Night of the Vampires by Heather Graham Page B

his hammer down, impatient. “I don’t rightly see myself as either. I think that it’s all just a damned sad thing. I dream of a day when it will be over, and that’s that. And the next person who asks me my opinion of the war…oh, God, never mind. I am a Texan. I love Texas. I love the frontier. I’ve spent endless days keeping the law with Indians, Comancheros and plain old horse thieves. I don’t feel like fighting the fellows with whom I went to the academy. I’m here to fight vampires. Then I’m going home, and I’m going to hope that the human war doesn’tever reach Victory, and that my quiet little town’s still there when I get back.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m just curious why you’re not with them.”
    His head was down and he didn’t answer her.
    â€œOh. I see. You were left behind to watch over me.”
    He finished hammering a nail and looked up. “You did tell us that you had arrived when you did because of the Southern government. You might want to explain that.”
    â€œI told you. A certain general—”
    â€œA certain general?”
    â€œYes, a general.”
    â€œ Which general?” Cole demanded.
    â€œDoes it matter which?”
    â€œIt could.”
    She stood stubbornly for a minute. Then she sighed. “Look, Cole, I already tried to explain. It was a long time ago—after the battle at Sharpsburg—that men in the military realized that something more was going on than simply the slaughter of war,” she said drily. “After the last battle, at the Wilderness, when so many Southern troops were taken captive, we were on the battlefield trying to sort the wounded from the dead. Some of the dead—weren’t dead. Or they were dead, but when we tried to bury a few, they came back to life. I was there. And there are those who still believe that men suddenly rose from mortal wounds to fight one another.”
    â€œUm. So there you were. Conveniently. Fighting in the war, are you?” he asked casually.
    â€œNo. I was on the field helping the injured. I explainedeverything to you, told you the truth at the beginning. You know who and what I am exactly!”
    â€œYes, you’ve given an explanation.”
    â€œOh, please! What do you think I’m doing up here? You’ve been with me. You know that I’m Cody’s sister, and you’ve seen that I’m very good at what I do—and that I’m no more lethal than Cody.”
    â€œI’ve certainly never suggested that Cody can’t be lethal.”
    â€œOh!” she said, exasperated. She turned to head back into the house.
    â€œHey! Where are you going?”
    â€œBack in. Obviously, we have nothing to talk about.”
    â€œWe’d have a lot to talk about—if you actually talked,” he said. “But that’s beside the point. You don’t have to talk. Just give me a hand with the door. It’s your fault that it’s broken.”
    â€œWhat? That is ridiculous. You broke the door down.”
    â€œTo save your life.”
    â€œI’m very good at saving my own life.”
    â€œI saved it anyway,” he said briefly. “Get over by the doorframe. I need to align the hinges.”
    She was tempted to leave him to fix the door himself, but since there were a number of people—including Martha and her children—who used the outer kitchen, she gritted her teeth and walked stiffly to where he’d indicated. He hiked up the heavy wooden door and grunted as he shoved it in place, spare nails in his mouth, the hammer balanced in the crook of his arm. She stood to support the door as he grabbed the hammer, but thedoor was well behaved, and stayed in place easily as he secured the new hinges.
    When all the nails were out of his mouth and hammered in, he stepped back, then swung it open and closed.
    â€œIs that it?” she asked.
    â€œGo in and try the new