expense.”
“This cell is hopeless. The sheets are cheap. Get new ones.”
“So much for resting on the soil of your homeland,” he muttered under his breath.
“I wouldn’t recommend the soil of Flatbush Avenue to anyone. Pima cotton.”
“Pima cotton?”
“Fine Egyptian cotton— three hundred threads per square inch at the very least. And drawing and painting supplies.”
“You’re an artist?”
“I’m a vampire. I paint in my spare time. Books, toiletries, clothes, lingerie . Send your girlfriend if you’re embarrassed.”
He ignored her remark. “So we’re on? You’ll answer my questions?”
She flipped her hair off her face. “Hmm… ”
“Who’s hunting you?”
“Who told you that?”
“Lydia. What did you do?”
Her face twisted into distaste. “First, I was born a girl.”
“Huh?”
She shrugged. “I have a habit of pissing others off.”
“That I find difficult to believe. So you are hiding out?”
“Nosy, aren’t you? Why are you haranguing me— aside from official snitch duty?”
“Seems to me we’re the ones who stand to profit most.”
Her eyes glazed over. “When the idols fall, we’ll dance on the ruins… ”
“Idols?”
She shook her head, her mind obviously having danced somewhere far off. Just whom was she dancing there with?
“All right Mia, I did my part. Promise to do yours.”
Suddenly she was back in the room. “Gee, heard that plenty of times before, usually after men buy me dinner.” Malice flavored her smile. “Just remember Doc, who ends up dessert.”
He shuddered at her gastronomical reference.
“I won’t tell anything until I know Kurt’s safe.” Her face set into cherubic resolve. “Bring me back his answer. Then we’ll talk.”
He stood up, placing her letter in his pocket. “Fine.”
“Don’t bother to read it. You won’t be able to— neither will Dr. Loy for that matter.”
Joe supposed they communicated in some kind of code unknown to mortals. “I’ve no intention of it falling into enemy hands.”
“Good. Get out.”
Joe let himself out and continued down the hall to the next cell. The huge guard nodded and grunted, moving aside to let Joe pass. Joe took a deep breath before he placed his palm in the reader of the inner door.
The male looked up but said nothing as Joe entered. A narrow beam of light from the lamp next to his chair carved his fine-boned face into an ivory mask. Large, haunted blue eyes regarded Joe impassively. His shape was that of a very young man but one undernourished. He sat upright, dressed in blue jeans, a soft button down shirt and sneakers, tawny blond curls clipped and combed. Long delicate fingers held a book.
Silent, shunning the fluorescent lights as Mia did, but in contrast to the way she paced like a caged animal about the perimeters of her cell, he sat in solemn stillness, a condemned man waiting for the hangman. Yet to Joe’s eyes, he appeared alien, unlike Mia who looked human and female.
The male hadn’t spoken in three days. When anyone approached, he just fixed an icy blue stare and they’d back off in terror. A basin of water containing a plastic bag filled with blood sat in the sliding panel beside the door. Nausea gripped Joe momentarily, surprising him. He’d seen surgery performed on the brains of living people. Why did this bother him so much?
Joe cleared his throat. “Good evening, I’m Doctor Ansari. I’ve brought a letter from Mia. I’m not sure how you prefer to be addressed.”
The vampire’s eyes blinked once as he replied in a boyish voice, his English slightly accented, “You may call me Kurt.”
“Very well then… Kurt. How are you getting on?”
The vampire stared at him. Sudden tension flared between them. Kurt tugged at the left sleeve of his shirt then smoothed it down with his fingers. “Mia attacked a staff member. I heard screaming and shouting.”
“Yes, the psychiatrist.”
Kurt shook his head. “What have they done to