“Sharon decided that what she really wanted was to head back home to Manteca, get that master’s degree her wife has been talking her out of for years, and ask out that cute girl in Accounting who’s been giving her the eye for ages.”

  “That was very gallant of you.”

  Peter giggled. “She also decided she wanted to give two grand to me, a complete stranger, just because hearing about it would piss off the ex so bad.”

  “So you have two thousand dollars.”

  “We do, yes.”

  We. Us. Unfamiliar concepts, but not uncomfortable. Ante smiled. “That should get us quite far.”

  They slept together for several hours. By the time Ante awoke, he looked and felt as if he’d merely received a bad sunburn. He was hungry, but he remained in bed for some time, watching Peter sleep. He looked more like a fallen angel than an elf.

  Peter eventually fluttered his eyes open and grinned sleepily. “That’s the most predatory look I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure whether you want to eat me or, well, eat me.”

  “I am not sure either. Both, I think.” Ante sighed. “But not now.”

  “Yeah. Mafia vampires on our tail, yadda yadda.”

  “It is nearly dusk, and we need to decide where we will go.”

  Peter sat up and stretched luxuriously. “Right. I’m gonna shower first, though, okay? When I’m done I’ll order up some food and we can strategize.” While Ante watched appreciatively, Peter got out of bed, stretched again, and headed into the bathroom. The shower started up a few moments later.

  For longer than he should have, Ante stayed in bed, just so he could drink in Peter’s lingering heat and scent. But when he heard the water shut off, he hauled himself upright and ambled across the room to the small cooler. The remaining packages of blood wouldn’t stay fresh much longer, not even on ice, but restocking was a problem he could deal with later. He dropped his fangs, ripped into a plastic packet, and chugged the contents, grimacing at the unpleasant taste.

  He was reaching for a second bag when agony tore through him like lightning.

  He shrieked, stumbled, and turned, but even before he could see who had attacked him, a second bolt of pain hit. This time he couldn’t even scream—his legs gave out and he fell to the floor, where he lay twitching and trying to get his senses to obey him.

  “No! Don’t!” Peter’s voice. God, now the attacker would turn on him instead. Still mostly blind with pain, Ante somehow managed to get to his feet. He ran forward and collided with someone. Almost tore the someone’s throat out before he recognized the familiar scent. “Peter?” he croaked as he clutched the shoulders tightly.

  “Y-yeah. Holy shit.”

  The blasphemy wasn’t aimed at Ante or at the fangs that had nearly ended Peter’s life but instead at whatever stood in front of Peter. Ante’s vision was clearing enough for him to understand Peter’s reaction.

  A muscular man faced them. He wore an old-fashioned suit—broad shoulders, wide lapels, and full trousers—and a fedora. He would have looked quite dapper if he hadn’t been partially transparent.

  Ante growled and tried to lunge at the man, who appeared ready to attack again, but Peter managed to stay between them. “Wait! Wait, dammit!” It was unclear which of them Peter was addressing.

  “Vampire!” hissed the man, his voice thin and hollow, like the wind murmuring far away.

  Peter’s mouth was faster than Ante’s. “Well, yeah. But from the looks of things, you’re not in any position to criticize the dearly departed.” He turned his head slightly. “Fuck, Ante, you didn’t tell me there were ghosts.”

  “I did not know.”

  “That is a filthy leech,” said the ghost.

  “He’s pretty clean, actually. He just had a bath.” Peter, still wet from the shower, shifted a little in Ante’s grip. “What do you want? This is our room. Can’t you haunt an empty one?”

  The ghost pointed at Ante. “It’s fucking evil!”

  “No, he’s not. Look, um, maybe this is some kind of supernatural gang turf thing? Will you let us put some clothes on and then we can talk this out?”

  Ante had to admit that it was satisfying that even a ghost was a bit flummoxed by Peter. But after a moment of indecision, this one nodded. Peter nodded back, pried Ante’s fingers away, and crossed to the bag of clothes on the dresser. He tossed jeans and a black T-shirt to Ante before grabbing items for himself.

  “What did you do to me?” Ante asked the ghost as he dressed. He still ached from the two violent zaps, although the sharpest pain had faded.

