Those Who Fight Monsters: Tales of Occult Detectives

“If she isn’t an apparition, she’d resemble an old woman now, since all the Elite vampires went back to their real human ages when their maker died. Even if Gigi found another vampire to turn her recently, she wouldn’t look brand spankin’ young again.” Kiko seemed troubled. “I guess maybe I’m just lookin’ for reasons for her to be a ghost, because what if it ends up that Gigi did survive? And what if she’s not the only ex-Underground vamp running around?”

“We never did hear of her or some of the other Elite vampires after they turned human again and fled the L. A. Underground.” They’d thought those humanized vamps had committed suicide, just like all the others who’d found themselves un-beautiful and aged. “Maybe her soul stain never got to her, like it did with the others, and she made her way to Vegas.”

The soul stain — the curse of a humanized vampire in the dragon’s line. Dawn only knew this because she’d survived it, in spite of the marks her rage had brought out on her skin — badges that no other survivor had. Maybe that made her real special. Yay.

Her ex-vamp father and mother had gotten through their soul stains by dealing with the despair in their own ways, but…

Kiko said, “So what’re we going to do?”

His meaning was clear: if they found suicidal ex-vamps — remnants of the hunts — didn’t the team have a moral obligation to help them? Shouldn’t they deal with the damage they’d caused?

Dawn faced away from the mirror, where she could see the vague reflection of her “tattoos,” even when she wasn’t really looking.

Despite her obvious discomfort, Kiko persisted. “Like you said, Gigi could’ve been different from the other ex-vamps. Maybe she fought the soul stain because she had more to live for. Just like you did.”

“Or maybe she’s only a ghost.” It was as if the more often she said it, the better chances were that it’d be true. “We could just be seeing the first case of a soul stain causing a manifestation of grief.”

Kiko looked doubtful.

“Is it out of the question?” she asked. “Can’t extreme loss or tragedy bind a spirit to a place they loved or to an area where they need to right a wrong? I wonder if a soul stain did make Gigi commit suicide, then left behind something we can all see now.”

“And that’s why she’s here — because the Bahia represents her at her best, and that makes this a heaven for her.”

Dawn could picture how many other ex-vamp ghosts might have already appeared elsewhere, too, plunged into the deepest sadness from their stains as they haunted the earth.

Maybe ghosts weren’t a better option than humanized vamps, after all.

“Costin never mentioned it,” Kiko said. “He destroyed so many Undergrounds over the centuries, and he never saw something like this before.”

“He never stayed around to tend to the mental health of a master’s surviving progeny, Kik. He had to move on from one Underground to another as fast as he could.” God dammit. “This could be the first time those consequences have come back to bite one of his hunting teams in the ass.”

“Fuck a duck,” Kiko said.

Dawn closed her eyes. “Fuck a million ducks.”

A security guard allowed Dawn and Kiko into the showroom again, thanks to instructions left by Tigerman, who wasn’t very interested in watching the “ghosthunters”; he’d just told them to be done by the time the staff came in for a rehearsal of the showroom’s feature, Heat!, which was dark today. He’d also arranged for some employees who’d witnessed Gigi to be interviewed for the “article,” and they’d be here in about an hour.

Meanwhile, Dawn and Kiko wandered around backstage with an electromagnetic field detector and an ambient temperature gauge, but they found nothing ghostly. Then Kiko set about trying to capture some Electronic Voice Phenomena with his recording equipment.

As he worked, Dawn could hear her heartbeat, which felt like it was coming from the center of the earth, shaking the floor, pounding at her neck, temples. She waited for the skin on her right side, where the dragon blood marked her, to throb also, but it didn’t.

Don’t answer our summons, Gigi, she thought. Be dead. Stay dead.

Kiko guided Dawn away from the recorder because he wanted to allow Gigi some time alone with it, just in case she was a ghost who’d be reluctant to talk to them. Then they went out to the main showroom to sit in a booth, not talking much, until it was time for the interviews.

The subjects waited in the backstage area: “Roberto,” the emcee of the show, with his butterfly-collar shirt and smile-crinkled gaze; a fifty-something magician whose tamed country accent belied the name “Trevor Barkley”; his button-nosed, Bambi-eyed blond assistant Naomi; and an unsmiling, reedy theater usher who seemed coolly intrigued not only to be asked about a ghost, but to be interviewed about it by a soul patch-wearing little person, too.