often boring.
She did not actually want anything to happen, and yet if she were to stay awake, something had to happen. She drank from the take-out paper cup of coffee. It was chilly now. Pretty awful stuff. But she had nothing else to do, so she sipped again.
The policewoman was quite young. She had graduated from the local high school not so long ago herself.
One-handed, she drove through the dark and quiet town. There used to be a lot more action on this side of the city, but since so many acres had been cleared for the future shopping mall, there was not much here. She paused at an intersection and considered driving past the old boarded-up mansion.
When the policewoman had been in high school, she had been a cheerleader, and had briefly known the girl who lived in that mansion. There had been parties there. Parties at which everybody seemed to know more than they let on. Parties from which people seemed to come and go as if they could move through walls. And then the girl herself had gone, as quickly and quietly as if she, too, had been walled up.
When the house was abandoned, nobody had ever gone there.
It was odd.
You would think — certainly the police force expected — that the teenagers of the town would see this as an ideal hangout.
But nobody had tried spending the night in its abandoned rooms. Nobody had spun doughnuts in its pathetic old gardens, and nobody had spray-painted initials in red paint on its sagging roof.
The policewoman had had a tumultuous high school career herself. There was not much she had not done, or tried, or at least watched. It was one reason she went into law enforcement: She was pretty familiar with the mood or the need that made a person break the law. She was stern now, but she understood.
There was no traffic. Really, it was remarkable. And on a weekend! Where were all the partying teenagers? The drunks who should be plastered by this time? The moviegoers who should be headed home after the late show?
The police car edged forward, as only police cars can, taking its eternal time, because nobody can argue.
But there were no other cars in sight that would mind the delay.
Setting the awful coffee in the cup holder, she approached the intersection of the valley road and the main downtown avenue.
The bright red taillights of a single car crept down the valley road and vanished.
The policewoman wondered whose driveway could possibly be down there. For a moment she waited to see if the taillights would reappear, as a very lost driver backed out of a very unpromising drive.
But none appeared.
Truly, the night was dead.
In lieu of any other action, the policewoman decided to go to the drive-in window of Dunkin’ Donuts. A jelly doughnut, she pondered, or a glazed cruller?
The police car turned the opposite direction from the twisted tower. The policewoman was not looking in her rearview mirror to see what was happening there.
But it would not have mattered if she had looked.
For vampires do not have reflections.
Sherree was swinging on one of the shutters, as if to hurl herself through the window, through the night, and come to a safe landing miles away.
The laugh shivered through the cracks in the plaster and came up through the cracks in the floorboards. It lay in the attic and it slid off the roof and it collapsed in the basement.
The laugh wrapped them like a gift box.
Except that the laugh was evil.
“Do vampires laugh?” said Zach. Zach did not sound as if he would ever laugh again.
“Vampires laugh,” said the vampire, “when they have a victim in sight. Other than that, it is quite rare.”
The shutters clattered.
All their little wooden slats clapped.
Sherree slid down from the shutter to which she had clung and fell in a heap on the floor. A second vampire entered the tower.
Chapter 11
T WO VAMPIRES , THOUGHT LACEY.
It was beyond thinking about. She seemed to have no mind left. She could draw no conclusions and take no action. She could only
She did not actually want anything to happen, and yet if she were to stay awake, something had to happen. She drank from the take-out paper cup of coffee. It was chilly now. Pretty awful stuff. But she had nothing else to do, so she sipped again.
The policewoman was quite young. She had graduated from the local high school not so long ago herself.
One-handed, she drove through the dark and quiet town. There used to be a lot more action on this side of the city, but since so many acres had been cleared for the future shopping mall, there was not much here. She paused at an intersection and considered driving past the old boarded-up mansion.
When the policewoman had been in high school, she had been a cheerleader, and had briefly known the girl who lived in that mansion. There had been parties there. Parties at which everybody seemed to know more than they let on. Parties from which people seemed to come and go as if they could move through walls. And then the girl herself had gone, as quickly and quietly as if she, too, had been walled up.
When the house was abandoned, nobody had ever gone there.
It was odd.
You would think — certainly the police force expected — that the teenagers of the town would see this as an ideal hangout.
But nobody had tried spending the night in its abandoned rooms. Nobody had spun doughnuts in its pathetic old gardens, and nobody had spray-painted initials in red paint on its sagging roof.
The policewoman had had a tumultuous high school career herself. There was not much she had not done, or tried, or at least watched. It was one reason she went into law enforcement: She was pretty familiar with the mood or the need that made a person break the law. She was stern now, but she understood.
There was no traffic. Really, it was remarkable. And on a weekend! Where were all the partying teenagers? The drunks who should be plastered by this time? The moviegoers who should be headed home after the late show?
The police car edged forward, as only police cars can, taking its eternal time, because nobody can argue.
But there were no other cars in sight that would mind the delay.
Setting the awful coffee in the cup holder, she approached the intersection of the valley road and the main downtown avenue.
The bright red taillights of a single car crept down the valley road and vanished.
The policewoman wondered whose driveway could possibly be down there. For a moment she waited to see if the taillights would reappear, as a very lost driver backed out of a very unpromising drive.
But none appeared.
Truly, the night was dead.
In lieu of any other action, the policewoman decided to go to the drive-in window of Dunkin’ Donuts. A jelly doughnut, she pondered, or a glazed cruller?
The police car turned the opposite direction from the twisted tower. The policewoman was not looking in her rearview mirror to see what was happening there.
But it would not have mattered if she had looked.
For vampires do not have reflections.
Sherree was swinging on one of the shutters, as if to hurl herself through the window, through the night, and come to a safe landing miles away.
The laugh shivered through the cracks in the plaster and came up through the cracks in the floorboards. It lay in the attic and it slid off the roof and it collapsed in the basement.
The laugh wrapped them like a gift box.
Except that the laugh was evil.
“Do vampires laugh?” said Zach. Zach did not sound as if he would ever laugh again.
“Vampires laugh,” said the vampire, “when they have a victim in sight. Other than that, it is quite rare.”
The shutters clattered.
All their little wooden slats clapped.
Sherree slid down from the shutter to which she had clung and fell in a heap on the floor. A second vampire entered the tower.
Chapter 11
T WO VAMPIRES , THOUGHT LACEY.
It was beyond thinking about. She seemed to have no mind left. She could draw no conclusions and take no action. She could only
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