Page 5 of Clay White
“A lot of them are.”
He lifted his cup and took a small sip, which fascinated me. I’d heard vampires could consume things besides blood if they chose, but I’d never sat down with one and witnessed it myself. He put down the mug and ran his sharp, pale tongue over his lips. “Why were you in the club tonight?”
“Told you.”
“Right. Looking for whoever murdered those men. But you say you no longer work for the Bureau.”
I lifted my lip, showing my teeth. “Call it a hobby.”
“So hunting is your entertainment now? I don’t think so. I’m guessing… penance. Why are you no longer an agent, Clay?”
This time I actually growled, and I turned my head away. I didn’t owe him an explanation. It was none of his business—none of anyone’s goddamn business.
After waiting a few moments, Marek sighed. “All right. You will remain a man of mystery. But let me assure you of one thing—I was looking for the same thing as you tonight. Looking for the person responsible for those deaths.”
“Why the fuck would you care?” I demanded, turning to face him again. I realized as the words left my mouth that I was implicitly acknowledging that he was not the murderer. It was a stupid thing to believe, yet I believed it. After all, had he intended to kill me, he’d already had plenty of opportunity.
He leaned back in his seat, making the vinyl squeak. “Would you believe I am a principled fiend? Probably not. I have the feeling such a shade of gray doesn’t exist in your black-and-white world.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Let me explain it this way. I learned very early that if I snacked lightly on humans instead of draining them, I’d be much less likely to come to the attention of men like you. I abstain from murder out of a desire for self-preservation. Do you believe that much?”
Slowly, I nodded. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard a story like that, although it had never come to me straight from the vampire’s mouth. But there were vamps I’d been instructed by the Bureau to ignore. Townsend had compared it to feral cats. If you removed them from the neighborhood, more would move in to take their place. But if you neutered them and returned them to streets, they’d keep any newcomers away and few new kittens would be born. As I had recently experienced, Marek was far from neutered. Yet perhaps the principle still applied.
Seemingly satisfied that I wasn’t arguing with him, Marek reached over to my hand, which clutched my mug, and used one finger to trace a vein. It made me shiver.
“There’s more to it than that,” he said. “Not only do I leave my victims alive—and really, few would consider themselves victimized by what I do with them—but I also keep my eyes open for… more lethal predators.”
“Vampires with fewer scruples?”
“Sometimes, yes. And all kinds of other beasts. Human and otherwise.” He seemed to consider a moment before continuing. “Do you remember that serial killer in Boston a few years ago? The media called him the Harvard Horror.”
The case hadn’t been mine, both because it was on the East Coast and also because everyone believed the perp was human. But the FBI often shared information with the Bureau—sometimes we even cooperated—and like most of my fellow agents, I’d followed the case out of professional curiosity. “He was never caught,” I said.
Marek’s teeth shone very white. “Not by your people, no. But the murders stopped, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because the Harvard Horror lies in many small pieces in a landfill. He tasted good.” He looked smug.
“So you don’talwaysabstain from murder.”
“I indulge when the situation calls for it.”
I didn’t point out that a vampire’s notion of a justified killing might be skewed. Sometimes humans had twisted views of their own. “If he wasn’t a vampire intruding on your territory, why would you bother with him?”
“Because I’d generally rather not have federal agents poking around. Generally.” He gave my hand another quick caress. “Because Icouldkill him without any twinges from whatever remains of my conscience. And because you are not the only one who wishes to perform penance.”
I drained the last of my coffee, stood, and returned to the counter, where I paid for a refill. I thought about buying another donut too, but I wasn’t in the mood for sweets. Truly, I hungered for something more substantial. Marek waited patiently, watching me instead of allowing himself to be distracted by the noisy teenagers a few tables away or the colorfully dressed people sitting at the counter.
“You said you had a warning,” I reminded him, after I’d resumed my seat.
He ran quick fingers through his hair—a shockingly human action. “I was at the club looking for whoever—whatever—killed those men. But then I saw you, and I thought I might make sure the Bureau was aware of what’s going on. I had other thoughts about you too. Those had nothing to do with murders or federal agencies.” The predatory look he gave me made me shiver again, and not from fear.
“So if you’re not the killer, who is? Or what?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I can tell you that it is not one of my kind, which at least narrows your field of suspects a bit, yes? I can tell you that I believe there are undiscovered victims—perhaps discarded in the Bay or elsewhere. There are rumors among the boys in the clubs. They know something is stalking them, yet they are not afraid for themselves. The young always think themselves invulnerable.” His smile suggested he might have been referring to foolishness he’d once possessed himself.
