She looked terrible. Her face was pale and lined. Her hair was lifeless and fell forward across her forehead. Laura had never spent a lot of time on hair care—she’d always said that was one of the chief benefits of being gay—but she’d always used a little mousse, always kept her spiky hair brushed and neat. Now it was all floppy and dull. She looked like k.d. lang on a bad day.
Laura rushed forward and grabbed her handset before she’d even sat down properly. “Clara,” she said. “Clara. I—I’m so glad you came.”
“Of course I did,” Clara told her. She should just clear her throat, she knew, and say it. Just say it in as few words as possible. It’s over, Laura.
Too cold.
I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, and—
No. Too wishy-washy. Laura would try to argue with her.
I’ll still come and visit, but when you get out—
You know, you would do the same in my shoes—
It’s just so hard, being alone, and we were never that great together anyway—
“I need to talk to you about something,” Clara said. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. “Something important.”
“Of course,” Laura said.
“It’s about.” Clara stopped. Her tongue wouldn’t work. She couldn’t say the next word.
“It’s okay, pumpkin,” Laura said. Her eyes were full of tears. “You can say anything to me. You can always say anything to me. If there’s something… something you need to discuss, something we have to talk through, you should just go ahead and get started. So we can work it out together.”
She knows. She knows why you came. So just say it.
“It’s,” Clara said, trying again. “It’s about—it’s about Malvern.”
You little chickenshit, she thought to herself. You coward.
But Laura’s face went hard and professional instantly. She wasn’t Laura anymore, she was Caxton, the vampire killer. “Okay,” she said. “Go ahead.”
“She’s stepped up her attacks,” Clara said. Relief flooded through her. This was ground she felt a lot more comfortable on. “She’s started hitting high-profile targets. Groups of victims, all together. This last time she even let a witness get away. He couldn’t tell us anything useful, but still—that isn’t like her.”
“No,” Caxton said.
Clara shrugged. “Deputy Marshal Fetlock says she must be getting desperate. She knows she can’t keep hunting forever, that we’ll eventually find her. So she must be changing her pattern, because she’s in some kind of death spiral. Ready to be caught. Glauer disagrees. He thinks it’s because she doesn’t think we’re a threat to her anymore, with you in here.”
“What do you think?”
Clara frowned. “I think she’s working some kind of angle.”
Caxton nodded. “Good thinking. If we know one thing about Malvern, it’s that she’s always got a plan. She’s always two steps ahead of you. Do not underestimate her. Don’t let Fetlock underestimate her, either.”
“I’ll do my best,” Clara said, with a little laugh. “It’s good to see you,” she said.
“Yeah. It’s good to talk about this stuff. I need to be back on the case,” Caxton said, and Clara could see the wheels turning behind her eyes.
When the hour was up, and the CO came to stand behind Caxton and put a hand on her shoulder, they’d managed not to talk about anything but vampires the whole time.
“I’ll see you in a month,” Clara said, with a sigh. “That’s the next visiting appointment I can get.”
Caxton nodded as if that was satisfactory. Then she let them take her away.
For a second Clara just slumped in her chair, unable to believe what had happened. Or what had failed to happen.
Eventually she got up and looked around for the CO who had brought her into the room. She needed to get her things back and get out of there. She needed to get back to Allentown before Fetlock knew she was gone. A CO came to get her—she didn’t think it was the same one, but it was hard to tell. They kind of all looked alike. This one had a bad scratch down the side of his cheek, though, which she didn’t remember from before. It was bright red and looked infected.