jimmy, and about Sara and me exploring parts of Los Angeles beyond the bounds of his territory. Considering Royce was across the country, our chances of being saved were next to nil.

This was not good.

The other vampire glanced at me and Sara, then to Thrane, though he sounded far too excited considering the news he had to impart. “Cheese is dead.”

Thrane looked from us up to the vampire on the stairs. “What?”

“Cheese is dead,” the other guy repeated. Was it my imagination, or did he smell a bit like barf?

“Why is Cheese dead?” Thrane demanded, stepping around me and Sara. It seemed we’d been momentarily forgotten. Considering this new vampire was distracting the others from wanting to eat us, this wasn’t altogether a bad thing.

“He got caught in the sun. Everyone was talking about it at the Sundown.”

One of the others behind us snorted. “How the hell do you get caught in the sun?”

“I don’t know; he just did. The police were sweeping him up around noon, apparently.”

“I knew it was a bad idea to let him in,” Thrane grumbled. “I swear, seventeen is like the magic number. No one that age lasts past a week.” He looked over at the most sensibly dressed of the female vampires in the room in her slacks and button-down shirt, her reddish-brown hair swept up in a ponytail and her arms akimbo. “Why did I even let a vampire named Cheese join up?”

“You thought it was funny,” the girl replied.

“Why is that funny?” Thrane wondered.

“Because you’re an asshole,” Mac muttered.

“Oh, yes. You two were going to be the best of friends. You remember why, don’t you? You get it?”

Mac rolled his eyes. “I get it.”

“’Cause it’s Mac . . .”

“Thrane. I get it.”

“A-a-a-a-and . . .”

“I get it.”

“Cheese!”

The other vampires cracked up. Mac put his head in his hands.

“Well, only one thing to do. Everyone, stand up. Sta-a-a-a-and up.” Thrane gestured at the others, pointing to each in turn. “Elly, Leewan, Megan . . . come on. Up we go.”

Everyone stood up. Even Mac, once he finished cursing Thrane out under his breath. Sara and I stood where we were, awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot.

Thrane removed his hat and held it to his chest. “We are gathered here tonight to mourn the passing of one of our own.”

“We’re gathered here to hang out,” the one he’d called Leewan mumbled.

Thrane pointed at him. “I can kill you.”

Leewan fell silent.

“Cheese was our friend,” Thrane continued. “He was our brother. Except to Janice, who wanted to boink him. Because otherwise that would be wrong.”

The girl I assumed was Janice closed her eyes, probably not in grief.

“Cheese lived a full life. It is with a heavy heart that we bid him farewell and hope that beyond this second death, he will find peace.” Thrane wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “Good-bye, Cheese.”

“Good-bye, Cheese,” everyone murmured.

“Hey, who wants to see if they’re a cold fish or a passionate lover?” Elly called, having picked up a Cosmo in the middle of the service.

Everyone else’s hand went up. My mouth dropped open, and I’m pretty sure Sara was gaping, too.

“Mac goes first,” Elly decided.

Thrane turned back to us while most of the other vampires put their attention on Elly and her magazine.

“That was a moving speech,” the girl in the nice clothes told him.

“Why, thank you, Shannon.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Thrane.”

“So, hey,” Mac called out from across the room, “are we going to eat these people after we’re done with the questions or what?”

Many red-tinged eyes were quite suddenly, very hungrily, focused on us. Again.