“Very well.” The thief put his right hand into the left-hand side of his jacket as if to withdraw his wallet, but at the same time, Melody pointed out to Owen that Feit was reaching for the gun with his left hand. Even though they knew full well the gun was in the offing, they were both shocked when they saw it rise up. Both looked to Crenshaw. In an instant, the old man’s face went through a remarkable transformation, from the kindly old painter to a beetle-browed demon. The sleepers stepped back in shock. Feit aimed, but before he could pull the trigger, the artist pounced with a vicious growl. It happened so fast, neither Owen nor Melody could more than barely register it. As the gun went off, Crenshaw, having leaped in a blur, was on his prey, pushing away the weapon. The shot went wide and high into the ceiling as Feit’s throat was ripped out by the old man’s teeth in a gush of blood and a rapidly drowning cry of agony.

Melody froze but Owen screamed, loud and shrill. Crenshaw, who was lapping at the gaping throat while Feit’s body jerked and shuddered, suddenly spun around as if he could hear the cry. His glistening green eyes searched the shadows and glanced about the room as he sniffed the air. “He heard me,” said Owen.

“Back up,” whispered Melody. “Just keep backing up till we’re through the wall.”

The creature that had been the painter stood and started in their direction, his clawed hands out in front of him. The sleepers stepped back and back and passed through the wall into another room. It was a large bathroom with red tile on the floor and walls. A woman, obviously dead, hung upside down, her long hair reaching down into the tub of blood beneath her.

“God. What is this?”

“Just keep going till we’re on the street,” said Melody.

They pushed through a number of other rooms that smelled like a slaughterhouse, but neither of them stopped to look around. Eventually, they drifted to the ground on the side of the house and bounded away into the night.

11

THEY SAT ON SWINGS next to each other in the children’s playground behind the baseball diamond at the park. The night was still, whatever breeze there had been before now gone. The only sound, spring creepers and an owl. It was late enough that no traffic passed on the road a quarter of a mile away.

“What the hell?” said Owen.

“What the hell is right,” said Melody. “That was horrifying.”

“Did you know about this? Modern vampires in Westwend?” he asked. “Gangs and cutters and the miasma, people tripping on cicada-ass fungus? And now vampires?”

“I’ve never encountered it before,” she said.

“Had you ever heard of it in your travels?”