There was one last person I might be able to turn to for information if I was very, very careful-Travis Rubio, the ancient Mayan vampire I met a while back. He had told me a story about being spared by the slayers who had slaughtered the Mayan blood drinkers he lived with hundreds of years ago. I'd have to see if I could puzzle out how to reach him without William finding out.

When I got to the garage I paused for a minute outside. I'd only been gone from here a few nights, but it seemed like a lifetime. It was good to see the old place again, and I relaxed a little. As I was about to step inside, I heard something around back. I followed the noise, which sounded like a grunt. A zombie grunt, as it turned out.

"Hey, Huey." I greeted the little man wielding a spade. "What you doing here, buddy?"

"Oh, hey, Jack. I'm just digging out the Corsica." Huey stopped long enough to look up at me and grin. At least I think he was looking at me. It was hard to tell with those googly eyes of his. Melaphia had blessed him with some kind of voodoo spell that kept him from rotting any more than he already had in the weeks between the time that he was murdered and the time that I accidentally raised him from the dead. He could still pa.s.s for human, though, which ensured that the customers wouldn't run out of the garage screaming at the first sight of him. Usually they didn't, anyway.

"Carry on," I intoned, and stepped inside the back door. We had buried him in his Chevy Corsica with a beer in his hand after Reedrek murdered him. He just loved that car. Like they say, there's no accounting for taste. Especially if you're a zombie.

The irregulars-that is, the motley a.s.sortment of misfits who hung out at the garage most nights-were playing cards as usual.

Rennie, my business partner and the only human in the place, was there. So was Jerry the werewolf and Rufus, who I was pretty sure was some other variety of shape shifter. I'd never quite figured out which kind.

The only one missing was Otis, who might or might not be human. Us nonhuman types can usually sniff one another out, but sometimes the lines get blurred. Blurred by what, you might ask? Well, maybe genetics, maybe nature, maybe the hand of G.o.d or even the fickle finger of fate. It'd always been my hunch that somewhere along the way Otis had gotten fingered.

I poured myself a cup of brackish coffee as the boys greeted me. "So I see Huey's trying to liberate the Corsica," I remarked.

"Yeah," Rennie said as he pitched a quarter into the kitty. "I thought about offering him the backhoe, but I figured that using the shovel would keep him busy and out of trouble for a while. The exercise might be good for him, too, who knows?"

I turned around the chair usually occupied by Otis and straddled it. "Everybody needs a hobby, I guess, but I don't know if enhanced upper body strength is really what you want in your average house zombie. I must admit, though, he does come in handy in a fight."

Recently, Huey had given Seth and Jerry and me a hand in a dominance fight with the local werewolf pack. He was strong but a mite uncoordinated. The fight was at the edge of the swamp and Huey managed to fall in. He had crawled out so covered in muck that when he lurched toward them, the werewolves thought they were facing down the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

"Tell me about it," Jerry said, folding his hand.

"He found his way to the fight just in time." Jerry still had some claw marks on his face to show for his own efforts. Werewolves heal almost as quickly as vampires, though. He'd be as good as new in a day or two.

"I'll keep an eye on Huey," Rennie promised. He threw down his cards as Rufus collected his winnings.

"Maybe the exercise will help him with his stress."

"Stress? Huey's got stress?" I asked, astounded.

"He has a nice place to sleep-or lurk or whatever he does in his off hours-plenty of raw hamburger to eat, gainful employment, everything a zombie could want. What does he have to stress about?"

"I don't know, but he's seeing things," Rufus said.

"What kind of things?"

"Little green men," Rennie said.

"Say what?"

"Little blue men," corrected Jerry.

"Only his hair is blue," Rufus said. "According to Huey, that is." He pointed at his head and made a circular motion with his index finger.

"Who is 'him'?"

"Huey calls him Stevie," Rennie said. "I guess he's like an imaginary playmate or something."

"Well, what can you expect?" I asked. "Huey barely has enough reliable brain power left to tie his shoes. Hallucinations are probably just a by-product of dead gray matter."

