I turned toward the source of the sound and nearly rubbed my eyes, until I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be able to see the scene before me. Seemingly from nowhere, the ruined church had reassembled, the stained-glass windows illuminated from within casting weird colors on the desert sand. Bathed in the blue glow of a mercury light, a few vampires revved their motorcycles impatiently as two other figures argued animatedly in front of them.

With the sound of the engines covering their voices, I couldn’t tell what they were arguing about, but they were unconcerned by my presence at the side of the road, and that was all that mattered. They thought they were invisible, and that was all right with me, as long as they didn’t decide to take advantage of the element of surprise and come out to grab the tasty stranded motorist. After a few minutes of pretending to rummage for something in the back of the van, I retreated to the front and leaned under the hood, as though something might be wrong there.

From the few glimpses I could sneak of the parking lot, I saw the argument devolve into a shoving match, then a full-fledged fistfight. Now I could guess what they fought about. The Fangs from town had never shown up. Finally, the bikes grew louder, then began to roll onto the road, their riders intending to look for their friends, I presumed. The lumpy shape of an unconscious vampire remained on the pavement as the rest of the horde thundered away in the direction I’d come from. I wouldn’t have much time before the two groups met up with each other.

With a distinct feeling of now or never, I slipped the chloroform in my back pocket, a stake into the opposite one, and set off.

It was just my luck the vampire came to as I entered the parking lot. He cradled his head in his hands and cursed, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. As he did, his feeding face flashed on and off, like a broken neon sign. I cleared my throat to get his attention as I approached.

“Fuck,” he repeated, pinching the bridge of his bloodied nose with his thumb and index finger. The digits protruded from a fingerless black glove and were marked with bad, homemade tattoos.

“Hi. I had some car trouble. You got a phone in there?” I smiled, hoping I could squeak by before his head injury cleared up and he remembered he was supposed to be invisible.

“No, there ain’t no phone,” he growled, but his demeanor changed instantly as he dragged his gaze from my shoes to my legs and parts farther north. “Somebody musta forgot to pay the bill.”