“Peter!” Ante reached over and wiped a dollop of ketchup from his cheek. “You cannot worry about everything all at once.”

  “I can try,” Peter said with a small pout.

  “Let us concentrate on one potential disaster at a time, yes?”

  “Fine. One at a time. So where should we start?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  VERY few towns lay between Primm and Bakersfield, and the few that did exist were tiny. Mostly there were miles of desert, with Joshua trees pointing at a star-glittered sky. Ante thought back to the dark nights when he was human—before the glow of electricity leaked everywhere—and yet how bright the night skies had been. Sometimes on a summer night, when the air was too close for sleep inside their little house, he would creep outside and find a soft spot on the ground, and he’d stare at the mystery above him. He used to wonder what lay outside his little corner of the world. He’d never dreamed he’d see so much of the world, and for so long.

  He’d loved those nights. But now it was the days he missed—the sun just warm enough on his shoulders, the birds twittering from branches, the mountains guarding him in the distance. Now the nights were familiar while the days held mysteries.

  “You’re far away,” Peter said softly. The roadway had begun to ascend, and soon they would reach the pass that separated them from Bakersfield.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t have to apologize. Are you having regrets about throwing in with me?”

  “None,” Ante replied firmly.

  “Seriously? I mean, you had a decent thing going in Vegas. But since meeting me, you’ve been burned and ghost-zapped, you’ve got bad guys on your tail, you—”

  “No regrets.”

  “Why not? We have good sex, but is it really worth all that?”

  “It is not the sex. Well, not only the sex.” Ante chuckled. “It is very good sex. But with you, I feel as if I have something worth unliving for.”

  Peter smiled as he accelerated past a semi. “That’s possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “That is a shame. You are worthy of sweet words. How about you, though? You must surely be sorry you chose to come to Vegas.”

  For a long time, Peter didn’t answer, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. He steered around a long slow curve, then brushed the hair back from his forehead. “I’ve never belonged anywhere. I’m always the outsider, the new guy, the weirdo. And that was even before I developed the mind thing.” He made wiggling motions with his fingers in front of his head.

  “And now you have an uncertain future.”

  “But that’s the thing. I’ve always had an uncertain future. Or none at all that I could imagine. I thought I’d stay alone, too. ’Cause who wants to have a relationship with a psychic ex-hustler? Except… maybe you do?”

  “I am a vampire.”

  “And beggars can’t be choosers?”

  “I am neither shocked by those who are unusual nor judgmental about them. In fact, I am charmed. I have met a great many people over the decades, but none of them was anything like you.”

  Peter appeared pleased with that.

  They stopped in Tehachapi for fuel—for both the car and Peter, who came out of the convenience store with a carton of cinnamon rolls, an enormous sandwich, and a soft drink big enough to swim in. “You want to take the wheel so I can eat?” he asked, standing outside the passenger door.

  “I do not have a license.”

  “So drive lawfully. If you get pulled over, I’ll charm the cop.”

  Ante got out of the car. “I think your skills are more useful than mine.”

  “Nah. I wouldn’t have been able to leap tall buildings like you did. I think we make a good set. Like, if the superheroes are gonna beat the archvillains, you don’t want two Supermans—Supermen?—’cause their powers just duplicate each other and the bad guys can wipe them out with a little bit of Kryptonite. No, you want Superman and, say, Batman. Or Spider-Man. Or She-Hulk.”

  “There are no vampire superheroes,” Ante pointed out.

  “Bullshit. What about Spike? He saved the world.”

  While Ante took them down the mountain, he talked about the first time he’d seen a car and what it had been like to drive them when they were still a novelty. Just as he finished a story about the time he broke his arm while turning the hand crank of a Citroën, they reached the turnoff Ralph had instructed them to take. This took them past an oversized fruit stand, long since closed for the night, before the road took a sharp turn, switched from pavement to gravel, and headed up into the mountains.

  “I’m kinda wishing I’d found us something with four-wheel drive,” Peter said as they bumped and jostled.

