I helped myself to a few more drops of blood, increasing the dose until I had enough energy to clean up the broken mug, the vampire blood, the waterhound mess, and the absolute disaster in the bathroom. I patched up Hopper’s wounds and gave him my last can of tuna. Then I buzzed around in the living room and kitchen, setting out all the mask making supplies. Then I finished compiling the list of reference books and journals I needed to get at the university, since the local library didn’t have the right subscriptions, and dug into researching waterhounds so I would know more about Hopper. I took pictures of him and measurements when he let me, and snipped off some fur and part of a long nail.
He didn’t appreciate the pedicure.
I stored it all away in the safe hidden behind a panel in the laundry room, giddy with excitement. Proof. I had proof.
Archer texted back some time after seven to confirm they’d meet me by the access road at eleven. I told him to bring lunch, maybe burgers, and hoped it would lure the sasquatch in if we paused to eat in the clearing where it attacked Hopper. Then it was just four hours that passed in a blink of reading and marking some of the maps on the wall in the mudroom.
I eyed Hopper, who finally went to sleep under my bed, and debated keeping him in the house or hauling him outside. He slept soundly on his back, paws curled delicately, and snored in great, heaving wheezes and snorts. After just a moment of debating, I set up the motion capture cameras I usually reserved for well-traveled wildlife trails in the bedroom, living room, and in the window to capture the yard. Just in case Hopped got into some trouble. I shook my head and left out some cat food I’d gotten when strays still came close to the house.
A small brick, wrapped in brown paper, wedged just behind the porch rail. The frantic energy practically gave me x-ray vision, and I chucked it into the glove box of the truck. Cash. A whole lotta cash. Once I was done with filming, I’d go into town and get a generator. A perfect plan.
I started up the truck and paused, frowning at my arm. The sunlight tightened my skin, and a hint of pink appeared. Sunburn already? I hadn’t been outside long enough to…
I sucked in a breath. Photosensitivity. I touched my teeth to make sure they hadn’t turned into fangs, then pulled on the long-sleeve flannel I kept in the truck. Shit. No more vampire blood, no matter how helpful it was. I’d just have to deal with the hangover and fatigue, and stop pushing past my limits. My mouth tasted bitter and metallic as I drove toward the access road, and not even the anticipation of seeing the sasquatch again could chase away the concern that I might turn into a vampire.