  “I touched you.”

  “With what?”

  The ghost held up a finger. “It’s because you’re dead too. And if I touch you long enough, you’ll be history.”

  “No!” Peter yelled. He hopped over with one leg in his pants and one out. “Don’t you dare!”

  “But it’s a vampire.”

  “He’s my vampire. Hang on.” He hurried into the rest of his clothes before again placing himself between Ante and the ghost. “Okay, that’s better. Now… maybe we can start with some introductions? I’m Peter. This is Ante, and he’s off-limits. Who are you?”

  “Lenny Flynn. They used to call me the Irish Lion. You heard of me?”

  “Uh, no. Sorry.”

  Looking disappointed, Lenny removed his hat and examined the brim. “I used to fight. I was good at it—won all my bouts.”

  A boxer ghost. Lovely. Ante was curious enough to join the conversation. “Did the mobsters kill you?”

  “Yeah, the dirty sons-a-bitches. They wanted me to work for them. I told ’em I’m a fighter, not an enforcer. So they offed me.” Scowling, he put the hat back on.

  “Ante’s in trouble for practically the same thing,” said Peter. “He refused to work for them too.”

  “For the mob?”

  “No, the Shadows.”

  “Fucking Shadows.” Lenny spat, which was interesting because his spittle disappeared before hitting the ground. “They’re not any better than the mob.”

  Peter seemed to be getting caught up in the moment, so intrigued by the situation that he’d forgotten the danger. “Why do you hate the Shadows? They’re not the ones who murdered you.”

  “This ain’t their place. The mob clipped a whole lot of us and dumped us out here, ya know? Didn’t even bother to bury us or nothing. But at least we had this place, and it ain’t so bad. Lotsa people to watch. Did ya see that outlet mall? A lot of us guys like to hang out there, just kinda chew the fat. Anyway, just when we were getting settled here, the goddamn vampires showed up, started acting like this was their place.” He puffed out his chest. “We showed them what’s what.”

  “I get it,” said Peter. “It’s your territory.”

  “Right. We don’t want his kind here.” Lenny stabbed his finger in Ante’s direction.

  Peter rolled his eyes. “That’s kind of racist.”

  Lenny looked at Peter like he was crazy—and Ante could sympathize with the ghost.

  “Look,” Ante interjected, “I do not blame you for wanting to be free of the Shadows. They are unpleasant at best. And you wish to keep your home. But Peter and I are fleeing them, and we will be gone as soon as the sun sets. Can you not leave us in peace until then?”

  Off came the hat again, and Lenny worried the brim in his hands. Being a ghost hat, however, it kept its shape. “You guys queers?” he finally asked.

  Peter lifted his chin. “Yeah.”

  “My uncle Harry, he was queer too. Nicest guy you ever met—he’d give a stranger the shirt off his back, ya know? Helped out my ma and pa when money was tight. One night when I was ten, a bunch of guys beat him so bad he ended up in the hospital for a week—just ’cause he was queer. That’s why I learned to fight. So nobody else would hurt Uncle Harry.”

  Ante and Peter exchanged looks, then shrugs. “That’s pretty cool,” Peter ventured.

  “Yeah. If you two are really the Shadows’ enemies, I guess that kinda means you’re on our side. You can stay. But I want you to come talk to my pals. Wait here.”

  Lenny disappeared, leaving Ante and Peter to wait for their ghostly meeting.

  Chapter Twelve

  THERE was a long period of silence after Lenny left the room, and Peter filled the quiet by diving into his bag of snacks.

  “Ghosts,” he finally said with his mouth full. “There are ghosts.”

  “And vampires and elves and, for all I know, rainbow unicorns with wings,” Ante replied. The events of the past few days hadn’t put him in the best of moods, and he was still sore from the burns and whatever Lenny had done to him. And he fucking hated cold plastic blood.

  “These ghosts have a grudge against vampires,” Peter elaborated.

  “Apparently.” Ante finished slurping at a packet and threw it in the trash. He wondered what housekeeping would make of it. They’d probably seen stranger things. Then a new thought occurred to him. “Did you convince Lenny to be more cooperative?”