  “I think we will be fine. Ralph said only about five miles, yes?”

  “Yeah. This Patricia lady must really like being alone. Hey, what are you doing?”

  Ante had turned off the headlights, leaving them in velvet darkness. “My nighttime eyesight is excellent, and we are unlikely to encounter other traffic. This is less distracting for me, but if it bothers you—”

  “No, it’s fine. I trust you.”

  Ante tried not to show how deeply that statement shook him.

  They traversed a narrow canyon that made several sharp curves, and Ante wondered if it flooded during heavy rains. He couldn’t help but recall Croatia’s sheer karst mountains, their limestone studded by olive green plants and by caves where he, newly risen, had often taken refuge. In the valleys, hidden from the world, a few villages struggled for existence. Had any of those villages survived?

  If he hadn’t been watching carefully, he would have missed the driveway. It was nothing more than a pair of rutted tracks that skirted a rocky outcrop before stopping in front of a small farmhouse with peeling paint and an off-kilter front porch. No lights were visible, but a rusty old pickup was parked in front.

  “You think she’s gonna be pissed that we’re waking her up so early?” Peter asked.

  “I do not know.”

  “If she tells us to scram, how are we going to get you somewhere safe before morning?”

  Ante turned off the engine. “The trunk of our car.”

  “Doesn’t sound very comfy.”

  “More so than incinerating.”

  “Good point.”

  They got out of the car, but as soon as they took a few steps toward the house, the front door flew open and five tiny dogs came running at them, barking furiously. The little beasts sounded as if they wanted to rip their visitors apart, although they wouldn’t be able to reach higher than a knee. Nonetheless, Ante put himself in front of Peter as a protective gesture, and one of the little dogs promptly latched on to the fabric at Ante’s ankle. Instead of kicking it away, Ante stood very still.

  “Hello!” he called. “We have come to speak to Patricia Long.”

  Even with his sharp eyes, he couldn’t see anyone in the doorway, but he sensed someone there—an impression confirmed when a woman yelled back. “Go away! I’m pointing a shotgun at you and I’ve got good aim.”

  He’d been shot before—both before he died and after. He wasn’t especially afraid of guns. “Please, we urgently need to speak with you. We have just come from Primm, where Ralph said you might be able to help us.”

  There was a short pause. Then she shouted a series of names that must have belonged to the dogs. They all ran back into the house—although the one on his ankle sank needlelike teeth into Ante’s flesh before giving a defiant yip and joining the others.

  “Come closer,” the woman instructed.

  They obeyed, but Ante made sure to keep his body in front of Peter’s. Gunshot wounds would not be a minor matter to a half-human. They stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, where Ante could finally see her in the dim light, although he doubted Peter saw anything at all. She was unremarkable. Middle-aged, short, slightly dumpy, and wearing a frowsy pink bathrobe and blue fuzzy slippers. Her frizzy graying hair escaped from a ponytail. Her crossed arms proved she wasn’t holding a gun.

  “What are you?” she demanded.

  “Interesting thing to ask,” Peter muttered. He tried to push his way around Ante, but they ended up side by side. “I’m Peter the elf. Apparently.”

  She whistled. “Elf? I haven’t seen one of those in— What’s that thing next to you? He’s no elf.”

  “He is Ante, and he’s definitely a vampire. And my boyfriend.”

  Ante couldn’t even process that last word, because the woman was chortling. “An elf with a vamp for a main squeeze. This I gotta hear. Okay, come on in, boys.” Although she didn’t move, the porch light flickered on at the same time as several lights within the house. Peter grabbed Ante’s hand and towed him up the stairs. The woman he assumed was Patricia stepped aside to let them in.

  Ante got a whiff of her as they passed—ashes, stone, and chocolate. She wasn’t human.

