Living Dead in Dallas

we came to a major intersection. We were about to turn into the parking lot of a large church; at least, it had formerly been a church. The sanctuary was huge, by Bon Temps standards. Only Baptists could count that kind of attendance, in my neck of the woods, and that’s if all their congregations joined together. The two-story sanctuary was flanked by two long one-story wings. The whole building was white-painted brick, and all the windows were tinted. There was a chemically green lawn surrounding the whole, and a huge parking lot.
    The sign on the well-tended lawn read THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE SUN CENTER —Only Jesus Rose from the Dead.
    I snorted as I opened my door and emerged from Hugo’s car. “That right there is false,” I pointed out to my companion. “Lazarus rose from the dead, too. Jerks can’t even get their scripture right.”
    “You better banish that attitude from your head,” Hugo warned me, as he got out and hit the lock button. “It’ll make you careless. These people are dangerous. They’ve accepted responsibility, publicly, for handing over two vampires to the Drainers, saying at least humanity can benefit from the death of a vampire in some way.”
    “They deal with Drainers?” I felt sick. Drainers followed an extremely hazardous profession. They trapped vampires, wound them around with silver chains, and drained the blood from them for sale on the black market. “These people in here have handed over vampires to the Drainers?”
    “That’s what one of their members said in a newspaper interview. Of course, the leader was on the news the next day, denying the report vehemently, but I thinkthat was just smokescreen. The Fellowship kills vampires any way they can, thinks they’re unholy and an abomination, and they’re capable of anything. If you’re a vampire’s best friend, they can bring tremendous pressure to bear. Just remember that, every time you open your mouth in here.”
    “You, too, Mr. Ominous Warning.”
    We walked to the building slowly, looking it over as we went. There were about ten other cars in the parking lot, ranging from aging and dented to brand new and upscale. My favorite was a pearly white Lexus, so nice it might almost have belonged to a vampire.
    “Someone’s doing well out of the hate business,” Hugo observed.
    “Who’s the head of this place?”
    “Guy named Steve Newlin.”
    “Bet this is his car.”
    “That would account for the bumper sticker.”
    I nodded. It read TAKE THE UN OUT OF UNDEAD . Dangling from the mirror inside was a replica—well, maybe a replica—of a stake.
    This was a busy place, for a Saturday afternoon. There were children using the swing set and jungle gym in a fenced yard to the side of the building. The kids were being watched by a bored teenager, who looked up every now and then from picking at his nails. Today was not as hot as the day before—summer was losing its doomed last stand, and thank God for that—and the door of the building was propped open to take advantage of the beautiful day and moderate temperature.
    Hugo took my hand, which made me jump until I realized he was trying to make us look loverlike. He had zero interest in me personally, which was fine with me. After a second’s adjustment we managed to look fairly natural. The contact made Hugo’s mind just that more open to me, and I could tell that he was anxious butresolute. He found touching me distasteful, which was a little bit too strong a feeling for me to feel comfortable about; lack of attraction was peachy, but this actual distaste made me uneasy. There was something behind that feeling, some basic attitude. . . but there were people ahead of us, and I pulled my mind back to my job. I could feel my lips pull into their smile.
    Bill had been careful to leave my neck alone last night, so I didn’t have to worry about concealing any fang marks, and in my new outfit and on this lovely day it was easier to look carefree as we nodded at a middle-aged couple who were on their way out.
    We passed into the dimness of the building, into what must have been the Sunday school wing of the church. There were fresh signs outside the rooms up and down the corridor, signs that read BUDGETING AND FINANCE , ADVERTISING , and most ominously, MEDIA RELATIONS .
    A woman in her forties came out of a door farther down the hall, and turned to face us. She looked pleasant, even sweet, with lovely skin and short brown hair. Her definitely pink lipstick