"Kind of like carbon emissions are a by-product of internal combustion engines?" Rennie observed.

"Maybe Huey needs a catalytic converter for his brain." Rennie could put anything in terms of auto mechanics.

"Well," I said, "if Huey needs an imaginary friend to keep him company, so be it. But speaking of friends-Rufus, where's Otis?"

Rufus and Otis were usually joined at the hip. You seldom saw one without the other.

Rufus shrugged and shuffled the cards. "He's back at Werm's nightclub, I reckon. Just like every night since they opened."

Rennie gave me a sidelong grin as he picked up the first card Rufus dealt him. He'd heard the peevishness in Rufus's voice as well as I had.

"Why is Otis hanging out at Werm's nightclub?" Jerry asked. "The only kind of nightlife he's ever been interested in is this here standing card game."

"He hasn't decided to start courting that female impersonator who sings down there, has he?" I asked.

"Otis ain't like that," Rufus a.s.sured me with a disgusted look. "There's something else going on with him, though. He's acting...

funny."

I started to point out that Otis often acted funny. Take those d.i.c.kies work shirts with other people's names on the patches. And the fact that he had no visible means of support. I didn't know where he lived or if he had a job. And then there was the little matter of not knowing what he was exactly. I wanted to ask Rufus if he knew, but the garage was strictly a don't-ask-don't-tell zone. People didn't allude to the fact that I was a vampire, and I, in turn, didn't bring up whatever they were unless they mentioned it first.

"How is he acting funny, Rufus?" Shape shifters are very intuitive-sensitive, you might say.

"It's hard to describe," he said. "He's kind of nervous, like."

"I've felt it, too," Jerry offered. "He's stressed out or something."

Rufus started to say something else but stopped himself. "What is it?" I urged him. "What aren't you telling me?"

Rufus and Jerry exchanged glances, and Jerry shrugged. "We-that is, you know, folks like me and Jerry here-we've been sensing that something is going to happen," Rufus began.

"Like what?"

Jerry scratched the back of his head. "It's hard to explain. We just know that something important is coming and..."

"It's not good," Rufus finished.

I looked from one of them to the other. "That's it? That's all you've got?"

"Sorry. I know it's not much," Jerry said.

Shape shifters' animal instincts are nothing to sneeze at. I made a mental note to keep my eyes open. With that in mind, I decided to mosey over to the Portal to check on what was happening with Werm and see if he'd heard any gossip that might shed light on whatever was nudging my frequently fuzzy friends. From the look of his opening night clientele, the club was going to bring together just the kind of a.s.sorted oddb.a.l.l.s that might know a thing or two about otherworldly goings-on. Heaven help Savannah.

I let myself out the back way to check on Huey's progress, which was negligible. In fact, he'd stopped digging altogether and was talking to a crow perched in the live oak beside the garage. As far as I could tell, the crow wasn't answering back, but it looked like it wanted to.

"What's with the crow?" I said to the little guy.

"He flew up just after you went inside."

"Shouldn't he be roosting right now?"

"That's what I asked him," Huey said reasonably.

Seeing little blue men and talking to crows. Poor little feeble-minded Huey. "What'd he say?" I asked gently. The crow c.o.c.ked its head to one side and stared at me with its beady black eyes.

Huey shrugged, leaning on his shovel. "Nothing yet. I think he likes you, Jack."

The bird hadn't taken its eyes off me since I'd stepped outside. It was downright creepy. "You let me know if he says or does anything interesting," I said. "And good luck with that digging,"

"Thanks," Huey said.

I started to go, but curiosity halted me and I turned to Huey again. "What's this I hear about this Stevie fellow?" I asked.

Huey waved one grimy hand dismissively. "Aw, it's just Otis."

"Huh?" "Otis and Stevie are the same. Stevie is kind of inside Otis, like that little crow used to be inside a sh.e.l.l."

