The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

spelled it out for him. ‘I could never hurt a child. What if the craving
for blood makes us kill kids?’
    ‘You’d never hurt a kid, Kace,
and neither would I.’
    ‘I know, but what if that
changes? I don’t want to hurt anybody’s kids. I think I want to go back to
being human again.’
    Dante kissed her on the
forehead. ‘All right, babe. I’ll tell you what, next time we see a vampire try
to kill a kid, I’ll kick that vampire’s head in.’
    ‘And I’ll help you do it.’
    ‘Okay, but you know our first
priority has to be finding a way to get the Eye of the Moon back.’
    ‘Have you got a plan?’
    ‘No. When have I ever had a
plan? Plans are for suckers.’
    It was at times like this when
Dante talked passionately yet with no sense of what danger lay in wait for him
that Kacy remembered why she fell in love with him in the first place. He might
well be a foolhardy moron, but he was as brave as any man she’d ever met.
    ‘I love you, you know,’ she
said.
    Dante grabbed her ass and
squeezed it hard. ‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘This vampire shit will just be
temporary. Trust me.’

 
    Four

 
    Sanchez
hated snow. Until now he’d only ever seen it on television but that was enough
to make him hate it. And waking up on November 1 st after the
previous awful day’s events, the last thing he wanted to see was snow-covered streets . It had fallen thick and fast
overnight, settling two inches deep on the roads. The local kids were overjoyed
and were busy building snowmen in the streets. And someone (Sanchez suspected
his paperboy) had thrown a snowball at him when he was walking to his car.
Little fucker . The only good thing about the cold weather was that it
had given him the opportunity to wear his replica Top Gun jacket. He’d
bought it on the Internet, but it had always been too hot in Santa Mondega to
merit wearing it out in public. Up to now it had only ever been worn in his
bedroom when he was pretending to be Tom Cruise in front of the mirror.
    His drive to the Ole Au Lait for
breakfast took a little longer than usual. Partly because the snow made the
roads a little more dangerous, but mostly because Sanchez veered off the road a
few times in order to knock down some of the snowmen that the local kids had
built on the sidewalks.
    He arrived at the café at just
after nine o’clock in the morning. Experience had taught him to get there early
before all the local seniors showed up. The elderly seemed to like nothing more
than to sit themselves at the tables next to him and break wind while he tried
to eat.
    He walked through the door,
carrying a black satchel over his shoulder. If he wanted a breakfast this
morning, he knew he was going to have to settle a debt he had with Rick the
owner of the Ole Au Lait. On the previous day, Rick had called him with some
useful information and in return Sanchez had agreed to give him a bottle of
liquor. He had the bottle in his satchel, although he secretly hoped Rick
wouldn’t be there to accept it. Also in his bag was a book that he had stolen
from the library, a book called The Book of Death. It had provided none of the
clues he had been hoping for in his quest to find out more about Jessica or The
Book With No Name. In fact, the only mention of Jessica in the book had been
written in there by Sanchez. Rick had informed him of her full name and also
that of an acquaintance of hers named Rameses Gaius. Sanchez had noted their
names down on a blank page of the book and carried out an Internet search to
see if he could find more about them. He had found nothing.
    As he approached the counter he
became aware of an unpleasant smell of piss. Slumped over in a table by the
window was a drunken Santa Claus impersonator. He looked half asleep, but he
still managed to mutter something to Sanchez that sounded like “spare me some
change”. Sanchez ignored it and instead forced a fake smile for Rick who was
standing behind the counter, counting the notes in the till. Rick looked full
of beans. He wasn’t wearing his usual chef outfit. Instead he was dressed to go
out in a pair of jeans and, rather annoyingly, a leather Top Gun jacket exactly
like Sanchez’s. Bastard. He looked up when Sanchez arrived and forced a fake
smile back.
    ‘Mornin’ Sanchez. Nice jacket,’
he said.
    ‘Yeah, you too,’ said Sanchez,
inwardly seething.
    Rick peered over at the satchel.
‘I hope you’ve got that bottle of Jack Daniel’s for me,’ he said his fake