  The interior of the house was… unexpected. For one thing, the room they entered was huge, much bigger than seemed possible for such a modest house. For another, it looked a lot more like the interior of a rich person’s villa than a crumbling farmhouse. The floor was terra-cotta tile with scattered rugs. Expensive yet tasteful furniture was arranged into conversational groupings, several tall bookshelves lined one wall, and large Impressionist paintings hung here and there. Ante was hardly an expert, but he thought the paintings looked like originals by Berthe Morisot and Mary Cassatt. In the center of the room, a statue of a beautiful young man stood in the middle of a fountain, peeing endlessly into the basin. The dogs lounged on cushions beside the fountain, glaring murderously at Ante and Peter.

  “Um, okay,” Peter said, looking around.

  “You might as well sit down.” Patricia gestured toward a couch. Ante sat first, and although it was a large piece of furniture, Peter squished close. Patricia arranged herself comfortably on the chair facing them. “All right, then. Tell me.”

  They quickly ran through their tale, this time including their encounter with the Primm ghosts. Halfway through the story, one of the dogs—a black-and-white terrier—hopped onto Peter’s lap. He petted it absently and it fell asleep. Patricia listened to the entire saga without comment.

  “Well,” she said when they were done, “I can’t say there’s a lot of novelty left for me in this world, but you’ve certainly provided some.”

  “What are you?” Peter blurted. “I’m sorry if that’s rude, but I’m dying to know.”

  She smiled fondly, as if he were a young relative. “You’re adorable. I never could understand what everyone had against elves. So cute. And good in bed. Right, Ante?”

  Ante’s eyebrows rose. “Um….”

  “Hey, I shocked a vampire! I still got it.” She cackled. “In answer to your question, Petey, I’m a demon. My real name is Pazemuexon, but nobody ever pronounces it correctly, and you can just plain forget anyone spelling it right.”

  “A demon. Like… from Hell?”

  “Originally, yes.”

  Peter turned to Ante. “There are demons too. You didn’t know about them either?”

  “I have led a more sheltered existence than I suspected.” Ante wasn’t sure what to make of their host. She didn’t seem dangerous, but he knew looks could deceive.

  But as usual, Peter was more intrigued than alarmed. “So what are you doing here? I mean, you have a really nice place and everything, but it’s not—”

  “Not fire and brimstone, I know. Hell isn’t really like that anyway. Some parts of it are quite nice, in fact. But I’m an expat. I like the customs here, and my hounds are happier too.” She gestured at the dogs. A Chihuahua with glowing red eyes gave a tiny snarl before curling into a ball and falling asleep. The one that had bitten Ante—he thought it might be a teacup poodle—continued to glare at him.

  Peter looked thoughtful. “So you’ve relocated to the far reaches of suburban Bakersfield.”

  “I have. Bakersfield is one of those spots on Earth where Hell touches quite closely, which makes it easy to visit home when I feel like it.”

  “How long have you been here?” Ante asked.

  “In Bakersfield? Oh, let’s see. Only about eighty years. But I’ve been living among humans since the Bronze Age. How old are you?”

  “I was born in 1840.”

  She flapped her hand. “You’re a baby.” Then she stood, which made the dogs perk up. “All right. You two look exhausted. You can stay the day here, and we’ll discuss your options tonight. I have a nice room for you.” She looked downright devilish when she grinned.

  “That is very kind of you,” said Ante, who stood as well. “I am sorry to be so direct, but Peter has… a vigorous appetite, and—”

  “You boys make the sex as noisy as you want. I won’t mind.”

  Peter blushed. “Um, he means food. I have to eat a lot.”

  “I see. I don’t have anything for you, I’m afraid. But later today you can go to that fruit stand and you’ll find plenty. Now, as for you, Ante….”

  “I have fed recently.”

  She nodded. “I used to hunt people, just for fun. But that was a long time ago! It’s really not a very challenging sport, and I’ve grown to like them. Such interesting creatures. Anyway”—she gestured toward a hallway—“let me show you to your room.”

  Ante jogged out to the car to retrieve their few belongings, and then the dogs padded behind them as they walked down the long hallway and descended a flight of stairs. The interior of Patricia’s house was much bigger than the exterior, which made Ante speculate. Perhaps it straddled dimensions or something. Considering he’d been a vampire for so long, he felt remarkably ignorant about the supernatural world. Maybe he should have spent less time simply existing and more time exercising his curiosity.

