Rule of Vampire by Duncan McGeary Page A

strange time for a visit from another vampire. Did he have an appointment? Had someone mentioned coming by?
    He unlatched the door, holding Miss Hoyt in a bundle in one hand.
    Four of the Council’s enforcers slammed into him, throwing him to the floor. The bedsheet containing Miss Hoyt’s remains split at the seams and her bones rattled across the wood.
    Southern didn’t struggle. He’d seen how effective the Council’s goons were at controlling their victims. He’d seen how this played out.
    He wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when Fitzsimmons walked in the door, followed by Hargraves and Peterson. The inner circle, Southern realized, though until that moment, he’d thought Peterson was on their side.
    “You too, Peterson?” he said bitterly. “You’re with them?”
    “I’m with myself, Southern.” The fussy old man was unusually blunt. “And whoever the winning side is.”
    Hargraves laughed in agreement.
    Fitzsimmons rolled his eyes. “Not exactly the most sterling of motives, but I take what I can get.” He walked past Southern and opened the curtains onto the waning night. “Nice apartment,” he said. “It’s got good ‘fang shui.’”
    He walked back to Southern and stood over him. “You’re under arrest for violating Rule Three: Never feed where you live.”
    “I know what Rule Three is, you wanker!”
    “Well, we don’t want there to be any misunderstanding, do we? Is that Miss Hoyt?” Fitzsimmons asked, gesturing at the scattered bones. “I believe she works––that is, worked in our front office and was therefore out of bounds. Do you deny it?”
    “Of course not,” Southern said, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. This wasn’t a borderline case: he’d broken a Rule, there was no doubt about it. “But you all do it. You’ve done it a hundred times!”
    “Have I?” Fitzsimmons asked. “Strangely, there is no evidence of that. Hargraves? You guilty of anything? Peterson?”
    Both vampires silently shook their heads.
    “See,” Fitzsimmons said. “You just think everyone is guilty because you’re guilty.”
    “You won’t get away with it this time,” Southern said. “We’re on to you and your clique. You don’t have a majority yet, and I doubt you’ll get away with killing the head of the opposition.”
    “You’re probably right,” Fitzsimmons said. He pulled a polished stake out of his coat. “That’s why you were killed in an escape attempt, sadly. No one will doubt that, since there will be three Council members testifying to the fact. Right, Peterson? Hargraves?”
    Peterson looked a little squeamish, but Hargraves looked like a 10-year-old child about to be given ice cream: a 10-year-old child with 100-year-old eyes.
    Fitzsimmons knelt over Southern and placed the point of the stake over his heart. “Damn, I forgot to bring a mallet. Let’s see… oh, there it is: your precious Royal Sigil! Hand that rock over to me, Peterson. That ought to work.”
    “Wait!” Southern shouted desperately. “I’ll join you! Fuck the others––I’m on your side! I can tell you who all our agents are! I know things about Terrill you need to know!”
    “My dear Southern,” Fitzsimmons laughed. “There isn’t a single thing you know that I don’t already know.” He was enjoying this little drama. Ordinarily, he let others do the hands-on dirty work, but he had missed it. And since there was no one to stop him, he had decided he’d dispatch arrogant old Southern himself.
    He slammed the chunk of rock down on the stake. A fountain of blue blood sprang into the air, and Southern shrank before their eyes until he seemed to be nothing but skin, bones, fangs, and protruding eyes.
    “You can have him,” Fitzsimmons said, waving at the body disdainfully. Eating another vampire was a rare treat, and the enforcers fell on the body and started ripping into it. “Give me the keys to the car before you get them all bloody,” he ordered. He turned to Peterson and