Vampyres of Hollywood Read Online Free Page A

clerical collar. He’s doin’ okay.”
    I didn’t see where this was going, but I know enough to let Young tell his stories his way. “Yeah?”
    “So Benny added the three Cinema Slayer stars to his collection, already had the maps printed up. He uses my nephew’s one-hour print and copy shop over on Olympic.”
    “Well, he’s up-to-the-minute; I’ll give him that.”
    “He’s up-to-the-minute, all right.” Young leaned across the bar, enveloping me in a cologne that smelled like Jade West gone bad. That stuff must be thirty years old. My father wore it when I was a kid. “Benny had these maps printed up ten days ago.”
    “Ten days ago? You’re sure?” I felt a little brain rush and it wasn’t the Coke kicking in.
    “Yep.”
    Ten days ago Benny printed maps showing the places where three top celebrities had died—that’s no big deal, you’d think: a budding entrepreneur out to make a buck beating the competition. Nothing wrong with that.
    Except Tommy Gordon died eight days ago.
    The maps preceded the last death…by two days.

Chapter Three
     

     
    Maral always drives. I hate it.
    Traffic in L.A. is…well, traffic in L.A. It reminds me of the last time I lived in Paris. In 1807 the streets of Paris were so gridlocked with carriages, drays, and vendors’ stalls that it was quicker to walk. Of course, in those days, I was young enough that I still got a kick out of shape-shifting. If I had to be somewhere in a hurry, I’d just slip into something with wings. A hawk was always my favorite, but never a bat. Nothing so clichéd. These days, transitions like that take a real toll on my body. Even the simplest attempt leaves me screaming with effort. And afterwards, coming back to human form while my body readjusts, well, the muscle spasms are crippling. I need two hours of deep tissue massage, which Maral is happy to provide. Yet another reason she’s more valuable to me Warm. My kind give lousy massages—we just don’t know our own strength.
    I’ve also noticed that I never quite return to my original shape. Something is always just ever so slightly out of whack. Last time, I was left with a few small feathers on my back. Try explaining that at the waxing salon.
    I never liked Paris. Even back then, the French had an attitude. I love the language and the culture, but oh my God, when you’re hypersensitive to scents like I am, you didn’t want to be around Parisians, especially before Baron Haussmann began modernizing the city and Belgrand installed the sewers.
    Besides, Europe in general was dangerous for my kind. The Church kept a stronger grip on its believers in Europe than it did in the Colonies. The existence of my race had passed into legend, but so recently that many in the Church still maintained they knew the truth that gave rise to it. Publicly, they dismissed my kind as demons and devils, but among themselves, they feared us. They believed we were fallen angels.
    We’re neither. Just another branch on the tree of evolution. Maybe not Homo sapiens, but…how about Homo sanguineous ?
    The Church made it hard for us when I was younger. The Jesuits, especially. They gave themselves a righteous title, Exorcists, but they were hunters, pure and simple. And there was nothing right about it. I can’t tell you how many of my ancestors and kin fell to the axes, the fires, or the stakes of an exorcism. That’s why I liked the Colonies. The earliest emigrants were too busy annihilating the natives to bring their superstitions with them. My kin in blood were free to roam the continent.
    But these days, roaming in L.A. traffic makes me nuts. I’ve taken to scheduling 6:00 A.M. breakfast meetings at the Peninsula hotel or 10:00 P.M. dim sum at CHOW’s. Nobody blinks an eye. This is Hollywood. There’s nothing too odd for the natives to handle.
    Maral handles the Lexus 470 SUV the way she does everything else: with grace and determination. Personally, I can’t stand to drive it; I’m always sure