  “Only in the conventional sense, with my words. I couldn’t touch his mind. I guess my mojo doesn’t work on dead people.”

  “Interesting.”

  And perhaps they would have explored that concept in more detail, but Lenny reappeared suddenly and startled them both. “C’mon. They’re waiting.”

  They took the elevator to the ground floor, then walked down a corridor. Along the way, they passed a hotel security guard, who nodded once at Lenny.

  “The people here know about you?” Peter asked.

  “Of course. We got a deal—we keep the Shadows out of their hair and promise not to scare away customers. They give us a solid hand when we need one. It works.”

  He stopped in front of a set of double doors. “Come on in.” And then he disappeared.

  Ante grabbed the handle and they strode inside.

  It was a theater-like room with a small stage and hundreds of padded chairs arranged in neat rows. At least two hundred of the seats contained ghosts, all of whom had swiveled around to see the newcomers. Lenny was walking toward the stage, where another ghost waited, but Ante and Peter remained at the back, taking it all in.

  The majority of the ghosts were like Lenny, somewhat rough-looking men in clothing from the mid–twentieth century. But a few of the ghosts were Native Americans in traditional dress, and others wore clothes from more recent decades—probably people who had died in this area from non-mobster-related causes.

  “Does everyone who dies here become a ghost?” asked Peter loudly. Ante had been wondering the same thing.

  A gray-haired lady in a polyester pantsuit answered. “Of course not. Think how crowded it would be!”

  “Then…?”

  “We want to stay,” she said simply.

  Peter opened his mouth to ask another question, but Ante stopped him with a raised hand. “Perhaps we could investigate the metaphysics of the deceased another time.”

  Although he looked slightly disappointed, Peter nodded and then marched confidently to the front of the room, Ante at his heels. By the time they got there, Lenny had taken a seat in the front row, but the other ghost remained standing onstage. He wore dusty trousers, a white shirt and dark vest, and a flat cap with a small brim. It was hard to judge how old he’d been at death because his narrow face was creased from sun exposure.

  “I’m Ralph. Introduce yourselves,” he said gruffly.

  “I am Ante Novak and this is Peter Gehrardi.”

  “You’re a vampire.”

  “Yes.”

  “And he isn’t.”

  Ante nodded, not intending to explain any further, but Peter spoke up. “Let’s be honest with them, okay, Ante? I think it’s better that way.”

  “It is your decision to make.”

  Peter faced the crowd and spoke loudly. “Uh, hi. Until a few days ago, I assumed that living, breathing humans were the only, er, sentient beings on Earth. And I assumed I was one of them, ’cause it would be weird to think otherwise. Then I met Ante and I learned, well, we are not alone. And it turns out it’s really they are not alone, because I’m not human either. Or maybe I’m half-human. The rest of me seems to be elf.”

  It was not the most elegant speech Ante had ever heard, but it certainly captured the audience’s attention. The ghosts spent a few minutes buzzing excitedly in conversation until Ralph shouted, “Simmer down! We have business to attend to!”

  “Are you, like, the ghost president?” Peter asked him. “Or ghost CEO?”

  “My partner founded this town. He didn’t feel like sticking around for the afterlife, so I reckon that leaves me in charge.”

  “Partner, like, life partner?”

  Most of the audience looked puzzled, although some of the newer ghosts chuckled. Ralph just shook his head. “We had a bootlegging business. Did pretty good with it. And they named one of the casinos after him—Whiskey Pete’s—but didn’t name nothing after me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ralph shrugged. “Don’t matter. Now, you fellows tell us what the hell you’re doing here and why we shouldn’t get rid of this vampire for good.”

  Peter grabbed Ante’s hand and dragged him close. “You’re not getting rid of him. I don’t care if I have to perform the world’s biggest impromptu exorcism, but none of you are going to lay a single spectral finger on him.”

  Ante doubted Peter could actually do anything to protect him, but hearing his threat was certainly nice. Ante wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and felt strong. And strangely, the ghosts seemed impressed with Peter instead of angry. Some of them even nodded in approval.

