Biting actual people was relatively easy yet filled her with deep shaky loathing, and the nausea was even worse since she apparently couldn’t vomit anymore. Maybe she was like a bird and would swell up and die with a bit of Alka-Seltzer in her gullet; of course, she didn’t pee either, and the liquid diet was probably responsible for the fact that she didn’t crap.
She kept quiet aboutthosebiological changes, even with her finder. None of his damn business, and besides, keeping track of every bathroom in range was a good habit for more than one reason. Just like paying attention to nearby cell phone towers; this spot, while secluded enough for her purposes, was just on the edge of a spire serving the nearby town, and the rechargeable booster on her RV’s roof had done signal service since the day she’d stolen and hooked it up.
Of course Barry Jessup was awake waiting on a live hunt’s result, despite any and all time difference; he picked up the video call almost before it finished bouncing through the VPN. The laptop screen glowed; her bespectacled, ginger-haired, potato-nosed sometimes-business partner blinked into the camera on his end, a massive whiteboard behind him bearing a tangle of arcane notations, scribbled reminders, and fluttering Post-its or printed photos.
“You’re late for check-in,” he said, accusingly. Hell of a greeting.
“This line of work isn’t about punching a timeclock.” Simone restrained the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, simultaneously glad she’d finished the blood pouch and wishing she could allow herself more. Her throat was better, sure, but that awful dry spot still ached. “You can cross one mosquito-ass cowboy chucklefuck off the list and file for the bounty, though.”
To his credit, he didn’t ask preciselywhenthe event had happened, since that could have been a clue to her current location, VPN or not. “Did you get any footage?”
For Chrissake.Everyone wanted to record everything these days, it was a goddamn disease. “It’s not always possible, Barry.”
“Easier to get paid with proof, you know.” He blinked several times, a night creature disturbed in its burrow. “You could set up a?—”
“I killed it, what more do you want? Just pull up the Wyoming files and get to work tagging the sumbitch who stole that poor Clanton guy’s boots.” Simone didn’t have to work at sounding both tired and disgusted; forcing herself to look through autopsy reports of vamp victims was part reminder of why she was doing this in the first place and part corrective against becoming a murderous psychopath herself. Or at least, so she hoped. “Christ. What crawled up your ass and died?”
“Nothing yet, thanks.” Barry was gifted in seeing the downside to any situation, which was probably why he was still alive. He had too much pessimism to go running after vampires himself, working as a job-finder and collections agent for others not similarly gifted with good sense. Plus, he collected a reasonable commission off every bounty. “It’s just that everyone nowadays wants to wait thirty days before paying, or longer.”
Yes, ol’ Barry was an entrepreneurpar excellence, and didn’t seem to care she had one foot in the enemy’s camp, so to speak. Why not overlook such small matters, since it earned him a good fifteen percent? And by now Simone was reasonably sure he wouldn’t send a fanatic fellow vamp-slayer after her.
Not unless I royally screw him on a bounty, that is. “Why don’t you make them pay up front?”
She knew the answer, but like most men, Barry enjoyed repeating himself. The call-and-response could even be relatively comforting.
“I’m not rated for escrow.” He rubbed at one patchy-stubbled cheek and attempted what might pass for a winsome smile. “Plus, casualty rates are too high. A relief to see you, by the way.”
Yeah, well, nice of you to say so. “Uh-oh. Who went down?”
“Professionalism forbids.” Any hint of levity vanished. Barry’s mouth pulled even more bitterly tight at either corner as he pushed his glasses up, fingertips stained with dry-erase ink. His other hand was busy tapping at an offset keyboard; he turned to glance at yet another screen. “Aha, here we are. So, you got that Rocky Mountain fuck, huh?”
“If you’re referring to the messy bastard working north-northwest from Cheyenne over the past two years, yes. Told you it was mine.” It had been disturbingly easy to track the monster, as a matter of fact.
And even easier to lure him to the gully.
Her finder’s unkempt coppery eyebrows turned into Teton-peaks. He tapped some more, now with both hands, clickety-clack. “No problems?”
“There’s nothingbutproblems in this sort of thing, my man. Anyway, you can cross him off; he matched the security footage and was wearing the boots from the September victim.” Those nice, bright Tony Lamas, glinting in the bar.
Shit. Her throat was full of hot sourness.
“Did the boots poof too?” Barry sounded only mildly curious.
“They did.” One of the many mysteries of the night life. “Wish I knew why the clothes go with the vampire, but oh well.”
“Okay.” Barry made a face; he had an almost superstitious aversion to calling the monsters what they fucking well were. Of course, he refrained from calling her a leech as well, or any other derogatory term. Other than the usual banter between coworkers, that was. “It might take a day or two, and if you’re in Wyoming…”
“Am I?” Simone forced a smile. “You know I like to play it safe, Barry.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” His face eased all at once, holding a puckish grin instead of pained grimace. “But I’ve got something that just might interest you.”
Uh-oh. “Like what?” Her finder was an inveterate matchmaker. He claimed to think certain groups of heavily armed assholes crazy enough to go hunting murderous folklore wouldn’t mind having one of the things they usually attempted slaughtering around to help out. Some of the offers were reasonably attractive—but Simone was done with men, and double-done with groups of them.
Especially groups possessed of a plethora of guns, bad coping mechanisms, and trauma nightmares. Her first and last attempt to join a team had ended almost as badly as her… as the initial infection.
Simone suppressed a shudder. Which was getting to be a habit lately.
Barry paused; it was clear he saw her expression change. “Nothing like that,” he said, finally. “Not a crew possibly needing your, uh, unique and particular skills. But our angel investor’s still interested in your whole deal.”