Some of the monsters, they’ve brought in with them.
Fun factoid: I borrowed (as I am prone to do, with vampire tales) from history for this, specifically the gruesome story of the Bloody Benders, who ran a combination store / traveler’s inn, with murder on the side, in 1870s Kansas. The names I used were correct to that period, and I have a fondness for bizarre names, having great-aunts named Pearly Lake and Precious Jewel in my family tree. Rumor says there was also a relative named Holy Bible, but I can’t swear to that one.
“I feel this is all going to come to a bad end,” Myrnin said, and clung to the handle above the passenger-side door as the car shrieked around another turn. It was a black and moonless night, and without headlights, a human driver would certainly have crashed by now, but the driver was far from human.
However, Oliver also wasn’t a terribly good driver, even as a vampire, and the tires jumped the curb. A mailbox impacted the side of the car just behind where Myrnin sat and went flying, spilling a sad scatter of bills and letters.
“Shut up,” Oliver said, as Myrnin opened his mouth to comment. Myrnin obeyed, because the tension in the man’s voice was on the edge of violence. “I hate these . . . mechanical beasts. No wonder Amelie insists on a driver.”
“I can drive. Claire taught me.”
“Bad luck for all the others on the road, then. Shut up. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“You will never catch him like this.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a better runner than you are a driver?”
Oliver whipped the wheel unnecessarily hard to the left, and Myrnin found himself flung hard against the restraint—the seat belt, as Claire insisted on calling it, though clearly it was not a belt at all, and certainly not a seat, but more of a harness. Despite that quibble, he did like the safety measures modern society had imposed. Quite a lot of carriage accidents could have come to better outcomes with the minor addition of such things.
The restraint came into play again as Oliver forcefully applied the brakes, and the vehicle skidded to a loud stop, accompanied by smoke and the smell of distressed tires. “He’s off the road,” Oliver said. “We’ll have to run him down on foot.”
“Thank Jesu,” Myrnin said. “I’d rather run a thousand miles than endure your substandard mechanized skills again.”
“Feel free to bugger off home, then.”
“I will not!”
“Then do me the kindness of being silent. I’m listening.”
Myrnin shut up, because even among vampires, Oliver had a reputation for acute hearing, and one saving grace of Morganville, Texas, was its remote location. Unlike in modern cities of any significant size, the nights here were clear and silent. Easy to hear disturbances, at least with vampire senses. Easy to hear the breathing and heartbeats of potential victims . . . but not so easy to track a fleeing vampire. Vampires were stealthy by nature, sometimes even to one another.
The creature they were tracking was more dangerous than most, and Myrnin was starting to wonder why he, of all the Morganville vampires, had decided to take up this challenge. He was, after all, more of an ambush predator than a stalker. He didn’t like the pursuit as much as Oliver; it always felt like far too much effort, and fun as it sometimes was, he often felt so guilty, after.
This was for a good cause, at least, and he was operating under orders. Amelie’s orders. Or he’d not be voluntarily spending time with Oliver. His issues with the man stemmed back five hundred years or more.
“This way,” Oliver said, and was out the driver’s side of the car and moving with speed before Myrnin could so much as fumble his way clear of his seat harness. He snapped it in a fit of pique. Useless things, good for nothing but saving humans.
Considering he’d been made vampire as an older man, Oliver was extremely lithe; even with longer legs, Myrnin had to run uncomfortably fast to keep pace. He couldn’t detect the man they were following, but keeping track of Oliver would do well enough. The riding boots he wore weren’t good for running, but he was somewhat grateful that he hadn’t chosen the bunny slippers tonight. They were certainly not made for harsh terrain, and the area in which they’d gone was littered with rusted metal scrap, discarded lumber, and snakes too slow to slip out of the way, but still fast enough to strike at him in the darkness. Dangerous footing, even for a vampire.