  “I like a fellow who stands up for what’s important,” Ralph said with a hint of a smile. “Now tell us why.”

  It ended up being Ante who told most of the story. He’d never spoken in front of a crowd before, and he would have been uncomfortable even if they had been human, but Peter’s presence helped. Peter chimed in now and then, adding a detail or some of his own perspective. When the tale was over, they answered a few questions from the audience.

  “All right,” Ralph finally said. “You’re going to have to excuse us for a while. Wait here.”

  All the ghosts disappeared at once, as if someone had flipped a switch.

  Peter looked around the empty room. “Do you think they’re still here but invisible? Or did they pop somewhere else, like another dimension or something?”

  “I do not know.”

  “You’re supposed to be the expert on this shit.”

  “Do you think Helena gave me a manual on the supernatural world when I rose?”

  “That would be kinda handy actually. Like in that movie Beetlejuice? They got a handbook.”

  “Well, I did not.” And then Ante impulsively grabbed Peter’s shoulders and gave him a long, hard kiss.

  By the time they separated, Peter was flushed and a little dazed. “What brought that on? Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Protecting me.”

  “But I didn’t really—”

  “Thank you,” Ante repeated more forcefully. He was rewarded when a warm light kindled in Peter’s eyes. Pride, Ante suspected. Good. Peter deserved that.

  The ghosts reappeared en masse, startling both of them. But the crowd seemed friendly enough that Ante relaxed a bit.

  “You can’t stay here,” Ralph said without preamble.

  “You cannot defeat the Shadows if they come?” Ante asked.

  “That little trick Lenny did on you? It harms you fellows, but it hurts us too. Drains the batteries. We might be able to fight them, might even win, but we’d destroy ourselves in the process.”

  “I understand.”

  A slightly awkward silence fell, and then someone—Ante thought it might be the lady in the pantsuit—called out, “C’mon, old man. Tell them!”

  Ralph gave an irritated harrumph and leaned in close to Peter and Ante. “She came in here with one of them bus tours and keeled over right on top of a video poker machine. Been telling me what to do ever since.” He straightened back up and continued in a louder voice. “Okay, boys, we got something to tell you. We maybe got an idea for where you could go.”

  “Where?” Peter asked eagerly.

  “California.”

  “You want to be a little more specific? It’s a big state.”

  “Don’t know exactly. But we’ve heard there’s a place up north somewhere that’s a… a sanctuary for folks who ain’t quite human. Don’t know what they think about vampires—sorry, son, but your kind just ain’t real popular.”

  “I know.” Honestly, Ante could hardly blame anyone who had a low opinion of vampires. He wasn’t too fond of most of them either.

  “Well, anyway, they might be worth a try if you can find them.”

  “I would not want to bring them trouble.”

  “From what we hear, they can hold their own just fine.” A murmur from the crowd supported Ralph’s assertion.

  “How can we find this place?” asked Ante, who wondered if it was actually a myth. Or maybe a convenient story so the ghosts could get rid of them.

  “Tell them to ask Patricia!” yelled the pantsuit lady.

  Ralph rolled his yes. “Hold your horses, Martha. I was getting there.” He turned to Ante and Peter. “There’s a lady near Bakersfield—well, she ain’t really no lady, but that’s neither here nor there—name of Patricia Long. You talk to her. She maybe can set you in the right direction.”

  Soon afterward, Ante and Peter thanked the ghosts and wished them well. Ante envied them—spending their unlife in relative peace with a community for company and without any worry about feeding themselves. After retrieving their few belongings, Ante and Peter checked out and got into the car. They didn’t hit the freeway immediately, though. Peter took them to a drive-through, and they sat in the parking lot while he ate. Ante watched a roller coaster zoom like a colorful dragon around the buildings.

  “Do you think that sanctuary place is for real?” Peter asked.

  “I do not know.”

  “If it is, will they let us stay? Will we be safe there? What would we do in a place like that? I’ve never had a job. I’ve never stayed anywhere very long. I’ve never stayed with anyone very long unless you count Mama. What if you get sick of me? What if they hate us? What if they turn out to be worse than the Shadows? What if—”