"Okay," Larry said.

"Oh, boy," Lane said. She looked scared.

Forty-one

Pete went home for his video camera. Jean and Lane left the kitchen to get dressed. Barbara, still seated in the extra chair from the dining room, had her arms folded beneath her breasts and kept shaking her head.

Larry, trembling and wondering if his teeth might begin to chatter, took a sip of coffee. It was lukewarm. He realized they'd neglected to offer any to their guests. "Want some coffee?" he asked.

"Thanks, but I don't think so. I'd probably wet myself. God, this is exciting."

"Yeah," he muttered.

"It is like something from a book. One of your books."

"Hope it doesn't turn out like one."

"You and me both, buster." She let out a nervous laugh. "I'll be in it, won't I?"

"Sure. You already are." He managed a smile. "You're the one who found the body."

"Pete found it. But I'm the one who busted the landing, right?"

"Yeah."

"You don't describe me as a big lummox, I hope."

"No way. You'll like it."

Her head nodded, bobbing slowly up and down a few times, then switched directions and shook from side to side. "I can't believe you guys actually did all this."

"Neither can I."

"Jean can, though."

He groaned. "Don't remind me."

"She'll be okay," Barbara said. "Once it's all over and she realizes what's going on. You know, the fact that it's true. It's gonna be hot."

"Hope so."

"I bet there'll even be a movie. De Niro'd be perfect for Pete.

They'd need someone big for me. Not big famous, necessarily. Big big."

"How about Susan Anton?"

She beamed. "Hey, that'd be great. Now, what about you and Jean?

Somebody kind of small and cute for Jean. What about that gal with the husky voice from An Officer and a Gentleman?"

"Debra Winger."

"Yeah. She'd be perfect for Jean. For you, we've got a choice."

"Really?"

"Nick Nolte or Gary Busey."

He chuckled and felt his face heat up. "Thanks a bunch."

"No, they'd be great. Either one of them."

"At least you didn't suggest George Kennedy." Larry heard slow footsteps coming toward them. Lane stepped into the kitchen, dressed in sneakers, jeans, and a heavy plaid shirt. The shirt was very large. It wasn't rucked in.

In her right hand she held a crucifix.

The one that belonged on the wall of her bedroom.

It looked identical to the crucifix that Larry had seen hanging around Uriah's neck. The one that had stopped his bullet.

"Don't let your mother see that," Larry warned.

"You're probably right." She slipped it underneath the front of her shirt and worked some of the long end down inside the waistband of her jeans. When she finished, the loose shirt showed no trace of the crucifix.

"You wouldn't happen to have a spare?" Barbara asked.

Lane spread the shirt's neck and lifted out the small golden cross.

The cross, on its thin chain, had come from Larry's parents. They'd given it to her as a first communion present. He hadn't noticed Lane wearing it in a long while.

"Bring a vampire around," he said, "people start discovering religion."

"You're sure prepared," Barbara told her.

"Here, you take it." Lane started to fool with the clasp behind her neck.

"No, no. Hey, I'm not worried about vampires."

"Take it anyway," Lane said, and held the necklace out to her.

"Well..." She looked at Larry.

"Why not?"

"Right. Why not?" She slipped the chain around her neck and fastened it. Then she dropped the golden cross down the front of her sweatshirt. "Thanks, hon. If it looks like the babe might start chomping on me, I'll just whip this out and send her packing."

"That's the idea," Lane said. "Mom always wears hers, so she's protected."

They're all protected, Larry thought. He told himself that he didn't believe in vampires. He told himself that the crosses wouldn't protect them from squat. But still, he was glad they had the things.

Barbara patted her hair. She curled her upper lip. "You wouldn't have a brush handy, would you? Since Pete's gonna record this for posterity..."

"Sure," Lane said. "I'll get one."

Barbara stood up. Saying, "I'll need to use a mirror," she followed Lane out of the kitchen.

Larry sat alone at the table.

Oh, man, he thought. This is it.

