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couldn't shake the image of Theresa's head on the sidewalk. She had been cruel and had probably killed
hundreds of humans. Why did I feel pity for her? Stupidity, I suppose. I took a deep breath and pushed
the door inward.
Ronnie's office is full of windows. Light glares in from two sides, south and west. Which means in the
afternoon the room is like a solar heater. No amount of air conditioning is going to overcome that much
sunshine.
You can see the District from Ronnie's sunshiny windows. If you care to look.
Ronnie waved me through the door into the almost blinding glare of her office.
A delicate-looking woman was sitting in a chair across from the desk. She was Asian with shiny, black
hair styled carefully back from her face. A royal purple jacket, which matched her tailored skirt, was
folded neatly on the chair arm. A shiny, lavender blouse brought attention to the up-tilted eyes and the
faint lavender shading on the lids and brow. Her ankles were crossed, hands folded in her lap. She
looked cool in her lavender blouse, even in the sweltering sunshine.
It caught me off guard for a minute, seeing her like that, after all these years. Finally, I closed my gaping
mouth and walked forward, hand extended. "Beverly, it has been a long time."
She stood neatly and put a cool hand in mine. "Three years." Precise, that was Beverly all over.
"You two know each other?" Ronnie asked.
I turned back to her. "Bev didn't mention that she knew me?"
Ronnie shook her head.
I stared at the new woman. "Why didn't you mention it to Ronnie?"
"I did not think it necessary." Bev had to raise her chin to look me in the eye. Not many people have to
do that. It's rare enough that I always find it an odd sensation, as if I should stoop down so we can be at
eye level.
"Is someone going to tell me where you two know each other from?" Ronnie asked.
Ronnie moved past us to sit behind her desk. She tilted the chair slightly back on its swivel, crossed
hands over stomach, and waited. Her pure grey eyes, soft as kitten fur, stared at me.
"Do you mind if I tell her, Bev?"
Bev had sat down again, smooth and ladylike. She had real dignity and had always impressed me as
being a lady, in the best sense of the word. "If you feel it necessary, I do not object," she said.
Not exactly a rousing go-ahead, but it would do. I flopped down in the other chair, very aware of my
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jeans and jogging shoes. Beside Bev I looked like an ill-dressed child. For just a moment I felt it; then it
was gone. Remember, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Eleanor Roosevelt said
that. It is a quote I try to live by. Most of the time I succeed.
"Bev's family were the victims of a vampire pack. Only Beverly survived. I was one of the people who
helped destroy the vampires." Brief, to the point, a hell of a lot left out. Mostly the painful parts.
Bev spoke in that quiet, precise voice of hers. "What Anita has left out is that she saved my life at risk of
her own." She glanced down at her hands where they lay in her lap.
I remembered my first glimpse of Beverly Chin. One pale leg thrashing against the floor. The flash of
fangs as the vampire reared to strike. A glimpse of pale, screaming face, and dark hair. The pure terror
as she screamed. My hand throwing a silver-bladed knife and hitting the vampire's shoulder. Not a killing
blow; there had been no time. The creature had sprang to its feet, roaring at me. I stood facing the thing
with the last knife I had, gun long since emptied, alone.
And I remembered Beverly Chin beating the vampire's head in with a silver candlestick, while he
crouched over me, breath warm on my neck. Her shrieks echoed through my dreams for weeks, as she
beat the thing's head to pieces until blood and brain seeped out onto the floor.
All that passed between us without words. We had saved each other's lives; it is a bond that sticks with
you. Friendships may fade, but there is always that obligation, that knowledge forged of terror and blood
and shared violence, that never really leaves. It was there between us after three long years, straining and
touchable.
Ronnie is a smart lady. She caught on to the awkward silence. "Would anybody like a drink?"
"Nonalcoholic," Bev and I said together. We laughed at each other, and the strain faded. We would
never be true friends, but perhaps we could stop being ghosts to each other.
Ronnie brought us two diet Cokes. I made a face but took it anyway. I knew that was all she had in the
office's little fridge. We had had discussions about diet drinks, but she swore she liked the taste. Liked
the taste, garg!
Bev took hers graciously; perhaps that was what she drank at home. Give me something fattening with a
little taste to it any day.
"Ronnie mentioned on the phone that there might be a death squad attached to HAV. Is that true?" I
said.
Bev stared down at the can, which she held with one hand cupped underneath so it wouldn't stain her
skirt. "I do not know positively that it is true, but I believe it to be."
"Tell me what you've heard?" I asked.
"There was talk for a while of forming a squad to hunt the vampires. To kill them as they have killed our .
. . families. The president of course vetoed the idea. We work within the system. We are not vigilantes."
She said it almost as a question, as if trying to convince herself more than us. She was shaken by what
might have happened. Her neat little world collapsing again.
"But lately I have heard talk. People in our organization bragging of slaying vampires."
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