Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

dining room and walked into the kitchen, which was surprisingly big for the size of the house. Someone had painted the wooden cabinets white, then toll-painted flowers and vines all over. The window over the sink was covered with dark green garbage sacks sealed with duct tape so no light would get through.
    There were no vampires in the living room either, though it wasn’t as clean as the dining room and kitchen had been. Someone had left a dirty glass on an end table—and there were dark stains on the beige carpet. Blood, I thought, but the Pine-Sol was still crippling my nose.
    The bathroom door was open, but the two doors next to it were not. I didn’t think Andre was behind either of them, because someone had put shiny new bolts on the outside to keep whoever was inside prisoner.
    I opened the first door gingerly and had to take a quick step back, even with my deadened nose, because of the strong smell of human waste.
    The man was curled up on a pile of filthy sleeping bags. He curled up tighter when I opened the door and whimpered, muttering, “They’re coming for me, Lord. Don’t let them. Don’t let them.”
    â€œShh,” I said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    The smell was appalling, but it would have had to be a lot stronger to keep me out. He cried when I touched his shoulder.
    â€œCome on,” I told him. “Let’s get you out of here.”
    He rolled onto his back and grabbed my head in both hands.
    â€œVampire.” Eyes wild, he shook me slowly. “Vampire.”
    â€œI know. But it’s daylight now. Come outside with me where he can’t get you.”
    He seemed to understand that part and helped me get him to his feet. I pulled his arm over my shoulder and we did a drunken dance out to the living room. I unlocked the door and took him out.
    The skies were darker, making it look hours later in the day than it really was. I sat him down on the picnic table with orders to stay there, but I wasn’t certain he’d heard me because he was muttering about the dark man. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t in any shape to get very far.
    I left the living room door open and hurried back to the second room. This time the occupant was an older woman. Bite marks trailed up both arms. If the puncture wounds hadn’t been in pairs she would have looked like a junkie. She was more alert than the man had been. She didn’t smell as bad, and, though she didn’t make any more sense than he had, she helped me get her out of the room. I had a harder time getting her to let go of me once I had her at the picnic table.
    â€œRun,” she said. “Run.”
    â€œI’m going to take care of him.” I told her. “It’s all right.”
    â€œNo,” she said, though she let me go. “No.”
    The house protected them from the worst of the wind, and it still hadn’t started raining, though I heard the crack of thunder. If it didn’t rain soon we’d have some grass fires out of this storm.
    The mundane worry steadied me as I went back into the house to hunt for Andre. I left the bedrooms for last. Partially because I was in no hurry to go back into either, but also because I was pretty sure that Andre had to be on the outside of the rooms in order to lock them.
    There were no secret passages I could see in the bathroom, and the closet next to it was full of furnace and water heater: there was no room for vampire. I walked back out to the living room and heard another crash from the dining room.
    I got there just as the last framed photo fell onto the floor, just in front of a small throw rug. Something shoved me between my shoulder blades and I took another step forward.
    â€œUnder the rug?” I said. “How unoriginal.” Sarcasm, I’ve found, makes terror more bearable. I hoped that Andre would be helpless in the daytime even if Wulfe had not been. Andre was the same age as Stefan, and Stefan told me he died during the day.
    I moved the rug and there was a trapdoor, complete with an inset iron ring pull. I took out my flashlight before opening the trapdoor.
    Here there was nothing so sophisticated as Wulfe’s circular stairway. A free standing wooden ladder stood directly beneath the opening. I ducked my head into the hole, hoping the ghost who shoved me once wouldn’t do it while I was hanging my head down.
    It wasn’t a basement so much as a very deep hole dug