At least we'll get it over with. No more wondering.

God, Bonnie. So what's it gonna be? I'll be yours, she seemed to tell him.

Sure thing. Right. You'll just lie there dead.

Don't count on it.

What if she kills all of them but me?

He pictured himself pulling the stake. And Bonnie suddenly changing. Very suddenly. One second a dried-up grinning hag, the next second a gorgeous teenager, the next second throwing herself out of the coffin with a mad shriek and attacking. Hurling bodies, breaking necks, ripping open throats with her teeth. And Larry stands there helpless, watching the slaughter, too stunned to feel the pain of losing Jean and Lane, Pete and Barbara.

When they're all dead on the garage floor, Bonnie comes to him, her naked body sheathed with gleaming blood. She raises her dripping hands toward him. Now we'll be together forever.

Come off it, Larry told himself. My goddamn mind. It's not going to happen that way. Not a chance.

But he started to imagine himself back in the scene, so he shoved himself away from the table. He hurried into the living room. Barbara was standing in front of the fireplace, watching herself in the mirror above the mantel as she brushed her hair. Lane, beside her, seemed to be gazing into space. He put an arm across her back. She flinched, then looked at him and settled against his side.

As a toilet flushed, off in the distance, the front door swung open and Pete came in. He wore boots and jeans and a blue turtleneck sweater. A leather strap crossed his chest like a Sam Browne belt. He held the video camcorder on his shoulder. In his right hand was a bow.

"All set 'n' rarin' to go?" he asked.

"We're just waiting for Jean," Larry said, staring at the bow.

"Man, I can't believe we're finally gonna do it."

"Me neither," Larry told him.

"At night, no less."

Barbara turned away from the mirror and looked at him. "What are you doing with that?"

"This?" He raised the bow. "Got the idea from Uriah." To Larry he said, "I used to hunt deer with this baby."

"Oh, give me a break," Jean said, coming in from the hallway.

"You're not serious."

"Wooden arrows, darlin'. Just as good as a stake when it comes to dispatching vampires. Better. You don't have to get up-close and personal."

"I thought we all agreed we didn't believe in any of this nonsense."

"It can't hurt to take precautions," Larry told her.

"God, you guys really take the prize."

"If it bugs you," Pete said, "just consider it a stage prop. There'll be a video of this, you know." Jean obviously knew that, all right. She had not only brushed her hair, but put on lipstick. She'd dressed in her blue velour jumpsuit and white boots. She'd even knotted her Anne Klein silk scarf around her neck.

Larry realized that two of them-Jean in her scarf and Pete in his turtleneck-had chosen to wear garments that covered the region traditionally preferred by thirsty vampires. He wondered if they'd done it on purpose.

Pete raised the viewfinder to his eye, and the camera began to purr.

He pivoted slowly to get everyone. Then he kept the camera on Jean as she crossed the room to join Larry and Lane. She smirked at him and shook her head. Stopping beside Larry, she put her arm around him.

Barbara got into the picture, moving in close to Lane.

"Here we are," said Pete as he panned the group. "The dauntless, intrepid team as it prepares to go outside and remove the stake from the heart of the cadaver."

"Does that thing have sound?" Jean asked.

"Yes indeed," Pete said. "Any famous last words before we embark on our adventure?"

Larry shook his head.

"Say something," Barbara urged him.

"Well... None of us actually believes in vampires. I want to make that clear. But the body we found-a girl named Bonnie Saxon-was murdered by a man who very much believed in vampires. He believed she was one, and killed her by pounding a stake into her heart. In just a few minutes we're going to pull out that stake. We'll see what happens."

"Terrific," Pete said. "Anybody else?"

Nobody offered to speak.

"Okay," Pete said. "Let's do it."

They went out back through the kitchen door. Jean was first to reach the garage, and turned on the overhead light before the others arrived.

When they were all inside, Pete said, "Why don't we close the door?"

"Let's not," Larry said.

"Yeah," Barbara said. "You never know, we might have to run for our lives."