Page 92 of Dead & Breakfast
“But you didn’t account for one of those vampires being an excellent detective.” Arthur straightened his back. “We tracked down Brody in no time.”
“Lot of good that did you, right?” Trip grinned humorlessly. “I should’ve known not to trust him. He’s rotten to his core, just like his mother. I tried to keep him from being a paranormal sympathizer, but it didn’t take. Your kind tend to stick together.”
“Brody’s not a vampire.” Arthur shook his head. “Is he?” But no, that didn’t make much sense at all. Arthur would have noticed. Heglanced at the monitors again to make sure, but they still showed a pulse.
“He’s a freak. Paranormal witchy freak. Just like his mother, who lied to me about it, by the way.” Trip raised a finger, pointing aggressively at thin air. “Gonna fix that mistake soon, though.”
“I don’t think so.” Arthur advanced on Trip. “It’s you who should be fleeing. As soon as the sheriff gets here, I’ll tell him everything you said. Brody will corroborate it when he wakes up.”
“Just keep telling yourself that.” Young grimaced. “It doesn’t matter what you say. The sheriff will never believe you over me.”
As if on cue, the door burst open and McMartin rushed in looking haggard, his hair thoroughly mussed and still wet, as though he’d not had time to style it after a shower.
“There you are, you vamp! Thank god you were here, Trip—”
Before McMartin could get out another pompous word, Trip shoved him back, toward the open door. The back of his head collided with the steel with a crack loud enough to make Arthur wince in sympathy. McMartin dropped like an oddly costumed bag of potatoes.
“What is it with you and giving people head wounds?” Arthur looked down at McMartin’s awkwardly sprawled body. He appeared to be breathing, at least. There wasn’t much else Arthur could do. Not without leaving Brody to Trip. “And why would you hurt him, anyway? He’s on your side.”
Trip began to pull a few things from his pockets. “He is, just a bit too early for my taste. See, Brody’s still alive, and I need to pin his death on you before he wakes up.”
“But you pushed him—”
“Out of the way of a vampire attack he wasn’t anticipating. He’ll be grateful it was only a head wound when he wakes up and I explain how I chased you off after you did your worst. Now…” Trippulled a flashlight from his pocket and brandished it before him. “Get away from here, you beast.”
He clicked the light on. It wasn’t white like a normal flashlight, but a soft purplish color. He shone it at Arthur like it was a lightsaber.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Arthur asked.
“It’s— Why aren’t you burning? This is a UV flashlight!”
Arthur scrambled out of its beam. “Oh, good lord, don’t shine it on me! Do you know how bad UV radiation is for your skin? Why do you even own such a thing?”
Trip waved the flashlight around more. “You’re a vampire. Sunlight kills you!”
“No, it doesn’t. You’ve seen me out during the day!” Arthur huffed. “Please tell me you have more sense than this.”
“But—that stupid husband of yours—”
“Watch it.”
“—you said he wanted a nighttime appointment to avoid the sun!”
“We’re nocturnal. We like to sleep during the day. You don’t see bats and raccoons bursting into flame just because something wakes them up before sunset, do you?” Arthur was really tired of that particular myth, and not just because of the sleep deprivation.
“But everyone knows—”
“Just because they put it in a movie doesn’t make it true. The sun would have to be monumentally closer to the earth to cause any kind of lethal damage. A little low-level radiation isn’t going to kill me—skin cancer on the other hand, well, it still won’t kill me, but have you ever had a melanoma removed? I may not be mortal, but my pain receptors work just fine.”
“Whatever.” Trip discarded the flashlight. “I’ve got other tricksup my sleeve.” He retrieved something else from his pocket and threw it at Arthur weakly.
A head of garlic bounced off Arthur’s chest. It didn’t even hurt. “Why are you wasting food?”
“It’s garlic! It repels vampires!”
“Did you do all your research on vampires in some sort of children’s book?” Arthur stared down at the pathetic head of garlic. “I happen to love garlic, but poor Salvatore is allergic, so we don’t use it in our cooking.”
In response, Trip splashed some water on Arthur. He blinked it away.
