"The same way she always does it," Vayl said, folding his arms across his chest.
"Since you're so determined to be mad at me, go right ahead," I said, "but the fact is I never knew why I kept moving the furniture around. I wasn't usually even aware I was doing it. Then you said something, and it seemed like such a strange thing to do," I shrugged, "I made up a reason so you wouldn't think I was crazy."
Did I detect a slight softening in Vayl's expression, or was I just fishing? Never mind. The show had gone on. In a room it hurt my heart to see again, my band of Helsingers and I sat around the recycled door playing a card game I knew I'd been good at but could no longer remember the name of.
I could tell we meant to go back out, because we still wore our uniforms. Superman Suits, we called them, feather-lite body armor encased in navy blue leather. We were all high on adrenalin and success, toasting each other like German bobsledders, eating pizza for God's sake. Pizza.
The room tilted and nearly took me with it. But Vayl's hand on my shoulder steadied me. I looked up, grateful he still thought enough of me to leave his chair. He settled on the arm of the couch beside me.
"I only remember bits of this," I said, sensing that explanations might keep me from falling headfirst into the nightmare that, until now, had only played itself out behind my eyelids. "That's Matt on my left. He'd just turned 26 two weeks before. The tan is from the trip we'd taken to Hawaii to celebrate." My throat closed on the words, and for a minute I couldn't speak.
Matt and I sat on the couch, talking softly while the others played out the hand. Brad and Olivia, a married couple from Georgia, sat in the tattered love seat that met our couch at 45 degrees. They took turns throwing red plastic chips into the growing pile and teasing each other about losing the down payment on their house in a single hand.
Dellan, a muscle-bound vamp who'd been turned in the 60s, sat on the floor to my right, cradling his crossbow, eating all the toppings off his pizza. He threw what was left to Thea, also a vamp and sometimes his lover—depending on how much he irritated her—who sat on the floor to Olivia's left. Tomato sauce made her gag, but she couldn't get enough of that stuffed crust.
We'd go back into the field as soon as the pizza and cards had played themselves out, but for now we were just kicking back and enjoying the company. "That's Jessie, sitting in the chair across from us, the one in front of the fireplace. She was my sister-in-law. She was—" I shook my head, not knowing how to capture Jessie's vibrant, infectious humor, her intense loyalty, her deep and abiding passion for my brother in words. "She was my hero."
Jessie had draped her leg across the chair beside her, as if saving it for David. Having made her bet, she was fashioning an airplane from a couple of paper towels. I knew eventually it would come floating my way and I would be required to throw my napkin back at her, but for now I was content to snuggle with my honey.
It felt a little sick to watch my handsome young lover rear his head back and laugh at one of my wiseass comments, as if I was some grief-crazed widow rolling out the home movies for a torturous walk over the coals of memory lane. But, God, it was good to see him, to see all of them, and remember with a sort of shock how happy we'd been together.
I started talking again, fighting the vortex of pain that had robbed me of everything I'd liked about myself. "Nobody ever heard the knock at the front door. No one except Ron. He was Dave's sub, a rookie straight out of the academy. He was still kind of sick from the slaying, not the vampire bit, the human part that comes before you get to the vampires. Anyway, he'd been visiting the upstairs bathroom periodically." We watched him, a young, spiky-haired version of David Spade, with the physique of a marathon runner and the constitution (at least temporarily) of a tubercular alcoholic. He was coming down the stairs, one hand on the rail, the other on his stomach.
In the living room it was my deal, and I'd just begun to shuffle the cards.
Ron came down the steps slow, stepping in eerie time to the rhythm of my shuffling. When he reached the bottom, he heard a knock at the door. Nobody else did. They were all yelling at me.
"Get the lead out and deal the cards already!" Jessie roared, throwing her paper airplane at my head.
I grinned. "Just getting the cards warmed up for you, Jess."
A chorus of "Aw, come on!" and "Deal, dammit!" drowned out Ron, who was saying, "Please tell me you didn't order more pizza," as he opened the door.
A blue-eyed, long-legged blond stood on the threshold, carrying an insulated pizza box container. She smiled coyly at Ron. "Hi. Wow, are you a S.W.A.T. guy? I love your uniform!"
Ron grinned. The poor fool couldn't help it. She resembled every centerfold he'd ever drooled over. "Kinda," he said. "Um, how much do I owe you?"
"Sixteen-fifty," she said, flashing a couple of dimples, this time accompanied by a tempting bit of cleavage. "Do you mind if I come in?" she asked, looking over one shoulder with just the right hint of fear. "It's kind of creepy out here in the dark."
"Sure, come on in. My house is your house," he said, a chivalric knight taking temporary ownership of federal property to save his distressed damsel. It turned out she was just damned. Ron died with both hands in his pockets, fishing for a twenty while a goofy, I've-bagged-a-Playmate smile played across his face Pizza Girl had lunged for his throat and torn out his larynx before he understood his mistake had killed us all.
The complaints from my comrades had finally reached a satisfying peak and I'd just dealt Matt his first card when we heard Ron's body hit the floor. Jessie, who had the best view of the entrance, jumped up and yelled, "Vampire!" just as Pizza Girl cried, "Enter and be welcome!" out the front door.
A stream of vamps poured into the house with the impact of a tidal wave. But we were nothing if not prepared, and all of us still wore the weapons we'd used to clear the nest earlier that day.
Brad and Olivia fought shoulder to shoulder, pumping bullets into the vamps. Pizza Girl, her chest a mix of her own blood and Ron's gore, waded through the barrage, lofted the love seat and threw it at them. They went down in a flurry of splinters and stuffing and the vamps went after them, swarming like locusts until all you could see were Brad's twitching fingers and all you could hear were Olivia's fading screams.
Dellan smoked two of the vamps who came after him, but with no time to restring his crossbow, he had to resort to hand-to-hand combat. His punches rocked the three monsters who came for him, his kicks knocked them back, and I'm sure I heard ribs crack before they overpowered him. One vamp, who looked like he should've been doling out the cash at First National's drive-up window, picked Dellan up and threw him head first into the fireplace where he lay, limp and broken as a discarded doll. He followed up with a poker through Dellan's heart.
Thea emptied her magazine into the swarm before retreating to the fireplace wall and having at them with the ash shovel. She held her own until Dellan lost his battle. The momentary distraction of seeing him fade to nothing was all her attackers needed. They jumped her like a gang of rapists, only it wasn't her body they wanted. They bled her dry while Matt, Jessie and I made a fighting retreat to the kitchen and the back door that entered into it. We delivered bolts, body blows and bullets in equal numbers. For a minute there was so much blood and smoke in the air you'd swear it was storming plasma.
"Get out, Jessie!" I yelled. She stood closest to the door. "Get help!" She ran to the door and I shot the vamp who tried to intercept her, tore a hole through his brain that would take days to heal. She wrenched the door open and stepped outside. But they were waiting for her, a hungry little horde of newbies so freshly turned their bite marks still remained, livid and glowing to my new-seeing eyes.