  The long downstairs hallway was decorated with statues and paintings of nude men. Although some of the artwork was nominally religious, such as depictions of St. Sebastian, all of it was erotic. “Interesting collection,” Peter commented, and Patricia beamed.

  She threw open a pair of ornately carved doors to reveal… a bordello. At least, that was what the large room resembled. It featured red flocked wallpaper, explicit artwork in ornate gilded frames, three Victorian fainting couches upholstered in maroon fabric, and several heavily beaded and crystal-hung lamps. The pièce de résistance was a heart-shaped bed big enough to host an orgy—with a mirror fastened to the ceiling above.

  “Wow,” Peter said. It really was the only appropriate response.

  “Bathroom’s there,” she said, pointing at a door. “Make yourselves comfortable. Petey, you know how to get back to the produce stand?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just let yourself back into the house when you return. I have some work to do today. I’ll see you boys tonight.” She left with her retinue of hounds.

  Peter petted a life-size golden cherub, then loped over to check out the bathroom. “Jesus Christ,” he called from inside, piquing Ante’s curiosity. It resembled a Roman bath with modern plumbing. Marble tile everywhere, homoerotic statues and frescoes, and a sunken tub the size of a small swimming pool. Softly scented vapor rose from the water, giving the space a dreamlike quality.

  “Do you think her house always looks like this, or did she magically do this for us?” asked Peter.

  “I do not know. Either option is stunning in its implications.”

  “Just a few days ago, I thought the world was pretty boring. I feel like a tornado has taken me to Oz. We’re gonna run into the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion any minute.”

  They wandered back into the bedroom. “Where do you think she finds sheets for a bed like that?” Peter asked.

  “Brothels‘R’Us.”

  Peter laughed so hard that he snorted.

  Ante stripped and got into bed, which smelled faintly of rose petals. Peter ate the last of his road snacks, spent a few minutes in the bathroom, and returned to turn off the lights and join Ante. They snuggled close on the continent-sized mattress. “Maybe I should turn the lights back on,” Peter purred. “So we can see ourselves in the mirror.”

  “We would only see you.”

  “That’s… ew. I think that’s kind of creepy. Let’s forget that idea. Do you think she has hidden cameras here? She seems like the type who might.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Do you show up on camera?”

  “Not traditional ones, no. They use mirrors. But most digital cameras do not.”

  “But why don’t mirrors work for you? Is it some weird physics thing?” Peter was stroking Ante’s flank, which was distracting.

  “Some say it is due to the silvering on the back of mirrors.”

  “That’s a problem why?”

  “Vampires are… well, allergic to silver. It does not kill us, but it does feel uncomfortable against our skin.”

  “Hmm.” Peter moved his hand to the skin near the point of Ante’s hip. “That explanation is lame. Any other theories?”

  “Some believe it is because we have no soul.”

  Peter stopped moving his hand and instead propped himself on an elbow. “Wait. What?”

  “Some believe that mirrors reflect a person’s soul, and since I do not possess one—”

  “Bullshit!”

  “No, it is true. When I died, my soul left this body, and what remains here is… a shell of sorts, I suppose. When this body is finally destroyed, whatever is left of me will probably be damned. Perhaps Patricia knows something about that.” Not that he intended to ask her; he didn’t want details.

  “Do you know this for a fact?” Peter demanded.

  “Well, no, but everyone says—”

  “Everyone says a lot of shit. Doesn’t mean it’s facts. You have a soul.”

  “But I—”

  “Shut up.” In one smooth motion, Peter pushed Ante onto his back, draped himself on top, and captured Ante’s mouth in a kiss. After that, he played Ante like an instrument, applying fingers, lips, and tongue to Ante’s skin, giving extra attention to the parts that still bore marks from their adventures. Not all his touches were gentle—sometimes he bit or scratched. But everything he did was lovely, turning Ante into a moaning ball of need.