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Elias. I don't want to kill you."
He started forward slowly. "Let's not pretend, Jason. You can't arrest me, and I need blood."
I backed away, trying to make myself pull the trigger. But, Jesus, Elias was my friend! "Stop, Elias! For God's sake, you're addicted, that's what you're talking about! There's therapy for addicts."
He laughed. "That's funny, Jason. Should I go to AA? 'Hello, my name is Elias, and I'm a vampire?' " He shook his head. "I didn't want to kill you, but I have no choice. Neither have you. It's a shame that you can't do anything about it." He was barely human now, a Hollywood vampire straight out of Fright Night. "Good-bye, Jason." He rose straight off the floor, a nightmare of fangs and talons.
My finger spasmed on the trigger.
There was a roar of thunder.
Elias was hit in mid-descent. The force of the round, as it mushroomed within him, hurled him back over my desk. He rose, only a scorched bullet hole in his suit showing he'd been hit.
"So much for silver," I said as I sprinted out the door. I almost bowled Sylvie over as she came running back. "Go, Syl, Go!" I heard jarring footsteps behind me, whirled and fired the second bullet.
The bullet caught him square in the chest; Elias' scream shook the windows as white flame exploded from the incendiary bullet.
"Wood! You bastard! That hurt!" As I backpedaled away, I could see the burns healing. "I think I'll break a few things before I kill you!" He ducked away before I could get another clear bead on him.
"Shit. Anne Rice failed me too. I should have known better than to trust a book with a punk vampire." I glanced around nervously. If I were a vampire, where would I come from next . . . ?
I whirled, in time to see Elias coming through the wall like a ghost. I leapt through the doorway to the kitchen, but Elias' hand caught me just as I reached the side door. "Gotcha!"
I tried to pull away, but I might as well have been pushing on a vault door. He bent his head toward my neck. I screamed.
Then it was Elias who screamed, a yell of utter shock and agony. I fell to the floor and rolled heavily away, looked 引越し up.
Sylvie stood there, holding a large ankh before her. "Back, Undead! By the power of Earth and Life, back!"
The incantation sounded silly; Elias obviously saw no humor in it. As he turned away, trying to get around the looped cross, I saw a black imprint on his back where the ankh had hit him. I raised the .45, fired the third bullet.
The heavy shell hit him like a sledgehammer, spinning him completely around, smashing him into the stove. He put a hand to his chest, where a red stain was beginning to spread. His expression was utter disbelief. Then he fell facedown.
"What did you hit him with?"
I looked down at the body. "A wooden bullet. Thank you, Fred Saberhagen."
"Who's he?"
"He wrote The Holmes-Dracula File; that's where I got the idea." I holstered the gun and started out of the kitchen—I didn't want to look at the body while I tried to figure out what I was going to say to the cops.
Elias' hand shot out and grabbed my ankle.
I felt myself lifted like a toy, smashed into Syl, sending her ankh flying. Then there was a crash and I felt slivers of glass cut me as I was hurled out of the window. I remember thinking vaguely that I'd gotten the genre wrong. It wasn't a mystery novel; it was Friday the 13th, where the psycho never dies.
I landed badly, barely rolling. I heard the gun skid out of the holster. I scrabbled after it; but then a leather-skinned hand closed clawed fingers around it. "You almost had me, Jason," said the thing that had been Elias Klein. "Too bad you missed the heart. It still might have worked, but you must've used an awfully tough wood; most of the bullet went right on through." He squeezed. The barrel of my gun bent.
I got up and ran.
I didn't i