Charlaine Harris: Crimes by Moonlight

After a swaying, painful ascent, Dahlia Lynley-Chivers emerged into a nighttime landscape of horror.

One glance at Dahlia had Ted Fortescue bellowing for a blanket. The captain looked almost as battered as she did. His brown face was as dirty as hers, his close-shaved hair white from the powdery dust. Above his mask, his wide brown eyes were shocked.

Dahlia found his smell enticing. She needed some blood very soon. But her need was drowned by the humiliation of having to stand with the man’s support until her blanket was passed up. When he’d wrapped her in it with impersonal hands, Fortescue handed Dahlia down to the next human in line until she reached the base of the mountain of debris. The last person in the chain directed Dahlia to a line of humans waiting on the nearest clear sidewalk. She said, “Those are people willing to give you a drink, ma’am. Please try not to go overboard.”

“They volunteered?” Dahlia tried not to sound disbelieving.

“Yes, ma’am. A lot of people are upset that the Fellowship of the Sun took such an extreme action against your people.”

“The Fellowship is taking responsibility?”

“Yes. I guess they figured a vampire conference would be a prime target. Some of their own people hired onto the hotel staff. But they didn’t feel the necessity to tell their fellow humans to get out before it blew. In fact, their news release says it served the staff right for serving vampires. Not too many people are happy with the Fellowship.”

“My home is here in Rhodes. Is there a way I can get a ride to my house?”

“Get your drink, if you want it, and then head over to that other line over there. They’ll help you out.”

“Thank you for your courtesy,” Dahlia said stiffly. “Can you help me over to the donors? My arm and leg are broken.”

Captain Ted Fortescue had descended from the mountain of rubble by that time, and he overheard Dahlia’s words.

“Jesus Christ, why didn’t you tell me?” Ted Fortescue took Dahlia in his arms and carried her to the donor line on the sidewalk.

“Thanks so much,” Dahlia said through clenched teeth. “Where do you serve?”

“We’re the Thirty-four Company from the station at the corner of Almond and Lincoln. You gonna be okay, now?”

She assured him she could stand on one leg while she fed. He needed to get back to his work, so he left her there. Dahlia watched him walk away.

For a short time, she’d loved a werewolf. He hadn’t been exactly human, of course, though close enough to cause her qualms. Dahlia had always felt the same kind of contempt for humans that most humans feel for Brussels sprouts. They were good for her health, but she didn’t like their proximity.

The donor was a short woman with long white hair. Her name was Sue, she told Dahlia, and Sue held Dahlia’s hand during the feeding. If Dahlia had been herself, she would have been put off by the woman’s prattle about “we’re all one family.” She didn’t like her food to talk. But tonight was different.

Having fed, Dahlia was able to hobble to the impromptu cab rank, where a free voucher got her a ride to her home. The vampires who lived in Cedric’s mansion, already beside themselves with grief and rage, were glad to see a survivor come through the door. All Dahlia wanted to do was shower and crawl into her own bed in her own room in the windowless basement.

THE next night, all the Rhodes vampires met in the mansion’s common room. At least fifty vampires from the central United States had died in the bombing, the newspapers said. Their deaths were not the worst part of the attack, to this assemblage. The worst part was the loss of face. Their city had been targeted, and the attack obviously had been planned well in advance-but they had not detected it or forestalled it, though the plan had been devised and carried out by humans.

“We have been dishonored,” Cedric, Sheriff of Rhodes, said. Every vampire in the city had been present at the meeting, from those who had their own homes to those who lived in the nest. Even Dahlia’s friend Taffy, married to a werewolf, had been present.

Cedric turned his large blue eyes on Dahlia. Pink tears glistened in their corners. “Our sister Dahlia nearly met her final death and had to be rescued by humans.”

“I accepted human help because it cut short the time I was trapped,” Dahlia said, her back absolutely straight and her face utterly composed, though it was an effort.

“We must meet this challenge directly,” said Cedric. “This is our city. Now we are at war.”

The vamps of Rhodes had not been at war since Prohibition, when some bloodsuckers from Chicago, frightened away by the aggression of A1 Capone’s henchmen, had tried to move into the tunnels below Rhodes. They’d survived one night.

“Tell us what to do,” Taffy said. Taffy was tall and buxom, her physique emphasized by the slut-biker outfit her husband, Don, favored.

“Taffy, you and Dahlia must visit the headquarters of the Fellowship. Get in by whatever means necessary. Look for membership lists. We want to know their leaders.”

“This will have been done by the police,” Taffy said.

“And will the police share with us what they found?” Cedric had a point.

“I’ll do whatever I can to bring the whoresons to justice,” Dahlia said carefully, “but the lists will be on computers, and Taffy and I are not conversant with these machines.”

“One of the Arkansas vampires is adept with computers, but he was burned so badly he’ll take time to heal,” Cedric said. “Wait! I know someone.” He whipped out his cell phone again. It was the one piece of modern technology that thoroughly entranced the sheriff. “His name is Melponeus, he’s a half demon, and his services do not come cheap.” Cedric, who was cheapness personified except when it came to maintaining his pride, grasped the financial nettle firmly.

The half demon was at the mansion within thirty minutes. He was a short man with reddish skin, a head of thickly curling chestnut hair, and pale eyes the color of snowmelt. When Dahlia greeted him at the door, those pale eyes showed instant admiration. Dahlia, though used to this, was nevertheless pleased. She was glad she’d worn her pink three-piece suit with the pencil skirt.

“I hope you’re as good with modern technology as your reputation has it,” she said tartly and beckoned him to follow her to the common room.

“I love a good, strong vampire woman,” Melponeus said. “Such a woman, if she is willing, can take a lot of… energetic activity.”

“I am several hundred years old,” Dahlia said. “I assure you, I can take anything you could imagine handing out.” She didn’t turn to look at the half demon, but her lips curled in a little smile.

“You’re older than Cedric,” Melponeus observed. “But you’re not the sheriff.”

“I don’t want to be,” Dahlia said. “And some think I’m not diplomatic enough.”

“I remember your name, now. It was you who broke the newscaster’s arm?”

“She wouldn’t stop asking me questions, after I’d warned her,” Dahlia said reasonably. “I told her I would break her arm if she didn’t leave me alone.”

“Foolish woman,” Melponeus said.

“Deserved what she got,” Dahlia agreed. She was thinking that after the honor of the nest had been restored, she might find out what it felt like to kiss lips as full and hot as the half demon’s. Since hers were always cold, the sensation might be interesting.

Cedric greeted Melponeus with appropriate dignity, mentioned a price, and Melponeus agreed to accompany Dahlia and Taffy. When the three were setting out, Dahlia realized no one knew the location of the Fellowship’s organizational offices. Taffy had to look it up in the phone book. “This is the kind of thing detective novels don’t cover,” Taffy complained.