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CHAPTER 1

I travel light

I wheeled my bike down Decatur Street and eased deeper into the French Quarter, the bike’s engine purring My shotgun, a Benelli M4 Super 90, was slung over my back and loaded for vamp with hand-packed silver fléchette rounds I carried a selection of silver crosses in my belt, hidden under my leather jacket, and stakes, secured in loops on s on s--clothes in one side, tools of the trade in the other As a vaht

I’d need to put the vaht be offended Not a good thing when said hostess held s of her ownA guy, a good-looking Joe standing in a doorway, turned his head to follow ress as I motored past He wore leather boots, a jacket, and jeans, like h his dark hair was short and ht toA Kawasaki motorbike leaned on a stand nearby I didn’t like his interest, but he didn’t prick my predatory or territorial instincts

I maneuvered the bike down St Louis and then onto Dauphine, weaving between nervous-looking shop workers heading ho and a few early revelers out for fun I spotted the address in the fading light Katie’s Ladies was the oldest continually operating whorehouse in the Quarter, in business since 1845, though at various locations, depending on hurricane, flood, the price of rent, and the agreeable nature of local law and its enforcement officers I parked, set the kickstand, and unwound

I had found two bikes in a junkyard in Charlotte, North Carolina, bodies rusted, rubber rotted They were in bad shape But Jacob, a semiretired Harley restorationthe Catawba River, tookwhat else he needed over the Net It took sixhis wife and four kids supplied with venison, rabbit, turkey--whatever I could catch, as maimed as I was--restocked supplies froed body back into shape It was the best I could do for theand variablewhile to totally

Now that I was a hundred percent, I needed work My best bet was a job killing off a rogue va the city of New Orleans It had taken down three tourists and left a squad of cops, drained and s, dead where it dropped them Scuttlebutt said it hadn’t been satisfied with just blood--it had eaten their internal organs All that suggested the rogue was old, powerful, and deadly--a whacked-out vamp The nutty ones were always the worst

Just last week, Katherine "Katie" Fonteneau, the proprietress and na to my Web site, I had successfully taken down an entire blood-family in the mountains near Asheville And I had No lies on the Web site or in the media reports, not bald-faced ones anyway Truth is, I’d nearly died, but I’d done the job, made a rep for iti A lengthy vacation sounded better than the complete truth

I took offthe I palmed a few tools of the trade--one stake, ash wood and silver tipped; a tiny gun; and a cross--and tucked the ses I also breathed deeply, seeking to relax, to assureintervieas nervous, and being nervous around a valow on the horizon, liht-iron balconies in fuchsia It was pretty in a purely human way I opened my senses and let my Beast taste the world She liked the smells and wanted to prowl Later, I prorohen irritated Soon--she sentIt was uncomfortable, but the claw pricks kept me alert, which I’d need for the interview I had never met a civilized vamp, certainly never done business with one So far as I knew, vae that This could get interesting

I clipped lanced at the witchy-locks on s and, satisfied, I walked to the narrow red door and pushed the buzzer The bald-headed h to be somented bodybuilder, or troll All of the above, htwith ar funny?" he asked, voice like a horse-hoof rasp on stone

"Not really Tell Katie that Jane Yellowrock is here" Tough alorks best on first acquaintance Thatwasn’t a consideration

"Card?" Troll asked A man of feords I liked hiers, I unzipped my leather jacket, fished a business card from an inside pocket, and extended it to him It read JANE YELLOWROCK, HAVE STAKES WILL TRAVEL Va is a bloody business I had discovered that a little hu it all bearable