There was another human in the corral, a young woman seated by herself. She was wearing a white dress with a full skirt, and her brown eyes fixed on Pam with desperation. The woman was clearly horrified at the company she was keeping. A minute before I would have bet that Pam couldn’t get any more angry or miserable than she’d been, but I would have been wrong.

“Miriam,” Pam whispered.

Oh, Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea. This was the woman Pam wanted to turn, the woman she wanted to become her child. Miriam had to be the sickest woman I’d ever seen who wasn’t in a hospital. But her light brown hair was puffed out in a party style, and she’d been made up, though the cosmetics stood out on a face so pale even her lips looked white.

Eric’s face didn’t show anything, but I could feel him scrambling, struggling to keep his face still and his thoughts clear.

Several points to Victor for an amazing ambush.

Luis and Antonio, having delivered us, positioned themselves at the opening to the VIP corral. I didn’t know if they were there to keep us in or to keep other people out. We were further protected by stand-up cardboard figures of Elvis, at least life-size. I wasn’t impressed. I’d met the real thing.

Victor greeted us with a wonderful smile, white and toothy, as brilliant as a game show host’s. “Eric, how good to see you in my new enterprise! Do you like the decor?” He made his hand flow to indicate the whole crowded club. Though Victor was not a tall man, he was clearly the king of the castle, and he was devouring every minute of it. He leaned forward to pick up his drink from the low table.

Even the glass was dramatic—dark, smoky, fluted. It fit in with the “decor” that made Victor so proud. I would have called it (if I ever got a chance to describe it to someone else, which at this point seemed pretty unlikely) early bordello: lots of dark wood, flocked wallpaper, leather, and red velvet. It looked heavy and florid to me; possibly I was prejudiced. The people gyrating on the dance floor seemed to be enjoying Vampire’s Kiss no matter how it was decorated. The band was a vampire band, so they were great. They’d play a current song, then they’d do a more bluesy rock number. Since the band members could have played with Robert Johnson and Memphis Minnie, they’d had several decades to practice.

“I’m amazed,” Eric said in a completely uninflected voice.

“Pardon my bad manners! Please have a seat,” Victor said. “My companions are . . . Your name, sweetness?” he asked the girl.

“I’m Mindy Simpson,” she said with a coquettish smile. “This is my husband, Mark Simpson.”

Eric acknowledged them with a flick of the eye. Pam and I hadn’t even entered into the conversational game yet, so we didn’t have to respond.