Page 24 of The Elementalist
“You will sense them, Max. They won’t be able to hide from you. If you are like the other elementals, then you will be fully equipped to sniff out the undead among you.”
A few more questions later, I had pinpointed his meaning: the undead gave off a scent... and not a pleasant one. It didn’t register with mortals, but it would register with me. We returned to town a little while before midnight. I invited him to stay with me, but he was too eager to get home and renew his research into the area.
***
That evening, late, I found myself back home again; that is, upstairs in my apartment.
I stood at my kitchen window, looking down on the darkening street. Could Crystal be a vampire? After all, she had certainly known about them. Well, she didn’tfeellike a vampire. Nor did she smell anything but perfect. Yes, I had noted her floral perfume the instant she had opened the door, recognizing her without turning from my coffee making. Still, she had not seemed surprised about vamps. What the hell was up with that?
Michael briefly said something about their smell worsening the darker their souls had become. A ‘reasonably nice’ vampire might only smell like a dry tomb… a mild odor perhaps easily covered by floral perfume.
So was Crystal a nice vampire? Somehow, I doubted it.
I spent a while thinking about everything I’d learned and all the questions I’d come up with after he left. He’d come over to explain things—and to train me—but it felt like he’d left me even more confused. I hadn’t even realized how much I didn’t know until I started getting answers to the basic questions. Annoyed, confused, and with absolutely no idea what to do next, I flopped on the sofa, bare feet up on the coffee table, and cracked open a beer. To remind myself I hadn’t dreamed everything, I let a small flame dance over my hand, weaving it around my fingers. Part of me still wanted to forget it all, but if the vampires knew who I was and wanted to kill me for it, I couldn’t let my guard down. The memory of Crystal’s scent distracted me, and I wound up thinking about her more than the problem at hand, hoping with every ounce of hope I could muster that she wasn’t a vampire.
That would crush me.
A heavy knock rattled my apartment door.
I’ll admit it. I jumped, nearly spilling my beer all over myself. I had the TV on despite not paying attention to it. I set the beer down, considered going for my gun—considered that a little extreme—and headed over to my front door. Admittedly, I didn’t get a lot of visitors here, not a bad thing for a self-proclaimed hermit.
As I crossed the living room, the smell of death and decay hit me. The stink of rotting corpse. Shit, had something died in my walls again?
I paused, curious, sniffing the air. I’d once come across a dead body in the back of a Buick while working a case. The poor bastard had been bound and gagged... and rotting. Not pleasant,any of it. I’d had nightmares for months. Still do. Anyway, I would never forget that smell. It had a pungent sweetness to it that burned itself into the memory. The two smells, when combined, became absolutely revolting.
I got a hint of that in the air. Not quite as strong, certainly. But there it was. A hint of decay. A hint of death.
Yeah, a rat or maybe even a raccoon definitely died behind one of these old walls. I’d look into it later. When I reached the door—which always self-locks when shut—I looked out the peephole and recognized both men standing in the hallway, if, in fact, they were men: the handsome, dark-haired guy who had come knocking at my office door the other evening and the taller, long-faced guy with the Hollywood hair who had been at the cafe during my little demonstration with Ron.
Both appeared equally handsome, equally frightening. And seemed to stare at me in return right through the closed door.
This building used to be a hotel, but had been refurbished into a small apartment building about forty years ago. Beyond them was my neighbor’s dull red door. I hoped Ruth stayed inside and kept her curiosity in check.
Perhaps more interesting, the scent of decay gathered strength, like the dead body sat right outside the door in the hall.
They’re dead,said Michael’s voice in my memory.Always remember that. You are dealing with the walking dead.
I swallowed and considerednotopening the door. In fact, I started to back up.
The taller one said, “We can hear you breathing.”
I paused, gathered myself, and mentally prepared myself for what was standing outside, if that was even possible.
After all, here be monsters.
I hesitated another heartbeat or two... then opened the door.
Chapter Fourteen
The Greasers
“Can I help you gentlemen?” I asked, pleasant enough, despite my heart beating somewhere up near my throat. Breathing, let alone swallowing, had become difficult.
“We’re looking for a private dick,” said the dark-haired bad boy. He emphasized the worddick.
The taller guy grinned, and asked, “Are you Max Long?”
Good cop, bad cop. Or maybe good vampire, bad vampire?