The guys were right; Huey was one lug nut short of a wheel's worth. I already had to buy his weight in ground beef once a week.

Was I going to have to spring for zombie therapy, too?

"You've started seeing somebody inside Otis?"

"Ever since I came back," he said.

"Ooh-kay," I said. "What does Otis have to say about this?"

"I haven't talked to him about it. I just mentioned Stevie to the other guys and they made fun of me, so I shut up. I didn't tell them the part about him and Otis being the same guy, though."

"Uh-huh. If I were you, I wouldn't mention it to anyone else." I hoped Huey's hallucinations would take care of themselves. I had enough to worry about without men in white coats snagging my pet zombie with a b.u.t.terfly net and hauling him off to the state mental hospital. I would have a lot of explaining to do about his eating habits.

As I pulled away from the building I glanced in the rearview mirror. The crow was still watching me.

Seven.

William As I entered Werm's nightclub I fought the urge to cover my ears, a.s.saulted as they were by the incomprehensible racket the young people of today called music.

Seth, who was tending bar, motioned me over and I seated myself on a stool. "I called this morning to check on Jack and Connie.

Melaphia said they were all right. Congratulations on getting them back." Being familiar with my drinking preferences, he poured me a double shot of single-malt Scotch along with one for himself.

I clinked gla.s.ses with him. "Here's to their safe return," I said. The whiskey warmed my throat pleasantly, and the next sensation I felt warmed the rest of my body.

A pair of slender arms reached around my waist and caressed me in a most intimate way. The touch's familiarity sent a shock wave of recognition through my body. Eleanor... I stood and quickly turned toward the woman, whose arms slid around me even more firmly as I faced her. So sure was I that my Eleanor had escaped d.a.m.nation and made her way back to me that I was shocked to see Ginger in her place.

As I composed myself, I wondered what had caused her to exhibit such forwardness toward me. Her manner hadn't seemed at all unusual on my first visit to the Portal.

"William, I'm so glad to see you again. I feel like it's been forever."

"Why, thank you," I said. "But I was here only last night, remember?"

"Oh yes. Silly me." She arched her back and pressed herself against my groin, arousing me immediately, as she'd meant to. "I wonder if you could answer a question for me."

"What's that?"

She tossed her head, shifting her ma.s.s of red hair to one side, uncovering the creamy flesh of her neck. "I heard a rumor that Eleanor isn't coming back. Is that true?" I kept my face a neutral mask. "Oh? Who told you that?"

"A little bird," she said. She put one palm flat against my chest and peered up at me with long-lashed blue eyes. "So what's the story? I really have to know." Her perfume was cloying and familiar.

"You heard right. She's not coming back. She decided to stay in Europe indefinitely."

"Ooh, whatever shall we do without her?" Ginger purred. Her hand brushed my swollen c.o.c.k before coming to rest discreetly on my thigh. "I don't want you to be lonely, William."

Her vermilion lips reminded me so much of blood that I felt my fangs begin to lengthen along with that other part of me. The light blue veins in her delicate pale throat seemed to pulse with the primitive rhythm of the music. I basked in the living human heat her body radiated and felt myself reach out to her.

But then I became aware of two blood drinkers approaching on my left. Werm had appeared with another young vampire.

Ginger must have realized my attention was required elsewhere. "Later?" she asked.

"Perhaps," I said.

She moved away with a pretty pout.

"William," Werm said, "this is Freddy Blackstone, the guy I was telling you about."

The vampire, who looked much the same human age as Werm, smiled and offered his hand. He was of average height and weight, with unkempt dark hair and a scraggly beard. His ragged jeans and worn flannel shirt over a faded tee might have been acquired at any charity thrift store.

I shook his hand. "I understand you're a friend of Tobey's."

"Yeah. Tobey and me are tight," he said.

I looked toward Werm, who offered his interpretation. "They're friends," he said simply.

"How do you find our fair city?" I asked.

"I found it real easy, dude."

"He means how do you like it here," Werm explained to Freddy.